White House Gossip

WHITE HOUSE GOSSIP

From Andrew Johnson to Calvin Coolidge

CHAPTER I

ADMINISTRATION OF ANDREW JOHNSON

April 15, 1865, to March 4, 1869

LATE April and early May of 1865 brought none of the usual springtime joys to Washington, the Capital City; its residents, in common with the rest of the nation, were shaken with grief over the death of President Lincoln. Public buildings and private houses hid behind dismal swathings of crêpe, and the people were still subdued with the harrowing incidents that had their beginning on the terrible night of April 14th. Previous sectional opinions were set aside in the general regret over the loss of the gaunt, kindly man whom the troubled, disrupted country had learned to trust. The tragedy at Ford’s Theatre, with the simultaneous attack upon Secretary of State William Seward, was the hourly topic of conversation.

Search for the conspirators had begun, and suspicion, fear, and suspense hung like a pall over the land. Peace and security were gone. None knew when or where the relentless arm of the law would pounce upon another suspect. Innocent and guilty alike went through the gruelling. Especially did the fear of Northern soldier vengeance lie heavily upon Southern hearts already bowed in the sorrow of defeat.

Andrew Johnson, the Union Democrat, the “Tailor from Tennessee”—“The Knight of the Shears and Goose,” as Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton had so often dubbed President Lincoln’s running mate—had stepped into the presidential shoes and was handling the reins of government with dominant force and decision. Punishment radiated from every fibre of his being. As he turned from the bier of his slain chief, two paramount purposes were definite in his mind: to follow Lincoln’s policies, and to punish those guilty of his death. He could think of the tragedy in no other terms but those that spelled treason in its blackest form, especially as, upon every hand, because of the attack upon Seward, he found public sentiment committed to the belief that a general conspiracy had been formed in the South for the purpose of exterminating the entire Lincoln Cabinet, together with himself as Vice President, and also General Grant.

From the hour he took the presidential oath and established his offices in the Treasury building, the demands for vengeance poured in upon him from every side.

At the moment, the surrender of all of the Southern arms was incomplete, and a vast Northern army, two hundred thousand strong, chafing at restraint, was ready at a word to take the matter of avenging the death of “Father Abraham” into its own hands and thus renew the bloody conflict. Never had a man stepped into the Presidency under such difficult and soul-trying conditions, or been confronted with greater tasks, more exacting demands, or more serious responsibilities. Never had there been such urgent need for a calm, judicial, well-balanced mind, able to rise above partisan bias, poised to hold firmly to the ability to see both sides of each problem and to refrain from impetuous action.

A nation torn asunder through an internal upheaval had to be brought together and welded into one again.

Although Andrew Johnson had spent thirty years in public service, fighting for what he conceived to be right, his experience had not been of the type to furnish the subtle diplomacy or suave poise needed to handle successfully the great problems that now confronted him. It is doubtful if any man who participated in the political contests of that period, even the great, wise Lincoln, could have brought harmony out of the hysteria and chaos that prevailed in the nation on the morning of April 15, 1865.

Following his induction into office and his inaugural address, Johnson called his first Cabinet meeting at twelve o’clock on April 15th, at which two important measures were decided. These were the arrangements for the funeral of Mr. Lincoln and the appointment of Mr. W. Hunter as temporary Secretary of State pending the recovery of Secretary Seward. At this time the new President requested the members of the Cabinet to retain their portfolios.

In his first proclamation President Johnson expressed his horror of the crime and his resolve to punish the guilty participants. This document also offered rewards for the arrest of those believed to be implicated—one hundred thousand dollars for Jefferson Davis; twenty-five thousand dollars each for Clement C. Clay, Jacob Thompson, George N. Sanders, and Beverly Tucker; and ten thousand dollars for William C. Cleary, late clerk of Clement C. Clay.

It might be stated here that, despite the most exhaustive efforts, not the slightest evidence was produced to connect any of the Southern leaders with the crime of Booth. Jefferson Davis was captured May 10, 1865, at Irwinsville, Wilkinson County, Ga., and sent to Fortress Monroe. Although indicted for treason against the United States in the Federal Court for the District of Virginia, he was finally admitted to bail, one of his bondsmen being Horace Greeley, the abolitionist leader of the North, and released without trial.

Colonel Lafayette Baker, Chief of Secret Service, was out of Washington the night of the tragedy. On his return, he at once applied himself to the task of capturing Booth, Herold, and all others suspected by Secretary of War Stanton, for the apprehension of whom the latter had offered liberal rewards in a proclamation issued immediately following the tragedy. The Stanton proclamation stated that $50,000 would be paid by the War Department for the apprehension of the murderers of the late President. All persons were warned against harbouring or aiding them in any way on pain of being treated by the government as accomplices in the plot.

The City of Washington also offered a reward of $20,000 for the arrest of the assassin and his associates implicated in the crime.

These rewards stirred up extra zeal, and the army of searchers grew steadily.

The search for Booth through the swamps and the final scenes of his capture and death were most graphically told by George Alfred Townsend, a newspaper correspondent, in the New York World during that eventful period. “Gath,” as he was familiarly known, gathered his daily reports from the most reliable sources. Those bearing upon Booth’s wild act he later assembled in booklet form and published in 1865. From it this picture of Booth’s final stand is copied.

The assassin had been traced to the Garrett home on the Rappahannock, some distance from Bowling Green, by the little force sent out by Colonel Lafayette Baker, Chief of the Secret Service, with instructions not to return till they had their man. The company was in charge of Colonel Baker’s former Lieutenant Colonel, E. J. Conger, and of his cousin, Lieutenant L. B. Baker. At two o’clock, early morning, they approached the house.

Gossip and rumour have played fast and loose with the life and death of Booth, and statements and evidence have been plentiful disputing the fact that Booth was the man killed in the Garrett barn. Plausible theories have been advanced as to his escape, due to the secrecy imposed by Colonel Baker in the interment of the body. The corpse really was interred beneath the floor of one of the cells in the penitentiary in the Arsenal grounds, and not committed to the river, as some believed. Later, the Booth family were permitted to remove the body to their own burial plot in Maryland.

Doubtless, to the end of time in American history, the question of Booth’s death, like that of the fate of the Dauphin of France, will inspire tales of romance and adventure for the pen of the imaginative writer.

However, he was proved dead to the satisfaction of those empowered to apprehend him, and to the satisfaction of those most vitally interested in the punishment of the murderer, and all further search for Booth was abandoned. Robert Todd Lincoln, eldest son of the President, who was on General Grant’s staff at the time of the tragedy, gave a statement in his eighty-second year to the effect that he had never doubted that Booth met his death in the Garrett barn; that the evidence produced at the time was sufficiently conclusive, and that the numerous stories of the escape of the assassin were merely fabrications created for sensation.

From the diary of Booth, discovered on his body after his death, the whole scheme of the actor was disclosed. The repeated failure of a plan to kidnap the President while he was driving or walking about the city, and take him by force to Richmond and keep him there as a hostage for the release of a large group of Confederate prisoners, was the reason that brought Booth finally to the point of planning assassination.

This diary was not produced at the trial of the conspirators, nor did it receive publication in the newspapers until President Johnson ordered a certified copy of it sent to him two years later. Then, on Wednesday, May 22, 1867, the National Republican printed a certified copy of it together with the facts connected with its capture.

As the Capital City was still under military rule, a military commission was appointed to meet at Washington, D. C., on May 8, 1865, for the trial of the conspirators and other persons implicated in the murder of the late President Lincoln and the attempted assassination of Hon. William E. Seward, Secretary of State.

Throngs gathered about the Court (sitting then in the Penitentiary at the Arsenal) daily eager to view the spectacle of the prisoners, hooded and in irons. Mrs. Surratt was manacled like the men, according to the account given by Ben Perley Poore.

The Court finished its task on June 30, 1865, and a full report of its findings was ordered to be submitted to the President. On July 5th, the President approved the report and ordered the executions of Mrs. Surratt, David E. Herold, George A. Atzerodt, and Lewis Payne to take place at once. On July 7th, these sentences were carried out. The others implicated, Samuel Arnold, Edward Spangler, Samuel Mudd, and Michael O’Laughlin, were sent to the military prison at Dry Tortugas.

In Mrs. Surratt’s case, every effort made by her daughter and her father confessor, as well as a group of prominent men and women who sought to intercede in her behalf, met with complete failure. Although the daughter knelt upon the White House steps for hours beseeching a hearing by the President, Mrs. Johnson, and even Mrs. Patterson, admission was denied to her and all others on the same mission.

The recommendation for clemency for Mrs. Surratt, making her sentence one of life imprisonment instead of execution, because of her age and sex, was signed by all members of the Court except General Lew Wallace, A. P. Howe, Colonel R. Clennin, and T. M. Harris. This paper was prepared, signed, and given to Judge Holt to be handed to the President with the findings of the Court.

President Johnson declared this petition never reached him, and the supposition is that it was either blocked or mislaid accidentally or intentionally in the War Department.

Great was the furore stirred up in legal circles over this trial, and dissenting opinion was freely expressed. Judge Andrew Wiley, of the District Supreme Court, known as one of the strongest characters on the bench, did not concur in the plans for a military trial for the conspirators. He arose early on the morning of the execution day to sign a writ of habeas corpus for the release of Mrs. Surratt. Judge Wiley, a devoted friend of Abraham Lincoln, having received his appointment to the bench from him, believed that the legality of Mrs. Surratt’s conviction by court martial should be determined by a civil court. He concurred in the effort to secure a stay of execution by signing the writ of habeas corpus, directing General Hancock to produce her in court. The writ was served, but General Hancock did not obey it. Judge Wiley’s scathing rebuke to the military authorities for thus ignoring and overriding the civil powers is one of the most notable in the annals of court history.

During the short period of the trial, from May 8th to June 30th, 403 witnesses were subpœnaed, 247 examined for the prosecution, 236 for the defense, 4,300 pages of legal copy testimony taken, with an additional 700 pages of arguments.

John Surratt, whose intimate association with Booth led to his mother’s being implicated, escaped to Canada and for two years evaded capture. Finally, he was apprehended, but owing to the odium that had followed the Military Commission, he had a civil court trial. This grew into such a bitter controversy over the execution of his mother that it became more of a trial of a former court than of himself, and through the failure of the jury to agree he was released.

The first great task of President Johnson was the disbandment of the army. As a fitting climax to their four years of terrible struggle and hardship, President Lincoln had planned the Grand Review in Washington for May 23 and 24, 1865. To completing the preparations for this notable event, the President and Secretary Stanton devoted much attention, keenly aware of the impression which the assembly of the nation’s armed force would make upon the minds of foreign representatives and of its influence upon the general public.

As the time for the pageant drew near, there came a lifting of the gloom that had enveloped the capital, still a tented city surrounded on a circuit of thirty-seven miles by a ring of sixty-eight armed forts, with their encircling watch fires—a picture that had inspired Julia Ward Howe to write the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Public squares were still occupied by camps, and all available structures, converted into hospitals, were filled to overflowing with wounded soldiers.

Washington’s streets were notorious for their clouds of dust or wallows of sticky mud. As the dust prevailed at this period, the services of the Fire Department were necessary on both mornings to sprinkle the line of march to make the passing of the procession fairly comfortable for marchers and onlookers. Patrols guarded the intersections.

Upon the grassy hillsides and steps of the Capitol were massed the city’s school children in gala dress, with wreaths, flags, and bouquets, ready to greet the conquering hosts with patriotic songs. Four gaily decorated reviewing stands were erected in front of the White House for officials and celebrities. With the President were the members of the Cabinet and General U. S. Grant. Every window, roof, and tree presented its full limit of spectators while every foot of standing room along the entire line of march was filled with enthusiastic people.

With military promptness, on each morning at 9 o’clock, the great divisions of the army began their movement down Capitol Hill. The Army of the Potomac, with General George A. Meade commanding, occupied the entire day on Tuesday in passing in review, while Sherman’s army, with its two wings—the Army of Tennessee commanded by Major General John A. Logan, affectionately called “Black Jack” by his men because of his swarthy complexion, and the Army of Georgia, in command of Major General Henry D. Slocum—kept a weary audience shouting applause until dark on Wednesday. Before the columns started, the young women and girls of the city decked officers, men, horses, cannon, and guns with floral wreaths, garlands, and bouquets, and as each officer passed, he received a special ovation.

Brevet Major General George M. Custer, in command of the cavalry of the Army of the Potomac, was a picturesque figure, mounted upon a handsome stallion, his long hair reaching to his shoulders. Just as the procession turned into Pennsylvania Avenue from Fifteenth Street, the onlookers were horrified to see his horse rear and wildly dash up the street. The General’s hat flew off, and everyone expected to see him pitched to the ground and killed. But fears were turned to shouts of admiration at his horsemanship when he suddenly quieted the horse, turned, and rode back to his place, picking up his hat as easily as if he had planned the performance. In fact, such a charge was made. Every man in his contingent wore the Custer tie, a red scarf around the neck and extending almost to the belt.

A slowly increasing roar of applause greeted the coming of Sherman and Major General Oliver O. Howard, whose empty sleeve was an eloquent testimony of his service. These two rode a little in advance—horses flower decked and wreathed—and after they passed the reviewing stand, they too dismounted and joined the receiving party.

Spectators and marchers alike thrilled over the battle-torn flags that brought forth such storms of applause as they appeared. One flag alone drew every eye but no applause. It hung from the portico of the Treasury building—the flag of the Treasury Guard Regiment—a flag never to be forgotten. The lower portion was torn and jagged, not by bullet or shell, but by the spur on the boot of Booth the assassin, when he had jumped from the presidential box to the stage in Ford’s Theatre.

No military pageant in the history of the world had ever surpassed or equalled this review in size or character. The four years of constant conflict with a foe equally fine in every respect as themselves had battered, trained, and polished the raw recruits of the North, who had responded so quickly to President Lincoln’s call for volunteers, into the finest military organization in the world, unmatched anywhere save by their Confederate antagonists, also trained in the same rigorous school of experience.

From early morning until dark, on each day, eighty thousand bronzed patriots, in a column reaching from curb to curb, tramped up Pennsylvania Avenue to the triumphant music of their bands. Powerful, grim, relentless, they typified the rigours of war. Upon them still was the atmosphere of the conquest of half a continent reflected in their resolute faces and their worn clothes. No dress-parade soldiers were these. They were men who had witnessed and experienced every phase of the terrible game of war and had paid its heavy toll in wounds and hardship. None needed to scan the ragged emblems they carried so proudly to know that they had met and sustained the shock of combat. Veterans of Bull Run, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Petersburg, and the final glory of Appomattox; veterans of Donelson, Belmont, Shiloh, Corinth, Perryville, Stone River, Vicksburg, Chickamauga, Mission Ridge, Atlanta, Savannah, the Carolinas, Bentonville, and scores upon scores of other places. Behind them, upon these and many other blood-dyed fields, they had left another host, a silent army whose mangled bodies had consecrated the cause for which they and Abraham Lincoln had fallen.

Following this majestic and awe-inspiring pageant came the queerest collection of flotsam and jetsam ever gathered together—the “Bummers.” These were the stragglers that had attached themselves to the various corps, odd assortments of humans, animals, loot and salvage, hangers-on of Sherman’s March to the Sea, drift-wood clinging to the only anchorage that promised food and safety. They furnished the oddest parade ever seen in Washington before or since. Mules, goats, asses, horses, dogs, sheep, pigs, colts, raccoons, chickens, cats, and Negroes all ambling along contentedly as though their only object in life was to follow the army—as, indeed, it was. Each beast of burden was loaded to its carrying capacity with the odds and ends of camp luggage, equipment, and the queer lot of junk the soldiers had gathered “to carry home some day”—tents, knapsacks, hampers, sacks, bundles of clothing, boxes, valises, blankets, pots, kettles, fiddles, bird cages, camp stools, a few stray cradles, plenty of pickaninnies, and here and there, presiding over the lot, a black woman. Realism thus painted a living picture of the vicissitudes of the long weary march of destruction through the forests, swamps, plantations, and towns that came within the path of the blue-clad torrent which had swept all before it.

In this epochal review were numbers of distinguished officers: Merritt, Macy, Benham, Griffin, Humphreys, Davies, Devin, Patrick, Woods, Carey, Hunter, Hancock, Ross, Blair, Ward, Smith, Nagle, Geary, and others, too many to enumerate with any degree of accuracy—names a grateful nation has since placed high upon the honour roll in her Memorial Hall of Fame.

Most deservedly interesting of them all was the quiet, diffident man, with the three stars in his shoulder straps, the idolized commander of all of the armies of the North during the last year of the war—Ulysses S. Grant, whom Lincoln had chosen to bring peace to a sorely stricken land. A silent and unassuming observer, he seemed entirely unconscious that through his persistent and efficient service the Stars and Stripes were floating over a reunited nation.

A tanner’s clerk with a series of mercantile failures behind him when the guns of Sumter opened the war, he was the honoured and loved commander of half a million veterans, with the faith and trust of a nation when it closed—the leader of the greatest army from every standpoint that any man had ever had subject to his call.

Inarticulate in public, modest and silent by nature, General Grant’s pride and elation in the day’s event were manifest in the concentrated attention he gave to the passing marchers. His popularity demanded his almost constant response to the ovations to himself.

During the four years of the war for the preservation of the Union, there had been more than twenty-four hundred engagements of greater or lesser importance. In all, 2,600,000 men had been enlisted in the Federal armies, and while some of the records of the Confederate forces were destroyed, it has been estimated that they put more than a million men under arms.

The conclusion of the review sent back to civil life a vast host. All but a standing army of 15,000 men were disbanded.

The time had now come when President Johnson’s task assumed herculean proportions. Secession was abolished, slavery was an institution of the past, the Negroes were free, and the indestructibility of the Union and the supremacy of the national government were definitely and completely established. With the conspirators captured and on trial, public attention turned with redoubled interest to the political situation and with concentrated scrutiny to the attitude of the new Executive toward the problems that developed and multiplied daily about his head in stabilizing the government and reviving long-neglected and stagnant industries.

Before him lay the greatest responsibility and the greatest opportunity that had ever confronted any executive of the United States. From a huge disorganized fluid mass of opposed human elements, each committed to and allied to some of the varied forces that made up the national chaos, he must either bring reorganization, a harmonious welding of the mighty forces into a structure of government to endure, or must suffer retrogression, the tragedy of dissolution and national eclipse. Medusa-headed were the disrupting units, and legion the demands, needs, and appeals for attention and action.

It was a crucial period, when legal astuteness, super-statesmanship, extraordinary political acumen, expert diplomacy, unbiased vision, indomitable courage, and, above all, unswerving patriotism and Gibraltar-like strength to hold to convictions were the qualifications needed to control the rocking ship of state.

To form any just estimate of the administration of Andrew Johnson in his accidentally conferred office through such an epochal period, one must first get a concept of the man—his background of ancestry, environment, education, and former achievements.

The whole story of his life and public service reveals one of the most notable examples of self-development in our national history. Never was man more entirely captain of his own soul and master of his own destiny. Adversity surrounded him with every baffling agency in his childhood, and opportunity forgot him in his boyhood. But the fates that presided at his birth showered him liberally with pugnacity, energy, determination, and unlimited ambition which, though late in awakening, drove him unceasingly until the end of his life.

With these qualities, he builded his own career, a sturdy structure of achievement of which his posterity may be proud and to which a nation now pays a measure of tardy tribute.

Throughout his entire life, Johnson conducted a personal defense of the Constitution of the United States, which he treasured as his Bible, a much-worn copy never being absent from his pocket. However, though staunch and unswerving in his loyalty to his country, his perspective was narrowed by his own stubbornness, and his vision limited by his passion for detail.

In unwavering patriotism and firm devotion to the Union, he may be compared with Abraham Lincoln, and in the measure of his martyrdom, he falls not far behind that great emancipator.

President Lincoln lived long enough to see his gigantic struggle crowned with success, to hear the wild enthusiasm over Northern victory, and to feel the first great relief in the dawn of peace. His death, the deed of a crazed actor, enshrined him forever in American hearts.

Not even a small measure of any satisfaction or acclaim came to Andrew Johnson. He had turned his back on his native southland, upon his constituents, and had led his own state back into the Union in the face of every possible personal risk and sacrifice. With notable courage, he had taken his stand at the side of Abraham Lincoln in every crisis through the war, with a price upon his head and a curse for him in the hearts of all of the Confederacy.

When he found himself in the midst of the delegation that came to wait upon him with the news of the death of his chief and to witness his taking the oath that placed the sceptre of a great office in his hands, he plainly and emphatically avowed his purpose to carry out President Lincoln’s often-expressed policies toward the defeated Southern States. With the purest, best intentions in the world, he attempted to do this, but because he lacked the calm patience and ability to hold himself impervious to personal slander and abuse, he was denied the satisfaction that came to Abraham Lincoln before tragedy brought oblivion. Andrew Johnson found himself put through indignities and subjected to affronts such as no other President has ever been called upon to meet.

His official family withheld their support and deserted him, he was stripped officially of his prerogatives, was accused of treason and of complicity in the murder of his chief, and, finally, was haled before a Court of Impeachment, thereby providing a spectacle for the public during which he was required to defend every word and act of his public career. Attacked and ridiculed by the press, he was, at last, forced to stand before the world a leader chosen for his policies when a national exigency needed him, yet repudiated a few months later because of those same policies.

His blunders—and that he made blunders is admitted by his staunchest friends—were due to his zeal to bring to pass the measures that his point of view decreed as conducive to the best interests of his country. He met attack with counter attack, and criticism and incrimination with retort and recrimination. Herein lay the pit of his own digging—the ever-widening chasm between himself and Congress into which he was finally plunged on the most trivial and unwarranted charges. The whole matter was a product of the wild spirit of the disorganization that was then upon the land.

Through all of the abuse and criticism, Johnson, nevertheless, remained to the bitter end the same stubborn fighter, yielding not one tittle of his principles. Brusque of manner and more brusque of speech, he maintained his attitude, austere, forbidding, uncompromising, and defiant toward a hostile Congress that omitted no opportunity to belittle, discredit, and humiliate him in its final effort to depose a man it could not control for party ends. Exasperated, again and again, and led into violent retorts and unwise attacks not compatible with the dignity of his high office, he kept his faith in himself and his countrymen, in spite of all.

When he was finally vindicated, and that by but a single vote, and thus escaped being deposed, it is claimed his mask of indifference was so firmly set that he showed no elation or emotion whatever, unless it was a sense of disappointment that the long battle was over.

Johnson was born December 20, 1808, in Raleigh, N. C., in a one-room log cabin. When the boy was but four years old, the father died, leaving him and his mother to battle with poverty and obscurity. The child scrambled daily for pennies, and the best that befell him was his apprenticeship to a tailor, at the age of ten. He had no schooling whatever, not even a knowledge of the alphabet.

While he was fully engrossed in learning the technic of tailoring and becoming expert with the shears and goose he heard, through a friend, of a gentleman of the city whose favourite form of social service was that of reading aloud to labouring men in their luncheon hours. Andrew joined the group and manifested such interest that he received as a gift the book used in these readings. This imbued him with the courage to learn to read for himself.

In a moment of mischief, while still an apprentice, he and some other boys directed a rock bombardment upon what they believed to be an empty house. To his horror, he learned the next day it was occupied, and that the owner had recognized him and made a formal complaint against him. Young Johnson did not care to face a session with his employer or be taken to court; so he ran away in the night with only the clothes upon his back and the tools of his trade. His employer posted the following advertisement for the return of this future president of the United States.

Ten Dollars Reward.

For two years, he worked in a tailor’s shop in Laurens, S. C., and while there had his first love affair, the young lady being Miss Sarah Wood. His devotion found expression in assisting her in making a patchwork quilt, still preserved by her descendants. The story current of the quilt included the fact that the initials S. W., found on the corners, were the unassisted handiwork of the young lover.

When Andrew Johnson decided upon matrimony, he returned to see his mother and to make peace with his former employer. In bidding his fiancée farewell, he presented her with his treasured goose. Their parting proved final, for they disagreed and broke their engagement.

Andrew found his mother had remarried. Owing to the advertisements posted in so many places, no one would employ him, as he was considered bound to Mr. Selby until of age. His eagerness to establish himself independently in new fields gained his former employer’s sympathy, and with his trouble adjusted, he prevailed upon his mother and stepfather, Turner Dougherty, to travel westward with him. They settled in Greeneville, Tenn., where the young man quickly found employment and soon had his own little shop, the site of which is one of the historic spots of the town.

One of the traditions of his arrival at Greeneville is to the effect that, on that day, he and his parents passed a little group of girls, among whom was Eliza McCardle, daughter of the village shoemaker. As the young lad passed, she prophesied to her companions, “Girls, there is my beau—you wait and see.” They “saw” Andrew Johnson and Eliza McCardle married within a year, on May 17, 1827, when he was nineteen and she but seventeen.

While he had acquired a rudimentary knowledge of the three “R’s” in Raleigh, he was far behind his girl wife in education. As she came of prudent Scotch ancestry and was a schoolteacher, she set to work to encourage and instruct her young husband. He studied while he plied his needle, and she taught to help the finances of the little home until her babies absorbed all of her time. Thus, together, they budded the foundation of his later career.

The more he read and studied, the more public service and politics attracted him. To become a speaker, he joined a debating society and tramped eight miles regularly each week to listen and participate. To lose no opportunity for absorbing information, he hired a schoolboy for fifty cents a day to read to him while he worked at his bench.

Financial success awarded his steady industry as a tailor and political honours his determined self-development. From town commissioner to the White House, he fought his way through defeat and victory in a continual succession of elective offices. His ambition carried him through the State Legislature, through both houses of the United States Congress, through the governorship to the vice presidency, while accident sent him into the White House.

During the war, he was the most conspicuous figure in official life—a United States Senator from a seceded state, standing with President Lincoln against his own constituency. He threw himself into the fight against the ordinance of Secession passed by the Tennessee Legislature and toured his state, making powerful speeches for the Union.

This trip proved the most exciting and dangerous of all his experiences. His life was in constant danger, and he was insulted and threatened in various places, and was repeatedly hanged or burned in effigy as a traitor to the South.

Antipathy to his policies and hatred of his acts ran so high that, before appearing to make one address, he was warned that he would be shot upon his appearance on the platform. Upon arriving at the hall, he marched to the platform, faced the audience calmly, and, looking over the assembly, leisurely pulled a revolver from his pocket, remarking crisply, “Before I begin my speech, there is another matter that needs to be attended to. Threats have been made that if I appeared here to-night I would be shot. Now, if any man has any shooting to do, let him begin.”

He looked about a bit, and, seeing no move, continued: “I have been misinformed and will now proceed to address you on the issues which have called us together.”

His subsequent remarks must have been convincing, as was the case wherever he spoke, for his efforts won the citizens as supporters of the Union cause, and East Tennessee not only voted against the act of Secession but refused to be governed by it.

To danger he was indifferent. It was Mrs. Johnson who paid the heavy price in suffering for his energetic service to the Union. When the little family was finally reunited in Nashville after two years of separation, it was a most eventful and happy day. The occasion was one of the few, if not the only one, where rumour credits Senator Johnson with exhibiting any emotion of joy. Mrs. Johnson’s strength, however, gave way, and disease fastened upon her so tenaciously that she was reduced to complete invalidism for the balance of her life.

The Johnson element quickly formed themselves into a fighting unit for action, a procedure that was characterized by Jefferson Davis as the “rebellion of East Tennessee.”

President Lincoln appointed Senator Johnson Military Governor of Tennessee on March 7, 1862, with the rank of Brigadier General, with full authority to do as seemed best to him to bring order out of the chaos in that state.

Johnson inaugurated a rule of stringency and dictatorship that was long remembered.

In the autumn of that year General Buell, chief in command, proposed to evacuate the city on the approach of the Confederate Army. Governor Johnson determined to prevent this and requested the President to remove General Buell, threatening to shoot the first man who talked of surrender.

At this juncture, when the Governor was most alarmed over the impending disaster, he was visited by the fighting Parson of the Buckeye state, Reverend Granville Moody. A story often related of their meeting is as follows:

Nashville was not surrendered. President Lincoln relieved General Buell. In his office of Brigadier General, Andrew Johnson raised and equipped twenty-five regiments for service in Tennessee, in which his sons and sons-in-law were all enrolled.

This position was to his liking, and he reluctantly turned his face to Washington for the inauguration of March 4, 1865.

Much has been written of Andrew Johnson’s words and deeds, but detailed descriptions of his appearance, habits, and personal characteristics have not been either prolific or expansive.

The descriptions written of him by his various secretaries are perhaps the most dependable, since these men had the advantage of seeing him at all times under all conditions of mental stress and calm, in his moments of relaxation and under the irritation of attack.

He possessed neither the physique nor the temperament to inspire admiration or win friends. His life struggle had been too severe, and all that he had gained had exacted a heavy toll. He was in constant physical pain, with an ailment of long duration that caused him so much suffering at times that he stood for hours to gain relief. In his features, as a result, had come a grim severity of expression, forbidding and repelling. It impregnated the atmosphere about him and gave him the morose irritability that his many anxieties accentuated. His nerve tension was so great at times that even audible laughter annoyed him.

To offset this, his speech was courteous and suave and kindly, his manner distant. Fred Cowan, who served as one of his secretaries at the White House, said in his reminiscences that he never saw the President smile but once in more than two years; nor did he ever see him relax from the austere dignity which encased him like an armour. He greeted friends with the pleasure showing in his face. A deep-cut line or wrinkle took the place of a smile. The sorrows of his private life, the loss of one son, the weakness of another, the perpetual illness of his wife were heavy upon him.

The arrival of the President’s family in June brought him great pleasure and was a source of delight to the White House.

There were in the party Mrs. Johnson, Colonel Robert Johnson, who assisted his father in a secretarial capacity, Mrs. David Patterson, eldest daughter, wife of Senator Patterson with her two children, Mary Belle and Andrew J.; Mrs. Stover, second daughter of the President, and the three little Stovers, Sarah, Lettie, and Andrew J.; and last but not least important, the President’s youngest son, Andrew Johnson, Jr., a lad of fourteen years.

Naturally, all attention was turned upon the new First Lady of the Land and her daughter. Mrs. Johnson, from the beginning, took no active part in the direction of affairs. All matters were delegated to Mrs. Patterson and to Mrs. Stover. According to Colonel Wm. W. Crook, whose service in the mansion extended over a period of thirty years, Mrs. Johnson was a small, fragile woman afflicted with old-fashioned consumption, exceedingly pleasant and thoughtful, but very dignified. Owing to her long illness, she was weak and emaciated, and was obliged to walk very slowly.

Mrs. Johnson appeared at but three functions during her entire residence at the White House, and seldom came to breakfast, spending most of her time in her room in a little rocking chair with her needlework and a book. She kept abreast of the times and had decided literary tastes, preferring serious books to fiction. Her husband had long since learned to respect her opinion and to value her judgment. Her influence with him was greater than that of any one else.

Mrs. Patterson was very like her father; they were thoroughly in accord and congenial. She understood his disposition and at once applied herself to the task of turning a much disorganized and dishevelled establishment into an orderly household. The entire atmosphere of the place had changed with the arrival of the troop of five lively youngsters, who adored their grandfather and grandmother, and who raced pell-mell, whooping like Indians, through the corridors and halls. Andrew Johnson, Jr., was put into public school and a competent teacher engaged to come to the White House every morning for the grandchildren.

To make the White House wholesome and attractive for the New Year reception of 1866, the first function of their rêgime, was a gigantic task to which Mrs. Patterson devoted her energy and created a great transformation. Congress had appropriated $30,000—a mere bagatelle against the necessities of repairing and cleaning a supply of worn-out equipment.

The dingy carpet of the great East Room was covered with fresh white linen, as were also the shabbiest pieces of the furniture. The other carpets were removed, leaving the oilcloth beneath them. Flowers were used in quantities, and the air of cheerfulness and welcome that pervaded the place, where happy children’s voices were heard, destroyed much of the gloom that had settled over the mansion with the tragedy and funeral of the previous spring.

President Johnson received in the Blue Room with Mrs. Patterson at his side. She made a charming picture in a regal gown of rich black velvet with elegant point lace trimmings, a white japonica in her hair. She showed much skill in keeping political friction out of her drawing-room. The great value of her calm, diplomatic social charm was apparent to everyone, and her unfailing graciousness won continual regard and admiration.

Her hobby was her dairy. She introduced into the White House the newest, most spotless dairy equipment, and her daily routine of duty began with her regular early morning visit to supervise her milk pans. Her dress covered by a large print apron, she showed a vast pride in her shining pans and spotless crocks and the quality of her butter, and took as great delight in conducting friends through her dairy as through the conservatory. She made all of the butter used in the mansion during her father’s term, and was proud of the accomplishment. To her is credited this statement: “We are plain people from the mountains of Tennessee, brought here through a national calamity. We trust too much will not be expected of us.” When making this statement, she was the daughter of a President and the wife of a United States Senator, and she had no need to explain or deprecate her discharge of the duties of the position which she graced with such success to the end of her father’s administration.

In the White House, President Johnson’s life was as simply conducted as when he had worked at his bench. He arose at six o’clock, read the papers carefully, breakfasted at eight, visited with the family and his wife a few minutes before entering his office, where he remained until lunch. In the afternoon, conferences and callers occupied him until four o’clock, when he returned to the family group, visiting until dinner, which was served at five. Then he would either walk or ride for a while. In the evening, when there were no formal functions, he received callers from nine to eleven. He had very few intimate friends, but such as were his cronies came to his room whenever they chose. Nothing delighted the President more than to gather up the three little Andrews and such of the rest of the family as could go, and stage an impromptu picnic in the country. He was a different person in the midst of his family, for then he relaxed and entered into all of the fun and interests of the group. When the boys and girls wanted to ask him something, they trooped into his office without permission or ceremony, for they knew they were welcome. His pronounced fondness for children was not well known. They had many joyous times with him in the privacy of the home group, where, in dressing gown and slippers, he would join in the popcorn feasts and the chestnut and apple roasts.

The new President made much history in the months between his induction into the office on April 15th and the assembling of the Thirty-ninth Congress the following December. He was engrossed in the question of reëstablishing the seceded states, which was the thought in every mind and the topic on every tongue.

From the beginning of his rêgime, he made it clear that his own policy toward the restoration of the Southern states was exactly that which Abraham Lincoln had so definitely expressed; that the Government of the United States was erected as a perpetuity; that the Constitution provides for the admission of the states, but not for their secession or destruction. Said President Johnson: “A rebellious state, when it comes out of a rebellion, is still a state. I hold it a high duty to protect and to secure to those states a republican form of government, but such a state must be restored by its friends, not smothered by its enemies.”

As first step toward accomplishing the restoration of the civil status of the South, Johnson bent all his energies to the task of encouraging and aiding the states to make the required pledges of allegiance. This he regarded as a political and economic necessity and his most important duty as the Executive of the nation.

On May 9th, Johnson issued an order declaring that all acts, proceedings of the political, military, and civil organizations which had been in a state of rebellion against the authority of the United States within the State of Virginia were null and void and that the various heads of the Federal government should proceed to reorganize civil authority in the state. He also appointed Francis H. Pierpoint governor with power to reëstablish civil government.

From May 29th to July 13th, he issued similar proclamations appointing provisional governors for North Carolina, Mississippi, Georgia, Texas, Alabama, South Carolina, and Florida, with authority and instructions to reorganize state governments. These governments had been partially reorganized when the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution, prohibiting slavery, had been submitted to them and ratified by them by the time Congress assembled. Mass meetings and conventions were held daily throughout the South, where the terms for readmission to the Union were discussed. These terms required them to renounce the Confederate debt and the right of secession, and to abolish slavery.

By December, 1865, conventions had met in all of the states where Johnson had appointed provisional governors. The ordinance of secession had been repealed or had been declared void; slavery had been abolished. All but two states had repudiated the Confederate debt, and all but two had adopted the Thirteenth Amendment. State governments had been organized and representatives and senators had been generally elected. In fact, all of the eleven seceding states save Texas were ready, or in the process of getting ready, to be restored to the privileges of citizenship and participation in the legislation of the land.

During all this time, every effort had been put forth to induce Johnson to call a special session of Congress. Of its own volition, that body could not assemble until the regular time of meeting. The President, however, refused. He thoroughly disagreed with such radicals as were led by Charles Sumner of Massachusetts, Ben Wade of Ohio, and Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania. His own theory of reconstruction was in accord with Lincoln’s ideas. It had been approved by the Cabinet. Johnson’s firm conviction was that, for the good of everyone concerned, he must put it into execution and he felt he could carry it out more easily without interference from Congress. He had begun his administration with the expressed approval of Northern leaders on his policy toward the South. But to delegate to himself, as he did, the handling of matters of such vital national importance, however they might have been approved, incurred criticism that never abated and that soon developed into open hostility.

He reiterated the Monroe Doctrine in reference to the occupation of Mexico by the French forces under Maximilian and threw down the gauntlet by stating that “now that the Civil War is over, the attention of the administration will be directed, among other matters, to that objectionable invasion.” This statement, coming from a man whose forcefulness in his office was already making itself felt, was most disturbing news to the hostile foreign financiers who had invested fully $600,000,000 in Confederate bonds, to say nothing of the vast sums expended on Confederate ships, supplies, and Southern cotton. Many of Mr. Johnson’s friends believed that this foreign antagonism started the propaganda against him. At any rate, a cabal of slander and distrust was started that resulted in the most trying situation a president was ever called upon to face. Abroad and at home, a torrent of abuse broke out.

The Thirty-ninth Congress was chiefly Republican. Thirty-nine of the fifty senators were of this party, while the political disparity in the House of Representatives was even greater.

Trouble started at once, for both Houses began to form a policy regarding the Southern States without waiting for the customary presidential message which, upon its receipt, did not meet with the approval of Congress. To add to the tension, twenty-two senators elect and a much larger delegation of representatives elect, representing the seceded states, sought seats in the legislative body. Both Houses of Congress refused admission to the waiting applicants, in spite of the fact that their state governments had been reorganized and had approved the Thirteenth Amendment.

A joint committee was appointed to consider the terms of reconstruction of the Southern States, and until this committee should report, no action would be taken to seat the waiting legislators elect. Congress thus repudiated what Johnson had done toward reconstruction and made it clear that it regarded the restoration of seceded states to a full participation in government a matter for legislative and not executive decision.

The Republican house leader, Thaddeus Stevens, was bitter against the South. He declared it to be his conviction that the Confederate states had been out of the Union, insisting that they were conquered territory, entirely under the disposition of Congress—a theory diametrically opposed to that of Abraham Lincoln and Johnson. Stevens attacked President Johnson’s policy in vigorous terms, denouncing it from every standpoint. Secretary of State Seward sought to have the subject brought into amicable discussion, but his efforts to get a friendly or even unbiassed hearing for the administration policy not only failed utterly but aroused a bitter contest that was aggravated on both sides by the persistent lampooning of the Chief Executive by the foreign press.

Photo. by Brady

ANDREW JOHNSON’S FIRST TAILOR SHOP
Now a Museum in Greeneville, Tennessee

Photos. by Brady

THE GRAND REVIEW OF THE ARMIES OF THE NORTH
Washington, May 23rd, 24th, 1865. Reviewed by President Johnson and
Cabinet and General Grant

Party lines were drawn so tight that arbitration was out of the question. Senator Sumner then came forward with another suggestion, which held that, while no state could legally go out of the Union, yet, by its act of rebellion, it had lost its status as a state. This was often referred to as his State Suicide theory. He also insisted that under this plan it could be restored only by the united effort of its own loyal element and Congress. Under the leadership of Stevens and Sumner, Congress finally decided this momentous question, rejecting the theory of President Lincoln and also the radical view of Stevens. Republican leaders repudiated past professions and declarations upon which the North had so thoroughly agreed in the conduct of the war. Through the winter of 1866 and until the end of the session, antagonism to President Johnson continued to grow.

Acting in accordance with his theories, Johnson vetoed the bill providing for the continuance of the Freedman’s Bureau, the Civil Rights Bill, the import of which was to place the Negroes on the same footing with the whites. Congress passed both of these bills over his veto. Regarding Civil Rights, President Johnson said: “I yield to no one in attachment to that rule of general suffrage which distinguished our policy as a nation, but there is a limit wisely observed hitherto which makes the ballot a privilege and a trust, and which requires of some classes a time suitable for probation and preparation. To give indiscriminately to a new class wholly unprepared by previous habits and opportunities to perform the trust it demands is to degrade it and finally to destroy its power.”

Now the advisers of the President began to urge upon him the need of making more friends, so that he should have less opposition in the next Congress. As the summer of 1866 waned, they became more insistent on the importance of his making a tour through the principal cities of Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri. The occasion presented was the laying of the cornerstone of the Chicago monument to Stephen A. Douglas arranged for September 6th. The tour started on August 28th and was the most unusual trip ever made by a president. Mrs. Patterson, her husband, Senator Patterson, Secretaries Seward and Welles, Mrs. Welles, Postmaster General Randall, General Grant, Admiral Farragut, and a group of sixty people accompanied him. He had continual ovation for three weeks.

But his responses and speeches failed to please. They were considered campaign utterances, and campaigning was regarded as unbecoming to presidential etiquette. The criticisms did not deter him, however, for he never allowed himself to be governed by precedent when he considered principle involved. Throughout the tour his speeches were aggressive, even violent. He had much provocation, as the storm of impeachment proceedings was already brewing, and he read of himself frequently as a traitor who should be hanged.

The fight with Congress grew in bitterness. The President retaliated by taking the stump in an effort to defeat his traducers for reëlection. His resentment expressed by his manner, he declared, “I would ask you, with all the pains this Congress has taken to poison the minds of their constituency against me, what has this Congress done? Have they done anything to restore the Union? No! On the contrary, they have done everything to prevent it.”

“If my predecessor had lived,” the President stated in another address, “the vials of wrath from a mendacious press and subsidized gang of hirelings would have been poured upon him as upon me.”

Upon another occasion, he declared, “I have been fighting traitors South. They have been whipped and crushed and acknowledge their defeat. Now, I am fighting traitors North. Some talk about traitors in the South—when they have not the courage to go away from home and fight, but remain cowardly at home, speculating and committing frauds in the government.”

The President vetoed all of the Reconstruction acts but they were passed over his vetoes. The Tenure of Office Act was passed March 2d, taking away from the Executive the power of removal of all officers whose nomination required confirmation by the Senate.[1] The President might suspend such an officer during the recess of the Senate, but must within twenty days after that body reassembled present his reasons therefor. If the Senate deemed them insufficient, the officer at once resumed his place. On March 2, 1867, also through a rider attached to an Appropriation bill, the President was forbidden to give any orders to the army save through the general of the army, General Grant, or to order him from Washington save with the consent of the Senate.

President Johnson stoutly maintained that all of these acts were unconstitutional. Supplementary Reconstruction acts set aside the instructions of the President issued to the military governors, notwithstanding the fact that all of the Cabinet had endorsed them, with the exception of Stanton.

From the beginning of President Johnson’s efforts to readmit the seceded states, Secretary Stanton’s contempt for his chief, whom he ridiculed as the “Tailor from Tennessee, the Knight of the Shears and Goose,” developed into open hostility, and he had aligned himself with the opponents of Johnson in Congress. The President considered his presence in his Cabinet out of place and undesirable. On August 5, 1867, he sent the following communication to Secretary Stanton:

Mr. Stanton replied the same day as follows:

A week later, President Johnson sent the following letter to Secretary Stanton:

In his reply, Secretary Stanton said in part:

When Congress convened, the Senate voted the reason for suspension insufficient. The President hoped that General Grant would contest the decision, but the latter was wholly guided by the Senate and retired without even notifying his chief of his intention. Stanton resumed charge at once.

Johnson let the matter rest until February 21, 1863, when he dismissed Stanton and appointed General B. Lorenzo Thomas, Adjutant General of the Army, Secretary, ad interim. General Thomas, mild and courteous, presented his papers and was literally ejected from Stanton’s office. Stanton barricaded himself in and sent distress calls to his Senator friends at the Capitol. This produced an executive session of the Senate which lasted many hours. Stanton was ordered to hang on to his job, Sumner sending him one cryptic word, “stick,” and the impeachment bubble, so long threatening, burst.

President Johnson’s actions in ordering Secretary Stanton’s removal in spite of the Tenure of Office Act was exactly what was wanted by his opponents in Congress, led in the House by Stevens and in the Senate by Sumner. These vigorous leaders, angered by President Johnson’s utter ignoring of their policies, rushed a resolution through the House declaring that, “Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, be impeached of high crimes and misdemeanours.”

The managers for the House were Thaddeus Stevens, Pennsylvania; George S. Boutwell, Massachusetts; James F. Wilson, Ohio; Benjamin F. Butler, Massachusetts; George F. Miller, Pennsylvania; John A. Bingham, Pennsylvania; William Lawrence, Ohio; William Williams, Pennsylvania; and John A. Logan, Illinois. They filed into the Senate Chamber and formally read their charges against the President, who, when his presence was called for, responded by proxy.

The impeachment court organized March 5th; the trial began on March 13th. The eleven articles of offense were boiled down to five:

The papers were served on President Johnson. He appeared with Henry Stanbury, his Attorney General, who had resigned from that office to act as his counsel. Through his counsel he asked that he be given thirty days to prepare a reply to the charges. His request was curtly refused, and the demand was made that the case proceed at once, ten days being finally permitted him in which to prepare his defense. The trial lasted over the month, ninety witnesses being heard. When this sensational jury voted, thirty-five declared the President guilty and nineteen voted not guilty. Immediately after the announcement by Chief Justice that two thirds of the Senators had not voted him guilty, President Johnson was acquitted.

Analyzed and stripped of all superfluous matter, the difficulty revealed itself strictly as a contest between the executive and the legislative branches of the government. Naturally, during the war, the executive branch had eclipsed the other two. After the death of President Lincoln, powerful leaders in the two houses clamoured for the subordination of the executive branch to the legislative. Mr. Johnson’s firm fight for the independence of the Executive was in reality the cause of his unpopularity. Had he been impeached, undoubtedly succeeding presidents would have found their position stripped of many of its prerogatives and reduced to that of being mere figureheads.

This bare escape, though by a single vote, was, nevertheless, a victory. It kept the nation from having still another cataclysm over the selection of a successor to the President. But, for the balance of his term, President Johnson was entirely ignored by Congress, or at least the part that had opposed him so vigorously. It passed bills over his veto with apparent delight, and he went out of office despised and ignored by such of its members as had fought him all through his term.

Despite all of the discord and agitation that prevailed during Johnson’s administration, much important legislation was accomplished. One of the most noteworthy acts was the purchase of Alaska, effected for $7,200,000, in 1867, under the negotiations of Secretary Seward, who was greatly abused for having bought icefields and polar bears.

The laying of the Atlantic cable was another achievement. On December 25, 1868, President Johnson issued his last Amnesty proclamation. This was universal, and under it Jefferson Davis was released and his case dismissed, as was also that of John Surratt.

The last reception was so largely attended as to assume the form of an ovation. Thousands passed through the White House to felicitate the Chief Executive upon the outcome of the impeachment proceedings. In this farewell, his policy was commended and the social rêgime highly praised. His attitude toward receiving gifts was applauded.

The only record of his acceptance of any gift of value was that of the tea or coffee set presented to him in the opening days of his administration, a unique silver, brass, and porcelain facsimile of a railroad locomotive and tender which had been especially designed as a gift to Jefferson Davis and owned by him previously to the evacuation of Richmond. It had been purchased at auction and was sent to President Johnson by Mr. A. Barratti. The boiler received the tea or coffee and made and then discharged it through a spigot, the miniature steam whistle indicating when the beverage was ready. The tender carried the sugar and glasses and container for the cognac. Its sides carried racks for cigars, and a tiny secret music box, when set, played eight popular airs. Upon the side of the locomotive, “President Jefferson Davis” was emblazoned. In front, where the cow catcher belonged, the Confederate banner and battle flag, entwined with the ensign of France, had been fashioned into a charming design.

With the advent of Inauguration Day, the Johnson family left the White House with relief. The retiring President took his departure from the scenes of his great trial without regret. His trip to Greeneville was a continuous ovation, with praise and applause upon every hand. It seemed as though the crowds sought to console him for the affronts he had suffered. But the dream of his life—the election to the Presidency as his party’s choice—was denied him.

Johnson’s energy and dominant will would not let him retire to idleness. Not only did he still continue to study diction, but he began another congressional race. He was defeated successively for both the House and the Senate. He ran again for the Senate as an independent and was elected, taking his seat March 5, 1875, at a special session called by President Grant, and was the most interesting member of that body. At the close of the special session, he returned to his home. On July 29, 1875, he suffered a stroke of paralysis, and on the 31st he died at the home of his daughter Mrs. Stover, where he was visiting for a few days.

CHAPTER II

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF ULYSSES
S. GRANT

March 4, 1869, to March 4, 1873

DURING the strife and turmoil of the régime of President Johnson, the prestige and popularity of General Grant continued to increase. His brilliant military exploits, his magnanimity to the Southern generals, his unostentatious demeanour upon all occasions, and the wisdom of the silence he maintained upon the issues of the day, combined to invest him in public opinion with superlative acumen and the qualities of a superstatesman. The result of the adulation was the creation of a gigantic tide of public approval that expressed itself in a universal demand for him as President of the United States. At this particular crisis, he was regarded with a sort of reverent affection as the man of destiny to handle the troubled political situation with the same brilliant strategy that had characterized his military achievements. Yet none remembered that this peerless soldier became the victorious war general through long training in military technique. Following an expert military education, his skill in this science had been amplified, concentrated, and forged into a life vocation by years of hard service and bitter experience in Texas, Mexico, and California. Every single success of the Civil War had come through the application to each situation of the knowledge derived through years of experience and observation.

In all his busy life as soldier, farmer, tanner, store clerk, and real-estate dealer, politics had had no place. Politics had never interested him. He seems to have given but the most casual attention to the political struggles of the great parties. His political inclination was shown by the only ballot he ever cast before he came to the White House—for James Buchanan. So it was upon his military record alone that he was swept into the Presidency, with a million and a half majority of votes. That the American public did not underestimate the character of General Grant is proved by the fact that the maelstrom of political intrigue, scandal, and crookedness into which he was precipitated wholly unprepared by previous experiences left him a greater man at the close of his eight years of administration—in spite of his Presidency rather than because of it.

Ulysses S. Grant was inaugurated March 4, 1869, in the disagreeable weather that had become traditional for these ceremonies in Washington. The weather, however, could not dampen the hilarious spirit of the vast throngs that had descended upon the city. No man ever came into the office more thoroughly approved and honoured by the American people. He was the idol of the military through the war; and the military, in dispersing to their homes, carried and spread the fame of “Unconditional Surrender” Grant to every city and hamlet and crossroads.

The President elect rode with General Rawlins, escorted by eight divisions of organizations of military regulars and volunteers (among them several companies of coloured men) and numerous civic and patriotic organizations.

Never did Washington witness such packed streets. Trains had been unloading thousands daily, and every Washingtonian able to leave his bed was out to do his bit to honour the President elect who had so greatly endeared himself to the people of the district in his four years of residence among them. President Johnson did not accompany him, but went to the capitol early to sign bills. Mr. Colfax, with the senatorial committee, followed General Grant, and after the installation of the Vice President, the presidential oath was given to the incoming President by Chief Justice Chase in the presence of the multitude assembled around the East Portico. The inaugural address was brief and direct and set forth the fact that he “would have a definite policy of his own upon all subjects to recommend but none to enforce against the will of the people.”

The General’s prideful family sat close by. His little daughter Nellie, startled at the confusion, ran with childish instinct to her father for protection and, after getting hold of his hand, remained contentedly at his side.

The climax of the day’s events was the ball held in the north wing of the Treasury Department.

The President and Mrs. Grant and Vice President and Mrs. Colfax attended. Mrs. Grant wore an unusually rich and handsome gown of elegant white satin elaborately trimmed in point lace with pearl and diamond ornaments, while Mrs. Colfax was especially lovely in soft pink satin, with a profusion of pink illusion (tulle), offset by pearls.

The affair was horribly mismanaged, causing great discomfort and drawing severe criticism to the managers. The bitter weather added to the distress. There were no adequate arrangements for wraps and hats, no system for calling cabs and carriages, and, consequently, scores upon scores of people were obliged to give up all hope of finding their own garments when they desired to leave. There were no hired carriages to be had, and many walked home through the mud and slush in the wee small hours of the morning minus cloaks and headgear. Horace Greeley lost his cherished white hat and venerable gray overcoat in the mêlée. Many ladies, in their struggle to get into the supper room, lost their escorts, and, failing to find them again or to get any supper, remained sitting on the floor, cold, hungry, and disconsolate, through that never-to-be-forgotten night. Ten o’ clock next morning found nearly a thousand people still clamouring for their hats and coats.

The supper also was a dismal failure. Half of the assemblage could not get near the door, much less to the table, after having bought supper tickets. All of this confusion was bad enough; what made it worse was that Washington was locked in the teeth of a blizzard. Many deaths and much illness were attributed to the exposure.

General Grant kept the personnel of his Cabinet a complete secret until he sent their names to the Senate for confirmation the day after inauguration. Elihu B. Washburne, of Illinois, was made Secretary of State. He had been the staunchest defender of General Grant when General Halleck’s charges and complaints of Grant’s conduct to President Lincoln threatened to cause him to be relieved of his command after the engagement of Shiloh. He served only six days, when Hamilton Fish, descended from a long fine of prominent New York statesmen, was nominated and confirmed as his successor. Washburne went to France as Minister Plenipotentiary.

President Grant found his problems multiplying with unpleasant rapidity. From the start, he had difficulty with Senator Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts, who was offended because he had not been consulted about Cabinet nominations, and showed his disapproval by objections to the President’s nominee for Secretary of the Treasury. This man was A. T. Stewart, the millionaire merchant of New York, who accepted the position with pleasure and engaged a suite at the Ebbitt House preparatory to assuming his position. Senator Sumner’s objections to him were based on the grounds that it was not lawful for a man who was an importer in active business to hold the position of Secretary of the Treasury. Although Mr. Stewart was ready to retire from business and devote the entire profits that might accrue during the term of his desired Cabinet service to charity, this was not regarded as a proper procedure for him or for the government to sanction. The President requested that the old law, accredited to Alexander Hamilton, covering this situation, which had been passed in 1788, be set aside so as to enable his candidate to qualify for the office. However, the Senate declined, and the President was disappointed and distinctly annoyed at meeting antagonism at the beginning of his term. The antipathy between President Grant and Charles Sumner came finally to open rupture. President Grant appointed George S. Boutwell, ex-Governor of Massachusetts, as Secretary of the Treasury. This nomination was unanimously confirmed.

Edwin M. Stanton’s career as Secretary of War was ended, and he had been appointed Justice of the Supreme Court through the efforts of Senator Ben Wade, of Ohio. He accepted and took the oath, but never sat in the tribunal, since he died December 24, 1869. Considerable mystery surrounded his death; many believed that he committed suicide, but investigation of this matter and evidence of the attending physician brought the statement that death occurred from natural causes.

The President chose for his Secretary of War General John A. Rawlins, who had been his chief of staff and military adviser. Rudolph R. Borie, a retired Philadelphia merchant, received the nomination as Secretary of the Navy; John D. Cox, lawyer, of Ohio, the post of Secretary of the Interior; John A. Cresswell, of Maryland, that of Postmaster General; and Ebenezer Rockwood Hoar, of Massachusetts, Attorney General. This concluded what was regarded as a very strong Cabinet. James G. Blaine was elected Speaker of the House. By this time, every state was represented in the legislative body, and the administration had the support of a large majority in both Houses.

Shortly after his induction into office, President Grant developed a plan to improve the condition and appearance of the Capital City. He considered it unworthy of its name, and no credit either to the nation or the name of General Washington, who had selected the site and had approved the designs and plans made for its development by his friend and aide, the gifted Major Pierre L’Enfant. With each war of the nation, the Capital City experienced a mushroom growth in population and in business enterprise. Then would come a slump financially and physically. The effect of the slump following the close of the Civil War was not conducive to either national or civic pride in the city as the seat of government for an already great and growing nation.

The streets were wagon trails of alternating mud and dust; the pavements crooked and overgrown with grass and weeds. The parks, having been soldier camps, were covered with brush, weeds, and even débris of wrecked buildings, the grassy slopes beaten bare by the tramp of thousands of feet. The population and business projects alike had shrunk, and the general aspect of squalor and neglect was heightened in many localities by the presence of shanties, cabins, and lean-tos thrown together with nondescript odds and ends of lumber, tin, and what-not to make shelter for the Negro element. These were pitched anywhere about the city where a darky family of squatters were unmolested long enough to get a shack put up and install themselves. Frequently, for many years, their little hovels abutted some of the stateliest mansions.

General Grant selected the best man available for the rehabilitation he had in mind—Alexander R. Shepherd, of the District of Columbia, and made him Chairman of Public Works. Together they planned extensive permanent improvements, which were put into execution as speedily as money was forthcoming. Regardless of expense, the entire city was placed upon an even and regular grade. High knolls and embankments were cut down, low places filled, many houses, in consequence, finding themselves far above or below the new street level.

Public grounds and parks were planted with trees and shrubbery; pavements were repaired and laid; ninety of the three hundred miles of streets were straightened and graded, and a great improvement was made by reducing the width of streets to give to each house a bit of lawn or front yard. Shade trees were set out. Tiber Creek, so long an eyesore, running through part of the city, a breeding place for mosquitoes and an attraction for the pigs and cattle that were allowed to roam about, was diverted from its original course and turned into a sewer.

For all of this work, Congress appropriated five million dollars, while eight million came from the taxpayers.

Photos. by Brady

MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT

On February 20, 1871, the President signed the bill by which territorial government was established in the District of Columbia, with a governor, a house of delegates, and a delegate to Congress. Henry D. Cooke, the first governor, was succeeded by Alexander Shepherd, chosen because of the great improvement he was bringing to pass in the city. Governor Shepherd soon found himself in difficulties, owing to charges that he gave contracts to his friends and to the friends of members of Congress whose votes were needed to secure liberal appropriations for the work. However, close investigation failed to show where Governor Shepherd had enriched himself in the slightest degree, or had added to the value of his own property any more than to that of others. His ambition was not a selfish one, it was for the city, and his ability was equalled by his honesty. General Grant always believed in him, and as his improvements became perfected, he was regarded as the saviour and regenerator of the City of Washington. The social functions at the Shepherd home were long remembered for their lavish hospitality and for the brilliance of the assemblages that flocked there under the inspiration of this very progressive governor and his charming lady.

The new Department of State was under construction. From 1869 until 1875, the Government leased the Washington Orphan Asylum at Fourteenth and S streets, established by Dolly Madison, for the quarters for this department.

With the opening of the Grant régime, the old customs of the White House disappeared. New furnishings and a change in plan of household management made it possible for the President to make his entertainments conform more truly to the dignity of his office. Before this administration, the wives of the presidents had superintended their own culinary department, but with President Grant’s induction into office, a steward was installed in the White House for the first time since Mrs. Madison’s day. Melah, this steward, was an Italian of considerable fame, as he had served some of the most famous hotels of the country. A past master in the art of concocting delicious menus and an expert in service, under his guiding genius, the cuisine at the White House assumed the dignity and perfection befitting the home of the President. He planned his dinners according to his idea of the quality of his guests. As the table would seat but thirty-six, it was necessary to hold these functions weekly during the social season. Some of these dinners cost as little as three hundred dollars, but the usual amount allowed was seven hundred. When Prince Arthur of England was entertained the banquet for thirty-six guests cost fifteen hundred dollars, exclusive of the wines.

Social life experienced a very profound revival, taking its cue from the White House family, as is usual. Mrs. Grant being endowed with exceptional social graces, her régime was one of charming, genial hospitality strongly tinged with the wholesome domesticity that made the President’s house the ideal American home. She loved people, was a charming conversationalist, and all her life had lived in a social atmosphere. She was keenly alive to the interests and events of the hour, and, while typically feminine in every instinct, was also clever and thoroughly conversant with the questions that engrossed her husband; yet she never intruded in his affairs. Her influence with him was paramount through life. He appeared at her morning and afternoon receptions, and together they broke many of the burdensome social precedents that had been fastened upon the incumbents of the White House by previous régimes. The President and his wife dined out. They made calls, if they so desired, and whereas it had not been considered dignified for the President and his wife to attend evening parties, these two settled such matters as their own fancy dictated and lost no social prestige whatever thereby. President Grant flatly refused to be a prisoner in the White House or to be handicapped by customs he considered useless and irksome.

At the height of his popularity, when he was in demand everywhere by individuals, groups, and associations who sought to honour him, Mrs. Grant became disturbed over the condition of her right eye, which had been injured in girlhood by a peculiar and distressing accident that occurred while she was boating with a party of young people on the river near her home at White Haven. Through accident or someone’s carelessness, an oar flew up and struck her in the eye. Surgery not being advanced, as it is to-day, the eye never resumed its normal position, being slightly turned. The General would not listen to the suggestion of an operation. He reminded her that he had fallen in love with her with her eyes just as they were, and had been contentedly looking at them for a good many years and did not wish them changed. His veto settled the matter for all time.

Mrs. Grant established a new plan for the weekly Cabinet day receptions that became so popular as to be followed more or less by her successors. She invited some of the ladies of the Cabinet, wives of Senators or other officials, as well as visiting friends and celebrities to assist her on these occasions, generally entertaining her receiving party at luncheon on the appointed day. After the Cabinet meeting, the President would join his wife and receive with her.

The evening receptions, like those of the Grant home on Minnesota Row, were always packed with an eager, interested crowd.

One of the distinguished visitors to the Capital the first year of the Grant régime was the nineteen-year-old Prince Arthur, young son of Queen Victoria of England, who was elaborately entertained at the British Legation.

The President did not feel it incumbent upon him either to make an especial call upon the young man or to give a special entertainment in his honour. Instead, the Prince was invited to the regular state dinner of the week, just as any other distinguished visitor might have been.

Among the many problems presented to Mrs. Grant was the selection of a fashion dictator for American women. So long had the charming and elegant Empress Eugénie been the arbiter of fashion that, with her eclipse in the passing of the last Napoleonic empire, women were at a loss for a leader. Accordingly, they besought the First Lady of the Land to settle the matter. Mrs. Grant, with her usual wisdom, referred the representative of the press to Mrs. Fish, wife of the Secretary of State, saying:

“In matters pertaining to good sense and fine tact, I rely upon Mrs. Fish. Say to her that you seek her presence by my direction.”

Upon learning that Mrs. Grant desired her to make a statement for publication as to whether or not the ladies of the Cabinet would originate the styles, Mrs. Fish said:

“I am glad the time has come when we shall have fashions of our own and not be dictated to by those who differ with us in the spirit of our institutions. This is a republic, not an empire or a monarchy. No woman, either at home or abroad, will be followed or allowed to set the fashions for this country. So far as I am concerned, the short, comfortable street dress has come to stay, and the neat-fitting basque in some form will always be found in my wardrobe, and I trust every woman will seek her own convenience and comfort whilst thinking of other things than dress.”

Mrs. Grant’s gowns were notable for their good taste and elegance. The first administration, or at least the first three years of it, were rather quiet, owing to the fact that the children, all but small Jesse, were away at school. Mrs. Grant liked to have her own people around her, and her family was pretty thoroughly and constantly represented in the house guests.

Mr. F. F. Dent, her father, made his home with them while they were in the White House. A most interesting man, he was the object of family attention and devotion. Although a Southerner who never changed his political views, he was devoted to his distinguished son-in-law, with whom he differed radically on many questions. President Grant’s affection for his wife’s father expressed itself in many practical ways. When serious reverses came to Mr. Dent, and it seemed as though all of his property must be sacrificed, the President bought up the notes on the old Dent homestead and so arranged matters that the income from it was paid periodically and promptly to Mr. Dent, who was left to believe that, through a readjustment, the property was still his own. Mr. Dent died in the White House, and his funeral was held there.

General Grant brought his army efficiency into the executive office, along with two of his generals, Babcock and Porter; and with his genius for organizing, he soon had a schedule that left him a little time to follow the pursuits that diverted and rested him.

An early riser, seven o’clock found him reading the papers. He breakfasted with his family at eight o’clock, then went for a stroll to enjoy his cigar. By ten he was in his office ready for the day’s tasks, and when three o’clock came he considered the day’s work completed sufficiently for him to leave his desk.

A daily pleasure was the visit to his horses, which were a hobby. After making the rounds and giving a word or a pat to each, he enjoyed a walk or drive, the latter usually to please his wife. His horses were Cincinnatus, a dark bay charger; St. Louis, and Egypt, carriage horses, beautifully matched; Julia, for a buggy; Billy Button and Red. Shetland ponies; Jeff Davis, a saddle horse quite hard to manage; Jennie and Mary, the property of Miss Nellie. Five vehicles found place in the carriage house, and thus the tastes and fancy of every member of the family were considered—a landau, barouche, top buggy, pony phaëton, and road wagon.

General Grant’s love for horses had become proverbial before he became President. At the time that he was elected, he had a stock farm near St. Louis, where it is said he kept more than a hundred animals.

Cincinnatus was a good saddle horse, and the President could ride him to any part of the city and leave him standing unhitched for any length of time. He never became frightened at parades or street fights or commotion.

One of Grant’s best horses was named Butcher’s Boy, into the possession of which he came in an odd way. General Grant was riding through the city one day and attempted to pass a butcher’s wagon, which was jogging along in front of him. The boy driving the horse whipped up and the General whipped up, and the two had a lively race. Grant was in a light rig and the boy had no idea in the world that he was racing the President of the United States. His horse was so good, however, that he kept ahead for a long distance, and President Grant admired him so much that, when the wagon stopped at a butcher’s shop, he made note of the place. Some days after this, he sent one of his friends to look at the horse and purchase it if possible. The result was that the butcher’s horse took his place in the White House stables.

During his administration, new stables of the White House were built.

The family dinner hour was five o’clock, and the master of the establishment required punctuality from all of his household. The table was invariably set to accommodate half a dozen extra guests, and there were few days in the strenuous eight years when the family dined alone. With old-fashioned wifely care, Mrs. Grant saw to it that the dishes the President especially liked were included in the menus. His favourite dessert, rice pudding, gained international fame as concocted under the direction of the incomparable steward.

General Grant’s presidency simply transferred the national interest from the house on Minnesota Row, given him by an admiring public, to the White House. His election and inauguration also brought to publication many interesting stories of his boyhood, youth, and military career through which his pride in his sturdy all-American ancestry, the events and exploits which made him so rich in nicknames, and the youthful achievements of pluck and persistence that cast their prophecy of his calibre as man while he was yet in his teens all became household history. Familiar, also, was thus made the life at West Point, the thrilling experiences of the Mexican War, and the drab, disheartening struggles of the civilian life at “Hardscrabble,” and the clerkship in the family tannery.

Old and young alike exulted again and again over the turn of fortune that threw this born soldier back into the leadership of men; and the tale of every victory and the record of every honour called forth a responsive throb of sympathy and affection, expressed emphatically in the ballots at his election.

But the least known among the treasured stories of Grant’s modest young manhood are those that relate to his meeting and his courtship of his first and only sweetheart, Julia Dent. The romance of Ulysses S. Grant and Julia Dent began with their first meeting—it ended with life.

While at West Point, his roommate invited him to spend a furlough at his father’s home, at White Haven, near St. Louis. They arrived without announcing their coming, and he met the sister of his chum, Julia Dent, then about seventeen. He was greatly attracted to her, the interest seemed to be mutual, and other visits followed more frequently after graduation. After Lieutenant Grant took his departure at the close of one of these he found the memories of Miss Julia so compelling that he returned to pursue his attentions to her. Their betrothal occurred while they were crossing the Gravois. They were in a light rig, the young man driving, the waters swollen and the current so swift from recent heavy rains that they were in grave danger.

The manner of her clinging to him in her fear of the water inspired him with the courage to propose to her in the midst of the stream. In after years, she often related to her grandchildren the story of the betrothal, placing special stress on the significance of the old superstition that prophesied unusual strength and constancy to any pledge made over running water. Mrs. Grant also told the tale of her dream. The night before the first meeting, she had a vivid dream, in which she met, loved, and married a young officer whose name she did not know and whom she had never seen. After she became engaged, she told her sisters, the dream was “out.”

From the beginning of their romance until she closed her hero husband’s eyes in death, no one else could ever equal or compare with him in her estimation of his appearance, character, or achievements.

President Grant was not unaware of the proportions of the task that an adoring following had placed upon his shoulders as the new head of the nation still in the throes of internal political chaos. He fully realized the difficulties of working a miracle in the restoration of harmonious organization. The absence of political bias and of animosity toward those who differed with him was a great asset. In this he stood alone, a figure unique in its isolated superiority to other party leaders. Advice he did not seek. There was no one qualified to give him what he could supply so well from his own impartial point of view. While he appreciated the confidence, loyalty, and high honour of his overwhelming election to the Presidency, he was not blind to the undercurrent of suspicion swirling about his every act, or impervious to the hatred that prevailed toward him in certain sections, nor was he indifferent to the smouldering vengeance seeking its appeasement in his undoing in one fashion or another. So he kept his counsel, studied well each problem, picked the men to fit as best he could, and squared himself to meet the onslaught of legislative and executive sieges with the same direct, practical common sense that had been focussed on his military manœuvres. Of course, mistakes followed, for subtle intrigues and conspiracies could not always be handled by the direct open method. From the opening of his administration, international complications with England beclouded the horizon for a time, and war seemed altogether too imminent for peace of mind.

The Secretary of State and the President were in accord as to the importance of an amicable settlement with Great Britain, if that could be accomplished without the sacrifice of American dignity or honour, and they were most anxious that the differences between the two governments over the depredations of rebel cruisers fitted out in British ports and the depletion of fisheries in North American waters be adjusted as speedily and thoroughly as possible. Remembering the advantages and pleasant relations ensuing as the result of the Webster-Ashburton conferences and the subsequent treaty, these two finally concluded that a set of commissioners from each nation should find the solution. The view was supported by Sir John Rose, Canadian Premier, serving as commissioner under a previous treaty between Canada and the United States, to effect a settlement of certain disputed points between the two countries.

The aggressive attitude of Senator Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts, Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations of the Senate, had produced a strained atmosphere, which the Secretary of State had to combat in his dealings with the English Minister, Sir Edward Thornton, as well as in the case of the Premier of Canada. Frequent conferences opened a way for a plan of adjustment, and the letters stipulating for a Joint High Commission were planned and drawn up. Very soon, the Canadian Premier left for England, carrying with him a full and complete concept of the American stand on the difficulty. The plan of the Joint Commission was adopted; and shortly after Sir John Rose returned to England, Earl de Grey, Sir Stafford Northcote, Professor Montague Bernard of Oxford, and the Premier of Canada, Sir John MacDonald, arrived to comprise, with Sir Edward Thornton, the British group, while the American contingent consisted of the Secretary of State, General Schenck (newly appointed Minister to England), Justice Nelson of the Supreme Court, ex-Attorney General E. R. Hoar, and his successor, General George H. Williams.

The Commission, familiarly called “High Joints,” assembled in the spring of 1871. They took a furnished house in Franklin Square and gave a series of dinner parties and evening entertainments. Many return courtesies of officials and prominent civic bodies followed, including a banquet by the Freemasons of Washington, some of whom were members of Congress, in honour of Earl de Gray, at the time Grand Master of Masons in England, and Lord Tenterden, also prominent in this fraternity.

Monsieur de Catacazy, Minister Plenipotentiary of the Emperor of Russia to the United States, opposed this treaty, endeavouring to prejudice Senators and Representatives against it. He carried his opposition to it far enough for Secretary of State Fish to request his recall. His attitude in this matter was not the only reason for his lack of popularity. His private life had long been a matter of gossip. His wife was an attractive lady around whom much scandal centred during his Washington residence. The story was that she had eloped from her husband fifteen years previously with Monsieur de Catacazy, then Secretary of the Legation. The Russian Emperor, learning that his representative was persona non grata, instructed his Minister of Foreign Affairs to ask, in his name, that President Grant tolerate Monsieur de Catacazy’s service until the impending visit of his third son, Grand Duke Alexis, was completed. To this General Grant assented.

Grand Duke Alexis arrived and proceeded at once to the legation, where he was welcomed by Madame de Catacazy, elegant and charming in a gown of gold silk. As the Grand Duke entered the legation, Madame met him with a touch of his native traditional courtesy—in the gold salver on which was placed a round loaf of black bread surmounted by a golden salt cellar. The Prince took the uninviting loaf, broke it, and tasted it, in accordance with the Russian custom. The Grand Duke was cordially welcomed at the White House, and Monsieur de Catacazy treated with corresponding coldness.

Sumner’s antipathy to the President and Secretary Hamilton Fish, to both of whom he had been discourteous, with his subsequent refusal to speak to either, brought about his removal as Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations of the Senate. In less than two months, all difficulties were settled and the commissioners made a satisfactory treaty and returned. It stipulated that points at issue be submitted to a tribunal of arbitration composed of five members of different nationalities to sit at Geneva. In December, 1871, the tribunal met and each party to the dispute filed its statements. Bancroft Davis represented the United States, and William E. Evarts, Caleb Cushing, and Morrison R. Waite were the American counsel.

When the question of damages was broached, a great hubbub followed in England, instigated by the opposition party to the government. The English press demanded that negotiations cease unless the claims of the United States were withdrawn, and naturally the situation became tense and critical. The American counsel maintained that the British government had agreed to submit points of dispute to arbitration, and a treaty had been made and accepted by the two nations to this effect. Feeling became so bitter in England that the two countries came near to war, and our own State Department was put to a severe test. Secretary Fish displayed most able diplomacy in that he yielded nothing of American national dignity and yet avoided false moves likely to irritate and complicate. Finally, the arbitrators exercised their right to decide that the claims were out of court and in their hands. Thus, neither nation needed to abandon its position, as neither was consulted. The arbitrators awarded damages to the United States to the amount of $15,500,000 in gold for the direct injury inflicted by the Alabama and her consorts. England expressed due and proper regret, a few more words or clauses were added to the code of international law between the two countries, and peace and good feeling banished the threatening war clouds.

The winter of 1871 was the scene of especial suffrage activity in the National Capital, and a convention of all of the principal leaders of the movement was held in Lincoln Hall, Ninth and D streets, with such celebrated women on the platform at the various sessions as Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Grace Greenwood, Phœbe Couzens, Pauline Davis, Susan B. Anthony, Josephine Griffing, Rachel Moore Townsend, Reverend Olympia Brown, Isabelle Beecher Hooker, Charlotte Wilbour, Jocelyn Gage, and many others. Speeches, conferences, and committee hearings brought the cause of Woman Suffrage very prominently to the attention of the general public, and in Congress, one of the most notable of these gatherings was that held on January 11, 1871. Those versed in the early struggles for the enfranchisement of women give to Victoria Woodhull the credit of the discovery that, under the rulings of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth amendments to the Constitution of the United States, women were entitled to the ballot; and in order that these heretofore undetected points might be brought to the attention of the legislators, arrangements were perfected for her presentation of a printed memorial to the Judiciary Committees of the two Houses of Congress on January 11, 1871.

Victoria Woodhull is of especial interest because she was the first woman ever to be nominated for the Presidency of the United States, being the choice of the Equal Rights Party in 1872. Mrs. Woodhull, a native of Homer, Ohio, born in 1838, is at present living in England. Her career was interesting in 1870. She opened a bank on Wall Street, New York City, where her transactions were spectacular. She was also associated with Tennessee Claflin (Lady Cook) in the publication of Woodhull and Claflin’s Weekly. After her defeat of election and her second marriage in 1876, she abandoned politics and likewise the United States, making her home abroad. Her editorial interests continue in the publication of the Humanitarian Magazine in London.

Her appearance before the Committee of Congress created much comment, owing to her unusual costume, which the two members of the Woodhull-Claflin firm had adopted. This dress consisted of a so-called “business suit” made of dark blue cloth, skimpy in the skirt, with a basque or jacket finished off with mannish coat tails. A severely plain hat with steeple crown topping clipped hair gave a masculine appearance not regarded with favour by the conservative element.

As the presentation of the memorial was Mrs. Woodhull’s first attempt at public speaking, she read from the printed page.

While the advocates of the ballot for women were straining every effort to put forth plausible and convincing argument to win adherents to their cherished dream, another group of women were equally energetic in preventing the adoption of a suffrage amendment. They became so anxious over the apparent advantages being gained by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and their cohorts, that they, too, formulated a pretentious document which was an opposing petition, and to it they secured the signatures of hundreds of women who preferred to follow the old order of things and leave the voting privilege in the hands of men.

The opposing petition closed with the following appeal:

Although each war has hatched its own brood of scandals and given birth to its own tribe of financial and political vampires to wreck parties and ruin leaders, yet at no period of our national history have there been more gigantic, hydra-headed monsters of graft unloosed upon the head of a nation than the series of financial scandals exposed during the two administrations of Ulysses S. Grant. The fact that all of these had their inception years before and, like a vast canker, had slowly and steadily spread their virus and corruption through a constantly widening area until an eruption was inevitable did not lessen the embarrassment or mitigate the actual suffering they brought to the Executive. His own character and simple plan of life had kept him so far removed from contact with such schemes and their perpetrators as virtually to render him incapable of understanding a stress of conditions and circumstances that could ensnare a private individual, much less a man pledged to the service of his country, in any entanglement for gain, through which his disgrace would inevitably reflect discredit upon his country. But President Grant’s own integrity, which was never besmirched in the slightest degree, despite many efforts to implicate him in one scandal or another, did not spare him the humiliation of seeing his two Vice Presidents and a large group of friends in the Senate and the House entangled in the exposure of the Crédit Mobilier swindle of the government. The gold panic and the Whisky Fraud investigation also brought low the pride of a group high in honour and power. Not only among family connections, but in the Cabinet and even the august precincts of the Supreme Court, the accusing finger of suspicion pointed to the guilty.

All writers of the period dwell more or less at length upon the bold schemes of speculators to enrich themselves at the expense of the government. One of the first to come to light, and one of the most daring, was the attempt to corner the gold market in New York in 1869, when the gold dollar was forced to 162 on the Stock Exchange. Ben Perley Poore, noted correspondent of the day, gives the following account of this transaction, which threatened to create a financial eruption that would rock the entire country. In his “Reminiscences,” Mr. Poore says:

Great satisfaction came to the country when Congress convened in December, and it was manifest that the reconstruction of all of the Southern states was accomplished, and with the opening of the New Year, all the states of the Union were represented in Congress for the first time since December, 1860. Vice President Colfax presided over fifty-one Republican and thirteen Democratic Senators, while James G. Blaine, Speaker of the House, held his gavel over one hundred and seventy-two Republicans and seventy-one Democratic Representatives.

Meanwhile, Congress had established the Weather Bureau, with headquarters at Washington. Its object was to secure and issue information of approaching changes of weather and impending storms. The butt of many jokes in the beginning of its career, it has saved the people of the country from heavy losses both by land and by sea. Branches were located in all of the principal cities. As time has passed, the importance of the work of this Bureau brought measures for the extension of its operations.

As the administration drew to a close, the effect of the financial scandals was shown in the opposition that seemed to spring up in all directions to President Grant. Rumour and query were already directed toward the Pennsylvania Courts, where a Crédit Mobilier scandal was impending and the money panic threatening.

Charles Sumner and the President, through a series of misunderstandings that might in the early stages have been easily explained and completely adjusted, were bitterly antagonistic. The President’s San Domingo annexation theory and certain actions and policies followed in the arrangement for the English treaty were contrary to Senator Sumner’s ideas. In addition, one of the contributing causes to the strained relations and widening breach was the fact that the Senator disapproved of the President’s receiving valuable gifts. He believed that all such gifts were made with the idea that especial consideration could be expected by the donor in return. He considered it the duty of every public man to set his face resolutely against the acceptance of all presents and courtesies that could embarrass him in his official duty in any respect. To President Grant such a course would have been exceedingly difficult, owing to his extreme popularity with both the military and the civilians. Refusal of tributes of appreciation under such conditions would also have caused embarrassment. However, this cause for criticism, added to the other points of dispute between these two sterling leaders and statesmen, gave sufficient tinder to the spark of Sumner’s growing antagonism to send him energetically to work to rally the indifferent or disgruntled Republicans into a clique to prevent the reëlection of the President.

The importance attached to Senator Sumner’s opposition may be gathered from the fact that it called forth a protest from Henry Wilson, slated for the nomination as Vice President to succeed Colfax, who was already too thoroughly enmeshed in the Crédit Mobilier entanglement to be considered. Part of Mr. Wilson’s letter to the President is as follows:

General Grant’s wonderful success as a soldier, however, was not equalled by the same type of success as a statesman. The opposition to his reëlection grew, and no less than seven candidates were thrown into the field against him. To the campaign of 1872 was given the name, “Go as you please,” the watchword of the factions being “Anything to beat Grant.” A serious opposition was met in the combination of the Liberal Republican and Democratic parties who nominated Horace Greeley, but the victory was again given to the hero of Appomattox.

CHAPTER III

SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF ULYSSES
S. GRANT

March 4, 1873, to March 4, 1877

WASHINGTON was in the throes of the coldest weather ever known at an inauguration when Ulysses S. Grant was inducted into office March 4, 1873, for the second time. The morning dawned bitterly cold, with a fierce wind blowing and the thermometer registering 4 degrees above zero, and little change during the day. Marching was difficult, and standing still was next to impossible. Flags and decorations were ripped from their moorings; the music was a failure, as the breath of the musicians condensed in the valves of their instruments, making it impossible for them to play. Many marchers and onlookers were overcome by the cold. The ambulances were kept busy caring for the cadets and the soldiers, some of whom were carried from the line insensible. Even the hardiest and most fur-bundled of visitors deserted the open stands and abandoned the seats for which such high prices had been paid.

The procession, headed by members of the regular army, followed by the Annapolis midshipmen and West Point cadets, included a number of civic and military organizations. There was none that did not suffer somewhat from the arctic atmosphere.

President Grant braved the cold in his own open barouche, accompanied by a portion of the Committee of the Senate, Senators John A. Logan of Illinois, Aaron H. Cragin of Vermont, and Thomas F. Bayard of Delaware.

Vice President elect Henry Wilson followed in the next carriage, after which came the President’s family.

During the ceremony, the President occupied the famous chair used by General Washington at his first inauguration, which had been sent on from New York City for the occasion by Mrs. William C. H. Woddell, the owner.

Chief Justice Chase officiated for the last time, and after taking the oath, President Grant delivered his inaugural address, in spite of a continuous struggle with the wind.

The return to the White House was made with all possible speed, and the following review of the procession was much curtailed by reason of the discomfort and suffering imposed by the intense cold.

Although there was no moderation in the weather conditions, the peak of the general desire was to attend the ball. For months the inaugural committee had devoted elaborate plans and lavish expense to the problem of providing quarters for the gigantic ball that they were assured would far surpass all previous affairs in the attendance. No building or hotel being sufficiently commodious to house the expected multitude, it was decided to put up a temporary building in the centre of Judiciary Square, which should be the perfection of art, skill, and comfort, designed to meet the needs of the largest throng that had ever descended upon Washington. The principal room was three hundred feet long by one hundred fifty feet wide, with walls twenty-five feet high, and was spanned with thirty-one arched girders. The floor was built to rest upon the foundation and be independent of the walls, so that vibration could not disturb their strength. All anterooms were correspondingly spacious.

A huge American eagle with outspread wings was suspended from the highest point in the centre of the hall. In his talons he held the shield of the United States and streamers of the national colours one hundred feet long, radiating to every part of the hall and terminating at the arches with coats of arms of the states.

The walls, ceilings, arches, and columns were lined and covered with white muslin or cambric, then trimmed with flags, shields, bunting, rosettes of the national colours, and evergreens. The profuse use of white cotton over the rough boards gave it the name of “The Muslin Palace.”

The President’s reception stage or platform was commodious and a marvel of artistic decoration and luxurious furnishings. Several hundred canaries had been purchased and arranged in such numbers as to make their singing a notable and unique factor of the welcome to the President and his party.

Gas was the accepted medium of illumination at that time, and in the piping and arrangement for lighting, the committee was consistently lavish. A great sunburst of lights in the form of a rising sun sent out its rays backed by reflectors from above the presidential stage. Rows of chandeliers extending the length of the ballroom were provided with reflectors. Great standards holding clusters of burners for additional lights were placed at regular intervals of space. Twenty-five hundred burners were installed to give the desired brilliance to the scene.

The attractive dining hall occupied the full length of the building and adjoined the ballroom, to which there were twenty arched entrances. The table was extended the entire length, with sideboards along the wall to supply dishes of all kinds.

Five smaller buildings adjoined for use as pantries, each being devoted to the supplies and provisions for one part of the supper; for instance, one for coffee, tea, and liquids, another for dessert.

With all of the elaborate attention to every detail and the expenditure of sixty thousand dollars to make this event surpass all previous affairs and meet every possible demand in the emergency of unprecedented numbers, there was no provision made for any undue weather emergency, and what heating facilities had been installed were wholly inadequate, and the ball was a frosty horror. People came bundled to the eyes in furs and wraps, and danced in their overcoats and furs to keep warm.

The arrival of the presidential party was announced by the Marine Band with “Hail to the Chief.”

The platform, like the remainder of the great hall, was so cold that the ladies kept their ball dresses covered with their wraps. The reception moved along rapidly, in consequence. The excellent hot supper served to them was most welcome.

Mrs. Grant’s gown, of white satin, was covered entirely by flounces of black Brussels lace and trimmed with lavender. Miss Nellie Grant, the White House belle, who stood by her mother, was much observed in her girlish dress of white illusion over white silk. White flowers furnished the garniture for dress and hair. The gowns of the ladies of the Cabinet were all notable for their elegance and beauty, and while the records of details are meagre, some of the publications of the day did carry enough description to give at least an idea of colours selected, for one account tells that:

Contrary to plans, the canaries did not sing. Not a bird vouchsafed a single chirp. Instead, paralyzed with cold, they huddled in little, shivering yellow balls, with their heads tucked under their wings to try to keep from freezing—the fate that befell most of them.

The champagne and ice creams were frozen solid. No one wanted them, but the hot drinks were in demand. The presidential party remained only a short time, and the entire assemblage, after paying twenty dollars apiece for tickets, deserted the “Muslin Palace” before midnight—long before the ball would have been in full swing under comfortable conditions.

With the inaugural ceremonies over, the President had once more to concentrate his attention on his official duties. Vacancies had to be filled. One of the most important was that on the Supreme Court, following the death of Chief Justice Chase on May 7, 1873. Political preference was slinging sledge-hammer blows to and for those whose names were presented.

The passing of Salmon P. Chase marked the close of the public life of one of the best known jurists of the United States. Mr. Chase entered politics about 1841 as an opponent of the extension of slavery, was one of the founders of the Free Soil Party, elected to the Senate in 1849, was twice Governor of Ohio, and served as Secretary of the Treasury in President Lincoln’s Cabinet. He became Chief Justice of the United States in 1864, and in this capacity presided at the impeachment trial of President Johnson. His life’s ambition was thwarted with the election of General Grant to the Presidency; and with his death, adverse fate seemed to descend upon the head of his idolized daughter, Mrs. Kate Chase Sprague, who, from the time she was sixteen, had presided over her father’s home and until his death enjoyed a social leadership of remarkable popularity. As the wife of the handsome, wealthy war Governor of Rhode Island, who was later in the Senate, her position was one of marked prestige and influence.

Following her father’s death, sorrow and disappointment brought about an open rupture with her husband that terminated in divorce. He later married again, but she devoted herself to the upbringing of her children and died in Washington, broken-hearted and disillusioned.

The President was soon confronted with the distressing features of the Crédit Mobilier scandal, murmurs of which had already sent his former Vice President out of office, humiliated and discredited, and the breaking of this gigantic scandal was the advance guard of panic, aggravated later by the Whisky Frauds and the fall of “Boss Tweed.” Although in no way connected, implicated, or responsible for these scandals, they robbed General Grant’s second administration of any glory of achievement by the distressing spectacle of corruption, thievery, and graft disclosed on the part of trusted and honoured government officials.

Like the slowly gathering force of a distant storm, whose thunderings and rumblings warn of the coming fury, so the murmurs, whispers, and threats of retribution, judgment, and disgrace were heard from time to time from the beginning of President Grant’s first term until the close of his second, when certain startling disclosures discredited men high in the counsels of the mighty. It is doubtful if anything in American history will ever create a parallel to the Crédit Mobilier as a vehicle for the display of human passions and emotions from the comic to the tragic. All previous scandals and sensations sank into oblivion beside it. So thoroughly did the proportions of this swindle of the government overwhelm the public mind by the audacity of those implicated that ruin threatened every career involved.

Back in 1862, the march of progress demanded better facilities for transportation across the plains, mountain ridges, and forests of the vast land beyond the Mississippi River than were afforded by the prairie-schooner caravans. In order that the great gaps of distance should be bridged in shorter time and by easier, safer means, the government authorized the construction of a Pacific railroad, a logical move, since the railroads were stretching their network of ties and tracks and switches in many directions. This Pacific railroad, built by 1869, at a terrific cost in money and with a prodigious amount of trickery, reached from Omaha, Nebraska, to Ogden, Utah, a distance of 1,029 miles, where the Central Pacific terminated its stretch of 878 miles from San Francisco. Thus it was made possible to come by train from San Francisco to New York, a distance of 3,322 miles. By the time ten years had elapsed after its inception, its directing and promoting agents were before the great court of public opinion, branded for crimes, with marks more loathsome than that of Cain, as a result of the disclosures brought forth in the investigations conducted in the two Houses of Congress.

In consequence, the Crédit Mobilier held the centre of the stage; nothing else was discussed; argument and debate were at white heat; and every man who feared implication lived upon the rack in a torture of suspense. Two members of the House, Oakes Ames, of Massachusetts, and James Brooks, were slated for expulsion, while the same sentence threatened Senator James W. Patterson. But Congress became too demoralized and too apprehensive as to where the accusing finger would tag another victim to take any more decisive action than censure. Ames and Brooks, weary, ill, and shaken by the efforts to make of them the scapegoats, died in the opening days of the new administration, within two months of the investigation. James Brooks, who had been a trusted government director of the Union Pacific, died April 30, 1873; while the bluff, free-handed manufacturer, Ames, followed him a few days later, on May 8, 1873.

Ben Perley Poore explains the Crédit Mobilier in part as follows:

Ames being a member of Congress and a manager of the scheme was peculiarly appreciative of the value of Congressional assistance in behalf of the Crédit Mobilier. It looked as though its purpose was to drain money from the Central Pacific railroad and from the government as long as possible. Any legislation on the part of Congress designed to protect the interest of the government would naturally be unfavourable to the Crédit Mobilier, and it was the aim of the corporation to prevent any such legislation. The price agreed upon for building the road was so exorbitant and afforded such wicked profit to the Crédit Mobilier that it was almost certain some honest friend of the people would demand that Congress should protect the Treasury from such robbery. Accordingly, it was determined to interest in the scheme enough members of Congress to prevent any protection of the National Treasury at the expense of the unlawful gains of the Crédit Mobilier. Oakes Ames, being in Congress, undertook to secure the desired hold upon his associates. The plan was to secure them by bribing them, and for this purpose a certain portion of the Crédit Mobilier stock was placed in the hands of Mr. Ames, as trustee, to be used by him as he thought best for the best interests of the company. Mr. Ames went to Washington, December, 1867, for the opening of the session of Congress. Within a month, he entered into contracts with a considerable number of members of Congress of both Houses to let them have shares of stock in the Crédit Mobilier Company at par, with interest thereon from the first day of the previous July.

Ames was not the only member of the Company engaged in placing stock where it would benefit the corporation. Doctor Durant, President of the Pacific Railway, was engaged in securing his friends in the same way, and he received a portion of the stock to be used in this manner. Mr. Henry S. M’Comb of Delaware was also interested in a scheme to put in his claim for a part of the stock which was being used as a corruption fund for his friends. The claim involved him in a quarrel with Ames, and the stock he claimed was assigned to Ames. In 1872, the quarrel reached such a pitch that M’Comb made the facts public and published a list of the Congressmen with whom Ames had said he had placed his stock, giving the number of shares sold to each. This list included Schuyler Colfax, Vice President of the United States; Henry Wilson, Senator from Massachusetts; James W. Patterson, Senator from New Hampshire; John A. Logan, Senator from Illinois; James G. Blaine, Member of the House from Maine, and Speaker; W. D. Kelly of Pennsylvania; James A. Garfield of Ohio; James Brooks of New York; John A. Bingham of Ohio; Henry L. Dawes of Massachusetts; and others who were not in Congress at the time of the exposé. A storm of excitement was created over the country at the prominence of the names. As a rule, all implicated denied emphatically having ever owned or purchased Crédit Mobilier stock. They declared themselves incapable of holding the stock, saying that it would be a crime against morality and decency to be connected in any way with the Crédit Mobilier. It was a mistake on the part of Congressmen to deny their connection with the Crédit Mobilier. Frank acknowledgment of purchase and the statement that they had relinquished it as soon as its true character was known would have saved their faces before the world. They would have escaped with being regarded as silly, but the denials caused Ames to announce that the charges were true, and that he could and would prove them so. And he did.

When Congress assembled in December, 1872, Blaine, the Speaker, wishing to vindicate himself, claiming his character had been unjustly assailed, asked the House to appoint a committee to investigate the charges brought by Ames and M’Comb and bring in a report of their findings. Mr. Poland, of Vermont, was made Chairman. Efforts to keep the investigation secret failed, as the indignant public demanded and obtained an open trial.

The committee’s report to the House failed to sustain the denials of members as to ownership of stock, although it acquitted all but one of the charge of having been bribed. It fastened the ownership upon all but Mr. Blaine, and showed them all as convicted of falsehood. In several cases, their denial was met by the production of their checks, as was true in the case of Colfax. Blaine denied it, and the committee report sustained his denial.

The deaths of Ames and Brooks and all of the distressing aftermath of the Crédit Mobilier exposé left a most depressing effect upon the public mind. But the dissatisfaction arising from the lack of Congressional action was increased as the same Congress passed a law raising salaries of members from $5,000 to $7,500, and that of the President from $25,000 to $50,000, making the act operative at once.

All of these acts, whether justifiable or not, tended to create a lack of confidence and faith in the government which culminated in the business panic of the winter of 1873, with the passage of the new Coinage Act. For many years, paper money, “greenbacks,” had been the only kind in use. Silver dollars rarely were seen, and the small silver quarters and dimes were used only as “change.”

Photo. by G. V. Buck, Washington, D. C.

THE DAUGHTER OF PRESIDENT AND MRS. GRANT
Nellie Grant Sartoris, who was a White House Bride

When the Nevada silver mines were discovered, the price of this metal dropped as the metal became plentiful, and in some countries of Europe the coinage of silver money was abandoned. This policy was planned for the United States, and it was advocated in Congress that only gold and silver change and copper be minted for general use. The idea did not become popular. Many people became suspicious, believing it to have been instigated by wealthy bondholders who were resolved to have their bonds paid in gold. When the government issued bonds to secure money for the expenses of the Civil War, it borrowed millions of dollars from individuals and from banks. These bonds were to be repaid with interest at the expiration of a specific period. People of all classes and circumstances purchased these bonds gladly and freely, and at the time of the negotiation of these loans, the understanding was current that the payment would be in gold.

The demand for railroad construction became so insistent that more railroads were built than the needs of the country required. In some parts of the country, railroads were built that did not pay interest on the expense of their construction. Between 1871 and the close of 1873, twenty thousand miles of railway were built, spreading into five transcontinental lines. This vast project cost more than a thousand million dollars. Hundreds of people invested their savings in this project, hoping for quick profits and sudden accession of wealth.

This railway construction caused the failure of the Philadelphia banking firm of Jay Cooke & Co., that had invested largely in the Northern Pacific road. The failure of this stable concern precipitated the panic of 1873, which paralyzed business for several years and hung over the country a cloud of gloom and distrust. In the space of a few weeks, thousands of business men and many hundreds of firms were ruined. Money became so hard to get that the government found it necessary to discontinue the construction of public buildings in Washington, and also to defer payments on the war debt for a time. The effects of this panic extended over a period of five years.

The life at the White House was not overcast by the financial depression abroad in the land. Never was the old mansion more gay. From attic to basement, it buzzed with activity and excitement in the arrangements for a wedding in the family. A trousseau was under preparation, and the upper floors were constantly filled with happy girls. The White House belle was to be married!

Nellie Grant was only a little girl when her father became President. Owing to his strong objections to his family being the object of curious interest, little was known of this White House maiden until she had completed her education. During her school days, her mother was exceedingly strict and required that she be put through exactly the same discipline as girls whose fathers did not hold such important positions. With the conclusion of her school work, she was sent abroad for an extended tour, receiving throughout Europe the honours and attentions of a princess.

Eleanor—or Nellie—Grant was of medium height, beautifully proportioned, with masses of rich brown hair, soft brown eyes, and a creamy complexion of rich colour. Her face was exceedingly attractive, with an expression of amiability that showed her to be an even, sweet-tempered girl. Although quiet and demure, she was a good dancer and was perfectly at ease in any company. On her return from Europe, she met on the steamer Algernon Frederick Sartoris, with whom she fell in love. The consequence was that she had no great belle-ship in Washington, since, even before her début, which her mother decreed should be at a formal reception rather than at a ball, it was known that her heart was given to the young Englishman, who was twenty-three years old, of excellent family, and who had inherited a very substantial income. From the moment of their meeting, their romance developed. But, owing to her youth, her parents would not hear of her immediate marriage, her father insisting that she wait until two months before she was nineteen. At that time, on May 21, 1874, her marriage to Mr. Sartoris occurred in the White House.

Elaborate preparations were made for this wedding, which was the most brilliant affair known for many years in the Capital City.

The East Room was a tribute to the florists’ art. Expense was not reckoned in the quantities of beautiful flowers brought from Florida. The masses of tuberoses, spiræa, lilies of the valley, and other fragrant blossoms, gave forth a perfume almost oppressive. A dais was erected in front of the east window. This was covered by the exquisite rug presented to the White House by the Sultan of Turkey and canopied with ferns and vines surmounted by a marriage bell of white blossoms.

All interest focussed in the wedding gown. It was of rich white satin elaborately trimmed with point lace that alone was estimated to have cost two thousand dollars. The groom wore the regulation English wedding dress and introduced a new note in wedding fashions for men by carrying a bouquet of orange blossoms and tuberoses with a centre of pink buds from whose midst rose a flag-staff with a silver banner inscribed with the word “Love.”

The bridesmaids, eight in number, wore dresses of white corded silk covered with white illusion, with sashes of the same material arranged in loops from the waist downward. Four carried large bouquets of pink flowers, while the other four carried blue. The approach of the bridal party through the East Room was heralded by the Marine Band. First came Mr. Sartoris, with Colonel Frederick Dent Grant his only groomsman, and then the bridesmaids, two by two. Following them came the President with Miss Nellie, and then Mrs. Grant with her younger sons, Ulysses and Jesse. The ceremony was performed by Dr. O. H. Tiffany of the Metropolitan Methodist Church. The menus for the wedding banquet were printed on white satin, and each guest took home a box of wedding cake.

Sartoris was the grandson of Charles Kemble, the actor, and a nephew of Fannie Kemble, the celebrated actress. The young couple were married in the presence of two hundred guests, including the Cabinet families and the high officers of the Army and Navy and Diplomatic Corps, all in their brilliant uniforms. President Grant was deeply disappointed that his daughter married a foreigner, and he noted her departure with a sense of real grief.

A few months later, Colonel Frederick D. Grant brought a bride to the White House, Miss Ida Marie Honoré, of Chicago, to whom he was married on October 28, 1874. Miss Honoré was of a Parisian family which had been most conspicuous in the social and financial affairs of Chicago.

Young Mrs. Grant was a distinct addition to the social life of the White House, and in the summer of 1876, a little girl was born under the historic roof of the mansion. Little Julia Grant arrived to spend the last year of her celebrated grandfather’s régime with him, and to help with her dimples and her baby smiles to lift the loneliness he felt at the loss of his own beloved daughter. Julia Grant, named for her grandmother, in later years followed the example of her aunt Nellie and gave her hand to a distinguished foreigner, a Russian prince, sharing with him all the brilliance and luxury of life at the Court of the late Tsar, and likewise sharing his flight and exile as refugee when the Russian monarchy fell. Inheriting her grandfather’s gift for expressing himself vividly with his pen, Princess Julia Grant Cantacuzene-Speransky joined the group of American women authors after her return to her homeland and her reunion with her three children who had been sent to America to her mother, Mrs. Frederick Dent Grant, at the very beginning of the European conflict.

General Adam Badeau, Military Aide-de-Camp to General Grant, who spent much time at the White House, has given publication to a letter that presents a charming picture of the Grant family life:

Among all the brilliant assemblages which have gathered in the Rotunda of the National Capitol throughout its history, it is doubtful if any were more brilliant than filled that place on the evening of December 16, 1874, when the Centennial Tea Party was held there to raise funds for the Centennial Exposition to be held in Philadelphia two years later. The Star of December 17, 1874, says:

In the opening weeks of 1875, the Treasury Department received information which brought forth an exposure of frauds almost as startling as had been the revelations of the Crédit Mobilier. The case trailed its ugly shadow across the President’s path. This was the Whisky Ring, a fully organized project to defraud the government, which, like that of the railroad graft, had been long flourishing. Possessed of unlimited resources, the Whisky Ring had been able to keep its transactions under cover, since it could engage the most expert of counsel and the most graceless of witnesses to protect its interests.

The Whisky Ring really formed in St. Louis in 1872, and in two years assumed national proportions. Through a coalition of distillers and revenue collectors, the government was defrauded of the internal revenue tax on distilled liquors. The investigators produced evidence that resulted in the indictment of 238 persons showing that the government had been defrauded in the brief space of ten months of $1,650,000.

Although the Whisky Ring had in some way evaded prosecution by the secretaries of the Treasury who preceded Secretary Bristow, this gentleman had a clear case against them before they were aware of his intentions. The task had not been easy, as the distillers guarded their movements with great care and saw to it that some of the highest officers in government service were in their pay, and therefore kept the leaders of the Ring forewarned as to possible investigation, so that they might have all matters ready for examination.

The tax levied by Congress was 50 cents per gallon. The distillers paid the collectors 30 cents; they in turn fixed their returns, giving to the government the smallest possible amount and dividing the balance among themselves.

Secretary Bristow laboured diligently to break up this Ring, and great secrecy was imposed, even to the point of using a new cipher. The cleverest surveillance was exercised, and when information was in hand, distilleries were seized in St. Louis, Milwaukee, Indiana, and New Orleans, and men of highest social position were indicted. The trials were quiet and decisive. Many of those implicated were sent to the penitentiary; others fined. Interest was centred in St. Louis because it seemed to be the heart of the conspiracy. Against all persons, the evidence was sufficiently conclusive to bring a conviction, save in the case of O. E. Babcock, the private secretary to the President. While strong charges were made that he shared in the profits of the Ring, conclusive proof strong enough for conviction was lacking. It was also charged that he furnished information, but while his innocence was not established, neither was his guilt confirmed, and he was acquitted owing to the influence of the President, who resented his implication very strongly. He always believed implicitly in the men he selected for his confidence and service. He felt the same sense of indignation and personal resentment when it was proved that his Secretary of War, W. W. Belknap, shared in the profits of a sutler’s shop on an Indian reservation. Belknap would undoubtedly have been impeached but for submitting his resignation, which was accepted by the President with great regret.

Secretary Belknap’s weakness and fall have often been laid to the door of a young, attractive, and socially ambitious wife, whose love of jewels and pretty clothes made her demands exceed her husband’s income. Because of his pride in her and the desire to gratify her in her vanity, he was led into a step that destroyed all the splendid record of a lifetime.

William Worth Belknap came from an old and prominent family. His career in the Civil War had been conspicuous for his gallantry in action. From the post as Internal Revenue Collector in Iowa, he was called to the Cabinet. This new honour inspired a natural desire to look after old friends. This attitude was shared by his first wife, and led to difficulties.

Many stories have ascribed various reasons for the disgrace of this previously splendid man. According to some accounts, the jealousy of a woman acquaintance of Mrs. Belknap started the rumours and charges that led to the investigation of the private transactions of the Secretary of War. Owing to the fact that the charges made were proved, the nation was served with another scandal of most distressing type.

The disclosures made by the lady seeking to destroy the prestige of the Belknaps caused it to be known that the first Mrs. Belknap persuaded her husband to appoint Caleb Marsh, husband of a friend of hers, post trader on the Indian Reservation at Fort Sill. Marsh secured the appointment and then made an agreement with the incumbent, who was preparing to bring political influence to keep the place, but who knew he could not compete with the appointee of the Secretary of War, allowing him to remain as long as $12,000 of the annual profits were paid over to him in quarterly instalments. This money was divided with the Secretary of War for two years, the payments being sent to Mrs. Belknap. Later, when it seemed advisable to reduce this annual bonus to $6,000, this sum was likewise so divided.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Belknap died, and after the lapse of the proper period of mourning, the handsome widower with a young child to care for sought another wife, selecting the younger sister of his late wife, Mrs. Bowers, of Harrisonburg, Ky., widow of Colonel Bowers of the Confederate Army. They came to Washington and set up such lavish style of living as to lead people to believe Mrs. Belknap possessed of ample means.

The disclosures of the investigation showed that Belknap, when Secretary of War, not only knew that $1,000 a month was being profiteered from the private soldiers, the coloured troops, 600 of them, of the Tenth Cavalry stationed at Fort Sill, for the small supplies they purchased at the trader’s shop on the reservation, but he also knew that one half of it came regularly to him to help him keep up his sumptuous quarters and extravagant style of living and enable his gay young second wife to continue indulging her taste for gowns from Worth of Paris. When an officer of the coloured regiment, after finding it useless to apply to the War Department for redress on the exorbitant prices at the post trader’s shop, wrote the details to Senator Sumner, then charges were formally made, and full investigation followed, showing that in the five years before this fraud was discovered $40,000 had been taken from these private soldiers, many of them freedmen, receiving their first pay of thirteen dollars a month.

As soon as the charges were filed, General Belknap resigned. He appeared at a Cabinet meeting as usual one day, and the next was a prisoner at the desk in the police court. He was so distressed in his disgrace that he contemplated suicide. His resignation prevented impeachment.

Early in June of 1876, officials and a great host of military men, as well as hosts of admiring friends of the gallant, picturesque General George Armstrong Custer, who made a brilliant record during the Civil War, were deeply shocked and saddened by the news of his untimely death in the terrible massacre of the Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876.

For several years, much interest had centred around the celebration of the anniversary of the One Hundredth Year of the Independence of the United States. The principal feature of this was the opening of the great Centennial Exposition in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, in the spring of 1876. The huge building of glass and iron covered a space of about seventy-five acres. To this exhibition all nations of the world sent samples of their art, industry, or manufacture, but the United States led in the display of inventions, which demonstrated that an industrial revolution had developed. The great progress in time- and labour-saving devices made a lasting impression upon the visitors. Two of the remarkable novelties shown at that time were the electric light and Professor A. G. Bell’s invention of the telephone.

An amusing incident that had been induced by the approach of the Centennial was the notion expressed in the following article which appeared in the Star of May 29, 1875:

As election time approached, many friends and admirers urged upon General Grant a third term, their theory being that, if any man could receive that extraordinary proof of the regard and confidence of the American people, Ulysses S. Grant was that man. While the President was not indifferent to the honour a third term would convey to the world, he was not altogether assured it would be a wise move for him to enter the contest again. Such vindication would be particularly pleasant after the stormy period which the Democratic majority in the House had created with fully fifty committees bent upon investigating every act of his administration. In their efforts to find cause for charging him with other and graver faults and mistakes than being a poor judge of men, and being so constituted as to remain loyal to his friends even when they abused his trust and imposed upon his confidence. He realized that he was blamed for much of the distressing financial condition of the country.

The third term idea was unpopular in the House, and that body expressed itself in a resolution by a vote of 234 to 18 against the third term, the reason being that the precedent set by General Washington and adhered to by all his successors was a fixed custom, and to make a departure from it would be unwise, if not actually unpatriotic.

According to his habit, the President gave the matter due consideration from every angle and then declined.

Brigadier General Adam Badeau, who spent much time at the White House and in travelling in Europe with his former chief, was the first to read this letter declining a third term. In his “Grant in Peace,” General Badeau says:

Being relieved of the necessity of again going through the uncertainties and anxieties of a campaign, President Grant and his wife began their preparations for their release from public service. As they had long wanted to travel abroad, that plan was developed while the eyes of the people turned toward the choice of a successor.

On May 17, 1877, General Grant, with his wife and youngest son, Jesse, bade farewell to the United States to begin what was in reality his very first real vacation. He had long wanted to visit the Old World, see its social customs, conditions, study its armies, its civilizations, its governments and their workings.

Everywhere he met friendliness and cordiality, and no man, American or of any other nationality, ever received such a continuous and unabating demonstration of appreciation and popularity as kept step with his travels. The Occident and the Orient entered into an active contest in extending proofs of the homage which his life as a soldier, a president, and the first citizen of the great nation he represented inspired. Kings, queens, emperors, Indian princes, and Egyptian potentates, sages, prophets, great chieftains, plain soldiers, and great statesmen, joined in greeting this man, as did the masses.

He returned to America two years later, reaching San Francisco in the autumn of 1879, the greatest traveller of the world, possessed of enduring fame, quantities of beautiful and valuable gifts from admiring hosts, and not sufficient money to maintain his family in the unpretentious New York house he had purchased for a home. How to employ his time—he was but fifty-six—both pleasantly and profitably was a real problem.

He was induced to allow his name to be used as a candidate for nomination for the Presidency in 1880. Failing to secure his third-term honour, he turned his attention to business projects. Shortly, he was persuaded that the question of income could best be met by investment, and hence, after much delay and consultation in the family, he invested all of his capital in the banking business of Grant and Ward. In making the connection, the General had stipulated that there should be no government contracts, since he would not permit his name to be used in such connection. For a while, everything seemed smooth sailing; the firm rating was of the best, the dividends came regularly and plentifully. In May, 1884, without a word of warning or a hint that difficulties were brewing, the General learned that his firm had failed. He and his sons were stripped to pauperism through most stupendous speculations.

Once more the silent General squared his shoulders to meet duty, and every bit of real estate and personal property of his and Mrs. Grant’s was turned over for security for a previous loan; not even his trophies did he withhold. The same trumpet call of duty set him to writing articles for Century Magazine to provide a means of income. Then came the suggestion that he set himself to the task of writing his recollections of the war. Finding it an agreeable task rather than a boresome tax, he was persuaded to write the story of his life. His son, Frederick Dent Grant, assisted him.

Stricken with the cancerous condition in his throat while he was at the beginning of this, he faced the knowledge that he must work with unremitting zeal to provide a source of income for his family. Only those close to him had a real understanding of the physical suffering when his voice was finally gone and the agonizing struggle to keep on writing when too weak to move about his room. Nothing in medical knowledge offered any release from his pains, and he struggled valiantly, completing his task four days before his death at Mt. McGregor, on July 23, 1885.

CHAPTER IV

THE ADMINISTRATION OF RUTHERFORD
B. HAYES

March 4, 1877, to March 4, 1881

RUTHERFORD BIRCHARD HAYES the nineteenth President of the United States, was the only Chief Executive of the nation to be kept in suspense regarding his victory in the election until the eve of inauguration, and the only one to be the storm centre of an after-election contest of such bitterness and scope that a commission had to be appointed by Congress to determine whether the Governor of Ohio or the Governor of New York should be installed in the White House on March 4, 1877.

In consequence of the long-drawn bitter controversy, the result of which was communicated to Governor Hayes en route to Washington from Columbus, the inauguration festivities were lacking in many of the usual spectacular features and much of the customary jubilation of the quadrennial ceremony, and were reduced to the simplest of public installations.

MRS. LUCY WEBB HAYES

The Huntington Portrait, 1881, presented
to the White House by the Women’s Christian
Temperance Union.

RUTHERFORD BIRCHARD HAYES

Storm centre of an after-election contest
which kept him in suspense until his inauguration
in 1877.

The fact that the 4th of March fell upon Sunday added somewhat to the perturbed state of the official mind as to whether or not the oath should be taken on Saturday, March 3d, or Monday, March 5th. The anxiety lest something unpleasant transpire as an aftermath of the contest was present in many minds. President Grant decided to have Governor Hayes sworn in as quickly as possible—and on March 3d. A farewell dinner had been arranged at the Executive Mansion on the evening of March 3d, to which he invited Governor and Mrs. Hayes. Before the guests assembled for this function, President Grant conferred with Chief Justice Waite and a small group gathered in the Red Room, where Rutherford Hayes was formally sworn. The fact that Hayes was duly vested with the powers of Chief Magistrate was not even announced to the guests at the dinner or known to any outside the group participating until after the second and public ceremony of Monday, March 5th.

Monday dawned cold and rainy, but cleared by noon; and although so much uncertainty had hung over the results of the recent sitting of the electoral commission, the city was packed with a great inauguration throng, thirty thousand being estimated as the number of visitors. The entire route of the procession was magnificently decorated, and vociferous cheering and shouting greeted President Hayes throughout the drive to and from the Capitol.

Mrs. Grant had put the mansion in perfect order, provided a day’s supply of food so that the new First Lady need not concern herself with a menu for dinner and breakfast, supervised the removal of her own effects then, as their hostess, she awaited the return of the new President and his wife, to preside for the last time over the elaborate luncheon, to which she had invited as many of the official family as possible. After the meal, which was made most jolly and informal, General and Mrs. Grant went to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Fish, where they remained for several weeks completing preparations for their trip abroad.

Instead of the long afternoon procession and gay ball which usually featured inauguration celebrations, there was a torchlight parade during the evening. All winter, Hayes’s supporters had been waiting to hear that he had won at the polls, so into that night-time parade they infused the pent-up enthusiasm of four months. Ten thousand torch bearers swung up Pennsylvania Avenue singing the campaign songs. Unrestrained, the serenaders marched into the White House grounds cheering “Rutherford Hayes, President of the United States,” until he appeared on the portico to greet them. Waving torches and exploding fireworks on the lawn made a brilliant scene. The reception at Willard Hotel drew a large throng who had hoped for a ball and furnished a delightful climax to the day over which there had been so many dire prophecies.

The announcement of the new Cabinet brought forth the sneers of the Hayes opponents and the commendation of friends and supporters. The intellectual William M. Evarts of New York was selected as premier of the State Department. John Sherman’s (Ohio) known financial acumen was sought for the Treasury portfolio. To Carl Schurz of Missouri were confided the Interior Department problems. Richard W. Thompson, of Indiana, more of a campaigner and stump spellbinder than a naval expert, was slated to preside over the Navy. G. W. McCrary, of Iowa, a country lawyer, was first selected for Attorney General, but was finally given the post of Secretary of War, although totally unfamiliar with military affairs. General Charles Devens of Massachusetts, a gallant soldier, received the appointment as Attorney General. David M. Key, of Tennessee, as Postmaster General, represented the South. This group was dubbed the “Tea Table Cabinet” by the Tilden adherents.

The same routine of Tuesday and Friday Cabinet meetings was observed by the new official family and the President set himself to the task of combatting the handicap his election contest had entailed.

Rutherford Birchard Hayes was born at Delaware, Ohio, October 4, 1822, of Scottish ancestry. A matter of pride was the possession of the names of two chiefs notable in Highland history. These were Hayes and Rutherford, who fought together with William Wallace and Robert Bruce. His parents, of old New England stock, had travelled westward in covered wagons and settled in Ohio. This boy was born a few months after his father’s death. His mother was in fair circumstances and able to send her children, Fanny and “Ruddy,” as the boy was called, through school and to give them the advantages of college education. Rutherford was graduated from Kenyon College and from Harvard Law School.

It was when he was a young lawyer of great promise at Cincinnati that he met by chance at Delaware Sulphur Spring a Miss Lucy Webb, student of Wesleyan Female College, whom he had known when a boy. They renewed the acquaintance, which soon passed from friendship into love. He was the most persistent and faithful among the young men attending the college teas, suppers, and receptions. He has been quoted as declaring, “My friend Jones has introduced me to many of our city belles, but I do not see anyone who makes me forget the natural gaiety and attractiveness of Miss Lucy.” After Miss Webb was graduated, a few years later, they were married by Professor L. D. McCabe, President of the Wesleyan Female College. Miss Webb was the daughter of Doctor and Mrs. James Webb of Delaware, Ohio.

Rutherford Hayes began his military career in the Civil War as Major of the Twenty-third Ohio Infantry. From the time he was commissioned Lieutenant Colonel, in 1861, until the war ended, his military service was distinguished by his valour. Promotions for gallantry in action awarded his exploits. He was wounded six times, four horses having been shot under him. Of sixteen presidents who participated in the wars of the nation, he and James Monroe were the only ones wounded in battle.

Civic honours also came to him with flattering frequency and he served through the Thirty-ninth Congress, was reëlected to the Fortieth, and was three times Governor of his state.

When a successor for President Grant was being politically weighed and measured, James G. Blaine of Maine, Speaker of the House of Representatives, seemed to be the strongest candidate of the Republican Convention at Cincinnati. While Robert Ingersoll’s masterly nominating speech of the “Plumed Knight” had made a profound impression, opposing influences had been at work, the high tide for Blaine passed, the other candidates combined, and with the seventh ballot came the stampede to Rutherford Hayes, Governor of Ohio.

Fully as exciting was the Democratic Convention held for the first time in the West, as St. Louis was then designated, owing to its being across the Mississippi River. This convention was entirely different from the Republican gathering. Colonel Henry Watterson, famous editor of the Louisville Courier Journal, was temporary chairman. Tilden, like Blaine, was chiefly the favourite, but, unlike Blaine, was quickly nominated.

As his election to the governorship of New York in 1874, with a fifty thousand majority, proved, he was one of the leading Democrats. Thomas A Hendricks of Indiana was chosen for his running mate.

The election was the hardest fought, the bitterest, and the closest in history. The Democrats had capitalized the frauds and scandals of the Republican administration; the Republicans had followed the retaliating policy by waving the “Bloody Shirt,” as the reference to reconstruction policies was called. The consequence was a campaign heated, excited, and doubtful. Mr. Hayes received but one electoral vote over Mr. Tilden, and this the Democrats contested.

Senator Zachariah Chandler (Michigan) was the only prominent Republican leader to remain unshaken in his assertion of a Hayes victory. His assurance of this fact aroused such a furore of resentment and threats of vengeance among Democrats that it looked for a time as though another Civil War might ensue. The Senator telegraphed to President Grant urging the concentration of United States troops in the Southern States’ capitals to insure a fair count. The President referred the matter to General W. T. Sherman, General of the Armies, saying:

The Democrats charged that the election had not been fairly conducted, asserting openly that many Democratic votes in the South had been thrown out instead of being duly counted by those entrusted with the duty of counting them. The votes from South Carolina, Louisiana, and Florida, where carpet-bag government and Negro rule prevailed, were hotly contested. Investigation showed fraud on both sides in these states. Two sets of electors, both insisting that they were legally and properly elected, met and sent their results to Congress. This produced grave concern as there was no provision in the Constitution to meet such a contingency. The uncertainty produced a tense situation. Some conservatives advocated calmness and patience until news from doubtful states could be confirmed. Others saw nothing but crookedness and excitedly claimed fraud. Each party sent some of its political leaders to the state capitals, where the issue was at question to observe and report from the spot.

So grave were the apprehensions over the state of affairs that Congress was called upon to settle the matter. To meet the crisis, they created an electoral commission to consist of five Senators, five Representatives, and five Supreme Court Justices. Upon this body was placed the responsibility for the decision.

The members of the Electoral Commission were as follows: From the Senate, George P. Edwards, Vermont; Oliver P. Morton, Indiana; Frederick Frelinghuysen, New Jersey; Thomas F. Bayard, Delaware; Allen G. Thurman, Ohio; from the House of Representatives, Harry B. Payne, Ohio; Eppa Hunton, Virginia; Josiah C. Abbot, Massachusetts; James A. Garfield, Ohio; George F. Hoar, Massachusetts; from the Supreme Court, Clifford, Miller, Field, Strong, and Bradley. Senator Francis Kernan substituted for Senator Thurman, who was incapacitated by illness.

Ben Perley Poore, noted correspondent, has left a vivid picture of the conditions of the public mind at this time, and also the extreme measures used and the pressure each party threw into the concluding hours of debate and discussion through which a settlement was finally reached. In part, he says:

While President Hayes was struggling with portfolios and patronage and combatting the handicap his election struggle imposed, his wife was engrossed with the multitude of duties that devolved upon her as First Lady of the Land.

Her appearance in Washington had been awaited with unabated interest, and speculation was rife over Mrs. Grant’s successor and the social régime to follow. Mary Clemmer Ames wrote thus of Mrs. Hayes at the public inauguration:

When Mrs. Hayes was preparing to come to Washington, she was beset, as befalls every incumbent of the office, with many suggestions as to the White House etiquette and the type of functions to be held there. Possessed of decided independence of thought and action, she felt that her family and official position in Ohio would enable her to decide as to the form of her social régime. Although Mrs. Hayes had been reared a strong temperance woman, wines had always been in use in her family, though not served at their tables. During the war, when she went to camp, she never failed to carry liquors for the sick.

She had always maintained that every woman should be absolute mistress of her own home and dictate its policy. If she wished to serve wines, she would certainly do so. On the other hand, she reserved the right to decline to serve them, whether the home over which she was mistress was in Ohio or the White House.

The zealots of temperance in search of a new sensation to spring to advance their course seized upon this attitude of hers as an opening for a definite commitment of a policy emanating from the White House as a national example. Soon after Mrs. Hayes arrived at the White House, the wife of a minister visited her and begged her earnestly to forbid the use of liquor and wines in the mansion during her régime. Mrs. Hayes was somewhat surprised at the request; she did not commit herself as to what stand she would take, but replied:

The President and Mrs. Hayes conferred over this matter and were agreed that, to secure the greatest good to the greatest number, it would be well for them to advocate and practise total abstinence. Consequently, when the new mistress of the White House made her plans for her first functions, the use of wines was tabooed. This statement created a furore of criticism, ridicule, and protest among the Cabinet and official and social leaders, many going so far as to predict international complications, since the absence of liquors at state functions would be regarded as an affront by the diplomats. Not even cartoons or the sneering title “Lemonade Lucy” moved her: Mrs. Hayes remained firm, and wine remained absent from her table—and no complications ensued, though, from the Cabinet down, the President and his wife were besought to change this dictum, “for the honour of the country,” as many expressed it.

Among the letters of Rutherford B. Hayes, one dated Spiegel Grove, Fremont Park, March 10, 1891, published for the Hayes Memorial Library, regarding the absence of wines during his administration, says in part:

In January, 1878, Mrs. Hayes held her first reception of the season. Thoroughly emancipated in her ideas as to what was suitable and proper for her, she chose to abide by the style of hairdressing she had always followed, and refused flatly to consider allowing her hair to be arranged according to the style of the hour, in great structures of frizzed false hair. She wore hers parted plainly and drawn down, looped over her ears, and loosely coiled at the nape of the neck. In the matter of her gowns she also had her own definite ideas. The décolleté so extreme through the Lincoln and Grant régimes, the huge bustles and lengthy trains, were not to her liking. She appeared at the New Year’s reception in a princess gown of black silk of rich texture and quality, cut with a graceful train, and elaborately trimmed with handsome jet passementerie. Her concession to the mode was a V-neck, filled in with delicate Spanish lace. A silver comb set off her black hair. Her appearance brought forth much favourable comment, and many who came prepared to censure and criticize remained to praise, since the effect was regal, and she received with a grace and dignity that won all of her critics.

She was assisted by Mrs. Evarts in elegant black velvet, Mrs. Sherman in old gold satin with court train of black velvet, red roses arranged about the corsage. Among the diplomatic guests, especially notable was Madame Yoshida, wife of the Japanese Minister, since she had discarded her native dress for American garments.

One of the President’s early appointments was that of Marshal of the District of Columbia. Frederick Douglass, a well-indorsed applicant, was chosen. Frederick Douglass, a Negro, an American journalist and orator, had once been a slave. He was born in southern Maryland and ran away from his master about 1838. He made his way North and established himself at New Bedford, Mass. Possessed of much natural ability, he began to lecture on slavery, later publishing a full account of his own experiences. He visited England, lecturing extensively. When the war opened, he advocated the use of coloured troops and aided in organizing regiments of them.

After the war, he became editor of the National Era at Washington.

His wife was a white woman.

As it was not possible for Frederick Douglass to fulfil the duties of his office in the White House as his predecessors had done, the President’s second son, Webb Hayes, served as confidential secretary. In this capacity, the young man presented all callers to his father, while Colonel T. L. Casey, of the Corps of Engineers, made the introductions to Mrs. Hayes.

Among the notable functions, the first was the state dinner in honour of His Imperial Highness Grand Duke Alexis Alexandrovitch, of Russia, on April 19, 1877, at 7 o’clock, the only function at which wine was served. This had been arranged by Secretary Evarts.

In the opening days of his administration, President Hayes gave a brilliant state dinner, which was long discussed and over which there was much speculation. Secretary Evarts had expressed his distress over the lack of wines long and fervently. When the dessert of oranges was served, there were expressive glances exchanged between guests. They enjoyed the delicious concoction and were frankly not averse to more. They were convinced that the chef had been liberal with Santa Croix rum and were accordingly delighted to think the First Lady of the Land had been hoodwinked. The President, “one of those demmed literary fellers” as he was often called, appeared to be wholly ignorant of anything to cause unusual satisfaction. He did not partake of the fruit. Rumour claims that he enjoyed the situation thoroughly. No one suspected that he was aware that his guests were of the opinion that the white ribbon rule had been rudely jarred, if not broken. He kept his counsel. The guests whispered the story around and the popularity of the orange dessert grew. It was often served. None discovered until long afterward that the joke was on the guests—the President and the chef had conferred—a flavouring had been found that so completely duplicated the taste of the famous rum as to require an expert to detect the difference.

President Hayes was addicted to the scrapbook habit. This was his method of keeping up with current information. One clerk was detailed to go through daily papers, clip and classify all news and information. The clippings were pasted in books under the subjects to which they belonged and were immediately available to the President’s call, whether his query related to cotton exports, international treaties, or the country’s finances.

Young Webb Hayes found his time pretty well occupied with a diversity of duties, as his mother clung to her old Ohio habit of filling the house with young ladies who had to be squired and beauxed on sight-seeing trips, and escorted constantly to social affairs. Often, when some impromptu expedition was gotten up, he had as many as eight girls to look after at one time. Asked recently how he managed this part of his White House job, Colonel Hayes merely shook his head, gave his Rooseveltian smile, and looked so reminiscent that it seemed even the illustrious example of Coolidge silence was in danger of being forgotten, and perhaps a delightful story of some of the romance of a twenty-year-old lad might be forthcoming—but it wasn’t.

Despite his dignity and responsibility, young Secretary Hayes could and did unbend when not on duty. He has been charged with learning to ride a bicycle in the East Room. Upon another occasion, when one of the young lady guests had a caller who stayed over long, he betook himself to the room above the Red Room, where the young people were chatting, and frightened them nearly to death by dropping the largest dictionary he could find on the floor just above their heads. Needless to add, the caller soon departed, and the young secretary was able to see the mansion closed for the night and get some much-needed rest.

Among the interesting festivities at the mansion was the celebration of the silver wedding of President and Mrs. Hayes, December 31, 1877, which was the first party of that kind ever held there. The halls and state apartments of the entire first floor were decorated with cut flowers, vines, and plants. Smilax was entwined about the great chandeliers of the East Room, which, by the way, had been put in during the previous administration at a cost of $1,800 each. They were made in Germany, and each of them contains 5,060 pieces of cut glass. Flags were also used wherever the touch of the national colours was desired.

The Cabinet and their families were the only official persons invited. Close friends in Washington and old friends from Ohio identified with the life of these two people, and a delegation of the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry, which President Hayes had commanded, comprised the group of guests.

Promptly at nine o’clock, the Marine Band played Mendelssohn’s Wedding March, and the President, with his wife on his arm, came down the stairway, followed by members of their family and special guests. The little procession moved into the East Room, in front of the central window on the east side. Mrs. Hayes wore her wedding gown and slippers, and she admitted having been obliged to let out the seams. The gown was of white brocade, with the wide straight skirt in style at the time, trimmed with tulle and white silk fringe. Long white gloves met the short sleeves, and white slippers and the silver comb for her hair completed the bridal costume.

Mrs. Mitchell, the daughter of the President’s sister, stood beside Mrs. Hayes, as she had done when a little lass of eight at the original wedding. Reverend Dr. L. D. McCabe, the pastor of many years’ association and spiritual guidance, again gave the blessing. And this occasion, with the gathering of the lifetime friends, was made more remarkable by the christening of Fanny and Scott Russell Hayes and the six-weeks-old baby daughter of Mrs. Herron, the mother of Mrs. Taft, who had attended the original wedding. Her baby was named Lucy Hayes Herron.

No gifts were received. The President emphatically decreed against that, but one came from his old regiment so expressive of the regard of the men for their commander and his wife that it could not but be accepted and appreciated. It was a silver plate in an ebony frame inscribed: “To the Mother of the Regiment.”

Upon the plate was a sketch of the log hut which had been Colonel Hayes’s headquarters in the valley of the Kanawha, surrounded by tattered battle flags.

Soon the President led the way to the state dining room, where a sumptuous table presented all of the delicacies of the day and the best of the confectioner’s art.

The ringing in of the New Year disbanded the party.

Many gay parties were given for the eleventh White House bride, Miss Emily Platt, niece of President Hayes, who married General Russell Hastings in the Blue Room on the evening of July 19, 1878. This gay little wedding was attended by the Cabinet and the many friends of Miss Platt, who had assisted Mrs. Hayes in her social duties. Bishop Jagger of Ohio, a Methodist minister, performed the ceremony beneath a marriage bell composed of fifteen thousand buds and blossoms. The Marine Band played the wedding march, and President Hayes gave the bride away. A very elaborate supper was served to the party in the private dining room.

Although Mrs. Hayes kept aloof from all political matters and attended wholly to her end of the presidential partnership, she did confess to one piece of lobbying for which posterity is indebted to her. Eliphalet Andrews, the noted portrait painter of Ohio, came to Washington in 1877 to found the Corcoran School of Art under the patronage of W. W. Corcoran. He made a charming life-size portrait of Martha Washington as the first of a series of presidential portraits, which includes those of Jefferson, Jackson, Taylor, Buchanan, Johnson, and Garfield. When Mrs. Washington’s portrait was finished, Mrs. Hayes had it placed on exhibition in the East Room. It was hung opposite the one of General Washington. Mrs. Hayes felt that that portrait belonged right there, so she concluded to make an effort to have it purchased. Accordingly, following the next state dinner, she conducted Speaker Randall to view the portrait. She dilated upon its merits and expressed her own wish to have it bought for the mansion. The Speaker coincided and suggested that she direct Senator Edmunds’s attention to the portrait, as he was chairman of the committee on the purchases of portraits for the government. Mrs. Hayes’s appeal brought the matter to a point where it received official attention and was the needed impetus to bring about the purchase of the portrait. It is the only one of the few portraits of the various First Ladies of the Land belonging to the White House that is displayed in the state apartments. The others, that of Mrs. Hayes among them, are relegated to the basement corridor which opens from the cloak rooms and which is used by all of the delegations received by the wife of the President and by the guests at the various state functions.

Life in the White House was very jolly and happy during this entire administration. Mrs. Hayes’s love for young people was one of her great charms. She was the mother of eight children, three of whom died previous to or during the war. The eldest son, Birchard, was practising law; the second one, Webb, performing countless valuable services for his parents in the capacity of confidential secretary. Rutherford, Jr., was at school, and the two little ones livened the house with their pranks.

Christmas was always the occasion of a great celebration, the family returning to spend the holidays together when frolic and fun were the order of the hour. While Mrs. Hayes radiated joy and love to her own, she never overlooked the unfortunate, but made it a rule to dispense charity to the limit of her ability. Among other philanthropies, she distributed forty turkeys with the ingredients for complete dinners to needy families. She taught her children to save a share of their pocket money to buy gifts for less favoured children.

The first Thanksgiving in the White House, November 26, 1877, she established the custom of inviting to dinner all members of the clerical staff of the White House with their families. This custom prevailed throughout her occupancy.

Lucy Webb Hayes was the first college woman to be mistress of the President’s house. Her régime stands out alone, clear and distinct, an epic of womanly courage and loyalty to principle. She had the courage to do what no one else had ever done. She entered official life at a time when the female lobby was at its height, when scandal had the nation in its slimy coils, and when ideals and principles were hibernating. She not only turned a deaf ear to friend and foe when she set her hand to advance the cause of temperance, but she also established anew the regard for Sabbath observance by the example of her own household.

She had always been a strong churchwoman. Her family was originally Presbyterian but left the Southern Presbyterian Church because of a difference on the temperance question and a sectional one in slavery, and became affiliated with the Methodists. While in Washington, they were attendants of Foundry Methodist Episcopal Church, then located on the corner of Fourteenth and G streets. Sunday was distinctly a family day. The Sunday evening impromptu family concerts became so popular as to develop into regular affairs. Mrs. Hayes possessed a fine strong voice, and she loved to sing as much as the family enjoyed hearing her. Vice President Wheeler also had a fine voice. Mrs. Wheeler was a pianist of talent, and with the President joining them in his favourite Scotch folk songs and ballads, they quickly developed a delightful Sunday function that kept adding recruits, Chief Justice Waite, his daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Harlan, and Miss Harlan being among those who made the White House their objective on Sunday evenings for this pleasure.

From her arrival, Mrs. Hayes won popularity for her charm. She has been called the most beautiful of White House mistresses since Dolly Madison’s day and kept that title until the appearance of the lovely Mrs. Cleveland. Warm-hearted, vivacious, fun-loving, she enjoyed every moment of life and loved doing things for other people. Moreover, she was possessed of vigour of health and strength of vitality that added much to the pleasure people experienced in meeting her. She had a strong will and a wholesomeness combined with rare good sense, and left the impress of her strong personality upon the annals of her country.

She loved the White House, so filled with historic associations. She revelled in her explorations of attics, storerooms, and basement, and soon after her installation had appraised the odds and ends of furniture, ornaments, and china, and arranged many of the treasured relics of bygone administrations so that they might be used and admired.

Mrs. Hayes enlarged the conservatory by the removal of the billiard room. Thus she was able to have a more abundant collection of plants and display of flowers. At the end of the long corridor, a brilliant and fragrant mass of growing blooming roses greeted the eye and was a source of delight to all visitors. Each morning she had baskets of flowers brought to her, and personally arranged anywhere from a dozen to fifty bouquets for various people, not only friends, but officials, and hospitals, and institutions. She carried her love of flowers and nature to the extent of purchasing a dinner service of a thousand pieces, and upon it were reproduced the flora and fauna of America. This work was done by Theodore R. Davis, an artist-naturalist who had travelled extensively and familiarized himself with the vegetation of our land. The effect of the bold designs of fish, fowl, and flowers upon the tableware brought a variety of comment. Some ridiculed and others approved, but all admitted the idea distinctive and original.

Mrs. Hayes did not emulate Mrs. Grant in her social activities. She followed the old custom of declining invitations, but she managed to be well represented by some of her family and a group of young girls.

She left Washington loved by the poor, with the unqualified admiration and devotion of the church people and those advocating prohibition. A movement was started by the temperance people to express the appreciation of her stand against liquor by a gift to the city of a fountain named for her. She did not favour this, for she had seen too much of unsanitary drinking fountains to be at all impressed with the idea, even though it was an unusually appropriate one; and when a life-size portrait of herself was suggested, instead, she entered into the plan most cheerfully. The celebrated artist, Daniel Huntington, of New York, was commissioned to paint the portrait. As she was planning to make a trip to New York to purchase her winter wardrobe, she offered to get whatever the artist considered most suitable in colour and material for the gown to be worn in the portrait. As she was what he called a rose brunette, Mr. Huntington chose the colour and material of the lovely maroon velvet gown which appears in the portrait that now graces the White House. This painting was presented by the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union and unveiled by a delegation at the close of the Hayes régime in March, 1887. The address was given by Frances Willard.

Mrs. Hayes did not live very long after her return to Ohio. She was spared a long and painful illness, however, dying suddenly on June 25, 1889. She was seated on the porch engaged with some fancy work, watching some of the young people of the family playing tennis. Her needle gave her a bit of trouble, and she inclined her head to see what was wrong. She was heard to give a little sigh, and before anyone realized that she was ill, she was unconscious from a stroke of apoplexy, and died a few hours later. She was buried on the knoll at Spiegel Grove, Fremont, Ohio.

President Hayes had long been interested in the preservation of historic places such as the early homes of the Presidents, their birthplaces, graves, etc., and this led to the trip to Wakefield and the placing of a marker there on the site of George Washington’s birthplace. The Washington Monument project received through his influence the needed impetus to secure the appropriation by Congress for the resumption of the construction. To Colonel Casey the task was given, and under his direction work again began. The Monument in its unfinished condition had been an eyesore to the people of Washington for nearly twenty-five years.

Rutherford Hayes won high regard for his unfailing dignity in his official duties, made so difficult by the politicians of his own party and by the Democrats who controlled the House. His choice of a private secretary, W. K. Rogers, of Minnesota, a friend of long standing, unloosed the first storm of criticism. His Cabinet selections had been met with ridicule, the claim being that they were neither Northern, Southern, Democratic, nor Republican. Throughout his term he was continually taunted with the charge of fraud, although President Grant, the electoral commission, and a vast host of powerful, staunch Americans supported and endorsed him. President Hayes mapped out his course and followed it. He would not be stampeded. His calm, deliberate policies enabled him to carry out his theory regarding the necessity of withdrawing Federal troops from the Southern States as the quickest method to aid those states to get rid of carpet-bag government. To the great consternation of the opposition and against the advice of many of his own party, he withdrew the troops—a step calling for courage. Immediately, the whites assumed control, and the worst of the reconstruction evils was over.

Out of his resolve to rid the government of the scandals that had so obscured the vision of the public for the previous eight years arose so much contention that two factions formed. One called themselves “Stalwarts”; their chief reason for existing was to express opposition to the conciliatory policy which he had manifested toward the South, in his great effort to make the reality of a reunited country manifest. For this he was called a “Puritan” and those who followed him were termed “Half-breeds.”

Very little constructive legislation could be developed against the combined opposing elements which maintained their hostility throughout his term. He vetoed the Bland-Allison Bill, which pledged the government to the purchase of silver to the extent of $24,000,000 yearly to be turned into dollars. Congress passed the bill over his veto. Specie payments were resumed, and a Chinese treaty negotiated which exercised control over the immigration from that country.

President Hayes did not seek a renomination, but returned to his home to indulge in various forms of philanthropy and to plan and have constructed under his own direction a monument that should serve as his memorial. With the death of Mrs. Hayes and her interment in the spot he had chosen, this memorial became a hallowed and sacred project to develop into a memorial park. He did not survive his wife long. His death occurred quite suddenly, on January 17, 1893, shortly after he had remarked that he had “rather die at Spiegel Grove than live anywhere else.”

CHAPTER V

ADMINISTRATION OF JAMES ABRAM
GARFIELD

March 4, 1881, to September 19, 1881

FROM a frontier log cabin in the wilderness to the White House was the alpha and omega of James A. Garfield, whose brief régime lasted just two hundred days.

The inauguration of James A. Garfield, twentieth President of the United States, on March 4, 1881, was a great pageant, notwithstanding the cold, dismal rain that followed the light snow of the night before. By noon, the sun had come out bright and warm, and before the parade was over, the streets were dry.

Escorted by twelve companies of regular artillery, six companies of marines, and a like number of infantry, President Hayes and President-elect Garfield rode together with the members of the Senate Committee in a four-horse carriage, with the Columbia Commandery of Knights Templar, of which General Garfield was a member, as a guard of honour. An armed guard had been posted about the Capitol, and no one without the proper credentials was admitted.

Mrs. Hayes escorted Mrs. Garfield and General Garfield’s aged mother, a venerable white-haired lady, to the gallery seats reserved for them.

Following the installation of Mr. Arthur, the new Vice President, and the new senators, the Senate was adjourned to witness the ceremony on the East Portico. At the East Portico, the chair once used by General Washington had again been placed in the centre of the raised stage. General Garfield was shown to this as the seat of honour. Chief Justice Waite administered the oath.

During the inaugural address, “Mother Garfield’s” undisguised pride and delight in her son awakened the sympathetic appreciation of all who saw her; she was the first mother ever to have the privilege of witnessing her son sworn in as President of the United States.

General Garfield took the oath, given him by Chief Justice Waite, after which, amidst the applause of the people, he kissed his mother and his wife and was escorted to his carriage to return to the White House.

Mrs. Hayes had exercised the same courteous provisions for her successor as had been extended to her by Mrs. Grant, and before the new President reviewed the parade, the two families had lunch together. Ex-President and Mrs. Hayes then departed for the home of Senator Sherman, where they visited for a few days.

Since the Grand Review of 1865, Washington had not witnessed so splendid a parade, one of such length and perfect formation as this at the inauguration of James Garfield. It reflected great credit upon the skill of General Sherman, who had arranged it. The ball that night, too, was a fine affair, held in the new National Museum, fitted up for the occasion. The new President and Mrs. Garfield arrived about nine o’clock and were received by the Ball Committee, Judge Bancroft escorting the President. Mrs. Garfield was gowned tastefully in light lavender satin elaborately trimmed with point lace. A simple cluster of purple pansies was worn at her neck. Her costume was remarked for its simplicity and the absence of jewellery. Mrs. Hayes, who was with her, was most charmingly gowned in a cream-coloured satin, trimmed with ermine. The supper was elaborate. The menu for this event included 1,500 pounds of turkey, 100 gallons of oysters, 3,000 biscuits and rolls, 50 hams, 200 gallons of chicken salad, 50 gallons of jelly, 250 gallons of coffee, 15,000 cakes, 250 gallons of ice cream, and 300 pounds of butter.

Garfield’s régime was so short that naturally interest in him must centre more in what he was than in what he accomplished as President.

Born in Ohio on November 19, 1831, of pioneer parents, he experienced through childhood and youth the same kind of struggle and hardship as fell to the lot of many of our great men. Like many of them, too, he was self-made.

When he was but eighteen months old, his mother was left, through the death of his father, with four small children to bring up and a farm to manage. She had literally to fill a man’s place. Mrs. Garfield struggled and toiled heroically, and soon Jimmy, the baby, had the chance to go to school in the summer; the winter term was not possible, since he had no shoes or suitable clothing. Finally, Thomas, the eldest, a child of twelve, the man of the family, secured a job with a farmer to work fourteen hours a day for six dollars a month. Thomas had one idea—that was that young Jimmy should be given a chance at schooling, and when he came home with his first pay, his one request was that his mother purchase shoes for Jimmy, so that the little brother could attend the school in the little town.

As the lad grew into his teens, the boundaries of the farm grew too restricted. Tales of travel and adventure had roused a responsive thrill in his heart. At seventeen, therefore, although his mother wanted him to continue his education and become a teacher, he set out to make his fortune, after completing the strenuous job of chopping one hundred cords of wood for twenty-five dollars for the ready cash. He tied his belongings in a small bundle, slung them over his shoulder on a stick, and started his tramp to find the end of the rainbow of his ambition. By the time he reached Cleveland, tramping had lost some of its glamour, especially as water and boats were at hand. His appeal for a place on a lake steamer met with a curt and uncompromising refusal, in which his inexperience was brought home to him.

Employment of some sort being a necessity, he spent several days industriously seeking a job, and finally found one with a canal-boat captain. For several months, for twelve dollars a month and board he trudged the towpath along the canal his father had helped to build.

Young Garfield was ill with chills and fever for six months, and when convalescent, realizing that he really desired schooling more than anything else, to his mother’s delight, he entered the high school at Chester, which held other attractions than the academic routine. His childhood playmate, Lucretia Rudolph, daughter of Zeb Rudolph, of Garretsville, one of the founders of Hiram College, was also a pupil.

By the time these two completed the high-school course, he had acquired the distinction of height, six feet two inches, which was so much admired when he entered public life. By this time, also, Lucretia had assumed a definite place in his scheme of life. Aided and abetted by his mother, she overcame his rather natural feeling that he could not afford to give more time to the college course, to which he looked so longingly. Feminine argument also had the support and backing of the splendid loyal older brother, and Jimmy and Lucretia entered the Western Reserve Electic Institute at Hiram, Ohio, later the Hiram College. In vacations, he taught a district school for twelve dollars a month and board. Graduation left a desire for further educational experience, and Williams College, Massachusetts, was the objective.

During vacations, he taught school in Pownal, Vt., the school of which Chester Alan Arthur had been principal the term previous. It was there Garfield became a convert to the Campbellites, being baptized in a tributary of the Chagrin River. His zeal for his new religious affiliation sent him lecturing, teaching, and preaching wherever and whenever opportunity offered.

With the completion of the course at Williams College, from which he was graduated in 1856, where his son, Dr. Harry A. Garfield, is now dean, he returned to take the Chair of Ancient Languages at Hiram College.

His marriage to Lucretia Rudolph, his boyhood sweetheart, occurred in 1858, and within a year he was made President of the College, which position he held until he entered the Civil War in 1861. Their lives ran along in great happiness, owing to their congenial tastes. They studied together and kept step in all matters of public and educational interests. He preached, taught, and studied law, being admitted to the bar in Cuyahoga County in 1860.

Seven children were born to them.

Upon offering his services at the opening of the Civil War, James Garfield was commissioned Colonel of the Forty-second Ohio Volunteers. For gallantry, he was made Brigadier General, the youngest man to receive that rank. He served with distinction at Shiloh and at Corinth, and in Alabama became Chief of Staff of the Army of the Cumberland.

At Chickamauga, he was made a Major General of volunteers, owing to meritorious action. This honour had just been conferred when he learned of the death of his infant daughter.

He resigned to enter Congress at the age of thirty-two, after a conference with General Rosecrans, and served continuously until 1880.

When Mr. Blaine went to the Senate in 1876, Garfield became the recognized leader of the Republican element in the House. In January, 1880, he himself was elected to the Senate.

In June of that year, the Republicans held their national convention, when Grant’s name was suggested again. With his European popularity, many admirers believed he would be sent to the White House on the crest of another boom.

Other friends protested against his name being put up again. They predicted defeat. At no time would he announce himself as sufficiently receptive to the idea of a third term to authorize a statement. When asked whether he would accept a nomination, he replied: “I will neither accept nor decline an imaginary thing.” Later, however, he wrote:

When the convention met, General Grant’s name was brought forward by Roscoe Conkling. His chief opponent was Mr. Blaine. Roscoe Conkling was a clever politician, with a gift of sarcasm which he was continually abusing. He seldom tried to conciliate his opponent, and he deeply hated Mr. Blaine. At the convention, Conkling’s words and manner were arrogant and insolent to a degree. Taunts and insults came to his lips so readily that he not merely deepened the hostility of the Blaine men, but estranged the friends of other candidates, whom otherwise he might, perhaps, have won over. But he was sure of at least three hundred and six Grant delegates, and he seemed to feel that he could bully the convention into giving him the seventy additional votes needed for a clear majority. Nothing like Conkling’s conduct had ever been seen at any national convention. He did not even confine himself to verbal taunts, but once, at least, he rushed at an opposing delegate who was speaking, and, seizing him by the shoulders, thrust him down into his seat in spite of the jeers and hisses which came from every quarter of the hall. A newspaper of the day gives the following account:

Chester Alan Arthur, a “Stalwart,” was elected as the running mate of Garfield, a “Half-breed,” to appease the faction he represented. Mr. Arthur was collector of the Port of New York at the time of his election, this appointment having been conferred by President Grant.

President Garfield early made known his choice of James G. Blaine as his Secretary of State. He listened to all suggestions for the other Cabinet posts, but kept his own counsel concerning his appointments. He understood that, but for the support given him by General Grant and Conkling, he might have met defeat. Yet he chose to ignore hints, requests, appeals, and demands of friends and party leaders, and chose his Cabinet for some definite reasons which would undoubtedly have been disclosed had his term not ended so tragically.

William Windom of Minnesota was chosen for Secretary of the Treasury; Robert Lincoln, of Illinois, Secretary of War; William H. Hunt, of Louisiana, Secretary of the Navy; Wayne McVeagh, of Pennsylvania, Attorney General; Samuel J. Kirkwood, of Iowa, Secretary of the Interior; and Thomas L. James, of New York, Postmaster General.

While some of the appointments he made created resentment from the “Stalwarts,” particularly that of Blaine, antagonism blazed into open rebellion when he selected for the important New York office, that of Collector of the Port of New York, W. H. Robertson, who proved to be a political enemy of Conkling and also of Thomas C. Platt, junior senator. Both were so indignant and resentful that, when the man’s nomination was followed by confirmation, and all the suggestions for other New York offices were ignored by President Garfield, the two Senators promptly resigned, with the idea that their reëlection by the New York Legislature would speedily follow as a measure of approval. The plan, however, did not work out as scheduled.

Although President Garfield was no stranger to Washington, his first public appearance created widespread interest. He presided at the unveiling of the statue of Admiral Farragut, the work of the little sculptor, Vinnie Ream Hoxie, whose statue of Lincoln in the Capitol had created such a sensation, being the work of a woman—a mere girl. For the Farragut statue, Congress paid $25,000.

Vinnie Ream deserves a place in the American Hall of Fame since she was one of the most talented women of her period. Her unusual life and marked achievements in spite of limited opportunities should be an inspiration to ambitious youth.

She was born in Wisconsin, near the site of Madison, in September, 1847, of pioneer parents. From Indian children playmates she learned the Indian nature so beautifully expressed in her later model of Sequoya, the last work of her hand, which, left unfinished, now stands in Statuary Hall at the Capitol, having been completed by Julian Zolnay.

Her childhood in an isolated Kansas settlement was barren of educational facilities save when a travelling teacher appeared to establish classes for a few weeks while resting and preparing to continue his travels. Her introduction to good poetry and music came through such agencies. A guitar peddler with instruments, instruction books, and the good will to teach all purchasers to play found a willing pupil in the eleven-year-old Vinnie, whose father bought his first instrument. Guitar sales flourished. The supply was exhausted, but the little girl was the only one who mastered the teacher’s method and was able to pick out tunes from the little book. This was the beginning of a musical career in which, as composer and interpreter, she was considered a genius in the year she was in college.

Photos. by Brady

MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD

The vicissitudes of fortune brought the Ream family to Washington at the opening of the Civil War, and the little girl at the age of thirteen had to become the mainstay for a time, filling a copyist’s position in the Post Office at fifty dollars a month.

Her first visit to the studio of Clark Mills, the sculptor engaged to make a bust of her for the Christian College of Missouri, where she had been for a year a prize pupil, changed the objective of her life from music to art. As she watched the artist reproducing her own features in clay, the conviction burst upon her that she too could command her fingers in such expression, and she exclaimed, “Oh, I know I could do that!”

Amused at her girlish presumption, the artist handed her a bit of clay, to try. In a few minutes, he was amazed to see a striking likeness of himself taking form under her small fingers. Instantly, he and those with him in the studio realized that this undersized girl of thirteen was a genius of no mean order. Mills accordingly offered her instruction, sending her home with some clay and a little statuette to copy. The duplicate made in a few hours convinced her family that the little girl had discovered her real life work.

As her work progressed and her skill developed, the Postmaster General permitted her to complete her daily quota of work in the mornings so that she might have the necessary afternoon light for her art.

A bust of President Lincoln modelled from memory brought her an interview with him, and her story of her struggle to help her family won his consent for her to come to the White House for sittings. For five months this girl, now seventeen, made her daily trip to the President’s office to make her sketches. Her last sitting was on the day preceding his assassination. From her drawings, she made a bust of such remarkable likeness that she was induced to enter the competition for the statue of Lincoln for the Capitol for which Congress appropriated $15,000, and won.

The contract was hers. She had won above the nation’s leading sculptors. With her advance payment she established herself and her parents in a studio in Rome to study and supervise the cutting of the marble for the statue. Three years later, she returned to begin the work in an empty committee room assigned to her use, under the inspiration and criticism of Abraham Lincoln’s associates.

The completion and dedication brought her more honours and orders, and the contract for the statue of Farragut also came to her as the winner of the competition.

Although the Garfield administration was so brief, it was remembered for the happy home life and domesticity a large and lively family of youngsters gave to it, and also for the cultural qualities of the President and his wife. Mrs. Garfield had devoted much of her time and energies to the education and care of her four boys and her girl. Her natural inclination was to prefer the home circle to many of the social affairs.

“Grandma Garfield,” the President’s mother, made her home with them. She was the treasured guest of the family and was given every deference and courtesy that affection could suggest. She sat on the right of her son and always was served first. His regard for her added to the picture of happy home life that prevailed.

The formal state social functions were not scheduled until the following winter season, but immediately after the inauguration Mrs. Garfield gave four splendid receptions, which were largely attended.

Her husband called her “Crete,” a nickname from their schooldays, which was an abbreviation of her rather formal name, Lucretia.

The President found the executive treadmill more absorbing and more engrossing than any other task to which his hand had been set, and he quickly found a need for relaxation that was not wholly met by his literary tastes.

Immediately after settling his family, he had the billiard room refitted and the table restored. Here, with his cigar and a little coterie of close friends, he found much enjoyment. Frequent horseback riding gave him the needed exercise.

President Garfield had so closely identified himself with church and masonic organizations that people of the District of Columbia regarded him as almost a Washingtonian. He, his wife, and his mother were regular attendants at the little frame church of the Disciples of Christ, better known as the Vermont Avenue Christian Church. Here he frequently filled the pulpit, although he had never been ordained to the ministry. After his death, when his assassin was on trial, testimony was produced that indicated that Guiteau had followed the President to church, as he had been seen looking in the windows. The attendance of the President of the United States is always a great boon to the church he selects. The present beautiful church is built on the site occupied by the little frame building in which Garfield was so interested, and is regarded as a memorial to him.

As a member of the Masonic fraternity, Garfield had greatly endeared himself to the craft. At the time of his death he was a member of Columbia commandery, Knights Templar, in which he was knighted in 1865. He was undoubtedly the most active Mason locally that has ever filled the presidential chair.

Though Garfield had chosen his Cabinet himself, without advice, apparently he had not considered all of the contending influences represented therein, since four months later, at the time he was stricken by Guiteau’s bullet, it was on the verge of dissolution.

The President was noticeably buoyant in spirit on the morning of July 2, 1881, in bidding adieu to his office staff as he departed for the railroad station, for he had planned a little trip that was to take him to Williams College, his Alma Mater, and then to join his wife at Long Branch for a longer trip with her and the older children.

Mrs. Garfield had come into the White House with a slight ailment that clung to her through her anxiety over her husband’s party difficulties, and as spring opened, this progressed and was increased through an attack of malaria, the scourge of the White House families for many years. After much medical consultation, she was sent to Long Branch for the benefit of the sea air. This had proved beneficial and the President had anticipated much pleasure from their projected trip.

President Garfield and Secretary Blaine were at the Pennsylvania railroad depot, about to depart. They were passing through the ladies’ waiting room when two pistol shots rang out. Mr. Blaine immediately turned and saw the President lurch forward and fall. A moment afterward, the assassin, Charles J. Guiteau, was discovered and was rescued with difficulty from the infuriated mob. A pistol of very heavy calibre was wrenched out of his hand, and it became clear that a large ball had entered the President’s body.

When in answer to eager questions, the physicians informed Garfield that he had “one chance in a hundred” of living, he said calmly and bravely: “Then, Doctor, we will take that chance.”

An ambulance was hastily called. The White House was notified. Harry, his eldest son, rushed to the station and very gently the wounded man was placed on a mattress and carefully lifted into the ambulance, his son beside him. The President whispered: “Rockwell, I want you to send a message to Crete. Tell her I am seriously hurt, how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me soon. I send my love to her.” Preceded by three mounted policemen and followed by others to keep the crowd back, the wounded President was borne to the White House. Such wild confusion as ensued can better be imagined than described. Like wildfire the news spread over the city, and soon the wires were flashing their terrible story to every city and town. Once again the nation was plunged into horror and grief over the fate that had befallen its head. Then followed days and weeks of prayerful anxiety among the watchers at the bedside and the people of the nation.

General Corbin, assistant adjutant general, had immediately provided a special train for Mrs. Garfield and Mollie. They returned to the White House as fast as the train could bring them, living through such agony and apprehension as can be appreciated only by those who have been confronted with a similar experience. To her great relief, Mrs. Garfield found her husband alive and able to talk with her, though suffering intensely.

Hopes ran high for his recovery because of his splendid health and strength, but soon it was apparent to the most optimistic that he would not recover. Physicians conferred and disagreed over the case and its diagnosis and treatment. Great authorities were consulted, but none could make a suggestion that brought relief, and the suffering man slipped farther down into the valley of the shadow. Into the minds of all watchers soon came the conviction that life was just a matter of days.

He expressed a desire to be taken where he could see the ocean, and elaborate preparations were made to insure a journey to Elberon, N. J., as comfortable for the sufferer as possible. Accordingly, on September 6th, a mattress was placed on an express wagon, and the trip to the station was made between daybreak and sunrise. In order to avoid driving over the cobblestones, the railroad put a little stretch of track from the station down to Pennsylvania Avenue and ran a car throughout its length, so that the invalid might be lifted directly from his mattress in the express wagon into the car. But even the sight of the sea did not benefit him, and while every comfort was provided for him at the cottage of O. G. Francklyn, he steadily failed. He died on September 19, 1881.

While President Garfield thus lingered between life and death, an important question arose as to the constitutional provision relating to the “disability” of the President. On the part of the Vice President, General Arthur, there was no move toward assuming the responsibilities of the executive office. To the Vice President, the situation was exceedingly trying, but he so conducted himself as to win universal respect. His whole bearing, from the day of the crisis to the close of the scene, was such as to indicate the profoundest sorrow and anxiety.

But, in other quarters, the President’s “disability” was eagerly discussed. The question arose: Was President Garfield disabled in the sense contemplated by the framers of the Constitution? Does that kind of prostration of the bodily powers in which there is still a prospect of recovery, which leaves the will free to act and the mental powers unimpaired, really involve disability? While these questions were much discussed, it was the universal public judgment that President Garfield was not in fact “disabled” in the sense of the Constitution. He continued to be the Chief Executive of the nation in fact as well as in name; his Cabinet met from time to time; and not until the fatal turn of affairs on September 19th, when the President breathed his last at Elberon, was there an actual change in the administration.

A sad little group returned to Washington with the body of James Abram Garfield. This consisted of Chester A. Arthur, who had become President; General Grant, to whom the dead man owed deep obligations for his valiant support in the campaign; also a delegation of the Freemasons, and many important people. A hearse drawn by six white horses conveyed the casket to the Capitol, where it lay in state beneath the great dome, and where for two days a procession of thousands of citizens filed past to take a last look upon the face of another martyred President, whom they had come to love and admire.

After the family had taken their farewell, the funeral ceremonies began. The military, with their flags shrouded, their arms reversed, and their bands pouring forth a dirge, escorted the body to the same station where the shooting had occurred, to be conveyed to Cleveland for interment. The funeral party arrived at Cleveland on September 24th, and on the 26th the body of James A. Garfield was placed in its final resting place, while the entire nation attended in spirit and sympathy. During the funeral services, the sympathy of the world was with the family. Bells tolled in all big cities, mourning was displayed, and appropriate services were held throughout the country.

Party differences were forgotten or laid aside and criticism stilled in the presence of death.

Secretary Blaine loved Garfield, and his oration at the funeral was an evidence of this fact.

Guiteau, the assassin, had a sensational trial in the old City Hall. This attracted a great deal of attention, particularly on the part of the morbid curiosity-seekers who assembled daily to see the prisoner go to and from the jail to the City Hall. He paid for his act with his life. Although of good family, educated and clever, he had always been queer—a religious fanatic, who took nothing in halfway fashion. He was an extremist upon all things that interested him at all, and after years of travel abroad, imbibing all sorts of radical ideas, he came back with tendencies that found expression in opposition to all regularity of action. He had followed President Garfield about, he said, for weeks. Because of his political activity and his mad act, it was alleged that the shooting was due to factional resentment over the total eclipse of Conkling and Platt.

Guiteau’s sister and her husband, the latter reluctantly, at his wife’s request, serving as the prisoner’s counsel, won the pity and respect of everyone by their own demeanour.

Mrs. Garfield was just at her best when she came to the White House. Just beginning her forties, she had a background of culture and breeding from ancestry and education that made her a welcome addition to the best circles, brief though her régime proved to be.

Although she was well known in Washington society during her husband’s long service in Congress, when it became known that she was to be the successor of Mrs. Hayes, public attention was centred upon her and created a great demand for information about the incoming mistress of the White House.

People who claimed intimacy with this family say that she was fully as conversant with politics as her husband, and that he found in his wife intelligent and understanding companionship; that it was she who aided him in working out his political problems, and that is why he consulted none of his party associates.

The General had this to say of Mrs. Garfield:

Mrs. Garfield survived her husband many years, living to see among other memorials that bear his name a huge hospital in the Capitol City, which must have held for her a peculiar appeal.

CHAPTER VI

ADMINISTRATION OF CHESTER ALAN
ARTHUR

September 20, 1881, to March 4, 1885

VICE PRESIDENT CHESTER A. ARTHUR was not in Washington at the time of the shooting of President Garfield. He had been to Albany, and was horror stricken upon landing in New York to be greeted at the dock with the news. He left immediately for Washington, going directly to the Ben Butler house south of the Capitol, occupied at the time by Senator Jones, of Nevada, where he remained until the injured President was taken to Elberon, N. J.

Although the White House patient was conscious a large part of the time, his condition grew more critical, and his sufferings were increased by the midsummer heat, and on July 4th his death was predicted hourly. James G. Blaine, Secretary of State, called upon the Vice President to acquaint him with the fact that the President’s death was imminent and to prepare him to assume control. Mr. Blaine said:

“The President is dying! You must prepare to assume the responsibilities which the Constitution places upon you in such an event.”

Vice President Arthur was greatly distressed over the situation. He believed the prediction and stated that, when the Cabinet would call upon him, he would be ready to take the oath of office. The pall of approaching death and the depression of the great calamity had the entire nation bowed in sorrow and anxiety.

While Mr. Arthur thus waited with his friends in great suspense, expecting every moment the worst, they were notified by an orderly sent by Secretary Blaine to the effect that the change in the weather, bringing relief from the exhausting heat, had brought a decided improvement in the President’s condition, and immediate death was not anticipated. Mr. Arthur was fervent in his expressions of relief and joy. Already papers were carrying stories connecting the names of Arthur and Conkling with Guiteau’s crime. This was a severe shock to Mr. Arthur’s sensibilities, and caused him such profound distress over the injustice and cruelty of such a slander that he never quite recovered from it. Throughout his administration, this barbed shaft was often flung at him and never failed to wound him. When his attention was first called to the statements, he exclaimed:

When it became evident that none of the medical experts in charge of the White House patient were making any progress toward his recovery and the trip to Elberon, N. J., was planned to comply with the President’s desire to be near the ocean, and also as a forlorn hope that a change of air might again bring about an improvement, Mr. Arthur returned to his home in New York City, 123 Lexington Avenue, where, two weeks later, on the night of September 19, 1881, he received the official notice of the death of his chief.

Although he had been daily informed of the President’s condition and had known for some days that the Chief Executive could not recover, yet the communication of the five members of the Cabinet was a shock. It read:

Announcement to The Vice President

(The Secretaries of State and War were absent from Long Branch.)

Preparations were made at once to follow the instructions, and Justices J. R. Brady and Charles Donoghue, of the Supreme Court of New York, were summoned, as were Elihu Root, ex-Commissioner French, Samuel G. Rollins, and they, with Alan D. Arthur, the son of the Vice President, comprised the group that witnessed the taking of the oath of office, administered by Justice J. R. Brady, at 2 A. M. on September 20, 1881. The news was flashed to Washington and word sent to Long Branch.

By nine o’clock, Secretary of State Blaine, Secretary of War Robert Lincoln, and Postmaster General James called upon the new President, and journeyed with him later in the day to Elberon.

On September 21st, President Arthur accompanied the funeral train to Washington. He again went to the home of Senator John P. Jones, of Nevada, and on Thursday, September 22d, repeated the oath of office given by Chief Justice Waite. Two former presidents, Grant and Hayes, were present at this ceremony, which occurred in the Vice President’s room in the Senate wing at the Capitol. The Bible was handed him by the clerk of the Supreme Court. President Arthur at once issued his inaugural address and a proclamation on the death of President Garfield.

Arthur had been an active Grant adherent in 1880, but when Garfield was nominated, he was chosen for second place, not only because he happened to be Garfield’s choice, but because there was hope of appeasing the strong “Stalwart” faction of the Republican party. However, this plan did not heal the breach. Instead, the bitter contest in the Senate, over which Vice President Arthur had presided, led to such dissatisfaction, despite the Vice President’s efforts at harmony, that the Garfield Cabinet was on the point of dissolution when the tragedy turned the tide of criticism of the President and his policies into sympathy, and by the time Chester Arthur assumed the title rôle, prosperity was full upon the land and political animosities were dormant, apparently forgotten. He quickly proved himself able to cope with the situation, and directed affairs in a dignified and statesmanlike manner.

Chester Alan Arthur was of a different type from any of his predecessors. He has been called the most elegant, polished, and courtly gentleman that ever filled the presidential office. He was a native of Vermont, having been born at Fairfield, Franklin County, on October 5, 1830, and was the oldest child in a family of two sons and five daughters. Doubtless, much of his grace of manner was an inheritance from his father, William Arthur, born in Ballymena, County of Antrim, Ireland, who was a Baptist minister and also an author.

Chester Arthur’s boyhood was not unusual. His early education was conducted at home under the supervision of his father, who supplied most of the tutoring. He went to Union College, from which he was graduated in 1848, and was an active member of the Psi Upsilon Society. While in college, he added to his slender means by teaching a country school. In 1852, he was admitted to the bar, and shortly after entered into a partnership, in New York, with a friend, Henry D. Gardner. This connection lasted until the close of the Civil War, when Mr. Arthur continued the business of the firm alone.

As soon as he had established himself in a lucrative business, his romance with Miss Ellen Lewis Herndon, of Virginia, culminated with their marriage on October 29, 1859. Miss Herndon was the daughter of a distinguished Virginia naval officer, Captain William Lewis Herndon, who was lost at sea after winning fame in the exploration of the Amazon. She had a lovely voice, charming Southern manner, splendid ancestry, and a girlish beauty that made her the ideal of Mr. Arthur’s dreams; while he, with his distinguished bearing, six feet two and a half inches of height, handsome features, and courtly manners, was the type of lover to fill the measure of any girl’s ideal.

After their marriage and romantic honeymoon, they installed themselves in a home on Lexington Avenue where the charm of her voice and the grace of her manner with his genius as a host and prince of hospitality drew about them a delightful coterie of interesting people, particularly those distinguished in arts, music, letters, and social life in New York City.

During the Civil War, Mr. Arthur served on the staff of Governor E. D. Morgan, of New York City, as engineer in chief. He was later made Inspector General, and in January, 1862, was promoted to the position of Quartermaster General. His task in equipping thousands of volunteers was arduous and difficult, and brought him much praise for the businesslike efficiency with which it was conducted. His war account, notwithstanding its length, owing to the great number of men equipped, was the first audited, and that without the reduction of one dollar, while those of other states were cut in varying amounts ranging from one million to ten million dollars.

He made it a rule to accept neither gifts nor favours, though many handsome presents were sent him, and he was poorer at the close of this service than before the term began. He was also inspector of New York troops in the field on the staff of Major General Hunt, of the Army of the Potomac. After the war, he resumed his law practice with great success, gaining a national reputation through the important legal cases he handled, and was for a time counsel to the Board of Tax Commissioners, who paid him a salary of $10,000 a year.

He received the appointment of Collector of the Port of New York in 1871 from President Grant, and his reappointment in 1875 was confirmed by the Senate.

Hayes selected for Secretary of Treasury John Sherman, “who deemed it important that the custom-house appointments should be in the hands of one more friendly to the Hayes administration than Mr. Arthur.” Theodore Roosevelt was appointed collector, but the United States Senate refused to confirm the appointment, and Arthur and Cornell held their respective offices until adjournment of Congress, July 11, 1878, when they were suspended. Arthur had previously declined to resign, as requested by Secretary Sherman, notwithstanding the fact that he was promised a foreign mission.

His friends prepared and circulated a petition for his reinstatement which carried the signature of every judge of every court of New York City, of all important members of the bar, and of three fourths of the merchant importers. When Mr. Arthur learned of this, he refused to permit it to be presented.

The political affiliations of her husband were not especially pleasing to Mrs. Arthur. She disliked having him mixed up with them, preferring that he devote himself exclusively to his legal profession. His admirers have claimed that he was born with a flair for politics, and from the time he reached his majority he was a politician entering into the activities of his chosen party with zest and enthusiasm.

Photo by G. V. Buck, Washington, D. C.

MRS. JOHN McELROY

Sister of President Arthur

The great joy that descended upon the Arthur household with the birth of their first child, which they named for the gallant Captain Herndon, was turned to sorrow, as the babe died in infancy. Several years later, however, two other children came to them, Alan and little Ellen, to banish the grief and fill the household with life and childish voices.

As time progressed, Mrs. Arthur became more and more a social favourite. Her voice, so often compared to that of a Southern nightingale, was the great attraction for countless projects for charity and church benefits. She gave to such appeals most generously of her talents and her time.

Her mother, Mrs. Herndon, died in 1878 while travelling in Europe, and Mrs. Arthur went over alone to bring the body back to this country for interment. The shock of her mother’s death, her grief over not being with her, and the fatigue and strain of the trip undermined her health so that, when taken ill with pneumonia, she had no reserve strength with which to combat it, and died after a three-days’ illness on January 12, 1880.

Her death, so sudden and distressing, was a bitter blow to her husband just as he was entering upon the most important stage of his public career. It was also a shock to the host of their friends, many of them being unaware of Mrs. Arthur’s illness until they learned of her death. Her popularity was evidenced by the sincere grief of the many over her death, especially in the circles where her quiet sympathy and charity had brought so much relief. The Mendelssohn Glee Club of New York requested to be allowed to sing at her funeral.

Mrs. Mary Arthur McElroy, widow of the Rev. John McElroy of Albany, Mr. Arthur’s youngest sister, came to his aid and took charge of the desolate and grief-stricken household. Mr. Arthur would allow none of his wife’s belongings to be touched. Her room and everything in it was kept just as she left it, even to a bit of fancy work with the needle ready for the next stitch was left where she had dropped it.

Chester Alan, Jr., in his teens, was sent away to school, while little eight-year-old Nellie became the especial care of Mrs. McElroy, who had two young daughters of her own to rear. When Mr. Arthur found himself in a few short months the head of the nation, it fell upon his sister’s shoulders to preside over the White House for him. She had the same gift of grace and charm of manner that made her handsome brother so popular, and had been given all the advantages that means and the educational facilities of the day afforded.

President Arthur returned from the funeral of President Garfield confronted with the great mass of executive business that had accumulated during the late President’s illness. He decreed that out of respect to Garfield’s memory, all correspondence and documents issued from the White House should bear mourning for six months, and that the mansion should be closed to residence and visitors until Congress assembled. He would not install his family until the house was put in better condition, since he was not at all pleased with its appearance. The furniture was worn and soiled, the china chipped and marred and mismatched. Hangings and carpets needed cleaning and replacing. The storerooms, basement rooms, and attics were filled with the accumulation of odds and ends of discarded household goods and the leftovers of personal belongings of all past administrations—outgrown and forgotten toys, the vast and amazing assortment of “gifts” with which each succeeding president had been deluged by an admiring public, cast-off clothing, old umbrellas, and junk of every description.

President Arthur possessed a beautiful home in New York, where the best of art and literature that his means and taste could provide found a congenial setting. To him, the condition of the home of the presidents was such as to call for drastic action, although to intrude upon the treasures of the attics with an intent to remove them was to break precedents of as great an antiquity as the mansion itself. But precedent-breaking had started with President Grant, and continued vigorously under the winsome Mrs. Hayes, and even without the support of their procedure, President Arthur would not have hesitated to rid the White House of the fire trap, as the years’ accumulation was sometimes termed.

He notified the Commissioner of Public Buildings and Grounds of his wishes. This official, Colonel Rockwell, reported that he had no money for repair and renewals. Mr. Arthur, however, demanded that the mansion be cleaned and renovated, declaring that he would not live in a house looking as it did, and if the government could not or would not pay for it he would do so himself.

The work of rehabilitation was at once begun. Twenty-four wagonloads of household goods of all description were cleared out and sold at auction, to the delight of collectors and souvenir hunters. It is said that a pair of trousers and a battered silk hat belonging to President Lincoln were in the collection, as were also an ancient portmanteau of Mrs. Abigail Adams, and the carpet bag that had held President Lincoln’s inaugural speech. The sideboard discarded by Mrs. Hayes was purchased by a local saloon and restored by the proprietor to its original use, being stocked with decanters and the paraphernalia and accompaniments of wines and liquors. Three thousand dollars in cash was the proceeds from the gigantic house-cleaning.

President Arthur also made some improvements. He had the huge stained-glass screen, made by Tiffany, installed in the entrance hall to give a little privacy to the state apartments, since all comers and goers of every description who had business in those days entered the mansion and made their way to the “office upstairs.” This custom left no privacy whatsoever for the family, and little or no protection from the importunities of visitors, who could thus approach the family if any member of it ventured through the corridors during the office hours.

By the time Mrs. McElroy arrived with the little girls, everything was in perfect order and the government paid the bill.

The first formal function of the administration was the New Year’s reception of 1882. It was noted for its elegance and brilliance.

While the President had requested all members of the Garfield Cabinet to remain until Congress convened, the personnel changes began by the end of October. Robert T. Lincoln, Secretary of War, had the distinction of being the only Cabinet officer to continue with President Arthur until the close of his régime.

Thus it was a new set of official faces that greeted the New Year callers.

The reception was at its height when Elisha H. Allen, Hawaiian Minister, wearing the broad sash of the Order of Kamahameha III, after passing down the line greeting new officials and old friends, stepped into the anteroom for his coat and hat and dropped dead. Festivities were at once stopped, doors closed, and all signs of gaiety checked, while gloom again descended upon the mansion where tragedy, death, and sorrow have thrust dark shadows upon every administration.

One of the callers at the reception who had come to pay her respects to the new President and his Cabinet, and who had attracted universal attention, was Dr. Mary E. Walker. In her masculine trousers, formal frock coat, and silk hat, she had vied with the belles in the comment aroused by her clothes, and not even the gorgeous diamonds of Madame de Struvem, wife of the Russian Minister, or the unusually handsome gowns of the new Cabinet ladies, eclipsed hers in interest.

She was the first woman to receive the Medal of Honour from Congress, with a personal testimonial from the President of the United States; the first woman commissioned as assistant army surgeon; the first woman to adopt men’s attire for her permanent dress and then legalize it by obtaining an Act of Congress to authorize her use of it; and also the first woman prisoner of war to be exchanged for a man of her own rank. And all of this grew out of her resentment at having been born a girl and her lifelong rebellion over the limitations hedging the feminine sex.

Always annoyed with the exactions of fashions which she would not follow, as expressed in hoop skirts, high heels, false hair, and rouge, Dr. Mary, at the opening of her professional career, devised and wore what she called the American Reform Costume.

With the opening of the Civil War, Dr. Walker was commissioned a first lieutenant and assistant army surgeon. She served on battlefields and in hospitals, where her use of man’s attire facilitated her work. Her bravery under fire and untiring service for the wounded brought her the Medal of Honour from Congress and the personal thanks of President Lincoln. To the end of her life, she wore her masculine garb and her cherished medal. Her later years were devoted to philanthropy.

The season thus opened by the presidential family, brilliant functions followed one another in rapid succession, and all Washington social leaders joined the official celebrities in the number and splendour of the banquets, balls, dances, and receptions.

President Arthur, “First Gentleman of the Land,” completely revised his social régime, reverting to the formality and exclusiveness of the code planned by General Washington and Alexander Hamilton, although he occasionally dined with friends; and while Mrs. McElroy did no calling, she too reserved the right of dining out. Mrs. McElroy introduced serving tea at her afternoon receptions and refreshments after all other receptions. The formal dinners were the President’s especial delight, occupying whole evenings. They were achievements in gastronomic art, and the elegance of their service made them a distinctive function of the administration.

President Arthur’s position and appearance, and the fact that he was the most eligible widower of the land, made him the target for the attentions and machinations of hosts of women. Mothers with marriageable daughters, engaging widows eager to console and to be consoled, and hosts of romantic girls who visioned the President as the reincarnation of the famous King Arthur, all put forth their most winning smiles in the effort to focus his attention upon themselves. Did he pay a compliment to one, present a posy to another, stroll through the conservatory alone with the wife or daughter of a member of his Cabinet, lo! tongues wagged, shoulders were shrugged, eyebrows lifted, telegrams bore veiled allusions, and gossip had him tagged and all ready for marriage bells to ring. The only difficulty was that the President kept serenely on his way with the same deference and gallantry to all, and eventually any hopes of a White House bride to give society a new sensation in this administration faded before the conviction that a second marriage was not listed upon the presidential calendar of intentions.

President Arthur gave a state dinner and reception in honour of General and Mrs. Grant who were his guests at the White House while on a visit to Washington. On March 22, 1883, the dinner was given to the Diplomatic Corps, so that the members of that body in Washington might have the opportunity to meet the former President, who had been honoured above all other Americans in his tour of the world so recently completed.

It was a most brilliant affair, and opened a series of unusually delightful and elegant functions for the former President and First Lady. The state dining room, the East Room, and all other state apartments were so elaborately decorated with flowers as to resemble a tropical garden.

On the evening of the next day came the reception to which the public was invited, to pay its respects to the great commander and the gentle lady who had never refused an appeal for aid nor withheld her sympathy during the eight years of her residence in the house of the Presidents.

The dinner and reception in honour of Christine Nilsson was regarded as the smartest event of the year. After the President escorted the singer to the East Room, she sang with the Marine Band, her splendid voice high above it as she carried the air. Later in the evening, a large throng attended the reception, during which she sang “The Last Rose of Summer” and “Way Down Upon the Suwanee River,” playing her own accompaniments. Those privileged to attend considered the event one of rare distinction.

While struggling with the problems of administration, President Arthur contrived to get relaxation in his chosen way. He loved to gather old friends about him and chat with them over late suppers. Owing to his strict rule, few of these little social gatherings were chronicled by the papers. His knowledge of political life and his acquaintance with prominent men made these supper parties of utmost importance, and to be bidden to attend was even more of a command to be cherished and obeyed than the usual White House invitations. Upon one occasion, a party of his old friends came from New York City, each bringing his own oyster fork, which he presented to the President as a souvenir after the dinner.

The detailed accounts of President Arthur’s régime are meagre because of his dislike of publicity. He would not allow any chronicles of daily doings of the White House, or photographs of his children to be made or appear in the papers, or any stories to be given out about them.

Gossip attached many versions to the story of the portrait of a pretty woman in the President’s private apartment, before which flowers in profusion were placed daily by his order. The story lost its zest when it was learned that it was the portrait of his wife, the Virginia nightingale, mother of Alan and Nellie.

Nellie Arthur spent but little time in Washington, as she was attending a French school in New York City, while her brother was at college. Both frequently returned to visit their father, bringing young classmates to visit the White House with them. They spent lively days of sightseeing, often visiting the monument of their grandfather, Captain Herndon, at Annapolis.

Although born and reared under the teaching of a Baptist clergyman, President Arthur deserted that faith and became an Episcopalian, and he and his household attended St. John’s Church—the Church of the Presidents, across from the White House. He placed there a beautiful memorial window in honour of his wife, and arranged for flowers to be sent regularly from the White House conservatory for the altar.

The President’s young son found Washington a delightful and alluring place to spend week-ends and brief holidays from college. His appearance meant a gay frolic, and with his father’s team and his banjo he was a welcome addition to the younger set.

Nellie, though but twelve when her father left the capital, left a memorial to her kindly heart among the poor children of the city, for she organized and was the first president of the Christmas Club which, the first year, collected more than twenty thousand gifts of toys, sweets, and clothing for the needy little ones—an institution which has never been allowed to lapse.

In June of 1882, the Army of the Cumberland held its annual meeting and resolved to erect a monument to General Garfield. Adjutant General Swaim of the army was appointed to make the necessary arrangements for a bazaar. Circulars were sent broadcast, appealing for contributions of every description. Every trade, profession, and science was besought to give or loan material for exhibits.

As the plans progressed, it was decided that the only place suitable to hold such an ambitious function was in the Rotunda and Statuary Hall of the National Capitol. Accordingly, the proper officials were interviewed and the privilege granted by Congress, so that the fair might open on November 25, 1882.

The next step was the formation of many state boards or committees to assist by taking charge of booths. Notable among these were the booths of Iowa, New Jersey, Illinois, Kansas, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Arkansas, and New York.

When the truck loads of donations began to arrive, the great historical pictures of the Rotunda were covered with canvas and the marble statues were moved back out of the way in Statuary Hall. When the decorators had finished placing the loan exhibits of art, the bunting, and the flags, no one would have recognized the Hall of Representatives, whose lofty ceiling and dim corners sent back echoes of the oratory of Webster, Clay, and Calhoun and caught the last uttered word of the venerable John Quincy Adams. Instead of marble busts and bronze figures, booths appeared, gaily decked with jewellery, perfumery, candy, fancy aprons, pincushions, dolls, and crazy quilts. From some, the new-fashioned “Mother Hubbard” gown swung to and fro. Sewing machines, pianos, organs, vied with clocks, churns, and washtubs, and all imaginable utilitarian and ornamental household articles. Kansas wheat, corn, and great roosters of wood, busts, portraits, and paintings of Garfield, Henry Clay, and other notables distinguished the booths of the various states. The Rotunda was turned into an Art Hall. Vinnie Ream Hoxie had charge of the arrangement and made the spot one of rare beauty and interest with the aid of flowers and numerous loaned portraits, among which was one from the British Minister, of Queen Victoria in her royal robes.

Finally, all preparations for the evening were completed, and at noon, November 25, 1882, the Garfield Memorial Fair was formally opened by President Arthur. The Marine Band played lively national airs and gay music. The enthusiasm and the joyousness of the crowd were in vivid contrast to the scene of fourteen months before when the place was shrouded in crêpe and the body of the slain President lay on the catafalque less than a dozen steps from where his successor now stood. Less than four years after this spontaneous effort to start the fund to memorialize Garfield’s life and administration in marble or bronze, the President who spoke so feelingly of his slain chief was also in his grave, as were a number of officials who cheerfully and earnestly participated in the opening of the bazaar—David Davis, and Secretaries Frelinghuysen, Folger, and Howe.

Every inch of space was occupied—all Washington, his wife, children, and lap dogs were present—for this was the period when the lap-dog craze swept the city on the Potomac with the same force as the fad for crazy quilts and the Mother Hubbard gown, which was so much the other extreme of tie-back skirts, street-sweeping trains, and bustles. Papers of the day tell of diminutive lap dogs with costly rings on their paws and engraved visiting cards for calling.

All of the city attended, black and white alike seeking to see and to buy. Most popular of all attractions was the selling of chances on the elegant diamond earrings, the finger-rings, the lovely India shawl valued at $1,500, the handsome saddles, and other much-desired articles.

From November 25th to December 3d pandemonium continued with the usual disputes, losses, and thefts, and when all of the débris was cleared away and the basement disgorged the loads of boxes whose contents had never been exhibited, it was found that, instead of the huge sum expected from the $50,000 gross receipts, the amount had dwindled through expenses and other channels to $7,000, the sum General Swaim was able to turn over to the Army of the Cumberland. So many charges of misappropriation of beautiful articles designed to be raffled or sold, so much of plain stealing was apparent, that a group of army officers conducted a quiet investigation, after which it was concluded wisest, safest, and best to drop the entire subject.

Frances Hodgson Burnett, it is said, gave the Mother Hubbard its best advertisement at the fair, appearing garbed in this style gown made of lovely violet silk and elaborately trimmed with bolt upon bolt of dainty narrow lace and fluttering ribbons.

President Arthur was denied the satisfaction of national approbation which his election to the Presidency would have given him, and as the close of his term drew near, he welcomed the relief of the release from the heavy burden. He entered into every plan for the reception of his successor, and extended every possible courtesy to the incoming administration.

Mrs. McElroy was openly mourned. Senator and Mrs. Pendleton gave a brilliant reception in her honour on her retirement, and all the officials departing and those expecting to fill their places with the resident social groups attended to do her honour. The young girls to whom she had been such a fairy godmother of good times escorted her to her train in a delegation and filled the cars with flowers.

President Arthur was not regretful at leaving the job that had caused him so much care. In his overanxiety to do what seemed best for the country, he had made enemies of old-time friends. Desiring to rise above partisan and factional contests, he had failed in his effort to please both parties. Slander, ridicule, and misrepresentation were hurled at him, not only by the Democrats, but by the opposing faction of his own party. Merciless abuse fell upon him for not complying with all requests with regard to appointments. Each faction had its chosen array of patronage which it demanded, and whichever way the distribution was made, there was dissatisfaction. While he might easily have found eager friends to reveal inside facts that would have placed him in a better light and permitted such odium as there was to fall upon those who were responsible, he flatly refused, preferring to bear the brunt of much misjudgment himself rather than to be the means of shifting it to another.

The calumny resulted, however, in the breaking of his spirit and his health.

His administration was one of dignity, intelligence, and firmness. He met the problems that beset him with marked skill. He took a firm stand in support of the Civil Service laws and appointed a commission to revise the tariff. He added his influence to the promotion of Indian education, supported the plans to increase the strength of the navy, and also the measures for controlling and improving the course of the Mississippi River. Under his régime, a Civil Service Commission was established to conduct examinations for appointments to minor places in the government service.

His administration saw a return of prosperity in the greatest degree the country had ever experienced. The public debt was reduced nearly $500,000,000, internal revenue stamps were repealed, the number of collection districts was lessened, and letter postage was reduced from three cents per one half ounce to two cents per one ounce. A bill was passed for distributing the Geneva award, another for returning convicts to our shores, the tax on matches, checks, and drafts was removed, and the importation of convict labour was forbidden. In 1883, the President joined the Villard Excursion party to drive the silver spike. Provision was made for the adjudication of the French spoliation claims long awaiting payment and for the final distribution of the balance of $15,000,000, paid by England to the United States in satisfaction of the claims of Americans for losses by rebel cruisers fitted out in British ports.

The Star Route contractors were brought to trial, and the long-brewing scandal of their transactions ended. These contractors had mail routes remote from the great lines of travel for which they demanded huge sums for the service of getting the mail through on time. In the investigation ordered by President Arthur, it was shown that thousands of dollars had been continuously paid by the government for no service at all, and for weekly service for which some careless cowboy had been paid seventy-five dollars a month, and in some cases much smaller amounts. Attorney General Brewster finally secured the indictment of seven of these, and the trial dragged along for months, attracting a great sensation because of the prominence and brilliance of the legal lights on both sides. As no conspiracy against the government could be found as alleged by the prosecution, the jury rendered a verdict of acquittal. The government had spent a lot of money, and while the contractors missed punishment through their acquittal, the publicity and the attitude of the officials broke up the system of the star route by which the United States Post Office and Treasury had so long been victimized.

Among the last official acts of President Arthur was the signing of the bill to retire General Grant with full rank and pay. He also urged Congressional action upon the gifts presented by Mrs. Grant as expressed in the letter here quoted:

Notable among the events to add distinction to the Capital City was the completion and dedication of the Washington Monument on George Washington’s birthday anniversary in 1885. This ceremony rounding out eighty-six years of intermittent construction from the inception of the plan offered a splendid finale to President Arthur’s administration.

The day was bitterly cold with a high wind which made the ceremonies difficult for the little party of officials on the platform five hundred feet from the ground. After the various addresses by officials, the President dedicated the monument “to the immortal name and memory of George Washington.” The entire party, including the vast concourse of people assembled at the base, marched to the Capitol where the venerable Robert Winthrop delivered the oration of the day just as he had done on the memorable day in 1848 when the corner stone was laid.

The monument has the proud record, the like of which no other structure of its scope can claim, of there having been no lives lost during the process of its construction. When the work on the top was begun, P. H. Laughlin, the superintendent, devised a strong net which was raised as the structure increased in height and was kept fastened firmly to all four sides. Although most of the workmen slipped and fell into this from time to time, none was killed.

The most comprehensive summary of Chester Arthur and his administration was found in the tribute of Elihu Root at the unveiling of the monument to his memory in New York, June 13, 1899, of which the following is an extract:

CHAPTER VII

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF GROVER
CLEVELAND

March 4, 1885, to March 4, 1889

THE fourth of March, 1885, dawned fair and warm, the finest weather ever known in the history of the city of Washington on Inauguration Day. Cleveland luck had captured the weather. The city seemed to respond to the spring air, and block after block blossomed with fluttering banners, waving flags, and tri-coloured bunting. Huge lithographs of Cleveland and Hendricks were displayed in store windows, as well as from the windows of residences. The usual tribe of vendors of canes, buttons, noise-makers, and such, seemed to have multiplied their numbers until they were thick upon every block of the line of march.

The railroads and the Potomac River boats had poured into the city more than half a million people, and hotels and boarding houses overflowed their most elastic limits, while hundreds of private houses not entertaining friends and relatives responded greedily to the quadrennial opportunity to profiteer. Never before or since has there been so general a representation of all of the states as composed the military and political organizations in the parade that attended the ceremony of Mr. Cleveland’s induction into office.

Members of the Senate Committee of inaugural arrangements called on the President-elect at the Arlington Hotel in President Arthur’s carriage, and, with Mr. Cleveland, returned to the White House afterward. When the march to the Capitol began, these, with President Arthur, occupied the first carriage, and Vice President-elect Hendricks followed in the second. They were escorted by the first division of the inaugural parade, with the Seventh Regiment of New York leading. Pennsylvania sent 8,000 state militia, reaching almost from the Treasury to the Peace Monument, a moving field of blue. These were followed by the Richmond Blues, led by General Fitzhugh Lee, later elected Governor of Virginia. The Grand Army and countless other patriotic and civic organizations and marching clubs added their units to this wonderful pageant. General Henry W. Slocum, as Grand Marshal, led the procession briskly through a record-breaking throng drawn by the great enthusiasm over the return of the Democratic party to power after twenty-four years.

Vice President-elect Hendricks received the oath from the President pro tempore of the Senate, Mr. Edmunds; the new senators were sworn in as usual, and the President-elect deviated from the usual procedure by making his inaugural address before taking the oath. This address was received with absorbed attention and, when published, produced a great deal of comment in which criticism and approval were given in full measure, especially as Mr. Cleveland was the first President actually to deliver his address, the others having read their manuscripts. Since he had a natural ability readily to memorize his own writings, he had no need of carrying a manuscript.

As he concluded his remarks, he turned to Chief Justice Waite, who administered the oath.

President Arthur had provided one of his usual delightful luncheons, after which President Cleveland went to the stand to review the marvellous pageant assembled in his honour, comprising 25,000 men whose passing consumed more than five hours. Dusk was closing down upon the city when the last group swept past and saluted.

No procession in any part of our broad land is at all like an inaugural parade. The appearances of the new incumbent of the White House before and after taking the oath call forth incidents, episodes, comments, complimentary and critical, of a type wholly American. Thus, the crowd whiles away the hours between the ride to the Capitol and the return to the White House. The journey to the ceremony of swearing in the President-elect is usually made in company with the retiring head of the nation, and is often a divided honour, tinged with the regret of parting with the man who has filled the place for four years. Coming back, the new leader fills the picture. All triumphant, he belongs to the people, and demonstrations carry the note of jubilation grateful to the ear. Many amusing things happen in a good-natured celebration, and human nature unrestrained effervesces and bubbles over the rim of everyday restraint. One sees and hears the flamboyant individuals—always in evidence—who knew the new President in every stage of his life and career.

Among the many amusing features of the Cleveland parade was the arrival of President Cleveland’s baggage. The crowd patiently waiting in the covered stand across from the White House found great entertainment in watching the open wagon piled high with shabby and travel-scarred trunks, all marked “G.C.” in large white letters, which turned in at the White House gates. The large white letters and the destination sent the crowd into shouts of laughter at “Grover’s moving in!” The crowning feature was a huge bent-wood armchair, large enough for three ordinary men, which topped the load. This was the first of the thousands of gifts sent to Mr. Cleveland by admirers and favour-seeking citizens.

One of the charming stories of Grover Cleveland illustrates his great love and understanding of children. After his election in 1884, while in Kenwood, he requested that the children attending the Convent of the Sacred Heart be given a holiday on his Inauguration Day. In spite of all of the demands upon his time and attention in departing for Washington, he did not forget the matter, but on March 2d sent a check for fifty dollars to provide a celebration. With it he sent a note to the Mother Superior.

The letter and the check brought great delight. They were duly acknowledged and the President told of the details of the party. After the feast was finished, the children were provided with tiny bottles of champagne, from which a toast was drunk to “Our new President, Grover Cleveland,” and certainly no other toast carried more unselfish affection and sincere good wishes for the new President than the one from the Convent pupils, who also sent him a telegram of congratulation to the White House on the evening of Inauguration Day.

Preparations to make the inaugural ball of the new Democratic President outstrip all of its predecessors had gone on for months. The new Pension Building, recently completed, was chosen for the affair. New York decorators transformed the interior into an extravagantly beautiful scene. Ferns, palms, flags, and draperies, costing thousands of dollars, covered walls and arches. In the President’s room stood a huge throne chair made of flowers, while a gigantic globe, also of flowers, was made to represent the State, the War, and the Navy departments, and flower scales, the Department of Justice. The Marine Band, under the direction of John Philip Sousa, furnished dance music for more than two thousand couples. Eight thousand people attended this ball, and while the highly waxed dancing hall measured three hundred by one hundred and sixteen feet, there was never at any time during the entire evening room on the floor for all those desiring to dance.

President Cleveland, his sister, Miss Rose Cleveland, who came from Holland Patent to preside over the White House for her bachelor brother, with Vice President and Mrs. Hendricks, attended for a short time.

While such of the populace as paid five dollars per ticket danced at the President’s ball, the rest of the city enjoyed the fireworks on the ellipse south of the White House. The following evening, a band concert in the Pension Building drew another crowd, who cheerfully paid the admission fee to see the rooms and their decorations.

Cleveland had not come into office unopposed. When it had become evident that President Arthur would not be nominated to succeed himself, Republican attention had again turned to James G. Blaine, who had been nursing presidential ambitions for a number of years, and who was the outstanding leader of that party. The National Republican Convention assembled in Chicago on June 3, 1884, with no organized opposition to threaten the prospects of Mr. Blaine, who was nominated, early in the course of the proceedings. Having a coloured man as temporary chairman was the unusual feature of this convention, the office being filled by John R. Lynch, former representative from Mississippi. Ex-Senator John B. Henderson, of Missouri, was the permanent chairman. General John A. Logan (“Black Jack”), was nominated as the running mate of Blaine. Their nicknames, the “Plumed Knight” and the “Black Eagle,” formed the basis for some of the campaign jingles.

The National Democratic Convention likewise convened in Chicago, July 6, 1884, at which Grover Cleveland was put forward, his nomination having been made certain by the withdrawal in his favour of Samuel J. Randall of Pennsylvania. Grover Cleveland was nominated on the second ballot. Thomas Hendricks of Indiana received the nomination for Vice President without opposition.

Conventions were plentiful in the land that summer. A national Prohibition convention chose Pittsburgh for the scene of its operations, opening on July 23d. Ex-Governor St. John of Kansas and William Daniel of Maryland were chosen for the president and vice president. The National Greenback Convention met in Indianapolis on May 29th, nominating General Benjamin F. Butler of Massachusetts for president and A. M. West of Mississippi for vice president. Still another was that of the Woman’s Equal Rights Party, which met in San Francisco, September, 1884, and nominated Mrs. Belva Lockwood, of New York, lawyer, lecturer, and suffrage leader, for the Presidency.

To Belva Ann Lockwood belongs the honour of being the second woman nominated for the Presidency of the United States; likewise to her also belongs the honour of being the first woman admitted to practise before the Supreme Court. For this privilege, she had to get a bill through Congress permitting women to practise law, and worked tirelessly for three years to create favourable sentiment before the barrier was lifted. When she finished her efforts, every court in the land was open to her, and never again was a woman lawyer’s application refused because she was a woman and, as in Mrs. Lockwood’s case, a married woman.

Mrs. Lockwood worked tirelessly for equal rights for men and women and drafted and secured the passage of a bill giving to women in governmental service equal pay with men for equal work.

The Woman’s Equal Rights Party nominated her for the Presidency, in San Francisco in 1884 and again in 1888. While she had not sought the honour, she conducted vigorous campaigns.

In forty-three years of legal practice, her greatest effort was always on behalf of the soldier, sailor, and marine, and during this time she handled more than seven thousand pension cases, alone. She also secured the passing of a bill appropriating $50,000 for bounties for soldiers and marines.

Through her work for world peace, she probably acquired the greatest fame. For thirty-six years she was a member of the Universal Peace Union, attending the International Peace Bureau at Bern for more than a quarter of a century, and taking a leading part in every large gathering in this cause, beginning with the first Peace Congress in 1885. She compiled the peace treaties of the United States and secured the introduction of the first bill in Congress for an international arbitration court.

After the Peace Congress in London, in 1890, though sixty years of age, Mrs. Lockwood remained abroad long enough to take a course of lectures at Oxford. When eighty-two, she started off to Europe to carry a peace message to the women of the world, and in 1916, just a year before her death, she gave an address on the re-election of Woodrow Wilson, giving seven reasons for his choice. This was used as campaign literature.

With the nominees of five different parties in the field, each making a fight for the needed votes to insure victory, the political atmosphere became tense. Courtesy and politeness seemed forgotten as the contest became one of the ugliest in the national history; no effort was spared to discredit, defame, and disqualify the candidates. The private life and character of each of the two most prominent was mercilessly attacked, and both Blaine and Cleveland were subject to fierce gruelling in the exposé of incidents, episodes, and transactions of their earlier lives. Sentiment appeared to be overwhelmingly strong for Blaine as party leader, but he was not optimistic. He had seen the coveted victory slip from his grasp before, and he was wearied with defeats and hopes deferred!

A few days before election, the tide was turned against Blaine, and the distrust of him crystallized by the speech of the Reverend M. Burchard, veteran minister representing a delegation of clergymen. In his remarks, Mr. Burchard warned his country against “Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion,” and thus gave to the anti-Blaine factions a slogan which Tammany at once placed on billboards, bulletins, and banners, and sent its ringing echoes through the succeeding years as a warning to all subsequent campaigners. Blaine once again dropped his banners in defeat, though Cleveland carried only a meagre victory of a thousand votes in his state.

Mr. Cleveland served as Governor until the meeting of the Legislature after election, when he closed his career with this, the shortest message on record:

Until elected to the Presidency, Grover Cleveland concerned himself but slightly with the history of his family, being content with the fact that his line had comprised honourable men and good women, who had filled their respective places with honour to themselves. Each generation turned out ministers, though they shifted their sectarian allegiance—Presbyterian, Congregationalist, and Episcopalian denominations being represented by clergy of this name.

Richard Falley Cleveland, the father of Grover, a Yale graduate, was a Presbyterian minister. His task was to bring up and educate a family of nine children on an annual income of $600.

As so many youngsters in the family made it necessary for young Grover to go to work early, at fourteen he secured a place in the general store, where for the sum of fifty dollars a year he swept floors, cleaned windows, opened and closed shutters, sold calico and sugar, beans and ribbon, hardware and candy. He shared the bare attic room over the store and its discomforts with another boy—no carpet, no stove, no wall paper to modify the icy wind blowing through the cracks between boards. In winter, they froze, and in summer, they were almost prostrated with the heat under the rafters. Their bed had a lumpy straw-stuffed tick in lieu of a mattress, to the knots and lumps of which only youth could adjust itself and still sleep.

Soon, he had saved and earned enough in other ways to be able to attend the academy at Clinton, and at seventeen, after his father’s death, he was teaching in the New York Institution for the Blind, where his elder brother, William, also a Presbyterian clergyman, was the principal.

Finally, he took Horace Greeley’s advice, “Go West, young man, go West!” and started for Ohio. He halted at Buffalo, took up the study of law, and was admitted to the bar.

Mr. Cleveland was a bachelor for many years. He took care of his mother, who preferred living in her own home in the little village at Holland Patent, where she died in 1882. He gave a liberal education to his youngest sister, Rose, a talented girl.

In 1881, he was the city’s choice for Mayor. In six months, his methods and careful administration saved the city more than a million dollars. By this careful supervision and elimination he became known as the “Veto Mayor.”

He was elected Governor of New York, September 20, 1882, and in that capacity continued his methods and practices as Mayor. The “Veto Mayor” advanced to the “Veto Governor” and won the respect of men of both parties.

Thus, as the Democratic party had been gradually regaining its pre-war status, the popular Governor of New York, the state that would swing the election, was regarded as the logical man to be the presidential candidate and the one nominated and elected.

When Cleveland began considering his Cabinet, while he was still at Albany letters serious and amusing poured in—asking office, giving advice; congratulatory, denunciatory. One newspaper man called on him and stated that from time to time he would send him information about public men, unsigned, but in his own handwriting. Daily envelopes came in, with cards of convenient form for filing, treating of nearly everybody proposed for the Cabinet, distinguished visitors announced in the public press as on their way to Albany, and well-known men generally—a separate card for each person. Good points were written in red ink; discreditable facts and characteristics were in black ink. Each card was a concise record of the deeds, character, and influence of the man dealt with, and gave an incisive, impartial, and accurate analysis of those about whom they were written from the point of view of an able and experienced observer of current events. The whole record made a kind of judgment-day book of men of both parties conspicuous in national affairs, in civil life, and in the army. Many people were surprised at the knowledge shown by Cleveland of the political affiliations of prominent men.

When the portfolios were finally announced, there was general satisfaction. In selecting Senator Bayard of Delaware for Secretary of State, President Cleveland satisfied a large following that had twice declared its desire for Bayard as President. Senator Bayard’s charming family was a distinct acquisition to the official group.

Daniel Manning, of New York, as the new Secretary of the Treasury, was also a happy choice. Manager and owner of the Albany Argus, a clever politician, and president of a National Bank, he possessed many qualifications for this post. There was an expression of universal satisfaction that he was to preside over the national money vaults.

Upon the capable New England shoulders of William C. Endicott, astute lawyer and advocate of Civil Service Reform, was placed the responsibility of the War Department.

The fortunes of our long-neglected navy, with its ninety more or less obsolete warships, were destined to undergo radical changes under the efficient direction of William C. Whitney, of New York. The story of how Mr. Whitney transformed the navy is an epic in American leadership and an epoch in American history.

The Secretary of the Interior, Lucius Quintus Curtius Lamar, of Mississippi, represented the South. He was regarded as especially keen minded, a moulder of public opinion.

Postmaster General Vilas was a Vermonter by birth and a Westerner by adoption, having established his business career in Wisconsin, from which state he went into the Union Army. He was an expert in the intricate machinery of American politics.

The legal authority of the new Cabinet came from the Senate, a man with an enviable reputation. This was Attorney General Augustus H. Garland, of Arkansas.

This Cabinet has been considered one of remarkable strength, but Grover Cleveland was always the President.

Most important to every President is his choice of a private secretary. Cleveland, in selecting his official family, lost no time over deliberation on this position. He simply took with him to Washington Daniel S. Lamont, from every standpoint the best man for the position, fitted in every way for the important part he was to play in the national drama. Mr. Lamont set an example for the future by establishing a new standard and a new conception of the part of the Executive Secretary.

By the middle of March, the President was fairly settled and gave his first official reception, to which the Diplomatic Corps and Congress were invited, to meet the new Cabinet. As the Marine Band played “Hail to the Chief,” the President came down the stairs with Mrs. Bayard on his arm, while the new Secretary of State escorted Miss Rose Cleveland, with the rest of the Cabinet following in succession. It was soon apparent that the President was not in his congenial element; such affairs were not to his taste. He had an enormous capacity for work and a great deal of work to do, of which the social end did not seem to him a really vital part.

Old families of the city, who had ignored the White House since the days of the kindly Buchanan and the lovely Harriet Lane, found it convenient, expedient, and agreeable to call upon the President and Miss Cleveland. While this was done out of deference to the party, it did not impress the new Executive to the extent of securing for them any more attention or consideration than was given to any other representatives.

The church people of Washington were eager to secure the new head of the nation as a communicant. The matter was settled by Miss Cleveland, who chose the First Presbyterian Church at Four and One Half Street. At her first reception, March 21st, the Reverend Byron Sunderland and his wife presented themselves to her. He was delighted when Miss Cleveland reminded him that her mother had attended his church in New York State. Because of this association, she took a pew in his Washington church, which was used later by Mrs. Grover Cleveland.

The first Easter after he came to the Presidency, Mr. Cleveland won the hearts of the Washington children by reviving the custom of rolling eggs on the lawns of the White House, a custom peculiar to the Capital City. The President loved children, and he not only opened the grounds for the usual egg-rolling, but received all the youngsters in the East Room, shaking hands with each one. Many of them, responding to his friendly smile, presented him and his sister with battered eggs. Between four and five thousand children, black and white, of every class, race, and condition attended. The only badge of eligibility was a basket of multi-coloured eggs.

Congress was in extra session for months, and the question of appointments under Civil Service occupied a large share of attention of the entire administration, placing a check, as it did, upon the old-time practice of wholesale dismissals with each new administration. This literal interpretation of the purpose of Civil Service, whereby a man need not lose his position unless guilty of neglect or abuse of his office, was a distinct shock to those of the older order, who believed that to the victor belonged the spoils.

From the first year of his term, Cleveland became involved in difficulties with some of the most influential men of his own party over his determination to uphold the reform and to adhere to his resolution to keep principle above partisanship.

His contest with the Senate over the Tenure of Office Act, which he insisted had fallen into innocuous desuetude, resulted in a complete victory for him, and he was not thereafter handicapped in his appointments. His attitude from the beginning on military pensions attracted wide comment. He demanded proof of real merit on the part of any applicant. Because of his vetoing so many private pension bills, he became the “Veto President.”

The entire nation was saddened by the death of General Grant during the first summer of the Cleveland administration.

Late in November, Vice President Hendricks passed away, before he had served even a year of his term.

Following his death, Congress passed the Presidential Succession Bill. It was a measure that provided for the filling of the Executive Office in the event of the deaths of both President and Vice President, by the Secretary of State, then the Secretary of the Treasury, and so on, through the membership of the Cabinet, should any such necessity arise. This became a law in January, 1886.

The New Year’s Reception of 1886 was exceptional in its large attendance. The weather was propitious and thus encouraged the timid to get themselves into their best bibs and tuckers and present themselves in line. The President greeted his guests cordially as Colonel Wilson made the introductions. The gowns of the receiving ladies drew much attention. Miss Cleveland was especially smart in her white silk and garnet velvet. Mrs. Bayard wore white silk crêpe. Mrs. Whitney was elegant with her magnificent diamonds and her white ottoman silk with its embroidered panel front of crystal and pearls. Mrs. Endicott’s heliotrope satin was draped with thin chiffon of deeper tint, and Mrs. Vilas’s pink satin and point lace offered a bright colour contrast to the others.

The Cabinet was blessed with a goodly share of young daughters and nieces to add life and gaiety and keep up the social traditions. Among them was Miss Kate Bayard. The reception was the last formal White House function that she attended, as her untimely death occurred two weeks later and was followed by that of her mother. This was so unexpected and such a shock as to throw a shadow over the whole official group; she was to have assisted Miss Cleveland at a White House function on the day she died.

MRS. GROVER CLEVELAND

In her wedding gown

In the social life of Washington in Cleveland’s days, the activities of William C. Whitney, Secretary of the Navy, and his charming wife, eclipsed those of any other public man. A local paper gives some account of their home:

With the Easter festivities came rumours of an approaching White House wedding. Gossips had reported the betrothal of the President and Miss Folsom, and whispers of a Paris trousseau and of the beauty of the bride, “the little schoolgirl friend” whom Miss Cleveland had introduced during a few days’ visit of the early winter. But no official confirmation was forthcoming. The bachelor President, past the age when men are apt to marry, like his predecessor had long been the target for maids and widows matrimonially inclined. He had disposed of his obligations to provide the White House mistress by installing his sister as its chatelaine, but this arrangement was not wholly ideal. Miss Cleveland was gracious and responded to every demand upon her, but she had her own career urging its claims. She was a cultured, educated teacher and author, who filled her difficult rôle with dignity and intelligence. While in the White House she completed a book, “George Eliot’s Poetry and Other Studies,” which, through the prestige of her position, had enormous circulation—twelve editions—bringing her more than $25,000. This offered a convincing argument for a return to her own work, and rumour claimed that she was wholly delighted over the prospect of a White House bridal, and especially pleased that it was to be Miss Folsom, her brother’s ward and the daughter of his former partner.

Prior to his accepting public office in the late sixties, Grover Cleveland and Oscar Folsom had been law partners. He was a frequent visitor at the Folsom home, when the little blue-eyed, brown-haired daughter, Frances, was attending the select French kindergarten conducted by Madame Bucher in Buffalo. The bachelor mayor made a pet of her. She always climbed upon his knee when he came and called him “Uncle Cleve.” In 1875, when she was eleven years old, her father, Oscar Folsom, was killed in a carriage accident. It was later discovered that he had made his partner the guardian of his child. Mrs. Folsom, the mother, took the little girl to Medina, her own home town, but the latter later returned to Buffalo to attend school. Finally, she entered Wells College, where she was a student for three years. Miss Folsom was a favourite among teachers and pupils; also an object of envy to the girls who all noted the letters and flowers from the Governor of New York. While she was in college, Cleveland was nominated for the Presidency, and there was much buzzing of girlish tongues over the regular letters from Washington.

The following June, when the class of ’85 held its commencement at Wells, no young graduate attracted more attention and comment than pretty Miss Folsom. This was due, in part, to the superb flowers which came to her from the White House, over which there was much gossip and speculation.

Before she sailed with her mother for a year of sightseeing in Europe, the President had conveyed to her his desire to lose a ward and gain a bride. To the intimate family group only their engagement was announced.

Miss Folsom, with a French trousseau, finally arrived in May. She was met by Secretary Lamont, who checked all newspaper attempts to approach her for information by whisking her and Mrs. Folsom aboard a steamer he had waiting. He personally conducted them to the Gilsey House, where they remained for a few days. President Cleveland, in the meantime, concluded that his presence was necessary in New York on Memorial Day. Thus their final plans were completed. He returned at once to Washington, and early on the morning on the second of June, Miss Rose Cleveland hurried to the station, returning shortly with the young lady and her mother.

All day the President and his lovely fiancée addressed unusually elaborate boxes of wedding cake, each carrying a card bearing their combined autographs. The President had previously sent to a limited number of guests the following simple form of invitation:

As this was the first and only time a President was married in the White House, the wedding marked an epoch in the history of the mansion.

All day a regular army of florists bent their skill upon the decoration, transforming the Blue Room into a fitting marriage bower. Cartloads of blossoms, vines, ferns, and palms, with flags and shaded lights, turned all of the state apartments into a fairyland of flowers, to form a proper setting for the loveliest bride and the youngest mistress the White House has ever known.

The Blue Room was especially lovely. The mellow light of the tapers in the great candle stands, five feet high, a gift to President Jackson, added to the beauty of the scene. The mantels were banked with flowers. On one the date was outlined in pansies; on the other, the letters “F. C.,” in white and pink roses.

Miss Folsom had originally planned that at her wedding, her grandfather, of Folsomdale, whom she called “Papa John,” was to be present and give her away. His death while she was crossing the Atlantic upset these arrangements, so with the first strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” the President and his girlish bride came down the stairs unattended even by her mother.

The bride’s gown was of absorbing interest. It was of rich corded ivory satin trimmed with soft folds of India silk edged with orange buds and blossoms. The same material was draped to form an overskirt, also edged with the dainty blossoms, which were artistically arranged over the entire costume. The four-yard train she managed as perfectly as if she had always worn it. A coronet of the bridal flowers held the soft silk tulle veil in place. More than five yards in length, it fell gracefully over the entire train. Long gloves met the short sleeves. A diamond necklace, the President’s gift, and her sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring, were her only jewels.

The bridal couple took their places facing the Presbyterian minister, the Reverend Byron Sunderland, who performed the marriage ceremony, and the Reverend William Cleveland, brother of the bridegroom, who concluded the ceremony with the blessing. Immediately from the navy yard came the presidential salute of twenty-one guns, announcing the news to the city, and all of the church bells rang a marriage chime.

An informal reception and collation followed, during which came many messages of congratulation, among them one from Queen Victoria. The decorations of the dining room were beautiful beyond description. The great mirror purchased for the mansion by Dolly Madison and used by every President since made a realistic sea for the full-rigged ship Hymen, constructed of pansies and pink roses, with the national colours on the mainmast and tiny white flags with “C. F.” on the other masts.

The guests included the Cabinet, the relatives, and the close personal friends. About eight o’clock, the bridal couple were ready for the departure. The President had replaced the conventional evening clothes with his customary black business suit, and “Mrs. Cleveland,” as everyone delighted in addressing her, was fully as beautiful as in her wedding gown. They left the rear door of the mansion in a shower of rice, old shoes, and good wishes, and were driven to the Baltimore and Ohio Station. Here a special train awaited to take them to Deer Park, Maryland, where the President hoped to rest and do some fishing. They had expected to spend a quiet time away from the curious public, but, to their dismay, the following morning they found a pavilion had been built overnight directly opposite their cottage and was thronged with newspaper correspondents and photographers.

Hopes of seclusion vanished with the rush of summer visitors to Deer Park and the arrival of a Church Convention. They went trout fishing, Mrs. Cleveland being initiated in the proper methods of baiting her own hook, and the President settled down on a comfortable log to enjoy his favourite sport. But even the remote woods were invaded by the visitors eager to get a glimpse of the distinguished pair. Mrs. Cleveland let her husband fish alone the next day or so, and finally, on June 9th, when more summer visitors arrived to enjoy the unusual pleasure of a President of the United States for a neighbour, President and Mrs. Cleveland decided that national business was urgent, and they returned to Washington.

On their return from Deer Park, the President and Mrs. Cleveland gave an evening reception to a large group. This was Mrs. Cleveland’s introduction to official and social Washington as the First Lady of the Land. In her wedding gown, she was especially lovely, and her natural charm, poise, and sweet cordiality established her popularity. It was conceded that, of all the many splendid things that President Cleveland had done, there was none that could do so well for him as his marriage.

The prolific use of Mrs. Cleveland’s pictures by patent medicine, perfume, candy, and underwear manufacturers, and firms of all kinds in advertising their wares called forth a well-intentioned protest that finally found expression in a bill being introduced in the House of Representatives on March 6, 1888, which read in part:

Needless to add, the bill joined the great procession of the unpassed measures. Mrs. Cleveland inaugurated Saturday afternoon receptions, so that women who were employed might also have the opportunity to visit the White House. At many of her receptions, people would go through the line several times just to see her smile and again shake her hand.

Although Mrs. Cleveland’s time was so filled with demands that she had little time for informal correspondence, the appeal of a child was never ignored. At the opening of Lent, a Sunday-school superintendent of Youngsville, Pa., gave each of his thirty-three pupils between seven and ten years of age one penny with the instruction to invest it in something that could be sold and reinvested so that at the end of Lent each child would have an Easter offering to bring representing its own industrious effort. A little girl of this group wrote to Mrs. Cleveland enclosing in the letter a penwiper which she had made and which she asked the First Lady to buy, telling the story.

Mrs. Cleveland sent the following reply:

A competent housekeeper was installed, and thus the new mistress of the mansion enjoyed her life there intensely. She was fond of dogs, and the big mastiff, a gift to her, seemed to realize the great importance and dignity of his position, as he majestically walked or stood by her side. She was an enthusiastic amateur photographer. Mrs. Cleveland loved the flowers. The conservatory was a constant delight to her. She filled the private part of the house with song birds, mocking birds, and canaries. Upon one occasion, the President, trying to concentrate upon a message late in the night, had to call one of the White House staff to remove a mocking bird that insisted upon singing. The story related is to the effect that, after the bird had been placed in an unlighted room, his song ceased, and the President, becoming anxious lest his wife’s pet might take a chill, had it carefully placed out of drafts.

Mrs. Cleveland, wholly natural, unaffected, and genuine, won the hearts of the people literally by the minute. She liked people and everyday things. She had a quality of cordiality in her greetings that was convincingly sincere. One of the little bits of gossip of her first reception shows the President’s pride and confidence in her ability to carry her social responsibilities without his supporting presence. Mrs. Folsom had invaded his office to urge that he go down to see that everything started off well. Though exceedingly busy with papers piled high, he accompanied her, and they slipped into the room without being observed by the new First Lady. They stood watching her fully five minutes as the long stream of people were being presented to her. They heard her cheery, hearty greetings, saw the pleased, admiring faces, and then the President—more the proud husband than the nation’s chief—touched his mother-in-law on the arm and pridefully, though laconically, remarked, “She’ll do! She’ll do!”

Upon the jubilee of the entrance of Pope Leo XIII into the priesthood, President Cleveland sent felicitations and a handsomely bound copy of the Constitution of the United States. The event, which occurred January 21, 1888, had been brought to the President’s attention by Cardinal Gibbons, and it was through that prelate that the gift was sent. In transmitting it, Cardinal Gibbons wrote:

The Pope in responding said:

Between the disapproving clergy and the opposing politicians, who classed the gift as a bid for votes, the incident caused wide discussion.

For months stories were current of the abuse of Mrs. Cleveland by her husband. Every little trip was construed into a permanent break, and even Mrs. Folsom’s journeys were charged to trouble in the White House. Both the President and his wife were aware of these tales but ignored them, until, finally, Mrs. Cleveland felt constrained to reply to one letter and permit publication of her statement.

Praise was showered upon the President’s highly popular wife, who never made a mistake. Without a word, she settled problems that had stirred tempests of discussion. The matter of wines was settled by her for herself. She merely turned down her glass, declining thus to use them, and the quiet dignity placed her action above argument. She made the unsightly bustle unfashionable and set also an example of simple and becoming hairdressing.

It fell to the President to announce to the nation the loss of another ex-President—his immediate predecessor—Chester A. Arthur, who, after his retirement, never recovered his health which had been undermined and shattered by the anxieties of office. He died in his home within two years after he left the White House.

This was the period when many noted authors, writers, and artists made Washington their abiding place at least for a time. Among them, Frances Hodgson Burnett, at the high tide of her popularity, had established herself on Farragut Square. Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, from the sheltered seclusion of the porch of Prospect Cottage, was wielding her prolific pen and producing a novel a year. Joaquin Miller had built his unique cabin in the trees, a mecca for all kindred spirits and for throngs of the curious. The learned Spofford and the gifted Bancroft rode horseback in literary companionship. The spell of Mark Twain and Walt Whitman was upon the city; and Grace Greenwood, Gail Hamilton, Mary Clemmer Ames were listed among the shining lights of the press so valiantly served by Townsend and Poore and dozens of others. Mary S. Logan was already filling bookshelf space. Olivia Edson Briggs, trenchant and satirical, had stamped upon the public mind the quality of her Olivia letters, compendiums of news—gossip, politics, and fashion. Mary S. Lockwood won favour reminiscing over the city’s quaint, half-forgotten old homes, so replete with romances and tragedies of national history. The literary élite, too numerous to mention, left their stamp upon the life of the flourishing, shifting population of the most unique city in the world, where no rank, power, or residence is permanent.

President Cleveland’s first administration was distinguished by his firm stand for Civil Service Reform. The first movement toward reform had begun in 1853, though nothing was done. Presidents Grant and Hayes also had taken up the matter, but it remained for President Cleveland to take a stand that proved its value. A new Cabinet portfolio was created—the Department of Agriculture. Norman J. Colman, then serving as Commissioner of the Bureau of Agriculture, being made its Secretary.

Congress created the first of the governmental commissions through the Interstate Commerce measure. This was the first step toward standardizing rates on railroads and became the basis for a long struggle before railroads became regarded and treated as monopolies needing regulation for the best interest of the public. The creation of the Interstate Commerce Commission was a radical step that was not understood, and drew to itself and its promoters great criticism.

In fact, criticism of President Cleveland’s policies was general. He was blamed more or less for the conditions that led to the riot in Chicago in Haymarket Square, which was instigated and engineered by disgruntled foreigners. Bombs were thrown. Seven policemen were killed and sixty wounded, and, while the leading rioters were executed, the people of the country were deeply disturbed.

The year 1886 has often been called the year of strikes. Beginning with the opening of the year in New York, among the street-car conductors, they spread their disruption pretty well over the country.

This administration witnessed also the greatest advance in development and power of the great companies or corporations, as well as that of the labour organizations. A number of important laws were enacted. Among them, one provided definite rules for counting the electoral vote, so as to avoid all doubts and disputes over the election of the President. Another had for its object a uniform railroad rate for passengers and also for freight. Another prohibited the importation of Chinese labour.

President Cleveland, in placing his interpretation of principle above partisanship, had made a remarkable record for achievement, but he also had aroused great antagonism, and the Republican party capitalized upon the opposition to his methods by wresting the power away from the Democrats and electing a Republican as his successor.

CHAPTER VIII

ADMINISTRATION OF BENJAMIN
HARRISON

March 4, 1889, to March 4, 1893

MARCH 4, 1889, found Washington City dismal and bedraggled. Her gay decorations were soggy and discoloured, and under the steady downpour of a heavy rainstorm, driven at times by a high chill wind, were either drooping or whipping about, scattering spurts of icy water. All of the elaborate features of the display planned so energetically to exceed those of the Cleveland inauguration ceremonies were ruined or had to be abandoned. Only one idea prevailed—to do what was necessary and escape to shelter from the elements. An inauguration crowd, however, is not easily discouraged. Long experience with March weather at the Capital City has taught the merchant and the tourist to prepare for the unexpected. Rubbers, raincoats, and umbrellas were in such demand that the stock was literally sold out early in the morning, for the great assemblage of visitors turned out, in spite of the pouring rain, to do honour to the first Chief Magistrate who had the distinction of succeeding to the office once held by his grandfather. Benjamin Harrison, grandson of “Old Tippecanoe,” the ninth in the line of the nation’s Presidents, had been elected the people’s choice as twenty-third President.

President Cleveland and President-elect Harrison concluded to brave the weather, dressed accordingly, and rode in an open carriage to the Capitol. In the struggle with the wind-driven rain, one of the umbrellas became disabled and another was borrowed from Secretary Fairchild of the Cabinet, the retiring President calling out reassuringly, “We are honest folk, we will return it.” The presidential party was escorted by the Seventieth Indiana Regiment, which had been recruited and commanded by Colonel Harrison in the Civil War.

The inauguration ceremonies were not exactly on schedule time at the Capitol, and as the hands of the clock were about to indicate the noon hour, Captain Bassett, nicknamed by the pages “Old Father Time,” appeared with his long pole and pushed the hands back ten minutes. After another wait, he again set them back, this time six minutes. Two minutes after, President Cleveland entered with the President-elect. Vice President Morton was sworn in, and the regular procedure followed on the East Portico, where the oath was administered by Chief Justice Fuller. So much had been said of President Harrison’s oratory and clever speech-making that the concourse about the Capitol was packed with people so anxious to hear his words as to disregard the discomforts of the long wait in the rain. To a sea of black umbrellas, President Harrison delivered a twenty-minute address.

The return trip to the White House was uneventful. The street crowd, enthusiastic and faithful, drenched and bedraggled, sustained their interest until the last marchers had passed.

President and Mrs. Cleveland had arranged the luncheon for their successors, immediately after which came the review of the parade of men that again occupied the time until dark in passing the President’s stand.

Once more the Pension Office was used for the inaugural ball, where twelve thousand people gave the new presidential party a royal welcome.

A notable feature in the decoration was a huge ship of state made entirely of flowers, suspended from the ceiling and so constructed as to shower the presidential party with blossoms as they entered. This floral piece was thirty feet long and was the largest design ever made of natural flowers.

Mrs. Harrison’s beautiful pearl brocade gown with its elaborate gold embroidery and long train was much admired. It was of especial interest to the women of the land, as there had been such an effort put forth to induce her to wear décolleté. She emphatically refused, and her ball gown, open a little at the throat, filled in with old point lace, with its elbow sleeves, was sufficiently rich and elegant to please the most critical.

So much had been said to her on the question of her dress for this event that, in making her decision against the low-cut and sleeveless gown, she said, in an interview on February 22, 1889:

Photo. by Brady

MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON

Showing her pin of the Daughters of the American Revolution, of which she
was the first President General

With the inauguration festivities over, President Harrison gave first attention to those who were to be his immediate advisers in his administration.

He was fortunate in his running mate, Levi P. Morton, a Vermonter by birth, who had risen from a position as country store clerk to that of partner in a Boston firm. Later, he founded banks in New York and abroad in England, heading Morton Bros. and Company, later the Morton Trust Company. He served with credit in Congress during 1878 and 1880, and from 1885 to 1887 rendered valued service as Minister to France. His influence and prestige counted for much.

President Harrison chose the following as his official family: James G. Blaine, of Maine, was named Secretary of State, the same post he had filled in Garfield’s Cabinet. Mr. William Windom, of Minnesota, Secretary of the Treasury, was another Garfield cabineteer. Redfield Proctor, of Vermont, as Secretary of War; William H. H. Miller, of Indiana, for Attorney General; John Wanamaker, of Pennsylvania, for Postmaster General; Benjamin F. Tracy, of New York, for Secretary of the Navy; John W. Noble, of Missouri, for Secretary of the Interior; and Jeremiah M. Rusk, of Wisconsin, for Secretary of Agriculture, gave general satisfaction.

Although the President was reserved to a marked degree—so much so that he was accused of haughtiness—those who knew him in his home life, or as a soldier or a legal adviser, saw another side to his nature. He was a man who had always had before him the example of distinguished forbears, that served to inspire him with the ambition to achieve and curbed any tendency toward letting his life run along with the tide of least resistance.

He was born at North Bend, Ohio, in the old Harrison family homestead, established and defended by his pioneer grandfather. His boyhood was like that of the average farm boy, with its round of chores and farm pleasures.

The traditions of the Harrison family were of a high order. They demanded education for their children, and so, on the farm, two miles from the house, a small school was early built for the boys of the vicinity. No regular district schools were within a distance possible for their attendance. A log cabin with a dirt floor, rude benches without backs, slabs and blocks of wood for desks, walls sans paint or plaster—this little temple of learning was in its severe primitive rudeness a real school.

In church matters, too, young Harrison had a thorough training in the Presbyterian faith of his fathers. His father considered it his parental duty and responsibility to supervise his children’s religious training.

Sundays frequently brought visits and dinners with his grandmother, and from babyhood he heard tales of his grandfather President and, what he loved most, the tales of the wild, untamed wilderness and brilliant military achievements.

Harrison was graduated from the Miami University fourth in a group of sixteen on June 24, 1852.

Greek legends and mathematical problems did not fill his entire time. With the habit of youth, he had fallen deeply and seriously in love with his first sweetheart, the charming dark-eyed daughter, Caroline Lavinia, of Dr. John Scott, of a near-by academy. To the amazement and the chagrin of a host of young men students, she became engaged to eighteen-year-old Ben Harrison. Some of his mates were astonished and wondered and commented on the queer ways of love and girls. They asked each other, how could she—Caroline Scott—fall in love with a chap small and insignificant in appearance, plain of feature and of dress, afflicted with unusual diffidence and reserve, whose only claim to pretensions of any sort was the possession of an ancestor who had been a signer of the Declaration of Independence and another a President of the United States. True, Ben Harrison also claimed a descent from John Rolfe and Pocahontas. But Miss Caroline was content. The two were married in the autumn of 1853 and started out in an Indianapolis boarding house with a total cash asset of $800, a sum which the young man had borrowed on a lot which he had inherited from a relative.

Harrison studied law and was admitted to the bar. Soon clients flocked to him. There was nothing aggressive or dominant about him; but the shyness or reserve, which at first was diffidence, wore away, leaving a quiet assurance that bespoke power of mind. In 1860, he began his political career as a candidate before the Republican Convention for the position of Reporter of the Supreme Court, to which he was elected by a substantial majority.

Two children soon came to more than fill Mrs. Harrison’s time. So the young couple found themselves a tiny cottage, where Mrs. Harrison did all of her housework, aided before breakfast, at midday, and at night by her husband. He chopped wood, filled the wood box and water buckets, and did all of the outside home chores.

This was their situation when the guns of Sumter sounded the tocsin of war and sent the blood of revolutionary ancestry bounding in Ben Harrison’s veins. However, he had a family dependent on him, and he gave the matter serious consideration. Meanwhile, he made a call upon Governor O. Morton, of Indiana, who settled for him the paramount matter of his place in the war. Mr. Harrison had said to his friend: “If I can be of service, I’ll go.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the Governor replied, “Raise a regiment in this congressional district, and you can command it!”

Harrison regarded this as a command as well as a promise. He went straight home, found Mrs. Harrison in full sympathy with his anxiety to do his part for his country. The Stars and Stripes were hung from the humble law office window, and Lawyer Harrison started recruiting, quickly assembling Company A, the nucleus foundation for the Seventieth Indiana Volunteers. Soon a regiment was assembled, for the Harrison name held a magic sound.

Thrilling stories from the Seventieth Indiana Volunteer Infantry in one of the most severe of the battles—that at Resaca, Ga., May 14 and 15, 1864—told that “Little Ben” fought like a demon in the hand-to-hand encounter. More stories of gallantry came from New Hope Church, Golgotha Church, and Kenesaw Mountain. But the crowning exploit that sent Harrison’s name ringing over the country as a true son of a race of military chieftains was that of Peach Tree Creek.

The victory of Peach Tree Creek has been accredited to Harrison’s initiative and fearless leadership. Major General Joseph Hooker rode up to him after the battle and exclaimed, “By God, I’ll make you a Brigadier General for this fight.” The General wrote a letter to the Secretary of War asking for Colonel Harrison’s promotion, and the promised commission came as Brevet Brigadier General, signed by Abraham Lincoln, and countersigned by Secretary of War Stanton in acknowledgment of “ability and manifest energy and gallantry in command of brigade.”

At the end of the war, he returned to Indianapolis, resumed his office of Supreme Court Reporter, and devoted his energies to building up his practice.

He took the stump through Indiana in behalf of General Grant in 1868, and repeated this service in the interest of the hero of Appomattox again in 1872.

General Harrison’s activity in the Garfield campaign brought him the offer of a Cabinet portfolio, which he declined, preferring to serve his term as Senator. While in the Senate, he opposed President Cleveland’s policy of pension vetoes.

Although the President sought a renomination and hoped his policies would receive the endorsement of the American public in the fall elections, it was evident that the Republicans would make a determined effort to retrieve their power. While many of the Democratic leaders were disgruntled over President Cleveland’s methods and practices, there was no opposition to him as the standard bearer for the Democratic party for another term, and the convention was devoid of excitement as it renominated him by acclamation, with Allen G. Thurman for Vice President.

For a time, it seemed that James G. Blaine’s political star was again in the ascendancy, but the “Plumed Knight” was in Europe and was not receptive. He had tried and failed so continuously for sixteen years that he was convinced the Presidency was not for him, and refused to permit his name to be used in the Republican Convention, though besought by cables from hosts of admiring friends and supporters. Senator Harrison’s steadily growing popularity prophesied his selection, and he received the nomination on the eighth ballot. It was made unanimous, and Levi P. Morton, of New York, was nominated for Vice President.

The tariff was the vital issue of the hour which drew the leaders of both parties into the arena of debate during the campaign, and upon it were hurled volumes of argument and oratory from platform and stump. Here was where the lucid exposition of the great lawyer made a profound impression through his clear speeches and charm of expression. The campaign was lively; banners, processions, and songs added zest to the rallies and political meetings.

The long score of complaints against President Cleveland due to his independence of party direction had antagonized Tammany Hall. His stand on the tariff robbed him of the strong support of the big manufacturing industries. His wholesale vetoes of pensions had antagonized the soldier vote. These sins, added to the fact that the incoming Governor of New York, David B. Hill, though a Democrat, was not an adherent of the Cleveland policy, contributed to his defeat. With New York’s powerful and decisive vote thrown to the Republican candidate, Benjamin Harrison, President Cleveland was eclipsed.

One of the important assets of Harrison’s administration was the new mistress of the White House, whose cordial friendliness and natural graciousness offset her husband’s formality.

Mrs. Harrison brought to her position as chatelaine of the mansion a splendid equipment for her important duties, through a lifetime of activity in social, philanthropic, and patriotic service. Always a church worker, she had the ready sympathy and understanding of welfare matters that were of the greatest help in meeting the many demands made upon her in Washington. Her charity and constant aid to people in every sort of difficulty were extended so quietly that little or nothing was known of it during her lifetime.

Both she and the President were deeply religious, and the Sabbath observance was punctiliously followed, even to the point of the President’s securing additional clerical help for necessary Sunday correspondence, so that the regular staff might have the day for rest after the week of work. Morning prayers were continued, regardless of the change of residence. During Harrison’s senatorship, he and Mrs. Harrison had established their religious attendance in the Church of the Covenant, where they continued to worship during their years at the White House.

President Harrison was possessed of an aristocratic manner and great natural dignity. To this he added a high regard for his office. He regulated his daily life and all public appearances while Chief Executive to command the utmost respect from the public. In this, he was much like General Grant, who demanded little for himself but for the President of the United States all possible honour. It is claimed that he carried this attitude into his churchgoing, making his arrival just at the opening moment of the service, and entering from a side door near the pulpit. This stately progress to his pew made the congregation aware that the President of the United States and the First Lady were attendants at worship.

With their installation in the Executive Mansion, the Harrisons were naturally accompanied by their son and daughter and grandchildren. They made a lively group to brighten up the big house. The son, Russell Harrison, and his wife, had one little daughter, while the son-in-law and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. James Robert McKee, brought with them the already famous youngster “Baby McKee,” two years old, properly known as Benjamin Harrison McKee, and his infant sister, Mary Dodge, of less than a year. This little lady was christened in the Blue Room by her venerable grandfather, the Rev. Dr. Scott, with water from the River Jordan.

Mrs. Harrison was horrified when she discovered the basement floor of the White House to be overrun with rats, and when, a few days later, the President observed a large gray rodent helping himself from the side table in the family dining room, a campaign of extermination was arranged. Every kind of trap and poison having been tried and ignored by the pests, a professional rat catcher, with his dog and ferrets, was installed. He discovered the grounds about the house to be honeycombed with rat holes, and after several hundred had been killed by the ferrets, Mrs. Harrison decided to improve the conditions of the entire basement. She had the floors taken up and was amazed to find that the kitchen floor contained a number of layers, new boards having been laid upon the old whenever repairs had been made in the past. In accordance with her wish, these were all torn out and the entire basement covered with concrete, this being covered, in the kitchen, with tiling. All of the walls of these lower rooms were tiled shoulder high. The repairs changed the dark, unattractive, and unsanitary rooms into wholesome, cheery places, easy to keep clean.

The condition of the kitchen and the vast improvement brought about by the repairs there furnished Mrs. Harrison with further incentive to put the entire mansion through an overhauling. With her daughter and daughter-in-law to aid her, this trio of accomplished housekeepers proceeded to supervise the renovation and refurnishing from the attic to the cellar, and as this work progressed, Mrs. Harrison began to have visions of what the President’s house should be and how it might be vastly improved by remodelling. The more she studied the possibilities of rearrangement of the offices, the more convinced she became that a practical solution was feasible. To enlarge the living quarters, to give the family more privacy and the Executive more space for the daily work of his staff was her dream. The repairs she had made had cost $50,000 and there was no possibility of extensive remodelling, much as she would have liked it done. But she consulted the Commissioner of Public Buildings and Grounds, various architects, discussed the advantages of her proposed changes with many of the members of Congress, and planted the seeds of her very fine and thoroughly practical plan, which was carried out later but not until ten years after her death.

Soon after Mrs. Harrison’s arrival she engaged for the culinary department of the White House at a wage of fifty dollars per month a Frenchwoman formerly in the service of Lord Sackville West of the British Embassy. This plan was for the summer months.

The climate of the Capital City or the atmosphere of the then draughty mansion failed to agree with the Harrison grandchildren, as they all became ill, to the great distress of the President and his wife. Early in the summer, the physician ordered them to be taken to the seashore. Owing to this sudden change in the family living arrangements, Mrs. Harrison, to economize, thought she would dispense with her French cook of vast experience and high wage, and, during the absence of the bulk of the family, avail herself of the service of a coloured woman at fifteen dollars monthly. She forthwith discharged her cook, only to discover that, although First Lady of the Land, mistress of the White House, and leader of millions of women, there were limitations to her authority when she tried to dismiss her cook. The cook refused to be discharged, preferring to remain the genius of the White House kitchen; she most emphatically refused to leave unless paid for the entire season. She considered her dismissal cause for a suit for damages, and before the matter was adjusted satisfactorily to both sides, a lawyer had been engaged, the matter put before Marquis de Chambrun, law representative of the French Government in the city, and the usual attorney’s letter for settlement sent to the President.

In planning her social programme, the First Lady had the efficient aid of both Mrs. McKee and Mrs. Russell Harrison. Each made frequent and lengthy visits to the White House, and each assumed the rôle of hostess occasionally to her own large circle of friends in and near Washington. The state dinners, receptions, luncheons, balls, and parties were charming and delighted the society that so loved the gaiety of Mrs. Cleveland’s youthful régime.

The Harrison family were highly complimented upon their handsome horses and carriages. For his use on March 4th, General Harrison purchased an elegant landau for which he paid $2,000. This the family called the “state coach.” For Mrs. Harrison’s use he selected a family carriage at $1,000. Six spirited horses, cherry bay in colour, all sixteen hands and a half, took possession of the stables. While President Harrison was the most consistent pedestrian in White House history, he also loved to handle the reins and took the greatest pride in his equipages.

Among the many budding projects to which Mrs. Harrison gave the support and encouragement of her active interest and the prestige of her name was that of the newly formed national society of the Daughters of the American Revolution, which now numbers more than a quarter of a million women, and which is the most potent factor in the preservation of American patriotic traditions and the greatest existing force in directing the education of the children of the country toward an understanding and an appreciation of the principles and standards formulated by their forefathers.

Mrs. Harrison accepted the leadership of this patriotic society, serving as its first National President General. Her influence went far toward giving its growth the needed impetus. Patriotic societies were not plentiful, and in the East, no organization of descendants of the Revolution save that of the Sons of the Revolution existed. This association, meeting in Louisville, Ky., in April of 1890, cast a vote excluding women from membership, although the original organization formed in California in 1875 had both men and women on its roster.

When the news of this action was broadcast through the press, Miss Eugenia Washington, great-grandniece of General George Washington, decided that it was time for women to form a society of Daughters. With the aid of Mrs. Ellen Hardin Walworth and Miss Mary Desha, of Washington, D. C., the Daughters of the American Revolution was founded in August of 1890. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mary Lockwood, member of the National Press Association, aroused to protest against the action of the “Sons” in Louisville, published in the Washington Post the story of a Revolutionary War heroine, Hannah Arnett, as an illustration of the fact that women were worthy of honour for their service in that conflict as well as men. Mrs. Lockwood, not being in the city at the time of the meeting, could not be a founder but was given an especial honour for her service through the press.

After a time, when Mrs. Harrison’s health began to decline, Mrs. McKee made the White House her home and relieved her mother of the greater part of the routine, particularly that of correspondence.

But it is not so much for the pleasant and important official functions that the twenty-sixth administration is remembered as for the picture of delightful home life presented by these doting grandparents and their little folks.

Their first grandson, Benjamin Harrison McKee, was the autocrat of the White House, around whose daily performances and schedule of living volumes were written, and this publicity was shared by his baby sister and his little cousin Marthena Harrison. From the time young Benjamin smiled and cooed at the crowds at the Harrison home in Indianapolis, where he got the name of “Baby McKee,” until the little Cleveland lassie usurped his Washington residence, he held the centre of the stage. Idolized by his grandparents, the chum and special playfellow of the dignified President, he became a national figure as much discussed as his elders.

With all of the President’s dignity and conventionality, he did not hesitate an instant in giving chase in all of the inappropriateness of frock coat and silk hat when, one day, the goat team elected to run away with Baby McKee, dashing directly out of the grounds and into the street. However, young Benjamin sat tight, and the anxious grandfather reached him in time to prevent a real catastrophe.

The critics who accused Benjamin Harrison of being “an iceberg” should have seen him romping with the children of the family.

The presence of these little folk was the incentive for many delightful children’s parties, particularly during the holidays, and Colonel W. H. Crook, so long attached to the White House, has claimed that the first White House Christmas tree in his memory was the very large, gorgeous one put up in the library the first Christmas of the Harrison administration, in the trimming of which the President, all of the family, and the staff assisted. It carried toys not only for the children of the family but for everyone attached to the White House and their families. Around it, too, were piled the hundreds of gifts and remembrances sent by friends and presidential admirers.

Mrs. Harrison’s social plans had many unhappy interruptions through the unusual number of deaths in their immediate and official family. The first of these, about at the beginning of their administration, was that of Mrs. Lord, Mrs. Harrison’s sister, a resident of Washington and an employee of one of the government departments, who had also kept house for their aged father, Dr. John Scott. Mrs. Harrison was untiring in her devotion to her sister, and after Mrs. Lord’s death, took her father and Mrs. Mary Lord Dimmick, Mrs. Lord’s widowed daughter, to the White House to live.

Early in 1890, on February 2d, society was grieved over the death of Secretary Blaine’s daughter, Mrs. Coppinger, and on the following day the city was inexpressibly shocked by the terrible bereavement and tragedy that came to Secretary Tracy in the fire that destroyed his home on Farragut Square, causing the deaths of Mrs. Tracy, a daughter, and a maid. Mrs. Tracy, in her terror of suffering, had jumped from the window. The President was among the first to arrive on the scene and at once took the Secretary and the other daughter, Mrs. Wilmerding, to the White House, where Mrs. Harrison did her utmost to comfort them. Later in the day, the bodies of the Secretary’s wife and daughter were brought to the White House and the coffins placed side by side in the East Room. The tragedy to this gracious matron and charming girl affected his Cabinet group as an individual and personal affliction.

Those who attended the funeral in the East Room will never forget the pathos of that service, so poignant in its atmosphere of sorrow that even one of the little boy choristers was overcome and carried fainting from the room.

“Baby McKee’s” fourth birthday was an occasion for a great family celebration. The President and little Benjamin led the way to the small dining room, where the round table was surrounded by fifteen high chairs. The table was gaily decked with flags and flowers to please childish eyes, and a luncheon was served consisting of bouillon, beaten biscuits cut in the form of chickens with their wings outstretched, ice cream, and cakes. Mothers and nurses attended and enjoyed the Virginia reel which concluded the affair.

President Harrison had long been of the opinion that he himself would gain much in the way of understanding his manifold problems and that the people of the land would get a clearer grasp of his efforts in administering his high office if he were to make a tour of the country. Accordingly, he made his arrangements for a swing around a circle that embraced practically one half of the United States. About twenty persons outside of his immediate family accompanied him. Those most important in the group were Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. McKee, Mr. and Mrs. Russell Harrison, and Mrs. Dimmick of the family, and Secretary Rusk and Postmaster General Wanamaker of the Cabinet.

They left on the night of April 14th and stopped at Roanoke, where the President made his first speech. From there the itinerary took them through Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California. In California, Harrison delivered more than forty speeches. He then proceeded to Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, Missouri, Illinois, Ohio, Indiana, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. Everywhere, at his arrival, there was an enthusiastic ovation. In New Mexico, at one stop he was presented with a beautiful case of silver made from ore mined in the vicinity.

On this trip, the President made one hundred and forty-two speeches, most of them extemporaneous, built upon the issues of the hour and around the problems of particular interest to the various sections of the country through which he was travelling.

One of the prettiest Christmas incidents in which a President ever figured occurred during this trip and shows that Harrison’s love of children was not reserved entirely for his own grandchildren. While passing through Richmond, Ind., the President was surprised in his car by the visit of a tiny girl of four who, when he took her upon his knee, threw her arms about his neck, kissed him impulsively, and thrust a new penknife into his hand.

When the next holiday time came near, the President sent a letter and a beautiful doll, both to be delivered to that same little girl on Christmas Eve. And here is a copy of that letter:

The Tracy tragedies, coming so close upon the other griefs, had given Mrs. Harrison’s already depleted strength a severe shock, from which she really never entirely rallied. This exhaustion, or fatigue, increased, but Mrs. Harrison would not admit being ill—“only tired.”

She loved the conservatory. She had always been interested in china painting and had taken lessons in art. She spent much time there, after she began to fail, in painting orchids, the odd blossoms that appeared for the first time during her régime, and for the first time on a White House table at a diplomatic dinner. She had also started collecting relics of her predecessors. In her plans for enlarging and improving the White House, she had arranged for their display.

In the spring of 1892, every member of the family save the President contracted grippe. Mrs. Harrison supervised the nursing of all, even doing a great deal of the actual work herself. Finally, she also succumbed to the malady, which left her with a serious lung trouble, and while she was pleased and proud of her husband’s renomination, she could not participate personally in the rejoicings and celebrations. She continued to fail, and early in the summer her family took her to Loon Lake, in the Adirondacks, in the hope that the change of air would create an improvement. This was a vain hope, and in October she was brought back to the White House in the last stages of the disease. Too worn and exhausted to rally, she never left her room after her return. She passed her thirty-ninth marriage anniversary with her husband at the White House five days before she died, on October 24, 1892, after eight months of suffering. She did not live to know that he was defeated by Cleveland, whom he had succeeded. Her death occurred in the same room that had been occupied by President Garfield after he had been wounded by Guiteau.

The funeral was exceedingly simple and was attended only by the family, the Cabinet, the Supreme Court, and a little group of personal friends. Orchids, her favourite flower, and roses completely covered the casket. After the services, her body was taken to Indianapolis for interment.

About a month later, Dr. John W. H. Scott, Mrs. Harrison’s father, died at the age of ninety-three. His funeral service was held in the East Room. Although of such advanced years, he had discharged the duties of his calling efficiently until President Harrison’s inauguration.

The closing days of President Harrison’s régime were dreary. In the death of his wife, he had lost his lifetime companion, whose sweet graciousness and womanly sympathy did so much to offset his own seeming coldness and austerity. Many of Mrs. Harrison’s admirers believed that, had she lived and kept her health, he would not have failed of a second term.

The illness and death of their beloved President General who had won the love of the membership was a personal sorrow to her associates in the Daughters of the Revolution. At the Congress of 1894, two years after her death, the beautiful portrait of her by Daniel Huntington was unveiled and then presented to the White House as the gift of the society to the nation.

In President Harrison’s administration there was a complete reversal of policy on the tariff and pensions. A liberal pension policy was adopted—so liberal that it was charged that the Commissioner of Pensions hunted up groups to whom pensions might be extended. Finally, an act was passed giving a pension to every soldier who had served ninety days and was not able to be self-supporting, regardless of whether or not the disability was due to his war service. Thus, many thousands of pensioners were added to the roster in Harrison’s four years, with the enormous increase of annual expenditure from $89,000,000 to $159,000,000.

Much important legislation was enacted. Great was the satisfaction over the admission of six new states, two of which, by the way, extended the ballot to women and equal business rights. The states were Montana, North Dakota, Idaho, South Dakota, Washington, and Wyoming.

The opening of Oklahoma marked another epoch in national progress. The tract which had formed part of the Indian Territory was purchased from the Indians in 1889. In the spring of that year, fully fifty thousand people were eagerly waiting the word to enter and take up lands in that region. President Harrison’s proclamation declared that no one who entered and occupied lands in Oklahoma before twelve noon of April 22, 1889, should be permitted to acquire rights to lands there by such entrance and occupation. Hence, on the stroke of twelve, the bugle announced that Oklahoma was open, and a vast multitude rushed across the line, each endeavouring to get in ahead of the rest. Almost overnight, towns of rough board shanties and tents sprang up like mushrooms. Oklahoma City and Guthrie started thus; but five months later, Guthrie was a real town, with several newspapers, banks, and a street railway under construction. Such was the spirit of progress!

To the delight of the navy enthusiasts, the ninety old wooden ships were being steadily replaced by battleships and steamers of steel construction.

Most important to the business interests of the country were the three acts passed by Congress in 1890: the new Pension Act, that added 400,000 names to the pension roster, the expense of which has already been given; the McKinley Tariff, the principal object of which was the protection of American products and American industries against foreign competition; and the Sherman Silver Purchase and Coinage Act, which provided that each month the treasurer should buy, if it were offered, 4,500,000 ounces, or more than 140 tons, of silver and coin it into dollars.

The centennial census showed the population of the United States to be more than 62,000,000, a gain over the first census of 1790 of 50,000,000 people. A centennial celebration was held by the Supreme Court, and another by the Patent Office. This latter was especially interesting because of the history it disclosed. The first patents issued were for potash and soap in 1790. During the hundred years that followed, 450,000 patents had been applied for and secured. Inventors had endeavoured to enter every field of human skill, with the result that America’s labour-saving machines led the world. A notable and everyday utilitarian invention that has given satisfaction in transportation to countless hundreds is the safety bicycle, which “Baby McKee” learned to ride with his mother.

It was during this administration that national politics was invaded by the Farmers’ Alliance. The immigration laws also came in for amendment. An incident worthy of note was the great Carnegie Steel Strike at Homestead, Pa., to which the governor finally had to send troops.

President Harrison could not fail to feel a satisfaction in the record of accomplishment of his four years, and when he prepared to turn the White House over to his successor, he resolved to go back to his law practice, knowing that his future was established. He need accept only such clients as appealed to him and would be able to meet his fees.

He went back to the lawyer’s office in Indianapolis where he had first practised his profession. He accepted his defeat for reëlection in 1892 as final, and thereupon retired permanently from party politics. His only reëntrance into national affairs was when he became a member of the board of arbitration for Venezuela, which settled the historic boundary dispute between Great Britain and the South American Republic.

After his presidential term General Harrison became less reserved. He used to spend his vacations out of doors, and was most devoted to his grandchildren, the McKees. He became a familiar figure at Cape May, where the beach crowds often saw him romping in the surf with them.

On April 6, 1896, he married Mrs. Mary Scott Lord Dimmick, the niece of his first wife, who had acted as Mrs. Harrison’s secretary during her stay in the White House. The wedding took place at St. Thomas’s Protestant Episcopal Church on Fifth Avenue, New York City, in the presence of a small group of friends. Neither General Harrison’s son nor his daughter was present. He took his bride to his Indiana home, where a baby girl was born to them the following year. This marriage estranged his family, as it was not at all pleasing to the children of his first wife.

He died of acute pneumonia in Indianapolis, March 13, 1901, with his immediate family and a few old friends around him. Although en route to his side, neither Russell Harrison nor Mrs. McKee was with him at his death.

Benjamin Harrison’s rêgime was one of dignity. It reflected honour upon himself and the nation.

CHAPTER IX

SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF GROVER
CLEVELAND

March 4, 1893, to March 4, 1897

CLEVELAND luck brought Grover Cleveland back to the White House in March, 1893, to succeed the man who had defeated him at the end of his first term, and whom he had in turn defeated also from succeeding himself.

The “luck” did not extend its benign influence to propitiate the elements, since, instead of the ideal day of sunshine and soft spring zephyrs of his first term, he had to combat the discomforts of a cold, wet snow with its chill and slush.

Fortune had been so liberal with her favours that he could discount her fickleness in that respect, however, even though Democratic hosts had assembled to celebrate their return to power with a brilliant and gorgeous display.

Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland, with the addition of little Ruth Cleveland, their seventeen-months-old daughter, reached Washington on March 3d, going direct to the Arlington, where Mr. Lamont had engaged a suite for them, and where old friends had gathered to greet them. They, like Vice President-elect and Mrs. Stevenson, held a continuous reception.

Promptly at eleven fifty-five the President and the President-elect departed for the Capitol, unaccompanied, in the only open carriage in the pretentious procession that meant the eclipse of one leader and the installation of the other.

After the ceremonies in the Senate, much pressure was brought to bear upon Mr. Cleveland to abandon the idea of taking the oath out of doors. He felt, however, that he owed it to the waiting thousands, patiently standing, to let them see and hear him, and so he followed his previous course, in tribute to Thomas Jefferson, of delivering his inaugural address before the oath was administered by Chief Justice Fuller.

Among the many interested spectators of the ceremonies were Mrs. Cleveland and Mrs. Stevenson, who braved the weather to hear their husbands.

Following the ceremonies at the Capitol and the luncheon at the White House, the new President took his position in the open reviewing stand, where he stood for three hours as the pageant assembled in his honour and marched past. Mrs. Cleveland reviewed the parade from a window over a drug store on Fifteenth Street, where a party of her old friends had gathered to be with her.

The procession was remarkable for its length, order, and appearance. The distinguished and the well-known clubs and organizations participating represented hosts of Democrats from coast to coast. Governors of eleven states with their staffs participated; a fine-looking group of students from Carlisle, and Tammany in all of the paraphernalia of its origin, 3,400 strong, whom it had taken eight trains to transport. All these, joined with 20,000 marchers, adherents, and admirers of the new head of the nation, made a pageant long to be remembered.

The Inaugural Committee had done valiant work in again preparing the great Pension Building for the ball at which President and Mrs. Cleveland arrived about nine o’clock. They were announced by the Marine Band’s “Hail to the Chief.” Their tour of the ballroom gave many scores of people the opportunity to see their Chief Executive and the First Lady at close range, a privilege for which thousands had travelled many miles and endured great discomforts. Mrs. Cleveland, walking with Justice Gray, was all-inclusive in her smile and greetings, but scores carried away the fond belief that she smiled just at each of them. The President, escorted by General Schofield, radiated pride and happiness. When they reached their own special reception room, the Vice President and Mrs. Stevenson, with their daughters, were the first to pay them respect. Here, too, came hosts of old friends to extend congratulations and greetings.

Mrs. Cleveland’s dress was, of course, the observed of all observers. Severe and simple in style, it was rich and graceful. Made of heavy white satin with an empire front and tightly fitting back, the skirt was carried out to a pointed train. It was trimmed with point lace and crystal beads. The embroidery ran up in rows about twelve inches from the edge of the skirt. The front was most elaborately embroidered with crystal beads, while the huge puffs of the satin that made the sleeves were dotted with the crystal. Stiff satin bows at the shoulders and a heavy fall of the lace completed the corsage. She wore diamonds.

Mrs. Stevenson’s handsome gown was distinctive, being white moire antique made in the style of 1830. It had a narrow binding of purple velvet on the edge of the skirt and on the edge of the round low-necked waist. Garlands of purple violets were arranged to fall over the old-fashioned bertha of fine duchess lace. Puff sleeves of the velvet reached to the elbow and were met by soft suède gloves of the same shade. Mrs. Stevenson’s fan was a dainty affair of flowers, lace, and ribbons in the same tints.

Adjoining the ballroom, a huge temporary structure had been constructed on the north side as a kitchen. From this a local caterer supplied an elaborate banquet to all who sought refreshments.

Part of the celebration, and one that from the beginning has been popular in connection with inauguration ceremonies, was the unusually beautiful pyrotechnic display.

While the Democratic chieftain and Mrs. Cleveland and all of their followers were celebrating their victory, another charming function was in progress in honour of Ex-President Harrison and Mrs. McKee, at the home of Postmaster General Wanamaker, Eighteenth and I streets, formerly the Whitney home, where Mrs. McKee and President Harrison’s household had gone early in the day. Here, too, all of the retiring Cabinet and the prominent Republican officials were guests at an elaborate farewell banquet and reception. From this General Harrison and Mrs. McKee went to the special train for Pittsburgh, where they were invited to visit before returning to Indianapolis.

Great interest was manifested in Baby McKee’s successor, Ruth Cleveland. The night following her father’s installation, she was taken seriously ill, but soon recovered. Mrs. Cleveland found her problems multiplying rapidly regarding the care of her baby girl. The general public visiting the White House seemed to regard the President’s child as part of the establishment. Mrs. Cleveland was horrified one morning on glancing out of the window to see her baby being handed from one to another of a group of about twenty tourists. Against their eagerness to fondle the baby the nurse was helpless. Upon another occasion, a determined visitor had to be prevented by force from snipping a lock of the baby’s hair as she passed through the corridor of the White House in her nurse’s arms. Then the President and his wife decided that, for the protection and safety of their child, the gates of the grounds must be kept closed and locked. This order was received with great indignation and considerable protest, and Mrs. Cleveland suffered much perturbation and annoyance in consequence, especially when it was boldly asserted that her little girl was a deaf mute, was deficient in faculties, or otherwise afflicted, so that her parents wished to keep her affliction from public attention. One day, while receiving a delegation in the latter part of the administration, Mrs. Cleveland saw Ruth pass the door. She called to her to come in and let the ladies see that she was not minus arms, legs, or fingers.

With the family installed, President Cleveland and his wife readily settled to their respective tasks. Mrs. Cleveland slipped into place as easily as if she had never left it, and began again her regular Saturday afternoon receptions, which had become so popular in the first term. The President also resumed his semi-weekly public receptions, which he came to enjoy so much, since it gave him the opportunity to meet people and talk to those who wished to talk to him.

The selection of the Cabinet was a momentous task. The group finally comprised the following: Secretary of State, Walter Q. Gresham of Illinois; Secretary of the Treasury, John G. Carlisle of Kentucky; Secretary of War, Daniel S. Lamont of New York; Attorney General, Richard Olney of Massachusetts; Postmaster General, Wilson S. Bissell of New York; Secretary of the Navy, Hilary A. Herbert of Alabama; Secretary of the Interior, Hoke Smith of Georgia; Secretary of Agriculture, Julius Sterling Morton of Nebraska.

This was regarded as a good Cabinet, though not so strong as the President’s first one.

The issues brought forth so prominently in the campaign now thrust themselves forward for attention; almost immediately came rumblings of the impending money panic. Naturally, the trouble-making came from both Republican and Populist ranks.

In the spring of 1893, on May 1st, President Cleveland opened the great World’s Columbian Exposition, commemorating the five hundredth anniversary of the discovery of America by Columbus. It continued for six months. The exhibits displayed were a demonstration of the world’s progress in arts, industries, inventions, and natural products. To it came distinguished tourists from all over the world, and notwithstanding the money depression, twenty-seven million people were admitted to the exposition.

The money stringency, which the Democrats attributed to the Republican extravagance of the previous administration in the great increase of pensioners, which they claim was not offset by the McKinley Tariff Protection Law, increased as firms failed and industries closed their shops. In addition to a growing army of unemployed came coal-mine and railroad strikes.

The nation was brought to the point where the integrity of the dollar, whether greenback, silver, or gold, had to be maintained. President Cleveland determined to maintain the gold reserve, for he was convinced that the safety of the nation depended upon it, and therefore sold bonds to keep up the reserve. The President also called a special session of Congress, which repealed the Sherman Silver Purchase and Coinage Act of 1890, as he was satisfied that the purchasing of the silver was harmful to the nation’s best interests.

This move, unpopular from the Southern and Western points of view, naturally put a stop to further buying of silver in huge quantities and also checked the mintage of silver dollars.

President Cleveland’s second administration found him with a different attitude toward the purely social features of his position. In the beginning of his Presidency, he had been more or less impatient at the necessity for devoting valuable time to receptions. By the time he had watched his charming wife handle the vast crowds that clamoured to see her, he caught a new meaning from the contact of the masses with their Chief Magistrate and First Lady and adapted himself to enjoy the people. He was particular that no one should be crowded out or rushed through, and soon made it a rule to give his whole attention for the brief part of the minute of his contact to the person before him. He cultivated appropriate responses, and as he began to enjoy these daily handshaking periods, he responded to greetings with a spontaneity that evidenced his pleasure and also made him seem more the friendly man than the exalted exclusive leader. Should, for instance, a man in passing, ask, “Where is Mrs. Cleveland? Why isn’t she here too?” instantly, with the twinkle of the eye and the smile his friends loved, he would answer, “Why, somebody might carry her off.”

Mrs. Cleveland and the President drove together most pleasant afternoons. Their equipages were more pretentious than those of any of their predecessors, and were the latest and best examples of carriage building. Five handsome vehicles made up the presidential stable equipment—a black landau with green trimmings that had cost $2,000; a smart brougham, whose value was $1,000; a victoria; also a phaëton that had been made to order at a cost of $1,000, with a coachman’s rumble behind; and a surrey. This last was most used by the President.

In the stables were four handsome bays, two for Mrs. Cleveland’s use and two for the President’s; sometimes, upon very special occasions, such as parades, the whole four would be driven together.

Among the interesting visitors to the United States during the winter and spring of 1893 was the eighteen-year-old Hawaiian princess, Kaiulani, who came with her guardian and his family to seek the aid of the United States in her behalf. Mr. and Mrs. Davis established themselves, their ward, their daughter, and secretaries at the Arlington Hotel. The youthful princess had been educated in England and therefore knew our language. She was a tall girl, pretty and graceful, with excellent taste in dress, and was greatly admired at the inaugural ball. During her visit she received much flattering attention. Mrs. Cleveland was impressed with her and extended various courtesies, formal and informal, to her. And considerable sympathy was expressed in her effort to accede to the Hawaiian throne, from which the Hawaiian people had deposed her aunt, Lilioukulani, in 1891.

Upon the departure of the Princess and her retinue for Europe, she sent a letter of appreciation through the press:

However, her hopes for a throne were destined to disappointment. The United States sent a commissioner over to Hawaii about the time the Princess left; the Republic of Hawaii was proclaimed on July 4, 1894. Then annexation to the United States was sought and later achieved through a treaty of annexation passed by Congress in 1898.

The announcement early in 1893 that the Princess Infanta Eulalie, aunt of the small King of Spain (the present King was then about seven years of age), was coming with her husband, Prince Antoine d’Orleans, and a large suite of Spanish grandees to visit the World’s Columbian Exposition as an honour guest representing the Queen Regent of Spain, created considerable excitement. Much diplomatic correspondence was necessary before the details of her official reception by the President were satisfactorily settled. The difficulty was due to the lack of tact exhibited by Señor Maraugo in expressing the wishes of the President, who had no desire or intention whatever to omit any courtesy due the Royal Infanta that was consistent with our Republican form of government. The minister had allowed his fear that the President would fail in proper ceremony to become apparent, and in his anxiety to surround the Princess with the full panoply of her rank, had overlooked wholly the importance and prestige due to the President of the United States.

The Infanta arrived in New York May 19th and was received with a great display of ceremony by the Spanish Consul and the officers of the Spanish war vessels in New York.

When the Princess arrived in Washington, she was met by Secretary of State W. G. Gresham and Colonel J. M. Wilson, U. S. A., Master of Ceremonies and Social Functions at the White House. Two troops of cavalry from Fort Myer, under command of Colonel Guy V. Henry, had been detailed to escort her to the Arlington Hotel annex, which, cut off from the rest of the hotel, had been set aside with all of its three floors of rooms for the use of the Infanta and her suite of nineteen persons. The annex had at one time been the elegant private residence of Charles Sumner, and only after his death had been bought and added to the hotel property. It had just been redecorated and furnished.

Very shortly after the arrival, the Infanta, with her party, was escorted to the White House, where President and Mrs. Cleveland awaited her.

At the conclusion of the fifteen-minute call, the President escorted his visitor to the door and watched her departure—a full concession to her royalty.

In the afternoon of the same day, the Infanta received a call from Mrs. Cleveland, accompanied by Mrs. Carlisle, Mrs. Lamont, and other ladies of the Cabinet.

A crowd hung about the Arlington and occupied every bench seat in Lafayette Square to get a close glimpse of this bit of elegant pageantry from the Old World.

On the 24th of May, the President and Mrs. Cleveland gave the first state dinner of their administration. It was in honour of the Princess and her party. Thirty-six guests were seated in the state dining room. Just a little while before the arrival of the guests, a small tempest swept over the city. Though brief, it was violent, and during its outburst carried off the strip of carpet placed across the portico of the White House to the carriage steps.

At this function the new Cabinet met for the first time; at the dinner to them on the evening of March 4th their appointments had not yet been confirmed, and some of the wives had not been present. Here, too, were entirely new doorkeepers, new ushers, a new steward, and new servants, Mrs. Cleveland having brought from New York all of the staff within her province to engage. She had, however, retained Miss Josephine Kniep the housekeeper the Harrisons had valued so highly.

Mrs. Cleveland’s artistic taste had been given full scope in the floral arrangement. The long historic mirror in the centre of the table reflected the beauty of the two Spanish flags made of red and yellow roses that rested against each other with their staffs of scarlet geraniums. The flower stands held red and yellow roses, the tapers had red and yellow shades; and these colours were also carried out in the tints of ices, sweets, and bonbons.

After the royal visitors were presented to all of the assembled guests, the party, being seated with punctilious observance of State Department rules of precedence, did full justice to a ten-course dinner with its full complement of wines. At Mrs. Cleveland’s place there was just an apollinaris tumbler.

Mrs. Cleveland was particularly charming and lovely in her gown of blue embroidered crêpe, made in a modified empire style, with the fashionable puffed sleeve; a pleated fall of lace finished the neck. A diamond flower spray in her hair was especially attractive and a beautiful star of these jewels adorned her bodice.

The Princess wore a court gown of white satin brocaded in rosebud stripes. Her skirt, with many gores, was full, and the train long; the whole lower part of the skirt was bordered with a ruffle of lace caught with bunches of wild roses. The bodice was low and was distinctive, since it had no sleeves, the lace and flower trimming making a band over the shoulders. Her jewels were superb—diamonds and emeralds of prodigious size and brilliance, and in a quantity to be deserving of the judgment that they were worth a king’s ransom.

The guests at the state dinner comprised the Cabinet, the members of the Supreme Court and their wives, General and Mrs. Schofield, the Spanish Minister, Senator Sherman, and Mrs. Harriet Land Johnston. The boutonnières for the gentlemen were yellow orchids, while a cluster of American Beauty roses was provided for each lady. Place cards were long Spanish flags with their staffs tied with the Spanish colours.

No private calls were received by the Infanta—only those of an official nature. According to the custom followed abroad, a book was kept at the ladies’ entrance of the hotel. All persons entitled to call were requested to inscribe their names therein. This was considered a call, since visiting cards were not left for royalty. Upon the cover of this was embossed in gold letters: “Infantes Du Antonio y Da Eulalia.”

When the party had first arrived, a small Spanish lad who had been a stowaway on the ship joined it. Despite his being rebuked, he made his way to Washington, and when the matter was brought to the Princess’s attention, she laughed and, to the boy’s great joy, ordered him put in uniform and attached to her suite.

After almost a week of charming attentions and delightful experience, the royal party departed for New York and Chicago, the crowd keeping a close vigil until the last of the one hundred and two pieces of baggage had been carried off to the station.

The Infanta’s reception in the United States throughout her stay brought forth her warm praise.

Photo. by Clinedinst Studio, Washington, D. C.

THE INAUGURATION OF GROVER CLEVELAND

In September, the White House nursery had another occupant, with the birth of another little daughter, Esther. Much of Mrs. Cleveland’s time had been occupied in making many of the dainty little garments after she had withdrawn herself from social affairs for the summer months.

While the general public was deeply interested in Ruth Cleveland, she did not command the same degree of enthusiasm as was showered on her little sister Esther, since Esther was a real White House baby, the ninth child born under that famous roof, just as her mother was the ninth White House bride. These facts gave the people of the country a proprietary feeling toward this mite of humanity, and resulted in a deluge of gifts of all kinds and degrees of loveliness and value. In fact, not only America, but England, France, Germany, Russia, all not only sent messages to the babe and her lovely mother, but followed up their missives of greeting with gifts, until a huge supply had accumulated. There were dainty white furs from the Far North, linens from the cloisters of Spain, dresses, christening robes, sacks, socks, robes, booties of wool, of kid, and of chamois, bibs, wee bits of baby jewellery—everything a baby needs multiplied many times. A room overflowed with toys, and one paper of the time, in describing the deluge, insisted that there were enough cradles, cribs, and carriages for a full score of babies, and toys enough for an asylum.

The day Esther was born, the President received informally the young Japanese Prince Yorihato Komatsu, the grand-nephew of the Mikado, who was travelling around the world incognito.

One of the events in which Washington was greatly interested was the one hundredth anniversary of the laying of the corner stone of the United States Capitol, which occurred on September 18, 1893. The celebration started with the ringing of the centennial chime, after which there was a procession, and other features by civic organizations as nearly like those of a hundred years ago as the changed conditions would permit. William Wirt Henry, a grandson of Patrick Henry, was one of the speakers.

The prevalence of hard times and the growing numbers of unemployed brought to pass the assembling of “armies” in all parts of the country. The first of these aggregations of unemployed, led by a horse dealer named Coxey, set out for Washington from Ohio to demand relief from the government. Other armies with the same object started from the Western Coast states and from Texas, numbering in all about six thousand men. Many of them were honest and sincerely desired work. Others were toughs who joined for a lark and followed what seemed to promise adventure. Still others were plain everyday tramps and loafers and criminals. They begged for food, and when it was not forthcoming they foraged; and when they grew tired of marching, they simply boarded trains and rode. Coxey reached Washington, mounted the steps of the Capitol, made addresses, and hung around the city for a while. His “army” camped near by from April 26 to May 1, 1894. Its presence necessitated the increasing of the White House Guard from twelve to twenty-six men. As long as no open act of lawlessness and disorder was committed, Coxey and his followers were unmolested; they wearied of their futile task and disbanded without accomplishing anything.

Soon afterward, in the city of Chicago, a strike occurred. Two thousand workmen employed by the Pullman Car Company decided they must have higher wages. Men on some of the Western roads also struck out of sympathy for the Pullman workers, deciding they would not work to help in the use or operation of the trains until the Pullman workers got their desired raise. They carried the determined stand so far that, for a time, not a train was running between San Francisco and Chicago.

On June 28th, the American Railway Union, directed by Eugene Debs, declared a boycott on all Pullman cars, thereby tying up all railroads west of Chicago hauling these cars. The next day, the United States Court at Chicago issued an injunction against the strikers, as the mails were prevented from proceeding. When it was brought to the President’s attention that the governor of the State of Illinois either could not or would not take steps to break the strike, he made the cryptic statement, “I will call out the whole army, if necessary, to deliver a postcard.”

Those who knew President Cleveland and his unfaltering determination in the pursuit of duty were satisfied that he would bring the strike to an end.

Major General Miles, then in command of the Missouri, with headquarters in Chicago, brought the news to the President that the city was at the mercy of the mobs, and the seriousness of the situation was intensified by the fact that there was more than twenty million dollars in the Sub-Treasury, a fact that was generally known. The food supplies in the East were jeopardized, especially if the strike were to extend eastward. The President lost no time in ordering the United States troops to the spot. The strike leaders were arrested and communication between them and their henchmen prevented; so the strikers disbanded and went back to work, and the strike collapsed. The relief over the settlement of the trouble may be appreciated when it is realized that a mob of ten thousand men were idle in Chicago alone and that the traffic blockade extended from Illinois through Indiana, Iowa, Missouri, North Dakota, Montana, Oregon, Washington, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, California, New Mexico, and Nebraska.

During this administration it was found expedient to abandon the Force Act. As the country had gradually stabilized and state governments had become efficient, Federal troops were not required to be present at state elections, and the Force Act, providing for such measures when needed, was repealed.

The first year of the second administration was certainly a trying one for the Executive, since, while directing his energies to controlling and conquering a host of problems at home, the nation became involved in another dispute with England over the Behring Sea and seal hunting. Past experience had proved the wisdom of referring such matters of foreign disagreement to a commission. The same policy was followed, and a commission of seven prominent men was chosen by the United States, England, France, Italy, Norway, and Sweden to adjust the matter of contention. An amicable settlement resulted, which provided that the Behring Sea should remain open, but that seals should be protected against indiscriminate killing.

Many have declared Cleveland’s act in regard to the Venezuelan matter the most important of his administration. For a number of years, the boundary line between New Guinea and Venezuela had been a matter of dispute and contention. Venezuela finally appealed to the United States to use her influence to induce Great Britain to submit the matter to arbitration. The idea was not favourably received by the British Government.

President Cleveland’s ideas on the matter began to clarify, and he sent a message to Congress December 17, 1895, accompanied by all of the correspondence in the case, and recommended the appointment of a commission to determine the actual boundary. His message intimated that the United States would enforce the decision. Congress followed the President’s lead; the commission was appointed, but before it had completed the task assigned, England had come to an agreement with Venezuela, a joint board of arbitration having been appointed. Although the President received a great deal of criticism for his application of the Monroe Doctrine, the country’s prestige was much increased.

President Cleveland stood firm for Civil Service reform, which had always been one of his hobbies, and before his term closed, about half of all offices of the government were already under Civil Service and filled by competitive examinations, instead of being parcelled out as political patronage.

After a long and bitter struggle, Congress enacted a tariff measure, a modified form of the Wilson Tariff. This reduced protective duties about one fourth and admitted free lumber, wool, and salt. It also condemned trusts.

The public was always interested in the Cleveland babies, and spontaneous congratulations, greetings, and gifts poured in when it was known that the stork had paid a visit to Gray Gables in July of 1895, leaving another small daughter, upon whom was conferred the name of Marian. By this time, little Ruth was finding her busy father a fine playfellow, and many good times they had drawing pictures and making things together in his office when his day’s work was done.

The people of the South had planned an exhibition. It was called “Cotton States and International Exhibition,” and was opened in September, 1895, by the pressure of the electric button by the tiny finger of the newest White House baby, Marian. Thus from the gun room of her father’s charming house, Gray Gables, on Massachusetts Bay, the two-months-old infant set all of the wheels revolving to open the exposition. Great gates and doors swung wide; machinery started buzzing; and with the boom of the cannon and the sound of the shrill whistles, the activities of the great exposition were set in motion.

With the admission of Utah in 1896, the number of states was forty-five.

Li Hung Chang, Chinese statesman, commander-in-chief of all forces in the war with Japan, and originator of the Chinese Navy, on a tour of the world, came to visit the United States, August 28, 1896. He was received by President Cleveland the following day. The original comments and pertinent queries he made while here were the source of much amusement.

Mrs. Cleveland’s last season in Washington was as gay as her manifold duties would permit. Three babies are a full measure of responsibility even for a mother aided by the best nurses procurable. One of her long-discussed functions was a luncheon for forty-eight guests for her husband’s sister, Miss Rose Cleveland. This was most elaborate and elegant.

The last Christmas in their administration was a gay one for the children. Three little stockings were hung on the chimney shelf. There were many gay parties with the Lamont children and other little folk of the Cabinet household, and a whole room filled to its utmost capacity with wonderful gifts and toys.

Though the eyes of the nation were already turning toward the future occupants so soon to be installed in the White House, public interest in the Clevelands had not diminished. Mrs. Cleveland’s New Year reception of 1897 and the evening reception which followed were attended by the largest throngs ever known. People seemed just to realize she was leaving the White House, and they were anxious to see and speak with her. Many brought their children, impressing upon them the impending departure of the sweet wholesome lady who gave another opportunity to shake her hand to those who had been too confused to do so when they first passed. Great numbers of guests crowded also to the last of the Saturday afternoon receptions. These delightful affairs for the public ceased with Mrs. Cleveland’s departure, and since her régime, there have been no affairs for the public save the New Year receptions.

From Helen Nicolay’s pen this description of one of Mrs. Cleveland’s farewell “crushes” is taken in part:

The ladies of the Cabinet, learning of Mrs. Cleveland’s love for the “true blue” of the turquoise, presented her with an exquisite ring set with this gem as a parting gift of affection.

She set the mansion in order for Mrs. McKinley and departed with her little folks to get the new home at Princeton ready for her husband, who, with the burden of state lifted from his shoulders, joined a party of friends for a restful cruise and fishing trip before joining her. Achievement was writ large upon Grover Cleveland’s presidential history page. He laboured long and arduously for the welfare of the nation, most of the time under the strain of great criticism, but he discharged his duties in a way that, as time goes on, adds greater lustre to his name.

Upon his retirement, Cleveland sought a quiet life in the university town where he was actively associated with the college. He maintained an interest in various financial enterprises and, for the first time in his busy life, indulged in his favourite pastimes of hunting and fishing with a group of old friends and acquaintances among whom was Joseph Jefferson, the actor. Those who doubt the charm and humour of Mr. Cleveland’s conversations should read his fishing and duck-hunting stories. Most of all he enjoyed his young family, two sons being born within a few years of his retirement. He was an interested and sympathetic adviser in Mrs. Cleveland’s many activities, especially her promotion of kindergartens.

Many civic honours came to him. He died at his home in Princeton June 24, 1908, and was buried in the Princeton Cemetery.

CHAPTER X

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM
MCKINLEY

March 4, 1897, to March 4, 1901

FEW inaugurations have witnessed such a happy combination of good weather, universal enthusiasm, and unusually large throngs of visitors as attended the first inauguration of William McKinley.

President Cleveland drove to the Ebbitt House, where Mr. McKinley was staying, and then together the incoming and the outgoing Presidents rode to the Capitol accompanied by two members of the Senatorial Committee.

Mrs. McKinley left the hotel about ten minutes before eleven o’clock. She walked to the carriage leaning on the arm of Secretary Porter, who had left the President-elect at the White House and had then returned hastily to the hotel for the purpose of seeing to the comfort of Mrs. McKinley. On the other side was Chairman Bell, of the inauguration committee, and between the two stalwart men, the lady who was to be first in the land was tenderly sheltered from the crowd which pressed upon them from every side.

Mrs. McKinley looked pale but happy. With her were her sister, Mrs. Mary Barber, little Kate Barber, and the President’s mother, who refused to be separated from these members of her family. Several officers of the regular army were in attendance to escort them.

After the ceremonies in the Senate Chamber, the President-elect was sworn in by Chief Justice Fuller on the East Portico, where thousands of people had gathered. In the bright light, his face, when he stood bareheaded to take the oath of office, was clear to all.

Mrs. McKinley, his aged mother, sat close beside him, and her evident pride and gratification were noted with pleasure, as was also his affectionate greeting to her and his wife at the conclusion of the ceremonies.

The presidential party took luncheon at the Capitol after the official exercises on the inaugural stand and before starting to the White House. It is said that Mr. McKinley ate sparingly, ordering only a roll, a cup of coffee, and a piece of ham.

As he and ex-President Cleveland later emerged from the Capitol, the cavalry buglers sounded a salute, the troopers came to present arms, and the great throngs pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the new President. Cheer on cheer went up, frightening the horses and making some confusion in bringing forward the handsome turnout which was to bear the party to the White House. The President bowed and smiled.

In his triumphal progress from the Capitol to the White House, President McKinley had for his escort a famous volunteer cavalry organization, Troop A of Cleveland. They preceded the carriage, while behind came the Twenty-third Ohio, the regiment which the new President had led in the days of the Civil War. Following in the wake was one of the greatest military and civic cortèges ever assembled. It was late in the day before the last of them had passed in review before the President. The number of political clubs in the parade was greater than at other inaugurations, and formed an interesting feature of the festivities. Observing that the salutes were continuous, Mr. McKinley at last sat bareheaded, hat in hand, waving acknowledgment to the multitude.

Enthusiastic praise was given veterans in the parade. When General Cecil Clay, who had charge of the District militia, passed the reviewing stand he raised the remnant of his right arm in salute, and the spectators rose and cheered with all their might. General Howard, who had but his left arm remaining, was similarly greeted when he put his reins between his teeth and saluted with his left arm.

When, at the conclusion of the parade, the President stepped on the portico of the White House, he was met by Mrs. Grant, the widow of the illustrious warrior and ex-President, who, in company with Bishop Newman, had been patiently waiting for this opportunity of meeting him. He greeted them so cordially that both felt fully repaid for their long wait. The President then entered the White House, and a great crowd that had followed his footsteps closed up against the doors. Failing to secure admission, they took their station at the windows and eagerly struggled to get at least a glimpse of the interior.

The President received a few intimate friends, including Senator Hanna; then dinner was served. The guests were Abner McKinley, brother of the President, Mr. and Mrs. M. C. Barber and daughter Mary, and Mrs. Maria Saxton. The initial dinner at the White House was entirely informal. Although no callers were received after dinner, thousands of curious people crowded the portico and demanded admittance. It was only by the vigorous efforts of a cordon of police that the doorway was kept clear.

Again the Pension Building was the magnet, drawing youth, beauty, and fashion, as well as the curious, to tread the stately measure of the march and dance. This time the magnificent ballroom was a symphony of white and gold, which made a glowing background for the rainbow tints of the gowns.

Mrs. McKinley’s ball gown of her favourite shade of blue silk had a long train, high neck, and long sleeves. It was a lovely combination of brocade and point lace, diamond pins fastening the lace at the corsage. Diamond-studded side combs held her hair in soft puffs in front in accordance with the prevailing fashion.

The President’s aged mother, very stately in her rich black satin, seemed to get as much enjoyment out of the ball as she had got out of the proceedings at the Capitol.

After the presidential party had greeted the assemblage as they passed through the ballroom, supper was served in the room splendidly decorated for them, and they returned to the White House early, as Mrs. McKinley’s fragile strength had been put to a severe test through the long, exciting day. The President’s mother, whose joy in her distinguished son and his honours was a rejuvenating tonic, was also fatigued.

A detail of the inauguration of particular interest to many visitors was the unusual car which had been provided for Mr. McKinley’s trip from Canton to Washington. It was a private car without name, known simply as “No. 38.” The walls were of white oak, solid, instead of the ordinary studding. The top was a double framework of steel with a cushioned ceiling. The floors were of four thicknesses of white oak. Such unusual construction made the car proof against smashing in collision or breaking should it roll down an embankment. Every home comfort was provided: an old-fashioned log fireplace, two elegant bedroom apartments with bath to each, dainty china, rich silver, and every conceivable luxury to make travelling a delight.

Mrs. McKinley brought with her a young German maid, devoted to her and convinced that no former mistress of the mansion could approach her beloved mistress in elegance. During the week following inauguration, “Lena” took especial pride and delight in personally conducting Mrs. McKinley’s relatives and intimate friends on an inspection tour of her dressing room to display to them the White House outfits of the First Lady and her niece Miss Mary Barber, who spent much time with her.

It is doubtful if any White House mistress brought a more complete or elegant wardrobe with her than the one upon which Mrs. McKinley had expended ten thousand dollars and much thought and in the selection of which “the Major” had been drawn into consultation. For the early formal functions she had provided eight unusually beautiful gowns that brought enthusiastic praise for her good taste.

When McKinley, the twenty-fifth President of the United States, took the oath of office on the 4th of March, 1897, he was admirably equipped for the duties of his new position. He had been for years prominent in public life; his personal character and private life had endeared him to the hearts of the people; he was in the prime of manhood; he was a student of affairs. He was more of a politician than of a statesman, but the development of events proved that he could be either or both. His regard for the popular will and his long training in accurately judging its expression served as a restraining influence in his policies and prevented dangerous and possibly fatal rashness. When his plans had been fully matured, they were executed with skill. Each succeeding year, with its additional burden of important questions, saw the President broaden and develop in the art of government.

His early background had much to do with his success. He was born in Niles, Trumbull County, Ohio, January 29, 1843. His father, William McKinley, Sr., moved to Ohio from Pennsylvania. The family was Scotch-Irish, whose forefathers had come to America 150 years before. He was the seventh child in the family of nine. As a boy, he had regular schooling and was especially noted for his brilliancy in debate. Later, he taught in the public schools of the Kerr district, near Poland. About this time, he joined the Methodist Episcopal Church and became a diligent student of the Bible.

At the outbreak of the Civil War, he was a clerk in the Poland post office. When the call was made for volunteers, young McKinley was among those who stepped forward. He went with the recruits to Columbus and was enlisted as a private in Company E, Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry. This regiment numbered among its officers William S. Rosecrans, afterward major general, and Rutherford B. Hayes, later nineteenth President of the United States.

MRS. IDA SAXTON McKINLEY

Photo. Underwood & Underwood

WILLIAM McKINLEY

Many are the soldier stories of camp and battlefield in which McKinley figured. Henry H. Woodruff, of Oakland, Cal., who served in the same regiment with him, sent the author the following story of the famous old Twenty-third Ohio with McKinley’s service to it in war, and its service to McKinley when he was President. He says:

Major McKinley participated in the final act of the great war drama, the grand review in Washington. On his return to Poland, a complimentary dinner was given him by the citizens. He entered the office of Judge Charles E. Glidden, at Youngstown, Ohio. After one year’s study under the preceptorship of Judge Glidden, he went to law school in Albany, N. Y., and in March, 1867, was admitted to the bar at Warren, Ohio.

On the advice of his sister Anna, he decided to settle at Canton, and was elected prosecuting attorney of Stark County in 1869. He was renominated, but missed reëlection by forty-five votes. Resuming his private practice, he soon built up a profitable business. But in all political campaigns he was in constant demand as a speaker.

Mr. McKinley was married to Miss Ida Saxton on January 25, 1871. Miss Saxton’s grandparents were among the founders of Canton nearly a century ago. She was the daughter of a prominent banker, James A. Saxton, and granddaughter of John Saxton, who established a well-known publication, the Canton Repository, during the War of 1812.

Miss Ida Saxton was born in June of 1847. As a girl she was extremely pretty, lively, and popular. While completing her education she also participated in the various activities of her time for soldier relief. Her father undertook the supervision of her training and education, and as soon as her graduation closed her studies at a seminary in Media, he resolved she should be properly trained in practical business, especially as she would have a little property left her. Consequently, she served as his assistant in the bank with which he was associated.

When about nineteen, and when she had been in the bank about three years, her father died. His loss was such a shock that she was threatened with serious illness, and her older sister, with whom she lived, persuaded her to travel abroad.

After her return to Canton came the romance of her life with the young lawyer who had just been elected prosecuting attorney of Stark County. Like the Harrisons, they started their married life in a boarding house, but only until their own little home was ready. Here their first child, Katie, was born, late in December of 1871. This little one lived to be three years old. Another little daughter, named Ida for the young mother, also died in infancy. Added to the grief of losing her children, she had the additional sorrow of her mother’s death. Altogether, the shock proved too much for her reserve force. From the time she was sixteen, ill health had threatened, and the poignant grief for her loved ones made her an invalid.

Mr. McKinley was first nominated for Congress in 1876, and elected. During the progress of this canvass, he visited the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia and was introduced by James G. Blaine to a great audience which he completely captivated.

He entered Congress while his old colonel, Hayes, was President, and the friendship gave him at the start an influence which might have taken a much longer time to win under other circumstances. His power as a speaker brought him distinction, and his ability as a worker in committees was soon recognized. He was reëlected to the Forty-sixth, Forty-seventh, Forty-eighth, Forty-ninth, Fiftieth, and Fifty-first Congresses. During his whole career in Congress, Mr. McKinley was a consistent advocate of a protective tariff.

It was in the Fifty-first Congress that McKinley’s great political opportunity came. He was a leading candidate for the speakership with Thomas B. Reed. Reed was elected. The chairmanship of the powerful Ways and Means Committee fell to McKinley. On April 6, 1890, he introduced the tariff measure which has since borne his name. The bill became a law on October 6, 1890. During all of the struggle while the bill was pending, McKinley displayed qualities of leadership of the highest order. Before the next election came around, his district had been gerrymandered against him, the adverse majority being fully 3,000. McKinley was defeated by 300 votes. His defeat really made him Governor of Ohio. His victory over Governor Campbell, the Democratic candidate for reëlection, was decisive.

He was the presiding officer of the Republican National Convention at Minneapolis in 1892, when the attempt was made to stampede the delegates for him. It was a most trying situation, but he bore himself with coolness and decision. When Ohio recorded two votes for him, he challenged the vote so as to put himself on record for Harrison. When the roll call was complete, Harrison received 535 votes, Blaine 182, McKinley 182, and Reed 4. Leaving the chair, Mr. McKinley mounted a seat in the Ohio delegation and moved to make the nomination of Harrison unanimous. Governor McKinley’s campaign tour through the West for Harrison was one of the marvels of the time. He made 325 speeches in 300 different towns. For more than eight weeks he averaged more than seven speeches a day. He travelled over sixteen thousand miles and addressed more than two million people.

Toward the latter part of Mr. Cleveland’s administration, it became clear that the free silver faction of the Democratic party would control the Democratic Convention, but the Republican Convention assembled first. One of Ohio’s wealthy manufacturers, Marcus A. Hanna, became convinced that the Republican party needed William McKinley for its leader, and he set about bringing this to pass with his own business methods. At the convention, Governor McKinley was nominated on the first ballot, with Garret A. Hobart, of New Jersey, for Vice President. The Republican platform declared for protection.

In the Democratic Convention, events had been more spectacular. Old leaders were superseded by more radical ones, and the West became a factor in politics with William Jennings Bryan making his first appearance. He attended the convention merely as a reporter, and when he seized the opportunity during a long debate to launch his Cross of Gold and Crown of Thorns speech, he electrified the assembly, and in the wild enthusiasm which it aroused, he was nominated. While John R. McLean, of Ohio, had the lead for the Vice Presidency until the fourth ballot, he lost to Sewall, of Maine.

Bryan made a meteoric speech-making dash over the country that played havoc with party allegiance, for many Democrats swung to the support of the Republican candidate, and many Republicans preferred to trail with the following of the silver-tongued orator. From this time on, William Jennings Bryan was a factor to be considered in the politics of the land.

The platform of free silver faction of the Democratic party called for the free coinage of silver at the ratio of sixteen to one and turned against the administration of Cleveland.

The silver Republicans also had a convention, endorsing Bryan for President and Thomas E. Watson of Georgia for Vice President.

The gold Democrats nominated John M. Palmer, Union veteran of Illinois, for President and Simeon B. Buckner, a Confederate veteran for Vice President.

The Prohibition party also split on the silver question.

The Republicans made their fight on the money stringency and the tariff.

When the confusion subsided and the electoral votes were counted, they gave the election to McKinley with a vote of 271; Bryan received 176. A Republican majority prevailed in both Houses of Congress, and “free silver” was thus proved not so alluring as a national measure.

Where McKinley went, Mrs. McKinley usually accompanied him, and from the time he was nominated she had little peace of mind. At his home, when the news of his election was read, she was greatly distressed. “Oh, Major, they will kill you, they will kill you!” she exclaimed. He put his arm about her and turned to his guests and, smiling, remarked, “This little woman is always afraid someone is going to harm her husband.” His calm, loving touch reassured her in a measure, but some of her friends have declared that she never really knew peace of mind when he was out of her sight, for they were satisfied she had a premonition of his fate.

Immediately upon his induction into office, President McKinley called an extra session of Congress to revise the tariff. The passage of the Dingley bill, levying higher taxes on some exports, bade fare to cover the revenue situation.

The trouble with Spain became the centre of attention and soon reached a point where action was necessary, as the island of Cuba was in a chronic state of revolt, and rebellion had broken forth over the failure of Spain to redeem her promises of self-government. President McKinley strove to keep out of participation, but the hostility of the Spanish on the island was so intense that all his advisers urged the dispatch of a warship as a protective measure for American citizens. He demanded that:

“In the name of humanity, in the name of civilization, in behalf of endangered American interests, which give us the right and duty to speak and to act, the war in Cuba must stop.”

Endeavouring to give every opportunity to Spain in her promises of reform, the President held Congress in temporary control, while reams of diplomatic correspondence were interchanged. In the midst of these communications—characterized on the part of the President by insistence upon new conditions and on the part of Spain by plausible evasions and constant seeking for delay—the American battleship Maine was blown up in Havana Harbour and 266 men were murdered. From that moment, a war with Spain was certain. The President found the country unprepared for a conflict. He temporized Congress and dallied with Spain, while the armouries worked day and night and warships were gathered in American waters from all parts of the world. Meanwhile, a month and seventeen days before war was declared, Congress placed in the hands of the President, without restriction or condition, the sum of $50,000,000. It was voted to him unanimously by both Houses, a mark of personal confidence and an evidence of the patriotic extinction of party lines in the face of a great emergency.

The war cloud burst, and in less than ninety days the skies were cleared again. Cuba had been liberated, Porto Rico had been gathered under the American flag, and, as an indirect but necessary result, Hawaii had been annexed. All of these things were not to be compared in importance, however, with the fact that the defeat of the Spanish fleet in Manila Harbour by Commodore Dewey’s squadron had ousted the Spanish from their possession of the Philippine Islands, a possession which they had enjoyed for three centuries. The United States at once became a world power in the Orient. All the other remarkable events of McKinley’s administration—any one of which would have made it memorable—pale into insignificance before this acquisition of a vast archipelago, with 1,200 islands and 10,000,000 people, situated 7,000 miles from our shores.

President McKinley, overwhelmed with problems which would have crushed a man of smaller calibre and less experience with national affairs, met his new responsibilities with admirable courage. He did not act hastily. On the contrary, one of the features of his administration was the deliberation with which he developed his important policies, and for which he was most bitterly criticized.

The Philippines presented from the first the most serious problem. Situated on the other side of the world, populated largely by savage races who maintained slaves and recognized polygamy, the Islands nevertheless possessed large commercial value and were considered important because of their situation on the threshold of the Orient. The military administration which the President at once established was not altogether satisfactory, and he sought the assistance of distinguished civilians, appointed by him as commissioners, in devising another form of government. The military transferred to the commission, of which Hon. William H. Taft was president, all duties of a purely legislative nature. To this commission the President outlined in great detail a policy which promised much benefit to the Filipinos, assuring them of the enjoyment of the privileges contained in the American Constitution and promising them better educational facilities, the development of their commerce, and all the blessings which are the heritage of the American citizen.

The war with Spain and all of its brilliant exploits, brief as it proved to be, has been ably and fully covered by historians and war correspondents. The most interesting figure in the light of later events was Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, with his picturesque Rough Riders, in the assault and victory of San Juan Hill. The achievements of Richmond P. Hobson, of Schley, of Sampson are all brilliant pages in an epochal era of United States expansion.

Admiral Dewey’s victory at Manila Bay was celebrated on his return with a remarkable ovation. Once again historic Pennsylvania Avenue resounded to jubilation. Among the many functions given to the distinguished naval officer was the one at the Metropolitan Club.

The story of the dinner, unique in many respects, is given herewith:

Although Clara Barton had been the “Angel of the Battlefield” through the Civil War, when she started her great humanitarian career with the care of the forty wounded soldiers of the Sixth Massachusetts after the Baltimore fracas, and the good angel of Europe through the Franco-Prussian War and the Commune, for which she was decorated by the governments engaged, it was in the Spanish War that American soldiers knew her best and where for the first time the Red Cross symbol and service made its value known. Through her persistent efforts, the famous “American Amendment” was added to the Geneva Treaty of the Red Cross which was signed by President Arthur. The American Association of Red Cross was organized in 1881 with Miss Barton as president, a position she held until 1904. It was at President McKinley’s personal request that she carried relief to Cuba and did personal field work through the war. In his message of December 6, 1898, he expressed his own appreciation and that of the American people for her service during the Spanish-American War.

After peace was declared, the unfortunate controversy between Admirals Schley and Sampson as to the credit for the victory of Santiago led to a long investigation, the matter having been referred to a Court of Inquiry, of which Admiral Dewey was the president. This Court held daily sessions in a large building in the Navy Yard, and after forty days of investigation and thorough consideration of all the points of criticism, Admiral Dewey rendered the following opinion of the Court as a summary of all the testimony taken:

Garret A. Hobart, the genial Vice President, died on November 21, 1899. With the approach of the election in 1900 the successful war President had no opposition in the Republican Convention and was renominated, with the Governor of New York, Theodore Roosevelt, as his reluctant team mate. The Convention endorsed the administration.

Once more the Democratic Convention pinned its faith to William Jennings Bryan by nominating him for President, with Adlai Stevenson, Grover Cleveland’s Vice President, chosen for his former office. The free coinage of silver was presented as part of the platform, but the opposition to the expansion of United States territory was the policy emphasized. McKinley and Roosevelt received 292 electoral votes to the 155 cast for Bryan and Stevenson. Thus, after four years crowded with stirring events of national interest and vital importance, buffeted between public sentiment and private conviction, President McKinley, the triumphant war President, found himself again installed as the people’s choice.

CHAPTER XI

SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM
MCKINLEY

March 4, 1901, to September 14, 1901

THE second inauguration of President McKinley was a wretched day, and sleet and snow beat upon him as he took the oath of office. On the way to the Capitol, Senator Mark Hanna rode by the President’s side. Theodore Roosevelt took the oath as Vice President in the Senate Chamber and made a brief address. Mrs. Roosevelt and the children were present, as was Mrs. McKinley, who was escorted and cared for by General Corbin. In the parade from the Capitol to the White House there was for the first time representation from an American dependency. This was a battalion of dark-skinned Porto Rican soldiers in Uncle Sam’s uniform.

The President’s mother had passed away in December of the first year of his term, and the absence of her proud, happy face was noted with a surge of sympathy for her son, whose domestic life carried so much of anxiety.

The procession duplicated the previous one in size and variety. The President reviewed this procession, from within a large plate-glass case put up to protect him from the inclement weather.

Callers filled the afternoon, and the ball and fireworks occupied the evening.

The great ballroom of the Pension Building was again a garden of tropical beauty, and was crowded to its utmost capacity. Mrs. McKinley, whose frailty had at first threatened to prevent her attendance at any of the ceremonies, was eager to go, and despite the disagreeable weather attended the ball; but her limited strength made it advisable to omit the Grand March through the ballroom. The President and his wife therefore remained in their box only a short while, much to the disappointment of the eager throng, who had hoped for a closer view of the First Lady and her handsome gown of white satin and jewels. Everything her sisters, sisters-in-law, and nieces and the ladies of the Cabinet could do to make things easy for her was done.

Mrs. McKinley loved to drive, but the President rarely permitted her to drive without him. Her delight in knitting never waned. It is said that her nimble fingers knitted nearly four thousand pieces of dainty bits of wool and silk—socks, mitts, bags, ties—all of which were made for charity or for friends. Never was a request for a gift of her own handiwork refused for fairs and bazaars.

Mrs. McKinley loved her friends. She was the personification of gentleness and sweetness unless some criticism of her beloved “Major” came to her ears. Then she lacked neither force nor spirit in her defense of him.

Both she and the President loved music, singing particularly, and the unusual musical entertainments which they held were frequent and delightful.

As the first summer of the second term advanced, Mrs. McKinley became so frail that a rolling chair was obtained for her use; she had come to the point where she had to be carried bodily up and down in the elevator. Owing to her critical condition, a trip to the Pacific Coast had to be curtailed. She was, however, able to be brought to Canton, where she recovered sufficiently to go to Buffalo with her husband, he having accepted an invitation to attend the Pan-American Exposition there. “President’s Day,” which was to feature his address, was set for September 5th. He spoke, and received one long, delightful ovation, the assembled crowds exerting themselves to shower upon him their enthusiastic appreciation. The glamour of the war victory was still upon him.

On the afternoon of the sixth, after the party’s return from their visit to Niagara Falls, the President sent Mrs. McKinley to the home of Mr. John G. Milburn, president of the Exposition, their host, to rest from the fatigue of the morning, while he went to the Temple of Music on the Exposition Grounds, where he was to hold a public reception. About four o’clock, one of the individuals of a great throng that was passing approached with his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. Mr. McKinley smiled in his usual friendly fashion, extending his hand to the stranger. Instantly, two loud reports of a pistol sounded sharp and clear above the buzz of voices. After an instant of complete stunned silence, during which the President looked pained and bewildered, he straightened up, threw his head back, and staggered into the arms of his secretary, George B. Cortelyou. He was led to a chair, where he bowed his head in his hands.

The crowds burst forth into cries and curses as the realization was borne in upon them that the President had been shot. He remained calm, and begged them not to be alarmed, assuring those around him he was not badly hurt. He opened his waistcoat and drew forth his hand daubed with blood.

The scene that followed was frightful. Several men threw the assassin, a Polish anarchist, a follower of the teachings of Emma Goldman, to the ground, snatched away his pistol, and would have taken justice in their own hands and executed him but for the feeble words of command from the stricken President, “Let no one harm him.” He was locked up under heavy guard.

The President was at once taken on a stretcher to the Emergency Hospital in the grounds, and the best surgeons were summoned. The examination disclosed the fact that the two shots fired at close range had both found their mark: one struck him on the breastbone, and glancing, had penetrated the stomach; the other had entered the abdomen.

In reply to their announcement that an immediate operation was necessary, he calmly replied, “Gentlemen, do what in your judgment you think best.”

After a half-hour operation the surgeons were unable to locate the bullets. Preparations were made to take the mortally wounded man to the Milburn home.

When it was long past the hour for the President to return, Mrs. McKinley had grown anxious and nervous, for she feared some accident had befallen him. While every effort had been made to keep her in ignorance of the shooting, she had to be informed as the President was being carried to the house. To everyone’s amazement, she took the news quietly. Since her husband seemed uncomfortable at her absence from his bedside, she was brought in.

Five days after the shooting, the physicians gave the impression that he was out of danger and would probably recover. But all of the sixth day he failed so perceptibly that Mrs. McKinley was led to his room to take her farewell of the husband who for so many years had given her the most constant, solicitous care. She kept calm and tearless until she reached her own room, when her control gave way to grief, heartrending, intense, and so absorbing that none could console her. He grew weaker and repeated in his last period of consciousness words from “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” then, a little later, “Good-bye, all, good-bye. It is God’s way; His will be done.” The periods of consciousness lapsed, and at two fifteen on September 14th he passed away in a peaceful sleep.

The body of President McKinley was brought to Washington and placed in the East Room of the White House, while a guard of honour maintained a vigil until it was carried to the Capitol for the state funeral, after which the funeral cortège started for Canton, where interment took place on September 19, 1901.

The grief of the nation was universal, and from coast to coast, every possible expression of love and honour and grief was given.

From out of the depths of the national sorrow came a resolve to pursue a different course with this wretched murderer who felt proud of his deed. It was determined that his punishment should be swift and sure and that his act should be made hideous in the eyes of the world, and robbed of the limelight and publicity that had gratified the perverted vanity of his predecessors in presidential murder. His name was to perish from the record of men. He was a Polish anarchist who had no grievance whatsoever against the nation of our President save that aroused by the destructive doctrines that he had imbibed. He was promptly tried, condemned to death, and executed in the state prison at Auburn, on October 29, 1901, within a few weeks after the commission of his crime.

From the hand of Mark Hanna, McKinley’s closest personal friend, political adviser, and campaign manager, came a remarkable tribute to the character of the martyred President which sums up his public and private life in a graphic and colourful picture and presents him as only one so intimately associated with him could. Copied from the Washington Post, it reads:

Mrs. McKinley survived her husband several years. She died at her Canton, Ohio, home in 1907.

CHAPTER XII

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF THEODORE
ROOSEVELT

September 14, 1901, to March 4, 1905

VICE PRESIDENT THEODORE ROOSEVELT was away in the New York mountains with his family on a camping and hunting trip when news reached him of the shooting of President McKinley. He arrived at Buffalo the next day. Owing to the hopeful view taken by the physicians regarding the President’s condition and the prevalent belief that he would recover, the Vice President returned to the mountains to resume his outing, and when Secretary Cortelyou sent the telegram—

“The President’s condition has changed for the worse.”

followed a few hours later by another—

“Come at once.”

he was miles out of reach of telegraph on top of Mount Marcy. A guide finally found him, and he set out at once, to make the journey as quickly as possible, by horseback, buckboard, and special train. Before he had covered half the journey, the President was dead and Buffalo was a dark, silent, sorrowing city.

On Saturday afternoon, September 14, 1901, at the residence of Ansley Wilcox, Colonel Roosevelt took the oath of office as twenty-sixth President in the presence of the members of the Cabinet who were in the city at that time with Judge John R. Hazel, United States district judge officiating. The new President, with deep emotion, very briefly pledged himself to carry out the policies of his predecessor:

He was then within two months of being forty-three years of age, the youngest man who had ever assumed presidential duties.

By October he had his family installed in the White House. The advent of a family of children was welcomed by the people. It was the largest group of youngsters since Garfield’s occupancy, four boys and two girls. The eldest at once won the public and was dubbed “Princess Alice.” The boys, Theodore, Archie, Kermit, and Quentin, were placed in the public schools, while Ethel attended the Cathedral School for girls. The experiences, exploits, and performances of the young Roosevelts furnished a joyous chapter to White House history, for they fully lived up to all that was expected of them, and their doings throughout their life in Washington found a responsive, sympathetic note of understanding in the hearts of boys and girls of America.

Mrs. Roosevelt assumed her new duties with the quiet dignity and pleasant manner which were always characteristic of her. The best part of her life had been spent in official circles through the various positions which the Colonel had filled, and she had acquired the art of always giving the impression of being interested and pleased in the affairs of the moment whether she really felt so or not. This charm of manner made her receptions popular and well attended.

President Roosevelt’s career as Civil Service Commissioner and Assistant Secretary of the Navy, his efficiency and gallantry at San Juan Hill, which had brought him the governorship of New York, his well-known reluctance at being shelved into the vice presidency, all served to invest him with an unusual hold upon the interest of the public, apart from the magnetism of his own dynamic personality. Crowds such as the White House had never before witnessed, except on special occasions, made the President’s office their daily objective.

His first public reception, New Year’s Day of 1902, drew an unprecedented multitude, 8,100 people passing in line to shake his hand and to be presented to the new First Lady and the Cabinet ladies.

Mrs. Roosevelt had tabooed the handshaking for herself early in her husband’s official life at the gubernatorial mansion in New York. Although warned that this exhausting ordeal was expected of her, she managed its omission with the graceful tact that served her so well later for the seven and a half years of White House leadership. Instead of wearing a floral corsage she had simply carried a large bouquet, and no one ever thought she should lay it aside to shake hands.

Five days after the reception, Mrs. Roosevelt introduced Miss Alice, just budding into womanhood, to society, at a most delightful reception and dance at which an elaborate buffet supper was served. Almost immediately she became the White House belle, with enough attention to turn her head completely. Every step was watched, and every act coloured and exaggerated, until simple girlish fun with her young companions was made to assume all sorts of ludicrous and absurd guises, for it must always be remembered that this slip of a girl was her father’s daughter, with his love of the outdoors and of all clean sport. To ride horseback hard and fast as their father and their brothers, to shoot straight, swim, drive, walk, and play every game to win, with all the concentrated energy and knowledge they possessed, had been instilled into the two Roosevelt daughters. Naturally, applied to the diversities of the social game, this sort of inherited dynamic force gave abundant food for discussion of the young dêbutante whose daily activities, daring and bizarre as some of them were, would have created but little attention had she not been a Roosevelt and in the White House.

It had long been an accepted fact that the White House had become inadequate for the official entertaining, and still more so as a residence for a fair-sized family. Though many White House mistresses had cogitated on ideas of remodelling, Mrs. Harrison having left a splendid plan for this, it was not until 1902 that Congress made the appropriation of $65,196 for the necessary repairs. Work began almost at once that enlarged, renovated, and beautified the building. Two connecting wings were added, one of which took the office and its growing staff away from the house altogether. While the work was being done, the President occupied a house on Jackson Place, now the home of the Women’s City Club, as the temporary White House.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT AND HIS FAMILY

As they appeared when he became President.

In the summer of 1902, President Roosevelt decided to make a tour of New England for about ten days. On the last day of this junket, a collision between a trolley car and the vehicle containing his party resulted in the instant death of one of the White House Secret Service men, affectionately known as “Big Bill Craig,” who was seated with the driver, and injuries to the President and to Secretary Cortelyou. The uncertainty over the extent of the President’s injuries and the lack of details of the accident, owing to the fact that the conveyance with the newspaper men had been separated from the party and no members of the press were at hand, caused the greatest excitement and alarm when rumours of the accident reached New York and Washington. The Associated Press rushed its Washington representative from New York to Oyster Bay in a spectacular dash against time. Upon Mr. Roosevelt’s arrival at home, long delayed, he received the representative of the Associated Press at Sagamore Hill at ten o’clock that night, and despite a swollen lip, injured hand, leg, and various severe and painful bruises, he paced up and down his library floor and dictated the story of the accident, refusing, however, to allow the account to carry his name.

He had already planned a series of trips he intended making, and as the next on the list was to attend a labour convention at Chattanooga during September, he decided to accede to the demand of his home folks and family acquaintances to receive them before his next departure. Accordingly, one Saturday afternoon, early in September of 1902, President and Mrs. Roosevelt invited their neighbours and friends to a reception at Sagamore Hill. All day long the trains and boats poured out a stream of “neighbours.” It seemed as though everybody on the Sound were coming to pay his respects to the “Colonel” and Mrs. Roosevelt.

The horror of the days at Buffalo of the year before was still upon officials, and the appearance in the vicinity of the summer White House of several suspicious-looking characters rumoured to be anarchists brought about the swearing in as deputy sheriffs of five or six hundred citizens, among them the newspaper men stationed in the little town; sixty New York policemen were also added to the staff about the house.

About three o’clock, the procession began its winding journey to the home on top of the hill. Carriages were stopped some distance down the drive, and all occupants required to complete the distance afoot. Coats, shawls, umbrellas, parasols, cameras, lunch boxes, even bouquets, were all scrutinized, and all belongings not actually attached to their owners were required to be deposited under a tree on the lawn. The consequent confusion arising when departing guests tried to redeem their belongings was the only flaw in an otherwise perfect day. These extreme measures were simply in obedience to orders to allow no one to approach the President save with hands exposed and unencumbered. Every precaution was taken to prevent a repetition of the tragedy of the previous year. Threatening letters had added to this fear, which was never absent from Mrs. Roosevelt’s mind. Even parents carrying children were required to show their hands.

A double line of Secret Service men stationed themselves ahead of the President, and as each person came up, he was subjected to double scrutiny. Standing at the President’s side was another guard and protector, whose purpose was not generally known. This was Theodore, Junior, who had armed himself with a pistol, and during the entire afternoon kept his hand in his pocket and his finger upon the trigger, ready for the slightest suspicious move toward his idolized father. He was the object of grave concern to the Secret Service, and of a certain grim amusement to his father, whose reliance upon his son’s judgment was not shared by the others.

No reception of President Roosevelt in Washington equalled this one in all of the elements of human interest. Men and women whom he had not seen in many years came in droves, and his delight in meeting them was genuine and spontaneous. Mrs. Roosevelt at his side shared his pleasure. Did she turn to speak to one of her receiving party for a minute, she was at once recalled enthusiastically to meet some old acquaintance. Once everyone’s attention was centred upon a smallish unpretentious individual, who was greeted thus: “Bless my soul, it’s Jake!” and Jake, red of face, beaming with joy, was dumb with delight. In one of the short lulls, the President told some of the porch party of Jake:

“When I was like Ted,” indicating his eldest son, “I roamed these woods and swamps during holidays and week ends, hunting and fishing. My father engaged Jake as a sort of guide and guardian, to see that I did not get lost or hurt, and that I turned up at home on schedule. Jake and I and the boys who went along had many good times. He used to make us the most delicious ‘Squawk Pie.’ Delicious on a cold day around a camp fire, when you are a boy, tired and hungry! Of course, you don’t know what ‘Squawk Pie’ is!—made out of young, tender swamp herons—regular hunters’ pie—bully!” He laughed reminiscently, glanced out to the side of the house, where Jake was already surrounded by his three younger boys, and resumed his place.

A few seconds later, the whole line was stopped while he and Mrs. Roosevelt greeted two elderly women, one of whom had been his nurse and had brought with her a picture of him when he was five years old. Such a warm, friendly greeting as those two received! They were repaid for the journey of several hundred miles made to bring this little reminder of his childhood. They were taken back into the house and treated with that delightful democratic courtesy so characteristic of this family.

A group of Hungarians brought a beautiful hand-wrought lamp, which, after it had been examined, they were allowed to present to the President.

For three hours, this moving pageant of humanity, beaming with pleasure and admiration and frankly curious of the man himself, filed past him. To each and every one was given that individualistic greeting that was one of his many claims to popularity. As the visitors left the other side of the porch, they were served with raspberry shrub, each person being presented with the little crystal punch cup from which he drank and on which were written the words, “Theodore Roosevelt, 1902.”

The next day, Sunday, everyone in Oyster Bay went to church and gathered about the little church attended by the President. From dawn, police and Secret Service men had been scouring the vicinity for the pair of strangers, alleged anarchists, who had appeared in the town the day before. The air was tense with expectancy and dread. The Roosevelt pew was occupied by the President and his wife and part of their family. As the sermon progressed and lost some of the pathos of its memorial to Mr. McKinley in its tribute to the new ruler, likened to “a young David raised to lead his people,” the President’s countenance flushed with displeasure. His wife’s hand upon his arm restrained any budding impulse to rise or leave.

When the congregation knelt to pray, those seated in the rear of the Roosevelt pew enjoyed the reassuring and edifying spectacle of a formidable revolver protruding from the hip pocket of the Chief Executive.

A trip to Chattanooga will never be forgotten by some of the army officers and other members of the party, who failed in keeping up, either riding or walking, with their athletic, enthusiastic leader, to whom fatigue seemed an unknown sensation.

The next scheduled trip was to Omaha, Nebr., but it ended at Indianapolis, as the President was there forced to undergo an operation of bone scraping as the result of the injury to his leg in the Pittsfield accident of the late summer. While not alarming, the operation carried an element of danger that kept the nation on the qui vive until complete convalescence was assured.

The state receptions of 1902 and 1903 were significant for their size and brilliance, as were all of those in the succeeding four years. To each came many of the great social and financial leaders of New York, who had never previously considered these official White House functions of sufficient importance for their attendance. But all through the Roosevelt régime the entertainments were distinguished by the presence of more of the national celebrities in arts, letters, sciences, finance, and social eminence than had ever been seen in Washington in such numbers before. The reason for this was due not merely to the long-established social position of the President and his wife, but to the personality of the many-sided Executive who touched more different kinds of people in a wider range of activities than had any of his predecessors. He was thoroughly versed in a greater variety of subjects and had the faculty of getting the measure of a project, whether it related to politics, invention, exploration, religion, navigation, finance, agriculture, mining, sport, or diplomacy, in a shorter time, with fewer words, than any other public man of his day.

Furthermore, his mind absorbed information with sponge-like avidity and possessed a trained quality of retaining the needed amount of detail for the complete picture of the enterprise, project, or policy to remain in a photographic clearness and enabled him to discuss his problems with amazing comprehension. He had a positive genius for study and research, and a gift for eliminating the non-essentials from his mental storehouse.

President Roosevelt handled his problems in a direct, fearless manner, and he accepted the attacks and criticisms hurled at him in a fearless attitude that enabled him to capitalize on his opposition. He started some reforms and innovations that contributed greatly to his working schedule, because he felt he had to keep abreast of public opinion. To one clerk was assigned the task of daily skimming through between three and five hundred newspapers and clipping therefrom every article commenting on or relating in any way, complimentary or otherwise, to the administration and its policies. These were classified and pasted into reference scrapbooks for the President’s perusal.

The winter of 1903 brought many interesting events. “Princess Alice” received an invitation brought by Prince Henry of Prussia from the German Emperor to christen his yacht, then under construction in this country. She accepted, and on February 25th, at Shooter’s Island, performed the little ceremony. Some time later, she received a handsome bracelet from Germany with a miniature of the Emperor surrounded by diamonds.

In order to keep himself evenly balanced in his strenuous days of constructive and routine work, the President sent for the director of the New York Athletic Club, Mike Donovan, to come down, test him out, and make a survey of his physical condition. Donovan came as to any of his pupils; and as his coming was the establishment of a brand-new precedent, there was a great furore. The President decided to have Donovan repeat the visit at least twice a year. Donovan gave a little account of the “interview” with the President of the United States, which appeared in the New York World and other publications at the time:

The President decided wrestling would be beneficial and engaged in that sport several times a week. He also acquired the art of jujutsu. In a note to one of his boys, he referred to this Japanese art:

He also took up fencing; he engaged in all of these sports and exercises with either General Leonard Wood or his own boys.

In April, 1903, the President, with a party of twenty-seven selected and invited by himself, started on the long-postponed and often-discussed trip to the Pacific Coast. The party left on the morning of April 1st and returned after sixty-five days of almost continuous travel on the evening of June 5th. On this trip, the travellers experienced every kind of climate, saw every type of vegetation, and met every class of people in the United States. The itinerary covered 13,955 miles, 23 states, and 136 cities.

On his return to Washington, the President was given a tremendous reception by the people of the Capital. Crowds lined both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue and cheered as he rode from the station to the White House.

President Roosevelt’s first administration accomplished a number of important projects. His term opened with his interest centred in the creation of a Department of Commerce and Labour, also of the establishment of forest reserves and the irrigation of the dry or arid land by the government. The Canal across the Isthmus of Panama long under discussion and partially under construction became a reality after Congress authorized the purchase of the French holdings for $40,000,000, and after a revolution in Colombia resulted in the establishment of the Republic of Panama in November, 1903, which was recognized by the United States Government a few days later and a treaty signed containing more liberal terms than the one rejected by Colombia. Dr. W. C. Gorgas applied the discoveries of the Spanish War to the problem of the yellow fever, and American sanitary science made the completion of the Canal possible without the scourges of diseases of past years.

President Roosevelt was unanimously nominated for President in June, 1904, by the Republican National Convention held at Chicago. No Vice President who ever succeeded to the Presidency on the death of a chosen President had ever stood so strong with the people. He made no speeches during the campaign, remaining most of the time at his summer home at Oyster Bay, holding frequent conferences with party leaders. Judge Alton B. Parker, the Democratic candidate for President, having made charges in speeches delivered shortly before the election, that the Republican campaign committee had received vast contributions of money from trust companies in return for favours done them by Chairman Cortelyou when he was Secretary of Commerce and Labour, the President, three days before the election, issued from the White House a vigorous denial of the charges, challenging Judge Parker to produce the proof. It was in this statement that the President employed the famous “square deal” term, ending his defense of Chairman Cortelyou with these words: “All I ask is a square deal. Give every man a fair chance; don’t let anyone harm him, and don’t let him do harm to anyone.”

In November, he was elected by the largest electoral vote ever given a nominee for the Presidency up to that time.

CHAPTER XIII

SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF THEODORE
ROOSEVELT

March 4, 1905, to March 4, 1909

ROOSEVELT’S inauguration on March 4, 1905, was more the inauguration of Theodore Roosevelt, the man, than the installation of a new President of the United States. No President since Abraham Lincoln had possessed such a unique personality. His national following was amply demonstrated by the unequalled vote of the electoral college and by the popular majority which exceeded 2,500,000, and it is the common belief that curiosity to a phenomenal degree drew the hosts of visitors to the city to witness the ceremonies and to see this man for themselves. The day dawned with the promise of fair weather, and the fluttering mass of flags and banners made the Avenue a brilliant pathway of gorgeous colour.

Rough Riders, Grand Army Veterans, and Spanish War Veterans formed the personal escort to the Capitol, led by Lieutenant General Chaffee, Grand Marshal of the parade, whose colour bearers attracted special interest. They were the sons and grandsons of men distinguished in the annals of American military and naval history. They were selected from West Point and Annapolis, and nearly all of them were descendants of army and navy officers who had won distinguished honours fighting for their country. Those from the West Point Military Academy were: Sherman Miles, son of General Miles; Adna R. Chaffee, son of Lieutenant General Chaffee; Calvin P. Titus, the first American soldier to scale the wall at the siege of Peking, China, appointed cadet-at-large by President McKinley, and Cadet Gatewood. Those representing Annapolis were: Midshipman Stephen Decatur, descendant of Commodore Decatur; Midshipman Beauregard, grandson of the Confederate General; Midshipman Davis, son of Rear Admiral Davis; Midshipman Early, son of the Confederate General, Jubal A. Early.

A vast array of civic and military organizations reinforced the escort. The whole length of the way was packed with crowds of cheering, applauding citizens eager to honour the new President.

After the last bills were signed, the President went to the Senate Chamber to attend the services for the installation of the Vice President, Charles Warren Fairbanks, and the swearing in of the new Senators. Here the scene was most impressive. The Senate Chamber was packed with spectators and legislators. A brilliant assemblage of diplomats from all quarters of the globe was present, most of whom appeared in full court costume, and the Supreme Court of the United States, solemn and awe-inspiring in their black silk gowns. The galleries were filled with invited guests, among them the families of the new President and Vice President and Cabinet and their friends. Upon the conclusion of the services here, the President, with Chief Justice Fuller by his side, led the procession through the corridors of the Capitol to the East Portico, where he renewed his oath and delivered his message containing the promises and the forecasts of a new administration. During this ceremony, he wore a ring given him by John Hay, which contained a lock of Lincoln’s hair.

After the return to the White House, the President and Mrs. Roosevelt entertained about two hundred persons at luncheon, including their new official family and intimate friends and relatives, and then the entire party walked to the reviewing stand in front of the White House facing the “Court of History.” There the President reviewed the largest pageant which had ever assembled in marching order for an inauguration. This parade was noteworthy because of its many unique features. Besides the Rough Riders, Philippine native scouts, Porto Ricans, and Carlisle Indians, there was a large number of cowboys in full regalia, led by Seth Bullock, the famous Sheriff of Deadwood, S. D., and a phalanx of 600 of the fellow citizens, friends, and neighbours of the Roosevelts from Oyster Bay, disproving the old saying that “a prophet is not without honour save in his own country.”

In addition to the Richmond Blues, in their handsome blue and white uniforms and waving plumes, which are always to be honoured as the oldest military organization in the country, and the Lincoln Club of Toledo whose royal purple broke the monotony of colour, there was also a body of miners from the anthracite coal region whose banner expressed their sentiments, “WE HONOUR THE MAN WHO SETTLED OUR STRIKE.”

Most interesting, at least to the juvenile portion of onlookers, were Buffalo Bill and the band of Indian chiefs led by Geronimo, including American Horse, Little Plume, Quanah Parker, Buckskin Charley, and Hollow Horn Bear. These braves were a startling reminder of the pioneer history of the country, in their vivid blankets of varied hues, their gaudy feather bonnets, and hideous war paint. Like Remington’s pictures, upon which a magic touch had bestowed life and motion, they majestically swung into view and then were gone—swallowed up in the surging maelstrom of humanity, a brilliant, flashing, terrible page out of the past, when their names were synonymous with massacre, reeking scalps, and murderous tomahawks. So vividly was this impression called to life that it was hard to realize that these old-time “bad Indians” had smoked the pipe of peace for all time and were riding along in loyal allegiance to the Great Father.

One of the innovations in the matter of street decoration was the “Court of History,” in the space along the Avenue facing the Treasury Building, the White House, and the State, War, and Navy Departments. This was one of the most elaborate and interesting features ever introduced into the decorative scheme for inaugural ceremonies. It was a matter of surprise that it should have been designed for temporary purposes only. In addition to stately columns, the Court included pieces of statuary representing personages prominent in the early history of the nation, colossal allegorical figures representing transportation by land and by sea, and victory, massive urns filled with palms, palmettoes, and vines of the southland, and tall bamboo poles from the Philippines flying the Stars and Stripes. There was not a feature but was full of significance to the American people. The statues, of which there were three carloads, brought from the World’s Fair, at St. Louis, represented Clark, La Salle, Chancellor Livingston, President Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Bienville, Mabois, Narvez, and Anthony Wayne.

A happy little ceremony in the Court had occurred at the moment the President took the oath. Upon a signal from a bugle, “Old Glory” burst to the breeze from forty-eight bamboo flagpoles.

The gown worn by Mrs. Roosevelt at the inaugural ball that night will long be remembered, for it was distinctive both as to fabric and colour, and was rich enough for an empress. Following the custom set by Martha Washington, who refused, after she became First Lady of the Land, to wear any garments of imported material, Mrs. Roosevelt had the silk for her dress woven in Paterson, New Jersey, and then, to avoid the inevitable copying of cloth and pattern, she had the pattern destroyed after the required number of yards had been turned off the loom. Thus she might, if she chose, preserve her gown with the comforting knowledge that no other dress would ever be just like it.

This gown was a gorgeous creation of robin’s-egg blue brocade, with raised gold design of large ostrich feathers, alternating with medallions of the gold. Family heirloom lace more than two hundred years old gave a delicate touch to the bodice. Though she rarely wore jewels, Mrs. Roosevelt, on this occasion, was literally ablaze with diamonds, but over and above every other feature of the magnificent costume was the elegant court train, three yards long. The weight of this gold-embroidered robe with its heavy underskirts of silk made it advisable to limit the Grand March to five minutes. The Committee desired to furnish Mrs. Roosevelt with two powdered youths to act as train bearers, but she declined. Mrs. Fairbanks’s rich white satin, with its gold embroidery and point lace, was a splendid foil for the gown worn by Mrs. Roosevelt. The freshness and elegance of the costumes worn by the six or seven thousand women with the display of jewels were a notable feature of the ball.

ALICE LONGWORTH IN HER WEDDING GOWN

One would suppose that the decorator’s art would be taxed to its limit in the beautifying of the Pension Office each fourth year for these historic functions, but each setting in turn seems far to surpass all of its predecessors. The artists always manage to find some new feature upon which to concentrate their skill, and lo!—the result is beautiful beyond description. There is no building in the Capital City so well adapted for the purpose of the ball or so susceptible of transformation into such a fairyland picture as the big Pension Office with its open court, tiers of balconies, tall columns, and ample floor space.

For the Roosevelt inaugural ball the room resembled a Venetian garden so lovely as to rival even a tropical moonlight scene. Some of the huge palms that were used reached forty feet from the floor.

Mrs. Roosevelt won golden opinions from the public during her seven years as First Lady of the Land; she gave more private entertainments of all kinds than any of her predecessors. Official mourning for President McKinley was observed at the beginning of her régime, and when that was concluded, the condition of the mansion limited social activities for a time. The floors, which were not safe, had been braced and shored up. But after the remodelling, so long deferred, the entertainments, official and private, followed each other with a frequency that delighted society. Mrs. Roosevelt gave more than two hundred teas, luncheons, musicales, receptions, and dinners, outside of the regular state affairs. In these, her own personal and semi-official functions for all sorts of people whom she considered interesting or to whom she felt White House courtesies due, she followed her husband’s example of touching all circles and classes.

While meeting admirably every official demand, Mrs. Roosevelt protected her private life with the same tactful cleverness by which she had early evaded the rigours of reception handshaking. The First Lady made it clearly understood that it was her husband who was President, and that his family did not belong to the public.

Mrs. Roosevelt kept no housekeeper, but gave personal supervision to the entire establishment. But she made immediately a much-needed and highly important addition to the White House staff, a social secretary for herself. For this position she chose Miss Belle Hagner, long a friend, who was so thoroughly identified through resident and family connections with Washington’s peculiar social etiquette and the much more intricate code of procedure that governs the White House that she quickly became invaluable.

Since the mail of the First Lady of the Land has come to rival that of her husband in the number and variety of demands and requests that besiege her, Mrs. Roosevelt had at once seen the necessity of organizing the handling of this volume of correspondence in a systematic way.

Mrs. Roosevelt shared her husband’s tastes and was a writer herself, even when her children were small, but she so planned her time as to be able to devote a part of it both to her husband and her children, and to her step-daughter during the time Alice spent with her father. Until the death of her maternal grandmother, Mrs. Lee, Alice spent the greater part of her time in the Boston home of her grandparents or in travelling with them.

The President’s wife always found great delight in horseback riding, and she and the President would drive to the outskirts of the city, where their riding horses would be awaiting them, and enjoy frequent rides through the country roads leading from the city. Thus they escaped the gaze of the curious. She was accomplished in many ways, even having trained herself as a nurse, a qualification of utmost value to the mother of such an active family.

Early in their establishment at the White House, luncheon became the important political function. Like the Hanna breakfasts in the “little White House” across Lafayette Square, where the chosen were invited to partake of country sausage and hot buckwheat cakes, maple syrup or honey, coffee, and a flow of political reason, for luncheons the White House pantry was always prepared to serve from one to a dozen or more additional guests. No one, least of all the President himself, knew how many he would invite to join him at lunch. Whoever the man might be that happened to engage his deep interest in a morning call, he was likely to be asked to stay. When a subject pressed its claims upon the President’s mind, a telephone call was sent to the best-informed individual to request him to come to supply the desired data.

It was in this manner that the President invited Booker Washington, the well-known Negro educator, to eat luncheon in the White House—an act that was severely criticized at the time. In speaking of the incident at a later period, Mr. Roosevelt said he was in the midst of an interesting discussion with Washington when the luncheon hour arrived, and without thinking of the man’s colour, asked him to the meal in order that they might continue the conversation.

Both the President and his wife sought to bring people together at this meal who would enjoy meeting, and they both did their best to draw their guests into informal frank discussion of the subjects uppermost in their interest. Delightful, natural, wholesome, with a spontaneous hospitality entirely devoid of ostentation, a luncheon at the White House in the Roosevelt régime was an education and an adventure. Helen Nicolay, in her recent book, has this to say of one of these luncheons:

The most fascinating pictures of the Roosevelt régime were those made by the Roosevelt children, who were known most distinctively by their pets, the varied assortment of which enlivened the White House and its environs. Theodore, older and more serious-minded, concerned himself with much weightier matters than did his younger brothers, but he was the judge-advocate-general, ranking next to the parents when differences of opinion on the respective merits of the family menagerie had to be settled. Each child had his full complement of dogs, birds, ponies, rats, guinea pigs, or whatever pet he favoured. Upon each of the presidential tours the pet stock was increased. While the presidential train was pulling out of a Western town a little girl tossed a small furry bunch to the President, calling out, “His name is Josiah!” Josiah proved to be a young badger that had to be brought up on a bottle and lived to be a nuisance, nipping at heels and skirts.

A procession of puppies of every breed, colour, and size succeeded to the adoring ownership of these happy children. None who visited the President’s family during his eventful régime will ever forget Algonquin, the small calico pony from Iceland that was Archie’s proud possession and delight, and for a sight of which he longed so fervently during a spell of measles that somehow—nobody told just how—Algonquin got the message that his little master wanted to see him, and, lo!—one day it so happened. When the house was devoid of guests and the father and mother conveniently out driving, the pony was smuggled up on the elevator to the boy’s room for a few minutes’ visit, and convalescence was accelerated thereby.

An officious bull pup almost produced international complications by delaying the progress of an ambassador on his way to call on the President. A small black bear furnished endless amusement with its clumsy antics, while a funny black puppy learned to ride on Algonquin’s back and insisted upon being taken along when Archie took a ride.

Archie had a kangaroo rat that was always peeking out of his pocket and sociably accepting tidbits, indifferent to its high position.

Rabbits, squirrels, and chickens all had their day of popularity, and when they died they were formally and properly interred with all possible funeral pomp and ceremony, and with elaborately marked headstones placed above them in the pet cemetery.

Kermit, like his eldest brother, was also a naturalist as a little boy. He, too, roamed the woods and swamps of Oyster Bay and scoured the country around Washington in search of specimens.

Not even pets, however, rivalled the joy of a game or a romp of the children with their father, who was always a boy with his boys, and from the experiences of his own health-handicapped boyhood knew just how much sport meant to normal boys. It was a likable trait in him that his understanding of boys was not limited in its sympathy and expression to his own sons, as this little incident shows:

Among the callers on a Saturday morning, when important persons with missions and other important persons in want of missions were grouped in his private office, was a boy, a collegian of the athletic sort, who was very desirous of meeting the President. In spite of a bold front, such as is becoming in a dauntless sophomore, it was evident that he was nervous.

“Shall I say ‘His Excellency’?” he asked a few moments before his entrance.

“It’s just like a presentation at court, you know,” his eldest sister had remarked, with a view of putting the untrammelled football player into the mood of a mere human being; “you’ll have to bow low, of course.”

“I don’t believe Mr. Roosevelt is that kind of a man,” he answered with a sinking heart.

“Of course not,” said a more consoling voice; “you simply have to say ‘Mr. President,’ stand up while anybody else is standing, and go away when the President rises.”

Still, the lad was evidently very uncomfortable and uncertain when he reached the room adjoining the President’s office. It was evident, from the movement of his lips, that he was practising on “Mr. President,” as at least one safe hold on material for conversation.

The moment—the unexpected but fearful moment came. The President, on hearing the boy’s name, left the distinguished group with great promptness and made for his guest.

“Sit down, Jones,” he said, very cordially. “I want to talk about the races in which your college put up such a good fight. Oh, sit down!”

“I’m glad you think we put up a good fight, Mr. President,” said the boy, forgetting everything about the ceremony in the joy—as he afterward said—of talking to somebody who knew. “Some people thought we didn’t, but they were wrong.”

Then there followed a whirling talk, in which the President showed such a consummate knowledge of sports and such a sympathy with the boy’s point of view that the lad almost forgot that he was not talking with “another fellow.” But he steadied himself and found his bearings with one or two formal “Mr. Presidents,” and then the two plunged into jujutsu. The President showed the boy a scientific grip.

“You’ve got it—you’ve got it,” cried the boy, “you’ve got it! It’s great, but don’t you think that if a well-trained American swatted one of those Japs in the belly he’d do for him? Don’t you,” he added, with a sudden return to ceremony, “Mr. President?”

The onlookers turned aside—the one most interested in the lad showing some anxiety—but the President set the boy at ease with an anecdote of Theodore, Jr., and the jujutsu which made the boy laugh and say, “Theodore Roosevelt must have a good grip—Mr. President.”

The interview closed with a warm shake of the hand between the President and the boy. The President looked after him with a kindly gleam in his eye. It is a great thing to have a boy of one’s own; it gives a man sympathy with all manly boys.

As to the boy, he was radiant.

“The President’s boys are in luck,” he said. “As long as I live,” he added solemnly, “I don’t think I shall ever meet a finer man or one that knows more about the right things!”

One day, to the noon reception in his office came a delegation of schoolgirls from a small Southern college, stiff and stilted with embarrassment, but firmly resolved not to be enthusiastic over a Republican President. They were introduced by their chaperon—“Mr. President, here are some good Southern Democrats.” With that engaging smile he answered, as he put out his hand, “And all good Americans.” In an instant, he knew their college, their states, and when two discovered that he knew one father and a Senator grandfather, his conquest was complete—party lines were forgotten.

From attic to cellar, from East Room to stables, the live young Roosevelts roamed at will, monarchs of the home of the Chief Magistrate and its surroundings. But with all of this freedom, they were rarely in evidence in the state apartments during visiting hours. Only once in a while might visitors catch glimpses of small boys with chunks of gingerbread or cookies in their hands and some animal in tow, scurrying through the corridors or mounting the stairs. Upon one occasion a trail of small wet footprints, with little puddles here and there on the polished floor, led to a dripping youngster who had taken a swim in the White House fountain and, trailing shoes and stockings, was dodging the observation of the group of foreign guests calling upon his mother.

Ethel, too, had her share of pets, frolics, and playthings. Privileged more than any other girl in the White House before her, she grew up where her charming boudoir, with her piano, opened into her bedroom. Sundays found her teaching a Sunday-school class of coloured children at St. Mary’s Chapel. At Oyster Bay she played the organ in the little Sunday school, and on Saturdays and holidays in Washington she had great fun arranging picnics and outings for her little coloured protégês.

Alice Roosevelt had received an invitation to the coronation of King Edward, and it looked as though she might have the interesting experience of visiting the English Court. When negotiations were started, however, that provided for her reception as a royal princess, her sturdy American father rebelled, and the young lady’s trip was vetoed. Being fond and indulgent toward his children, however, her father promised her a trip to China, Japan, and the Philippines as an offset to her disappointment. In the Philippines she became associated with the Tafts, who made her visit delightful.

Surrounded constantly by suitors, the gossip of the Capital insisted that the “Princess Alice” merely wanted to get away to learn her own mind and make her decision as to where she would bestow her hand. If so, young Representative Nicholas Longworth, one of her most constant admirers, found it expedient to become one of the party so as to be on hand to help her in her mental research on this subject. That he did so, thoroughly and effectively, was demonstrated by the announcement of their betrothal upon her return, and their marriage in the East Room on February 17, 1906.

Alice Roosevelt’s marriage, like that of Nellie Grant, was an event of national and international importance. The tenth White House bride, with her youth and unusual popularity, and the enormous prestige of her parents, drew the attention of the reading world. Gifts poured in hourly, and congratulations and expressions of good wishes came from thousands of her own countrymen, and from all over the world, from crowned heads, rulers of nations, and celebrities of every description.

Preparations for the wedding were most elaborate, every detail of which was planned by the young lady, the least perturbed of anyone concerned. Indeed, her serenity and casual acceptance of all of the excitement as part of the day’s work was a source of amazement to her girl friends. Easter lilies, pink and white rhododendrons, American Beauties, and bride roses in large vases, massed in great bowls, with palms, ferns, and festoons and garlands of smilax, transformed the lower floors of the White House into a beautiful bridal setting. A broad raised dais, with an improvised altar, was placed in front of the windows looking toward the Treasury Department.

Preceded by the ushers and the group of military aides in uniform at high noon, she entered on the arm of her father to the strains of “Lohengrin” played by the Marine Band. At the end of the ribboned aisle, Mr. Longworth stepped forward and led her to the altar, where Bishop Satterlee united them according to the service of the Episcopal Church in the presence of five hundred guests.

The bride wore a gown of white satin woven especially for the occasion, and trimmed with rare ancestral lace, with a train five yards long. The veil of silk tulle, which enveloped her slight figure in a misty cloud of white, that reached to the edge of the gown and was held in place by a wreath of orange blossoms. She wore a diamond brooch, which was a gift from her father, and a diamond necklace, the gift of the groom.

The wedding breakfast was served in both private and state dining rooms, the bridal party being served in the former, where, with characteristic family impetuosity, the new Mrs. Longworth borrowed Major McCawley’s sword to cut her cake, finding the knife provided inadequate.

Shortly afterward, the bridal couple left the house by the South Portico in an automobile and proceeded to “Friendship,” the suburban residence of John R. McLean, from where they started on their honeymoon.

Ten thousand people attended the reception. The value of the gifts represented a magnificent fortune. The accumulation filled several rooms of the White House and spilled out into the corridors, and included everything, such as most exquisite jewels, silver, art objects, massive furniture, household linen, kitchen equipment, someone facetiously including a laundry outfit and an assortment of live pets. What in the world the girl bride would do with such an embarrassment of riches was the popular, but unanswered, query.

Ethel’s dêbut on December 28, 1908, when she was seventeen, was an event to be remembered through life by all of the great host of young people who attended. President and Mrs. Roosevelt had kept their younger daughter’s activities confined to simple amusements until her school life was finished. In the coming-out party they made every possible effort for her pleasure. It has been called the grandest Christmas Party since the Civil War. The entire suite of state apartments was thrown open, and the hundreds of guest tripped up the grand stairway into the lobby, where the portraits of Presidents gazed across banks of Christmas greens and rows of huge vases holding whole trees of holly.

Like a fairy princess, the flaxen-haired dêbutante in her first ball gown—a lovely creation of white satin studded with crystals—stood beside her mother in the Blue Parlour, amid wagonloads of flowers sent by friends from far and near. The Marine Band, in scarlet coats, played merrily at the front end of the East Boom, in which great apartment of many memories the dazzling young diplomats in court dress, and young army and navy officers in full uniform, tripped the light fantastic with the débutantes of the season. At midnight, supper was served at little tables scattered through the corridor and dining rooms.

Two nights later, Miss Ethel was the guest of honour at a Christmas ball given by Mrs. Levi Leiter in the white and gold ballroom of her million-dollar palace. Here the two hundred and fifty young guests danced beneath scores of gold baskets filled with begonias and hung from pink satin ribbons, while the great mirrors on the wall reflected their forms as they glided across the floor to the music that sifted through a great screen of smilax and pink blossoms.

Theodore Roosevelt’s first American ancestor was Claes Martensen van Roosevelt, the sturdy Hollander who arrived on the continent two hundred and seventy-five years before his descendant became President. For seven generations these hard-working, sturdy landholders contributed to the development of the United States, fought in her wars, and served in her council chambers. His grandfather, Cornelius van Schaack Roosevelt, attained some local prominence in business. Of his father, the President had glowing memories, frequently remarking, “He was the best man I ever knew.”

His mother was from Georgia, and the men of her family cast their fortunes with the Confederacy in the Civil War. To this mixture in his make-up was due his broad, impersonal, national viewpoint.

Theodore was born in New York City, October 27, 1858, and was reared in the atmosphere of a cultured home of moderate affluence. Too delicate and anæmic to stand contact with the healthy average boys of a school, he received his education at home. As early as the age of nine, however, he resolved to be able to play and fight and be like other boys; so he mapped out for himself a schedule of exercise which he followed for many years, and which no doubt helped greatly toward the achievement of the physical perfection that came with manhood.

He entered Harvard when eighteen, and there, as in every other period of his life, his personality stood out. He fell in love with Miss Alice Lee, of Boston, and they were married a few months after his graduation in 1880. With the birth of a little daughter, Alice, Mrs. Roosevelt died. The young husband left his baby with her maternal grandparents, temporarily abandoned the study of law and his interest in politics, and went West, following the habit of childhood of seeking the solitude of field or forest when in distress or under great mental strain.

North Dakota attracted him, and he invested in a cattle ranch in the Bad Lands during 1884-1886. This was known as Elkhorn Ranch, Medora, N. D.

Soon the life of the cowboys lured him, and he learned their duties, their ways, and the best and worst sides of them. He spent a great deal of time hunting, it being claimed, not by him, however, that he had killed specimens of all of the game found on our prairies or in the mountains. Most of his hunting was done in search of first-hand information for his books, since he started authorship very early in his career, and no friends were more greatly cherished or more enjoyed than the little group of naturalists, John Burroughs among them, with whom he found congenial association. Practically all of his long hunting trips were those of exploration.

In his boyhood days at Oyster Bay, Theodore Roosevelt had made a pal of the young daughter of a neighbour of his parents, Edith Carew. Her tastes were much like his own, and in the gay parties, sleighing, skating, and dancing, he liked to have her for a partner. She also had known the girl he married, and though she had been living in England for some time when she heard of his wife’s death, she wrote him of her sympathy. This letter followed him out to Elkhorn Ranch. He answered; more letters followed, and soon other vistas of life more alluring than round-ups, branding cattle, shooting wildcats, and studying mountain lions, drew him back to the centres of civilization. A trip to London ensued, and a wedding in a little English chapel was solemnized December 2, 1886.

After a leisurely honeymoon about Europe, Roosevelt brought his wife back to New York. He entered the political field again.

President Harrison appointed him a member of the United States Civil Service Commission in 1889. President Cleveland continued him, but he resigned in 1895 to become Police Commissioner of New York City. In this capacity he instituted many reforms.

In 1897, President McKinley made him Assistant Secretary of the Navy. He had just begun to make his energy felt in the discharge of the duties of this position when war was declared with Spain.

Of his recruiting a regiment of hardy plainsmen, cowboys, miners, athletes—his own friends of the West, men who could ride, shoot, fight, and stand hardship, the Rough Riders—everyone knows. Dr. Wood was made Colonel and Roosevelt Lieutenant Colonel. They were commissioned, and the regiment speedily organized and ready for service in five weeks. They were sent to Cuba with the regulars, landing for the trouble around Santiago. They rendered valiant services from the beginning. Colonel Wood was promoted, and Roosevelt became the commander of the regiment. Their storming of Kettle Hill when almost a fifth of them were killed or wounded has been told again and again.

With the fighting over, Roosevelt came back to stir up interest in better care for the health of our soldiers, and he began his fight for an adequate army and navy—large enough for any sudden emergency.

His gallantry in the war carried him into office as Governor of New York in 1893, with a large majority, and his administration was conspicuous for its reform work. His nomination as the candidate of his party for President appeared to be a foregone conclusion as far back as 1902. Even at that early date, some of the States began to endorse him and pledged their support.

President Roosevelt’s action in the great coal strike of 1902 restored order and secured a return of the miners to their work, at the same time making the workingmen feel that their cause had not suffered from his counsel. The country applauded his work at this time, although some of the big corporations showed hostility. This was the most important internal question in his first administration—that is, it vitally affected more people than any other. There was no law by which he could interfere to end the strike, and he proceeded to use his great moral influence to bring the interested parties together. He brought about a resumption of work pending a settlement by a commission appointed by him. His counsel during this critical period was given while he was confined to his room owing to his wounded leg. In the same year and the next, he handled carefully the complications growing out of the Venezuelan trouble. He maintained the Monroe Doctrine in all negotiations with European powers interested, and was honoured by Venezuela in being named as an acceptable arbiter, which duty he gracefully avoided by proposing the Hague tribunal as the proper means for arriving at a peaceful solution.

In the matter of the uprising of Panama and the recognition of that country by the United States, the President was both applauded and criticized. The great majority of the people upheld his treaty with Panama, by which the territory of the Panama Canal passed into the hands of the United States, so that the beginning of work on that giant construction should not be longer delayed.

He established a reputation of getting things done. During his seven and a half years as President, the navy was nearly doubled in tonnage, the Russo-Japanese War was ended by the Treaty of Portsmouth, the battleship fleet was sent around the world, the Consular Service of the United States was reorganized, the National Irrigation Act and the Pure Food and Drug Act were passed, the Panama Canal was begun, the Department of Commerce and Labour was established. No President ever created so many new lines of public welfare, or so many projects of business for government functioning.

Some of the policies recommended by Roosevelt were the Inheritance Tax, the Income Tax, the Parcel Post Service, and the increase of the army and navy forces. His most noteworthy achievement, in the estimation of many of his fellow citizens, was the fact that he “changed the attitude of government toward property, and gave the Republic a new ideal of the duties and responsibilities of citizenship.”

Visitors of all descriptions made the White House their mecca; perhaps the most picturesque was Ezra Meeker, with his long white hair, who called on November 29, 1907, in his prairie schooner of the period of 1849, drawn by its team of oxen. This quaint vehicle, reminder of another vivid page of our national history, contained an elderly man and woman and a collie. It drew up by the doors near the Executive Office, and the nimble trail blazer went in to pay his respects to the President. A few minutes later, Mr. Roosevelt accompanied his caller to the wagon, where his appreciative comment included due attention to the collie.

Another day, the President left an important group in order to greet Eli Smith, who had travelled all of the way from Nome, Alaska, on his sled on low wheels drawn by six dogs. He had been a year on the journey.

When Mr. Roosevelt’s carriage arrived at the entrance to the President’s room at the Union Station, after the inauguration of President Taft, there were gathered fully three thousand of his admirers waiting to bid him farewell. He had to pass between two rows of people, fully a dozen deep, and had to respond to the greetings of the crowd. He and Mrs. Roosevelt were accompanied by Secretary William Loeb and a large group of close personal friends. As his train pulled out he called out, “Good-bye, good-bye, good luck!”

Thus Theodore Roosevelt bade adieu to Washington after seven years of strenuous service through one of the most remarkable administrations the country has yet known.

At the time he laid down the sceptre of leadership, there was considerable agitation in the public press on the problem of how to employ ex-Presidents, brought to a focus by Mr. Roosevelt’s own dominant, vigorous physical and mental fitness for participation in almost any line of constructive activity in economic or political development. But Mr. Roosevelt solved this problem for himself, at least for the time, as he had already planned to devote a year or so to the exploration of Central Africa. Shortly, he was entirely out of touch with all political associations, returning to America about a year later with a large collection of specimens and valuable contributions to science. En route he visited Egypt, Italy, France, Germany, Norway, and England, receiving in all these places an ovation similar to that given to General Grant. On this part of the trip, he was accompanied by Mrs. Roosevelt, and together they repeated their honeymoon journey, with the exception that his honeymoon had not been interrupted with speeches, as was the case on this tour. When he was in Christiania, he received the Nobel Prize for his work in bringing about peace in the Russo-Japanese conflict. England showed her appreciation through the degree conferred upon him at Oxford. By the time he reached New York, his popularity had attained a degree where the welcome extended him seemed to be the universal expression of the nation.

In 1912, a Republican schism wrecked the party, with Taft and Roosevelt as the central figures of the most furiously waged row that ever split an American political party wide open. The underlying cause was the super-strong personality of Roosevelt with a countless host of ardent followers unalterably opposed to accept anyone else as a leader.

The contest during the election was spirited and bitter, and the split in the party resulted in its defeat, giving a victory to the Democrats. Following the exhausting efforts of this campaign, Colonel Roosevelt again made a trip of rest and exploration, going to South America. This was the first expedition in all his experience that proved disastrous, as he contracted a tropical fever which all but cost him his life, and from which he never entirely recovered. By this time, Colonel Roosevelt had lost the sight of one eye, but that in no wise retarded his activities. The great grief of his life came to him with the opening of the World War, which called him to active service with every fibre of his being, and in which participation was denied him through political partisanship. However, he had the great satisfaction of seeing all four of his sons enter the war, saying, as he bade them god-speed, “I would go with you if I could. I would go as a corporal if I could obtain the consent of the administration.” His enforced aloofness was particularly bitter when both France and England clamoured for his presence.

While he was addressing an audience in Milwaukee, an assassin’s bullet caused a painful wound, and though he recovered temporarily, its presence in his system, combined with the devastating effects of the tropical fever, hastened his death; but he lived to mourn the death of his youngest child while exulting in the pride of the boy’s heroic service in the defense of American ideals, and he lived to see the utter collapse of the despotism that plunged the world into the frightful World War. His death, suddenly, painlessly, came in the midst of his activities on January 6, 1919. He sleeps at Oyster Bay, and his grave is year by year becoming a shrine that draws throngs in increasing numbers to pay tribute to the man who most of all typified the spirit of America.

At the present writing, Mrs. Roosevelt is a world traveller. Her living boys have become noted explorers. Her baby sleeps in France. Her daughters are both married and all of her children have promising families, to which Paulina Longworth is the latest addition.

CHAPTER XIV

ADMINISTRATION OF WILLIAM
HOWARD TAFT

March 4, 1909, to March 4, 1913

BECAUSE of the blinding snowstorm, howling winds, and low temperature, Mr. Taft departed from the usual custom of an outdoor ceremony and took the oath of office in the Senate Chamber, with Chief Justice Fuller officiating, after James Schoolcraft Sherman had been installed as Vice President.

Only once before had the vow of allegiance been taken under such conditions, and that was eighty years previously, when Andrew Jackson was compelled to yield to the weather and prudence and stay indoors.

President Roosevelt and Mr. Taft, with Senators Philander Knox and Henry Cabot Lodge, rode to the Capitol in a closed carriage escorted by Troop A of Cleveland. Behind Mr. Taft’s carriage the Civil and Spanish War veterans and other units of the escort fell into line.

Mrs. Taft and Mrs. Sherman established a precedent in riding with their husbands at the head of the parade on the return trip to the White House, receiving vociferous cheers from the crowds.

The Tafts had been the guests of the Roosevelts the night of March 3d. At breakfast the next morning, it is said that Mr. Taft, after taking a rueful survey of the snowbound city, remarked to the President, facetiously, “I knew it would be a cold day when I became President,” to which the President responded, in kind, “I knew there would be a blizzard clear up to the minute I went out of office.”

After the luncheon for all of the twenty-seven members of the Taft clan and their official guests, the President, bundled in a fur overcoat, made his way, with the Vice President and their party, through the snow to the reviewing stand, where he remained until dark, giving full expression to his approval of the splendid parade in his honour.

Braving the bitter cold, thirty thousand soldiers, sailors, and civilians swung along Pennsylvania Avenue to the music of a hundred bands. Undaunted by the wintry blasts that numbed their hands and stung their faces, they marched between the lines of snowdrifts amid a constant roar of applause. Only three fifths of the original formation had actually appeared. A large number never reached the city until hours after all ceremonies were over, and some failed to come at all. Though marching quickly and efficiently, the heavy service overcoats detracted from the beauty of the procession, since they hid the colours of the uniforms. Fully thirteen thousand of the marchers belonged to famous Republican clubs and organizations. The band of sailors from the fleet was loudly cheered. Sixteen battleships had just completed a fifty-thousand-mile trip around the world, during which they had visited every ocean in the journey of two years, two months, and twenty-two days.

Some idea of the proportions of the blizzard may be gathered from the fact that ten inches of snow fell from 8 P. M. Wednesday night until noon Thursday (March 4th), and the labour of six thousand men with shovels was required to clear the route of the procession from the Capitol to the White House, removing what was estimated to be fifty-eight thousand five hundred tons of snow. Eighteen thousand pounds of sand was used to sprinkle the Avenue, and before the parade was over, dust was flying from the middle of the street over the spectators.

Among the celebrations on March 4th was the annual dinner of the Yale class of 1878, given at the Metropolitan Club with President Taft as the guest of honour. Here he enjoyed himself hugely for nearly two hours before going to the ball. The sons of Old Eli gathered from all parts of the land to do honour to “Big Bill Taft,” and songs, toasts, and speeches made the banquet memorable. Seventy-five of the President’s classmates composed the group that gathered to forget the formalities of the day in song and spirit. No incident of the day pleased Mr. Taft more, and in his address to them he declared that they would always find the White House latchstring on the outside.

The ball at the Pension Office in the evening was once more a picture of bewildering beauty. This happened, through the trend of circumstances, to be the last of the old-time inaugural balls.

The President’s box, a flower-decked affair which extended beyond the first balcony about fifteen feet, had been provided with a huge, handsomely carved mahogany chair, lent for the occasion by a New York admirer. Similar chairs on either side of the throne-like affair were lent by Mrs. A. C. Barney from her famous collection of antiques. The top of the box was crowned with a gold ball surmounted with a golden eagle. Gold-banded fringed curtains of satin and gold columns flanked its sides.

The arrival of the presidential party was the occasion for wild applause, for not until the Grand March through the roped-off aisle was completed by the man and the woman in whose honour it was given could the multitude feel that the ball had actually opened. To the music of “Hail to the Chief,” President and Mrs. Taft, followed by Vice President and Mrs. Sherman, made the tour of the room, bowing and smiling their pleasure at the uproar of welcome. They then seated themselves in their box, the President taking the huge armchair which had been provided for him and which, to his amazement, sank down and down until he was almost lost to view in its cushioned depths. The President laughed with the onlooking crowd, but was careful not again to jeopardize his official dignity by floundering in a chair many times too large even for his generous build.

Every sort of costume was worn at the ball. The most elegant and costly hand-painted, jewelled robes, shirtwaists and skirts, Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses, sport dresses, and business suits, all were mixed in, as seems customary with the inimitable independence of the American public. Here and there were quaint native dresses of prosperous and curious foreigners, who evidently felt that they were highly presentable at what to them was an American Court function.

Nothing pleased the assembled throng more than a little spontaneous gesture by the President, who, when he was about to leave, stepped to the rail, waved his hand to the dancers, and called out “Good-night.”

Mrs. Taft, like the famous Dolly Madison, the queen of the ball of a century before her, was attired in a high-waisted empire gown. It was extremely simple, depending for its effect upon the fabric and the style of the cut. Made of white chiffon, it was embroidered in silver lace and crystal beads in a goldenrod design that reached to the waistband in front and extended thickly around the train. The waist was also simply trimmed with the embroidery and rich lace, and the whole mounted over a white satin slip. A pearl and diamond dog collar and a spray in her hair completed her costume. Miss Taft was becomingly attired in white silk muslin with touches of blue, while Mrs. Sherman was radiant in white satin.

Though taxicabs and carriages were at a premium, and the keen March wind penetrated the thickest furs, the ballroom was so packed that dancing was possible only in spots until toward the last, when the crowd had thinned out. It was estimated that ten thousand people attended, and they brought their enthusiasm along, for they constantly applauded the new President long after the Grand March was completed.

In Mrs. Taft, the White House had a mistress of marked individuality, strong character, and independence of belief. From the time of her marriage, she made her husband’s career and their home her chief interests. She is a college woman and a great believer in higher education for women, not to make them competitors with men, but to round out their femininity. On this subject she allowed herself to be interviewed:

Few of the women called to preside as First Lady of the Land had the liberal equipment through birth, education, travel, social and official prestige which has been Mrs. Taft’s, and the reforms she established were of a character to call forth high praise. As a part of her plan to create a real home for her family while administering the social régime of the Mansion, she introduced a Jersey cow to the establishment, to the greatest interest and amusement of the tourists who stopped to watch bossy peacefully grazing about the grounds, undisturbed by any other animal or pet.

Every step in the career of the genial President, from his birth to his service on the bench as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, is well known, but the career of his talented wife, to whom so much of his own success is due, is familiar but to a limited circle, since her life has been submerged in his, and her objective the promotion of his welfare.

Mrs. Taft, the daughter of John W. Herron of Cincinnati, one-time law partner of Rutherford B. Hayes, had every social and educational advantage from earliest childhood. As a girl visiting “Aunt Lucy Hayes,” she is credited with having declared her intention of becoming mistress of the White House some day. “I shall never forget the joy of those visits,” Mrs. Taft has said. “There was a supper served at eleven or twelve o’clock every evening in the main corridor and laughing companies of young people used to gather ’round that table.”

Nellie Herron was still a schoolgirl at that time, but no one welcomed her home from these delightful visits more heartily than the jolly big boy she had known from babyhood, the son of her father’s lifetime friend, Judge Alphonso Taft, and when he went away to Yale, his brightest memory was woven around the frolics, dances, and good times with this talented young girl.

By the time she had finished high school and completed the course at the Cincinnati University, “Bub” Taft, as he was nicknamed by his comrades, had graduated from Yale and was studying law and doing court reporting at the same time, this last for Murat Halstead’s Cincinnati paper, which paid him but six dollars a week when he started. Although his time was so well filled, he still had ample to help “Nellie Herron” organize a literary society, which they called the “Salon,” and which met each Saturday evening at the Herron home on Pike Street. Made up of a small group of young men and women, mostly just out of college, it held together for several years, its members writing essays which they read to each other, and discussing matters of current interest. At this time, Miss Herron was teaching in a private school. This little club had the encouragement of the parents of both of these young people, who were members of the Cincinnati Literary Club, of which Judge Taft became the president. Young William later attained membership in this exclusive club of older folk, and the fact gave him added prestige with the junior group. Miss Herron had in the meantime developed her music and become one of the founders of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra.

Young Taft soon made his intentions regarding Miss Nellie very plain by outstaying all other members of the “Salon,” and it was not long before their betrothal was announced. Their engagement was a long one, as he had resolved first to build a home for his bride, an ambition that he saw gratified in the spring of 1886 when “The Quarry,” on East Walnut Hills, became a reality. A June wedding followed, when he was twenty-eight and she just twenty-five.

This marriage service and all of the details were brought to public attention in June of 1911, when the President and Mrs. Taft followed the precedent set by their old friends, President and Mrs. Rutherford B. Hayes, by also having a silver wedding anniversary celebration, in a charming reception and dinner at the White House.

Following their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Taft went to Europe on their honeymoon and started the travelling habit that kept them journeying about the world until his election to the Presidency settled his residence for four years.

The most eventful and important of Mr. Taft’s many missions was the one that took him to the Philippines when President McKinley found himself, through the fortunes of war, with eight million strange people on his hands and called upon Mr. Taft to take charge and teach these people the principles of home government and the ideals of American citizenship.

He took his family with him, and while he devoted his attention to organizing system out of the chaos that he found, Mrs. Taft’s sympathy was aroused at the appalling infant mortality in the Islands and she concluded to make that her own problem. She eventually persuaded the native women to accept medical attention and proper food for their babies. With Mr. Taft’s help, official organization of the work followed and the charitable association called the “Drop of Milk” was established, which distributed sterilized milk and thereby accomplished great improvement in the condition of the Filipino children. Mrs. Taft had her reward for this interest while on a visit to Manila some years after the expiration of her husband’s governorship. While he stood in the great hall greeting all of the governors of the provinces who had come to meet “Santa Taft,” scores of the native women were clamouring to see Mrs. Taft and to show her their children, whose lives her work had saved.

Both Governor and Mrs. Taft spared no pains to win the confidence and the devotion of their people, and she taxed her resources and ingenuity to plan festivals and entertainments for the natives. The Venetian Carnival given at the Governor’s Palace in Manila, and the Annual Carnival of Flowers, so beautifully worked out, were the results of their joint interest, and they added to the esteem in which they were held when they both learned the famous Filipino dance, the rigadoon, not unlike the minuet, and introduced it at their entertainments.

Some of the stories that found publication at election time and also during the inaugural festivities are worthy of repetition because of the qualities of the character of the new President that they reflect. A local paper contained the following:

WILLIAM H. TAFT AND HIS FAMILY

On account of his size, his friends always made commiserating jokes in regard to the beasts which Taft rode. Another Philippine story refers to a long and tedious journey he made to the mountains of Bengat.

The Department at Washington knew of the trip, and Mr. Taft reported by cable direct to Secretary of State Root:

Secretary Root replied like this:

The native Filipinos fairly worship Mr. Taft. They have a way of calling him “Santa Taft,” and think, in order to be a great man in America, one must have a gigantic stature.

When Mr. Taft was appointed Secretary of War, his wife at once became a popular hostess whose drawing room was always filled with interesting people. Her knack of remembering faces and names and her evident interest in the people she met offset a certain austerity made noticeable by contrast to the geniality of the head of the house, but due, in her case, largely to a certain diffidence that was lost entirely during her public life.

Mrs. Taft had been a suffragist all her life, though never of the aggressive type. Regarding the ballot for woman she said:

It was while her husband was Secretary of War that Mrs. Taft showed her resourcefulness on that long journey which they took with their ten-year-old son Charlie. The Philippines were opening their first Assembly and had called “Santa Taft,” who had given them their government, to come to see what they had done with it. Next, he was to cross Siberia over the new railroad and return through Europe. Helen Taft was at the Cathedral School outside Washington, and Robert, the older son, was at his Uncle Horace Taft’s school at Watertown, Conn. Few women would have cared to make that trip, crowded with important entertainments, where one must always look well, through a climate ranging from Siberian cold to Philippine heat, without a maid, and with an irrepressible youngster who must always be kept in presentable condition. But Mrs. Taft did not hesitate. Her place was with her husband, and it was an opportunity for little Charlie to see the world. As usual, she was the most charmingly gowned woman at every function they attended. And best of all, they all had a good time.

It was during this eventful trip that Mr. Taft, in alighting from a train, snagged an ugly hole in his only pair of dress trousers. This was tragedy, as he had an appointment to be received by the Czar of all the Russias. Mrs. Taft did her best, but although her husband stepped carefully, the cloth gave way again, exposing the knee. Rumour claims that the imperturbable gentleman merely donned a long coat and entered the Czar’s presence with it on, and later told the Emperor the whole story and produced the proof. At any rate, no international complications ensued with Russia on the grounds of the implied discourtesy of the American representative in being very late for his appointment.

Among the many accomplishments Mrs. Taft brought to her régime at the White House was her skill as a linguist. During her extensive travels she had devoted time to the study of languages in the countries she visited, and her ability to converse with some of the diplomats in their own tongues was a source of great satisfaction and pleasure. Mrs. Taft kept pace with her husband in public affairs and during her occupancy of the White House was thoroughly conversant with political questions that were paramount in interest. But she limited her discussions and expressions of opinion to the privacy of the family group. Instead of concerning herself with politics, she devoted her energies to the changes she wished to bring about in the management of the forty-room house which Uncle Sam had given her for a temporary residence. Beginning with the front door, she substituted coloured-liveried butlers for the blue-uniformed police who formerly guarded this entrance, and then, at her request, the position of steward was abolished and replaced by that of housekeeper, paid by the government at the rate of $1,200 annually. Mrs. Jane Jaffray, recommended by some of Mrs. Taft’s friends in New York, was appointed to this position, which was one of great responsibility, as the housekeeper supervised the servants, all being of equal rank under her authority. She had charge of the linen and silver, for the cleaning of which Mrs. Taft installed an electric silver-cleaning machine, which lessened the labour and saved time. Mrs. Jaffray also had charge of the china, the pantry, and the refrigerator. The morning before inauguration, Mrs. Taft took Mrs. Jaffray to the big centre market and made the rounds of the stalls with her, explaining her methods and acquainting her with the food the family liked. All of the marketing during the Taft régime was done by the housekeeper, not only for the family and the servants, but for the formal entertaining. All of the catering for the state functions was done in the White House kitchens, even to the ices and confectionery. Mrs. Taft had always been a practical, capable manager. Under her direction, the purchasing of staples was done in wholesale quantities.

Mrs. Taft planned and carried out an elaborate social programme. She was persuaded that Washington City should be the social centre of the country and did her best to carry out her ideal, which she explained in an interview for the New York American as follows:

To assist her in her social duties, she followed Mrs. Roosevelt’s example of engaging a social secretary, and Miss Alice Blech filled this position during the first part of the administration.

President Taft was the first of the Executives to receive the increased presidential salary. After much discussion, Congress had finally raised the yearly stipend from $50,000 to $75,000, with an additional $25,000 for travelling expenses.

Upon his induction into office, President Taft was asked his views upon serving liquor at the White House functions. He referred his questioner to a letter he had written to be read in the Sunday schools of the country a few weeks before. It read in part:

The state dinners of the Taft administration cost from eight to twelve dollars per plate, according to their elaborateness and the number and the personnel of the guests. The diplomatic dinner, being the most sumptuous, cost around twelve hundred dollars. Mrs. Taft followed no set rule with reference to the menus or the wine course, the number of wines served being dependent upon the menu. Cocktails or white wines with the oysters, claret or sherry with the soups, champagne with the entrees, champagne, burgundy, or sauterne with the principal course, port with the sweets, and brandy or cordial to finish with. Good taste was always the dictator. Outside of the state dinners, no wines were served at any of the functions save the champagne punch at the formal receptions, at which a buffet supper was provided usually of dainty sandwiches, salads, relishes, croquettes, little cakes, ices, and champagne punch, and coffee. Mrs. Taft served delicious punch and preferred to make it herself. There is a story to the effect that, during one of her affairs, to her great distress the supply became exhausted and she herself descended to the pantry to direct the preparation of a fresh supply.

One of the charms of the Taft hospitality was the fact that the genial President and his wife joined their guests in the dining room and partook of the supper personally.

But the innovation for which Mrs. Taft has received the greatest amount of praise was the transforming the state functions from the formal crushes of the past to the smaller, more exclusive, but withal more enjoyable gatherings where formality was dispensed with as much as possible, and where the dainty buffet supper was served to hosts and guests alike in the state dining room. This displaced the former custom instituted by Mrs. McElroy, in President Arthur’s day, of serving supper upstairs to the receiving party and the Blue Room guests alone. By limiting each reception to the class of guests for which it was intended, Mrs. Taft added greatly to the comfort and pleasure of all concerned, as under this arrangement there was no necessity for the long line which moved its tiresome way so slowly through the length of the entire basement and main floors before reaching the President. The guests assembled in the East Room until the receiving party had come downstairs, and then proceeded immediately to shake hands with the President and greet his wife.

Each reception wound up with an hour or so of dancing in the East Room, much to the delight of the younger people, especially when the President would join them, which he almost always did for a few minutes at least.

Mrs. Taft also personally examined and approved all bills before they were paid. All her life she had been a careful manager, a fact to which her husband often referred with pride. Her own fortune, while not of great proportions, augmented his earnings to such an extent that he often said, “When Mrs. Taft stops footing the bills, I’ll have to hang out my shingle.”

Mrs. Taft’s musical tastes led to a great number of delightful musical entertainments in the White House, and many ambitious young artists had a chance to be heard by real critics.

None of the protégés of either the President or Mrs. Taft exhibited such a degree of pride as radiated from the President’s valet, who had served him in the Philippines and accompanied him to this country. His particular reason for the pride that brought forth the wrath of the rest of the servants upon his head was the fact that he boasted of being a personal servant, paid from the President’s own pocket, and was unduly scornful of the others, whom he claimed belonged to the government.

The Taft home life was informal and just like that of any other normal American family of congenial tastes. They spent many evenings in the privacy of their own family circle with Mrs. Taft at the piano, as had been her lifelong practice. While the two older children were away at school, the house was never dull, as both the Taft and the Herron families were liberally supplied with young people constantly coming or going. Mrs. Taft had five sisters and two brothers, all of whom were married and had families, and the President had three brothers and one sister likewise similarly blessed with children. So there were always nephews and nieces to keep things lively. Miss Helen was not so athletic in her tastes as the Roosevelt girls. She entered Bryn Mawr at sixteen, and by close study won a scholarship for $300, which gave her parents great pride. Her début was not made until her college work was finished. By her own choice, she preferred the scholastic career to that of a social belle. With Mrs. Taft’s many talents, a live college girl in the house, the President a fun-maker and mimic, and young Charlie to furnish boyish pranks and thrills, they never lacked for amusement among themselves.

The family generally met at breakfast at eight-thirty, Mrs. Taft following her habit of dressing for the day before this meal. Luncheon was reduced to an apple for the head of the nation, but he usually liked to slip in to visit with his family and guests at this hour. Dinner was at seven-thirty, after which, when they were alone, there would be music or whist. Whenever he went out, the President would tap on Mrs. Taft’s door for her to inspect him, to be sure that his hat was on straight or his bodice not wrinkled, as he facetiously put it.

Mrs. Taft made but few changes in the arrangement of furniture or rooms. Miss Helen occupied the same suite used by former belles, and while the members of the family brought but little outside their trunks, the private apartments soon reflected their individual tastes. The President hung his father’s portrait in his study, as he had placed it over every desk he ever occupied.

When the time rolled around for him to relinquish his place to Woodrow Wilson, he set his office in order, as his wife did the mansion under her care, bade the congregation of All Souls Unitarian Church farewell from the pulpit, and slipped out of power with the love and respect of those associated with him.

Among his hobbies are golf and photograph collecting. After his appointment to the Supreme Court, Washington welcomed him as her own.

Miss Helen Taft, who for four years occupied one of the most conspicuous positions in the country, left Washington as unspoiled as when she came, a little girl, from the Governor’s palace in the Philippines. Though constantly fêted she found time for the more serious duties of life and many quiet philanthropies of which the public knew nothing.

When the Tafts departed for the South after rendering every possible attention to their successors, a censorious critic of Washington’s social life gave the following summary to their administration:

Mrs. Taft has always been a lover of nature, and in all of her travels about the world has given great attention to the types of flowers and trees common to each country or locality. Her own garden is always a dream of beauty in the spring and summer. She gives it especial attention, making personal visits to each tree, shrub, and clump of flowers with her gardener.

It is to her artistic vision and understanding, coupled with her capacity for quick action, that the nation owes the chief beauty of the Potomac Park. When Mrs. Taft first saw the cherry trees of Japan in full bloom, she thought them marvellously beautiful and resolved to obtain some for planting in her own land.

Shortly after she became mistress of the White House, she secured and had planted a hundred of these trees between the polo field and the Tidal Basin. Many of them failed to live. Later, Dr. Jakichi Takamine, noted chemist of Tokio and New York, the inventor of adrenalin and other important chemicals, learning of her admiration of the lovely little flowering trees of his native land, offered three thousand as a gift from Japan in the name of the Mayor of Tokio. They arrived during the latter part of 1911 and were promptly accepted by Mrs. Taft in the name of the government. It is the common belief that the arrangement of their planting in groups of odd and even numbers represents in Japanese characters a message of welcome.

President and Mrs. Taft did much to popularize the now famous Potomac Park, once a mosquito-infested swamp, rendezvouz of tramps, and hiding place of criminals.

As the Taft régime drew to a close, the society women of the city who were close to the official family—sixty of them—subscribed ten thousand dollars for the purchase of a testimonial of appreciation of Mrs. Taft’s ceaseless efforts to make Washington the social centre of the nation. Miss Mabel Boardman was deputized to make the purchase in New York. A necklace was decided upon. In order to avoid duplicating the one Mrs. Taft had long worn, Miss Boardman took along a photograph of it. On February 21, 1913, a few days before inauguration, Mrs. Taft was presented with the gift, the beautiful, perfectly matched chain of diamonds set in platinum with a pear-shaped stone as pendant. At the same time, the genial President was the recipient of a lovely pearl scarf pin from the same group.

In the quiet of retirement, Mrs. Taft has compiled an ambitious book—a story of her own unparalleled experiences in public life.

CHAPTER XV

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF
WOODROW WILSON

March 4, 1913, to March 4, 1917

AFTER sixteen years of Republican domination, the Federal government passed into the hands of Democratic rule on March 4, 1913, with the inauguration of Woodrow Wilson of New Jersey and Thomas Riley Marshall of Indiana, after one of the most stormy and eventful of the nation’s thirty-two presidential elections, which left in its wake a trail of bitterness, disappointment, and broken friendships, never entirely forgotten or forgiven by those vitally concerned.

The Wilson family party arrived at Washington in the mid afternoon of March 3d, going to the Shoreham, where an entire floor had been reserved for them. Later, they called upon President and Mrs. Taft at the White House. That evening, they all assembled at the Shoreham for a family dinner which Mr. Joseph Wilson of Chicago gave in honour of his brother, President-elect Wilson, and Mrs. Wilson.

On the same day, the first great Suffrage pageant took place. In parade, it told the story of the long struggle of that party. Led by Mrs. Richard Coke Burleson, the modern crusaders for “Votes for Women” marched up Pennsylvania Avenue five thousand strong, with wonderful floats and bands of stirring music to emphasize their demand for suffrage through constitutional amendment. The signal for the procession to start was given by Miss Inez Milholland, the beautiful young herald, who, astride her handsome horse, wore the yellow of the heralds of mediæval days.

Her associates like to remember her as she appeared that day, for her untimely death followed soon after.

To join the gigantic demonstration came “General” Rosalie Jones with her two hundred weary, footsore pilgrims, who had hiked through mud, rain, snow, and ridicule from New York. In their drab cloaks and hoods, carrying their staves, they created much comment.

The cavalry was, perhaps, one of the smartest, most attractive sections in the procession, mostly young society women who were superbly mounted.

The floats, particularly significant, showed the progress of the suffrage movement since its beginning in 1840. Later, tableaux and allegorical dances were given upon the steps of the Treasury, interpreting the dreams and ambitions of modern womanhood. Many distinguished and prominent women participated, while hundreds of others were interested spectators. The demonstration called forth unstinted praise from every intelligent source. Unfortunate indeed was the outrageous lack of police protection given the marching women; they suffered insults and physical injury at the hands of hoodlums. Their flags and banners were spat upon, lighted cigars and cigarettes were thrown upon them, and the crowding in upon the line here and there caused more than a hundred persons to be so trampled and bruised as to require hospital treatment. The contrast between the calm orderliness of March 4th and the extreme disorder of the day previous was so marked that the matter became subject for presidential appeal.

The heads of the various suffrage organizations returned to New York at once, and the next morning, the following telegram was sent to Mr. Wilson so that he should receive it before leaving for the Capitol:

Promptly at ten-fifty on the morning of March 4th, Woodrow Wilson and Thomas Marshall, President-elect and Vice President-elect, left the Shoreham Hotel after several hours of cheering ovations by their respective Princeton and Culver students, and made their way to the White House, where the President-elect was serenaded by the Princeton boys with the Princeton anthem, “Old Nassau.” The University of Virginia students also felt a special claim upon Mr. Wilson and added their strength of numbers to the student delegation which totalled three thousand.

There were no particularly distinguishing features in the administering of the oath to either the new President by Chief Justice White, or to the Vice President by Senator Gallinger. The drama of the great political struggle was reflected in the picture presented in the little group when President Wilson had completed his address. While the crowd was shouting its enthusiastic approval, Mr. Taft, the retiring leader of the party, defeated after sixteen years of supremacy, congratulated his successor thus: “Mr. President, I wish you a successful administration and the carrying out of your aims. We are all behind you.” William Jennings Bryan stood at hand, the persistent prophet of progressive democracy, thrice defeated, and once more possessing his soul in patience as he accepted a commission from the new President who was claiming to be mustering forces of humanity, not forces of party.

The long procession of forty thousand marching men which had been forming while the ceremonies were in progress, followed the President to the White House. The Essex Troop, made up of college graduates and young men of means, all of whom owned their handsome mounts, wheeled into line in full strength to honour their former governor, while the sixty mounted Culver cadets that composed the famous Black Horse Troop of that institution found their location as escort to Vice President Marshall.

Twenty-five hundred Tammany Braves also made the air ring.

The fireworks in the evening were unusually elaborate because of the omission of the inaugural ball.

All arrangements had been made as usual for the ball, but it was omitted at the President’s expressed wish. While there were many rumours as to the reason of its abandonment, the expense involved in the upheaval of the routine business, the moving of clerks and upset of office equipment in the huge Pension Building seemed to be the chief consideration. There was no other structure available in Washington at that time large enough to accommodate the crowds desiring to attend. Then, too, soon after election it was known that both Governor and Mrs. Wilson were indifferent, if not actually opposed, to the idea of a ball. Mrs. Wilson had been quoted as saying: “I cannot bear to think of a ball with the modern dances when Woodrow is inaugurated.” To them both, the ceremony of March 4th carried much of the thought of dedication, a point of view in accord with the Presbyterian doctrines in which both were rooted and grounded.

Disappointment was expressed over this departure from precedent, not so much from a personal standpoint as from a sense of regret over the breaking up of a cherished institution which had its inception under the tutelage of the immortal George Washington, who with all of his dignity and stateliness deemed it a fitting conclusion of the celebration and an appropriate way to inspire respect and maintain prestige in the eyes of other nations. Being thoroughly consistent, he attended and gallantly did his share of dancing with the belles of the evening.

The inaugural ball was the people’s ball; it was the epitome of democracy, the externalized embodiment of the American doctrine that “all men are created equal,” for every class of society had always been represented, from the highest to the most humble.

Woodrow Wilson’s career as college president had been noted for the many changes he made, the most radical being the overthrow of the student aristocracy. As Governor of New Jersey, he had begun his term by upsetting the political machine. As soon as he became President the country became aware of the fact that the new Executive considered rules made for people and not people—especially White House people—for rules. He daily disregarded precedents for courses of action which, in his own judgment, were more feasible and expedient.

© Underwood & Underwood

WOODROW WILSON AND HIS FAMILY IN 1912

With the abandonment of the inaugural ball, some anxiety arose about the social régime of the White House. All doubt on this score was dispelled, however, when the family began their delightful receptions. The charming Southern hospitality and the three lively young daughters gave the mansion an air of joyousness that did not diminish until the illness of the gracious First Lady cast its shadow over the entire city. The teas, receptions, garden parties, and dinners all reflected the wholesome, unaffected cordiality of the hostess.

President Wilson chose for his Cabinet portfolios: State, William J. Bryan, Nebraska; Treasury, William G. McAdoo, New York; Navy, Josephus Daniels, North Carolina; War, Bindley M. Garrison, New Jersey; Postmaster General, Albert S. Burleson, Texas; Interior, Franklin K. Lane, California; Commerce, William C. Redfield, New York; Agriculture, David F. Houston, Missouri; Labour, William Wilson, Pennsylvania; Attorney General, James McReynolds, Kentucky.

Presidential cares were never so engrossing that Woodrow Wilson failed to respond to the appeal of a child.

On the first Easter Sunday that he was President, he and the family decided to attend the Eastern Presbyterian Church. During the service a little six-year-old girl in an adjacent pew divided her attention between watching the new President and admiring a cherished bundle in her lap. Just before the service concluded, she leaned over and handed the package to Miss Eleanor, who, noting it was for the President, smilingly passed it on to her father. The President glanced at the package so carefully wrapped in a paper napkin, read the name and message scrawled in childish script, and justified the child’s admiration, for he turned, smiled, and bowed his thanks to the little girl with as profound courtesy and as much evidence of pleasure in his expression as if the gift had been a priceless jewel instead of being only a gaudy Easter egg.

The first and most important of the social affairs at the White House during the first year of the administration was the marriage of Miss Jessie Woodrow Wilson to Mr. Francis Bowes Sayre, in the East Room, on November 26, 1913. She was the thirteenth bride of the home of the presidents. No fears of ill luck haunted her, for her entire family regarded the number thirteen as their mascot.

For the simple ceremony, a dais approached by two low steps was erected by the windows facing the Treasury Building, on the spot where Nellie Grant gave her hand to Mr. Sartoris, and where Alice Roosevelt became the bride of Nicholas Longworth. A prie dieu covered with white satin, bride roses, and lilies of the valley stood upon a beautiful white rug that had been presented by the Minister of Peru and Madame Pezet. This bit of vicuna fur from South America was especially interesting because of its virtue of bringing good luck to its owner. At four-thirty the President escorted his wife to the State dining room where the bridal procession was forming, and turned her over to Colonel W. W. Harts, his military aide, who took her to her assigned place in the East Room. Mrs. Sayre, the mother of the bridegroom, was escorted to a place opposite.

A fanfare of trumpets and Lohengrin’s march by the Marine Band announced the approach of the bridal party. The bridesmaids were the Misses Eleanor R. Wilson, younger sister of the bride; Mary G. White of Baltimore; Adeline Mitchell Scott of Princeton, and Marjorie Brown of Atlanta. With them walked the ushers: Benjamin R. Burton of New York; Charles Evans Hughes, Jr., of New York; Dr. DeWitt Scoville Clark, Jr., of Salem, Mass., and Dr. Gilbert Horax of Mount Clair, N. J., all college associates of Mr. Sayre. Miss Margaret Wilson preceded the bride, who, in the traditional white satin and veil, was escorted by her father. Miss Wilson was met at the improvised altar by Mr. Sayre, who was attended by Dr. Wilfred T. Grenfell. The Reverend Sylvester W. Beach, D.D., pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Princeton, N. J., where Miss Jessie taught a Bible class and where the Wilson family attended, read the service. The Reverend John Nevin Sayre, brother of the bridegroom and missionary to China, pronounced the benediction.

For the supper, the table, with its huge wedding cake, was beautifully decorated. The cake had been made in New York, in two layers, and was two and a half feet high and three feet in circumference. It weighed one hundred and thirty-five pounds and was reported to have cost five hundred dollars. To Miss Margaret’s lot fell the slice with the ring, and later she caught the bride’s bouquet. The collation in the State dining room, the same as served to the bridal party, consisted of Virginia ham, salads, sandwiches, relishes, bonbons, ices, cakes, coffee, and fruit punch, made in accordance with the bride’s expressed wish without wine or liquor of any kind.

With the aid of the President’s secretary, Joseph P. Tumulty, and the White House police, the bridal couple escaped their friends. Then the ropes were removed and the young people had a delightful dance with the Marine Band to play.

Next in interest to the White House bride herself, at least to the women of the land, was her trousseau. In the opinion of critics, Mrs. Sayre’s wedding outfit, though modest, had been designed with artistic skill and carried out with materials whose elegance and quality made her gowns appropriate for all occasions. She planned her clothes to fit the wants of a college professor’s wife with ample provision for occasional jaunts to Washington and New York. The wedding gown was made of lustrous white satin, a product of the now famous Paterson, N. J., mills, and was adorned with orange blossoms and rare point lace, an heirloom in Mrs. Wilson’s family. The full court train, which was fastened at the shoulders, was also adorned with wedding flowers. The full-length veil was of the finest French tulle and completely enveloped the bride. It was arranged from a lace cap which was fastened close to the hair and was adorned with sprays of orange blossoms. Tiny clusters of the flowers were caught in the veil. The bouquet was a cluster of bride roses with a shower of buds and ribbon. Mrs. Sayre’s only jewel was a diamond pendant and chain, the gift of her husband.

The invitations and the announcements of the wedding, except for the embossed coat of arms of the United States at the top, were plain enough for any private family. The list of invited guests contained less than seven hundred names. It included, besides the relatives and intimate friends of the two families, the members of the Cabinet, Supreme Court, Diplomatic Corps, the New Jersey delegation in Congress, and the leaders in Congress.

The bridal presents were such as only a White House wedding could call forth. They varied in elegance and costliness from the tiny beaded hand-made purse presented by the four-year-old cousin of the bride, to the twenty-five hundred-dollar-diamond necklace presented by the House of Representatives. China and cloisonné vases—gold coffee spoons, candlesticks, mahogany furniture, and many beautiful gifts of silver rubbed shoulders with such humble but eminently useful gifts as two washtubs, six boxes of soap, coal scuttles, a barrel of potatoes, rag rugs, five bushels of Bermuda onions, a white knitted hammock, a washing machine, a sewing machine, and an eiderdown quilt.

Mrs. Wilson’s social régime was simple, making up in genuine hospitality and sincere enjoyment whatever it may have lacked of the glitter and brilliance of former administrations. Each individual came away from her receptions with a warm glow of satisfaction because of her sincere personal greeting. Never did she look bored, even when toward the last, just before her illness began, she was obliged to sit down. Generations of gentle ancestry had bequeathed a courtesy that was as much a part of her as her soft wavy brown hair and expressive dark eyes.

Formerly Ellen Axson of Georgia, the daughter of a clergyman, Mrs. Wilson had been reared in the cultural atmosphere of a Southern home, and educated according to the best traditions of the old South. She had studied art in New York during the period of her engagement to Woodrow Wilson. She continued her studies in spite of the demands of a growing family and a thoroughly domesticated husband. Following Governor Wilson’s election to the Presidency, she put a collection of her paintings on exhibition at the Arts & Crafts Guild in Philadelphia, the proceeds from whose sale were sent to the Martha Berry School of Georgia. Mrs. Wilson also made a gift to Goucher College of which one of her daughters was a graduate. After coming to the White House, she managed to devote some time to art work, fitting up a studio in the attic, where some of her best canvases were completed.

When Mrs. Wilson first came to Washington, she became interested in the work of the Woman’s Department of the National Civic Federation, the District Branch of which, with Mrs. Archibald Hopkins in charge, was busily working to clean up the alleys and eliminate the slums. The pitiful condition of many of the old coloured people living in poverty and squalor had a peculiar appeal to her. The condition of the children tugged at her sympathies, too. She not only attended the meetings of the District Branch of the Federation, but made any number of personal tours of inspection through some of the worst of the city’s twenty-three miles of alleys and slums.

One of Mrs. Wilson’s earliest expeditions was to Goat Alley, considered the worst of its kind in the city. She was accompanied by Mrs. E. P. Bicknell, chairman of the committee on housing of the National Civic Federation, Mrs. Archibald Hopkins, and two Secret Service men. She traversed the entire length of the alley on foot and was so impressed by the conditions she found there that she accepted the position of honorary chairman of the advisory board of the housing committee, in order to help actively with the clean-up work.

Mrs. Wilson never indorsed any cause simply by letting her name be used; so, in the duties of honorary chairman, she worked as energetically as the rest of the members of the committee. This was only one of many, many trips she made through the dirty and dismal byways of the city.

Never did she manifest the aversion and disgust she must have felt, but went as any serious-minded, interested woman would who sought to see conditions for herself and the way to better them. She stopped repeatedly to talk to the children and their parents. There are scores of poor alley dwellers who will always treasure the wonder of the moment when the gentle First Lady of the Land stepped down from her splendid limousine and walked through their midst, with a pleasant word and a friendly handshake for any and all who greeted her. Time and again she went home with her dainty gloves stained and grimy. Partly as a result of her interest, a bill was introduced in Congress for the reclamation of such pest spots.

Mrs. Wilson was also a frequent visitor to the library of the blind, where her daughter Miss Margaret, often sang.

Early in her régime as Chatelaine of the White House she began investigating the sanitary conditions of the various big government departments. Through her interest, all of the departments now have rest rooms, sanitary drinking cups, and little branch hospitals where first aid may be given in case of illness or accident.

The Bureau of Printing and Engraving received one of Mrs. Wilson’s first visits, and all suggestions made by her were most gladly received and carried out, with the result that the new building was equipped with one of the finest rest and lunch rooms for its employees of any in the country. Just a few days before her death, Mrs. Wilson received a letter from Public Printer Ford of the Government Printing Office expressive of the appreciation of himself and the seventeen hundred women who work there, for her efforts in also securing a rest room for them.

Among some of the other reforms and improvement projects for the Capital City in which Mrs. Wilson was interested were such matters as enforcement of school attendance laws, regulation of child labour, supervision of dependent and neglected children, provision for the care of the feeble-minded and for the treatment of drug victims, a parental school, open-air schools, playgrounds and recreation centres, public comfort stations, public baths and wash houses; legislation to promote the use of school buildings as social recreation centres—in fact, anything that tended toward the good of humanity.

Being of the South, she was naturally interested in every practical progressive movement that related to that section, and the indorsement she gave to the work of the Southern mountaineer women was the best thing that could have befallen them. Like all people with any self-respect these women did not want charity. They wanted only opportunity to show their beautiful, old-fashioned hand-made rugs, carpets, curtains, and counterpanes to people who might be interested in buying them. Mrs. Wilson allowed them to fit up a room in the White House with their handiwork, and she exploited it by telling her friends and having the women of Congress and the Cabinet come to tea and inspect the exhibit and talk to the weavers themselves. The result was order after order for the quaint work from the toil-worn hands of these women, who have preserved a lost art in the remote fastnesses of their mountain homes, and to whom the chance to sell their work for real money, not trade it for supplies, was the greatest boon the President’s wife could confer. When her daughters were married, Mrs. Wilson purchased numerous pieces of this old-fashioned handwork to be included among her gifts to them.

To the poorhouse, she constantly sent flowers. Never before did the poor of Washington receive so liberally of the floral beauties of the White House conservatories. In hospitals and orphan asylums she was “an angel,” and to the little newsboys of the street, for she would buy their papers and laugh away their return change.

A fall due to a slipping rug brought Mrs. Wilson to her bed toward the close of her busy season. Already worn by the social strain, she was attacked by a complication of ailments chief of which was Bright’s disease, that defied the best medical attention. It soon became known that the President’s wife could not recover. Her daughter Eleanor’s marriage to William Gibbs McAdoo took place under this shadow.

The night before her death she recalled her interest in the alleys and slums and mentioned to the President that it would give her much happiness if the pending bill could be passed. The alley bill passed the Senate unanimously, and the fact was made known to Mrs. Wilson during a period of consciousness about two hours before she died. The hurried adjournment of Congress following her death prevented the bringing up of the bill in the House at that time; but that body approved the measure later.

All through her illness, her constant and chief concern was that the President be kept in ignorance of her suffering. Toward the end, she put a charge upon Dr. Cary Grayson, saying:

“If I go away, Doctor, promise me you will take care of my husband.”

It was August 6, 1914, that Mrs. Wilson died. She had won the hearts of the people by her sympathy toward all in need and suffering. The nation grieved with the White House family. Her death was a shock such as Washington had not felt for years. When the big iron gates were closed and locked, the shades drawn, and the sombre emblem of death hung from the door of the White House, the whole city responded to the grief within, lowered its flags, and stopped its merrymakings and frolics. Telegrams flooded the White House, and flowers filled the rooms. They came from every class and degree of society from the newsboys to the representatives of foreign governments; and from the handsome offerings of the Boy Scouts to the simple bouquet of some lowly protêgê. The interment was in Georgia.

For a time, President Wilson seemed to find continuous work the only relief from sorrow.

With the combined strength and influence of his Cabinet he turned his attention to securing the passage by Congress of a new tariff bill. During this time the Federal Reserve bill had become a law; President Madero of Mexico had been deposed and assassinated; Huerta was fighting for recognition; the insult to the United States Flag on April 9, 1914, had called for action; and Vera Cruz was occupied by Marines in consequence.

When rumour started that President Wilson was planning to bring a new First Lady to the White House, great interest and much excitement prevailed.

The third President to wed in office, Woodrow Wilson formed what the most severe critics termed a thoroughly suitable match. Both he and his charming fiancêe, Mrs. Edith Bolling Galt, had been married before, both had passed through similar griefs, and life for each had been crowded with enriching experiences. They had so many tastes in common, were natives of the same state, admirably matched by birth, circumstances, and experience to form an ideal life partnership.

From the time their betrothal was announced until the date of the wedding was officially named, two months later, all Washington kept a ceaseless vigil on the comings and goings of these two, and watched with approving but suspicious eyes all of their rides, drives, and walks, their games of golf, their theatre attendance and appearance at public functions, lest at some opportune moment a marriage would occur without previous announcement. When, finally, the date was set and made public, speculation ran rife as to the ceremony and its interesting details.

But President Wilson and Mrs. Galt followed solely their own personal predilections for a simple ceremony, and in making all of their arrangements acted as plain citizens. They were married in the presence of their respective families in the home of the bride just off Dupont Circle, December 18, 1915. Nothing of pomp or ostentation occurred. All of the trappings of state, the brilliant uniforms of the naval and military aides, the jewelled decorations and glittering lace of the foreign diplomats were missing. Not even the dignitaries of the Supreme Court and the President’s Cabinet were included in the small group witnessing the ceremony that was to place the social crown of leadership upon the brow of another bride.

Promptly at eight-thirty the President ascended the flower-decked stairway and escorted Mrs. Galt to the improvised altar. The Rev. Herbert Scott Smith, rector of St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, of which the bride was a member, and the Rev. James H. Taylor, pastor of the Presbyterian Church, where the President and his family attended, awaited them. The choicest and loveliest of blossoms added beauty to the setting of the ceremony. The white satin prie dieu, which had figured in several of the White House weddings, on which the bridal couple knelt to receive the final blessing, was decorated at either end with clusters of delicate orchids, the bride’s favourite flower.

The marriage service occupied about twenty minutes, and, shortly after ten o’clock, the President and Mrs. Wilson entered a waiting White House limousine and were rapidly driven to Alexandria to take the train to Hot Springs, Va.

The wedding supper, being virtually a family party, was a merry one. The bride cut her wedding cake with the same cake knife used by her mother at her own wedding. The cake was not supplied with the usual fortune-telling knick-knacks but was instead a rich fruit cake, made in several tiers, elaborately iced and decorated with frosted flowers. The top held a cluster of pink orchids. No boxes were distributed, but several of the guests were provided with pieces to “dream on.”

Mrs. Wilson was the widow of Norman Galt of Washington, D. C., a member of a well-known firm of jewellers in the national capital. She had resided in Washington twenty years before her marriage to President Wilson, during which time she had been known for her interest in charitable and church affairs. She is the daughter of the late Judge William H. Bolling of Virginia, and Mrs. Bolling, and claims descent from John Rolfe, famous as the husband of Pocahontas.

Because of international complications, the plans for an extended wedding trip were abandoned at the last moment, and only a brief trip arranged within easy reach of the Capital.

The sympathetic interest in the White House romance expressed itself in gifts of all kinds and descriptions, coming from all sources and from all classes of people. Finally, the numbers of presents reached such proportions that the effort which had been made to catalogue, classify, and acknowledge them had to be abandoned by Mrs. Wilson’s secretary and be delegated to the White House office staff.

Because of the desire of the President to keep all of the details of his marriage as simple and informal as possible, the names of most of the donors of the gifts were withheld from the public. A few, however, were known.

The joint gift of the Virginia delegation in Congress was a silver loving cup in the form of a beaker with massive silver handles. It stands two feet high on a pedestal of ebony, and is appropriately inscribed. Citizens of Wytheville, the birthplace of Mrs. Galt, sent handsomely framed miniatures of the bride’s father and mother, Judge and Mrs. Bolling, painted by Miss Ellen Douglass Stuart, a niece of the late Gen. J. E. B. Stuart and a talented artist.

Among the most unique of Mrs. Wilson’s gifts were a wonderful scarf sent by the former Queen of Hawaii; the statuette of Pocahontas, the gift of the Pocahontas Memorial Association; the queer old painting of Pocahontas sent from Scotland in recognition of Mrs. Wilson’s descent from the Indian maid; the gift of the splendid collection of furs from the Blackfeet Indians of the National Glacier Park reservation, consisting of the selected skins of forty-eight animals native to the western part of the United States; a bracelet of Brazilian gems and an ornament of rare tropical feathers presented by Dr. A. J. de O’lvera Botelho of Brazil, the first of the delegates to arrive in Washington from the Pan-American Scientific Congress; and a basket woven from Georgia pine needles and filled with the biggest Georgia pecans the Confederate veteran giver could find.

The Wilson honeymoon and all of its details were of such interest that papers published estimated summaries of the expense involved as follows:

COST OF WILSON HONEYMOON

Upon returning to Washington, President Wilson took hold of his problems with new vigour. Mrs. Wilson, a Virginian of distinguished lineage, proceeded to brighten up the White House and carry on its traditions of hospitality so charmingly inaugurated by Ellen Axson Wilson, whom she had never known, since she did not become acquainted with the President until a number of months after his wife’s death.

When the President’s friendship with Mrs. Galt was noted and their betrothal predicted, rumours were circulated that the political leaders of his party were filled with anxiety lest the wedding prior to the election result in his defeat. Their idea was that the influence of the women of the land would be directed against him if he were to remarry so soon after Mrs. Wilson’s death. While little conferences were held and it was agreed that the matter should be presented to the President, no one would undertake the mission.

In the last year of the first term, when criticism of his personal life and executive performances was at high tide, just prior to election, Professor Stockton Axson, brother of the President’s first wife, one who had long been a member of the Wilson household in Middletown and Princeton, was moved to write some of his reminiscences of the Wilson home and family life, through his own desire to present to the public a side of the President’s character little known.

This article appeared in a New York paper in October, 1916. In his story, Professor Axson painted a picture of two Southern families—neighbours. The fathers, Presbyterian clergymen, were close friends in perfect accord on the tenets of Calvinism and the causes and effects of the Civil War; their children typical of a friendship so strong that each set regarded the adults of the other family as relatives, calling them Aunt and Uncle through life. Each family adopted as its own, for special regard, the relatives and in-laws of the other, and they shared joys, sorrows, and successes. This was the environment in which Woodrow Wilson, then called “Tommy,” grew up. It has been said that, when Ellen Axson was a wee infant a few days old, little Tommy Wilson paid her his first call.

Of the romance of these two, Professor Axson wrote:

Professor Axson spoke of his sister and her husband as being “more truly one than any two people” he had ever seen. He said they literally married each other’s family, never seeming to feel any difference between those of their blood and those related by marriage. Two brothers and a sister of Mrs. Wilson were also members of the Wilson family circle for long periods. He paints Woodrow Wilson as boyish, tender, generous, considerate, whimsical, and fun loving, and cites an instance of the depth of the family affection.

A favourite uncle of Mrs. Wilson was a visitor. From long custom, upon retiring he put his boots outside his bedroom door to be blacked. The young professor saw them. The Wilson household maintained no valet and the Bridget of the kitchen did not include boot blacking in her schedule of duties. Mr. Wilson concluded that Uncle Tom expected to have his boots blacked for him, and as there was no one else to do it, it fell to his lot to do them, and he did, telling the joke on himself.

This couple took colour from each other, each reflecting the other’s moods and tastes in books, pictures, music, and architecture. In the Wilson household, love ruled supreme. The husband and father, an incorrigible tease and fun-maker, could never be outdone in story-telling. One could never tell him a new story. His fund of anecdotes was inexhaustible, and in his clever telling of them he caught the spirit and personality of the principals.

Professor Axson said that, when Mrs. Wilson died, the President was the loneliest, most desolate man in the world. It was not long before his family and close friends began to hope he would remarry, and when he did, his first wife’s people joined his own in their affectionate welcome to the new First Lady. He claims they loved her for herself and for what she did for Woodrow Wilson in giving him new life, companionship, and the love he had to have to enable him to go on.

While President Wilson was nominated in the Democratic Convention without opposition, the election was a close and exciting contest. Charles Evans Hughes of New York, the Republican nominee, was reported elected and all of the country went to bed, election night, President Wilson included, with the idea that Hughes was to be the next President. Admiral Cary T. Grayson, the President’s physician, is authority for the statement that, while the Wilson family and friends were distressed and depressed over the returns that spelled defeat upon election night, President Wilson was in the best of spirits. He sensed a lifting of the yoke and was full of elation. Finally, the Admiral, believing defeat certain, attempted consolation predicting that, in another four years, the American people would call him back to the Presidency.

With the twinkle that always prefaced a story, he replied: “No, Grayson, I am like the Confederate soldier who returned to his home after Lee’s surrender. He looked at his wrecked farm, where the buildings had been burned, the stock run off or killed, and the fences torn down. He looked at his bare bleeding feet and at his one remaining arm in a sling and remarked: ‘I am glad I fought; I’m proud of the part I played; I have no regrets; but—I’ll be damned if I ever love another country.’”

For three days, the election decision hung in the balance, and then belated returns gave the majority to President Wilson.

His first administration had witnessed many events fraught with import to the nation’s history. He had been confronted with stupendous problems. The Panama Canal had been opened for traffic in August, 1915. The Mexican situation had grown more acute after the deposition of Madero and his death. In 1916, sixty thousand men of the United States National Guard and regulars had been stationed along the border. The Seventeenth Amendment to the Constitution had been ratified, thus providing for the direct election of United States Senators. The Federal Trade commission had been established, and the Clayton Anti-Trust measure enacted.

For days the Suffragists had picketed the White House with their unfurled banners silently pleading their cause in their efforts to win presidential support. On this amendment the President had steadfastly refused to commit himself, although besieged publicly and privately. At one reception soon after his marriage, a prominent suffrage leader went through the line with her set suffrage appeal all ready to recite to the President when she should be presented. Instead, when she reached him and his wife, she gazed at Mrs. Wilson a minute and exclaimed enthusiastically: “Oh! Mrs. Wilson, you are so much more beautiful than your pictures!” The speech was forgotten in the beaming smile she received from the President, who fully appreciated her statement and, turning to his wife, said triumphantly, “I told you so.” She always claimed that, in the end, the compliment was more effective than the speech would have been, although the next suffrage leader in line was able to say her bit without interruption.

In February, 1916, Lindley M. Garrison, resigned his post as Secretary of War because of his dissatisfaction over the President’s attitude toward defense legislation.

As Inauguration time approached, the issues of the campaign were still sending their echoes throughout the country. The upheaval of Europe was being felt in America.

Students of the World War and its progress cannot fail to be impressed with the extremely difficult position of the United States as the principal neutral power. From the moment the Austrian tragedy unloosed the tempest, in the summer of 1914, embroiling all of Europe, down to the time of the destruction of the Lusitania, the volume of American sentiment had been swinging steadily, though more or less unconsciously, toward a demand that the horrors of the European type of warfare be terminated. Our own participation to force this end was a possibility that was pushed into the remote background of dreaded, unadmitted probabilities, despite the fact that the loudest clamour for continued neutrality found its expression in the campaign slogan of approval of Wilson’s policy, “He kept us out of war,” and brought him his reëlection.

How closely the two great tides of public opinion were paralleling each other was proved by the closeness of the election in which preparedness and anti-preparedness were paramount campaign issues. Neutrality won the election, but it took only the announcement of the German policy of unrestricted submarine warfare in January, 1917, to clarify the public vision of its cobwebs of reluctance and fear and bring the reëlected President, just a month prior to his inauguration, to sound the first war tocsin for America in his curt note to Germany and his appeal to Congress to sever all relation with her.

So swiftly had the succession of events swung the United States into the great struggle that the public accepted, with dignity and characteristic patriotism, President Wilson’s statements—“Neutrality is no longer feasible or desirable where the peace of the world is involved and the freedom of its peoples,” and “The world must be made safe for Democracy.”

CHAPTER XVI

SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF
WOODROW WILSON

March 4, 1917, to March 4, 1921

ON SUNDAY, March 4th, Woodrow Wilson went to the Capitol, and in the President’s room, in the presence of a small group of officials, took again the oath of office, reconsecrating himself to its obligation. The Bible he used was the one on which he had been sworn in as Governor of New Jersey and as President of the United States at his first inauguration.

On Monday, the public ceremony occurred on the East Portico, as was customary, there being but little deviation from previous programmes. Mrs. Wilson established a precedent by riding to the Capitol with her husband, the first time this had ever been done. Mrs. Marshall followed her example.

The parade was remarkable for the many innovations that were introduced. The first radical departure from the beaten path was that regular army soldiers served as the presidential escort. By the expressed wish of President Wilson, Troops B, C, and D of the 2d Cavalry, stationed at Fort Myer, comprised his escort. This regiment had been closely identified with the growth and glory of our nation. Hitherto, militia from the states of the incoming Executive and his running mate had been given the honour.

Catching the spirit of the people as he went toward the Capitol, President Wilson decided to smash another precedent, and when it came time for him to give his address, he requested the withdrawal of the military immediately in front of the stand so that the public might occupy that space and hear his address. There were more than fifty thousand people massed on the plaza trying to catch his words.

The ride from the Capitol to the White House was made quickly, so that the family luncheon party should see the review. Special arrangements for comfort had been made, the stand having been enclosed in glass, carpeted with a Persian rug, and fitted with large easy chairs.

Just opposite, in the Court of Honour, seventy-five men dressed in uniforms of officers of the Continental Army were stationed as honour guard to the President.

Most significant and novel in the parade was the woman’s section, made up of several thousand women of all sects, beliefs, political persuasions, crafts, trades, and professions. For the first time, a woman had been permitted to serve on the Inaugural Committee, and it was the boast of Mrs. James H. Boggs, the chairman of this section, that all women were welcome, politics and partizanship being submerged in the patriotic efforts to demonstrate what women could do. Her escort, to correspond to that of Colonel R. N. Harper, inaugural chairman, was an equestrian squadron. It was made up of Virginia horsewomen, about three hundred of them, gay and festive in their brilliant red velvet riding jackets, black velvet skirts, and smart black silk beavers. Prominent, also, was the Pennsylvania Women’s Woodrow Wilson League, and the khaki-clad Girl Scouts, of whom there were several hundred. Their sturdy little colour bearers struggled valiantly with their banners against the stiff wind.

A large number of student organizations marched in the parade. With war crashing over Europe, and the United States facing participation, it seemed as though the committee made extra efforts to demonstrate to the assembled units the amount of man power this country was ready to put behind its President.

For the first time in the history of the country, a distinctive part was played in the inauguration by the government departments. By joint resolution of both Houses of Congress, the executive department and various branches of the government in Washington were authorized to give for two weeks an exhibit of their activities and methods of transacting business. The entire project was called “Uncle Sam at Work,” and was arranged and managed by the various chiefs of bureaus, assisted by the Federation of Citizen’s Associations of Washington.

President Wilson had asked his Cabinet to remain with him in the new term. The note to Germany, conflicting with Secretary Bryan’s pacifist views, brought his resignation as Secretary of State. The appointment of Robert Lansing to the post thus left vacant was universally satisfactory. Newton D. Baker succeeded Lindley M. Garrison in the difficult and vitally responsible position as Secretary of War.

In little more than a month after Wilson’s second term opened, all pretence of peace for the United States was thrown aside. The President, following the action of Congress, proclaimed war with Germany on April 7, 1917.

With this act, the Capital City’s aspect changed. Mrs. Wilson closed the White House to visitors and locked the gates to tourists and all except those with definite appointments. To save and produce, she borrowed a flock of twenty blooded sheep from Bel Air farm in Maryland and turned them loose upon the White House lawns to keep the grass in order, in place of a labourer, and, incidentally, to grow a profitable crop of wool. So well did these sheep follow the aim of their distinguished shepherdess that, when the first shearing time came, ninety pounds of wool were cut and two pounds sent to each state to be sold for Red Cross work. More than fifty-two thousand dollars was made. The bidding ran high in some places where there was keen desire to possess White House wool. The next shearing, which proved almost as profitable, was turned over to the Salvation Army for its fund raising.

Mrs. Wilson had no desire for publicity or for doing spectacular things either to promote the popularity of her husband or herself, but she used every personal effort to promote and inspire many of the different phases of war work that the participation of the United States demanded. Every woman of the Cabinet followed her lead.

Mrs. Marshall was a host in herself. The home life of the Marshalls had become traditional for the devotion between the genial, humorous Vice President and his wife. In all of the twenty-odd years of their married life, they had not allowed themselves to be separated overnight. Mrs. Marshall had always kept a bag packed ready to depart upon a moment’s notice for any trip the one-time Hoosier governor might elect to take. She campaigned with and for him, and her understanding and support aided him not only in his election, but also in his filling the very difficult rôle through eight years as understudy to President Wilson.

Mrs. Marshall infused a delightful spirit in the group of Senatorial wives over which she presided. Their weekly luncheons became informal clearing houses for all of their individual problems, and developed into an institution of force and achievement. Their work in volume and quality during the war was an example to the women of the land, when “Do your bit” had become a household slogan.

None of the ladies of the Cabinet gave more royally of her time and energies than Mrs. Robert Lansing, wife of the Secretary of State. She had been known, trusted, and loved since her girlhood in the Foster home when her father was a Cabinet Minister. Her chairmanship of a measure insured its success. She was head and shoulders in the Red Cross, the Y. W. C. A., and every other organized relief measure where her personal interest and backing might count. No snarl of red tape or personal friction in any of the great projects was too complicated for her diplomatic wisdom to adjust.

Mrs. Herbert Hoover gave her time and strength to one of the great weak spots—the care of the government workers—the planning for accommodations for housing and feeding in a city that tripled its population almost overnight without the facilities or the expert knowledge of expanding to meet the growing demand. From her experiences with her husband during the Boxer uprising, where he obtained his first fame as a food administrator, and during his work on the Belgian and other relief councils upon which she had served with him, Mrs. Hoover had learned skilfully to combat hardships imposed by war. With practical common sense she set to work to convert available empty houses, when such could be obtained, into dormitories with the simplest of necessities and a few of the comforts of home, for the thousands of young women who flocked to Washington to enlist in clerical service. As men were released for war service, women had to take their places. Mrs. Hoover began in her husband’s Food Conservation Bureau and gradually found herself in demand for a problem of army proportions.

Mrs. Josephus Daniels, wife of the Secretary of the Navy, sister of Worth Bagley, of Spanish War fame, was the good angel for the men of the navy, while Mrs. Newton D. Baker, wife of the Secretary of War, was tireless in her promotion of the welfare and comfort of the soldiers. Recreation seemed to be the big necessity. Mrs. Baker sang as often as her strength would allow, and gave her executive powers to promoting the organization of community service.

Mrs. William Gibbs McAdoo worked in the interest of Liberty Loans. She and Mrs. Longworth were conspicuous in this type of activity. Later, when the terrible scourge of influenza hit the Capital and war workers died like flies, Mrs. McAdoo, wife of the Secretary of the Treasury, came to the rescue with a diet kitchen to supply all of the invalids connected with the Treasury Department with broth and nourishment. This work was enlarged and continued through the utilization of trained Girl Scouts until the last of the dependent convalescents no longer needed it.

Mrs. Albert Sidney Burleson found a stupendous task in looking after the many employees of the Postmaster General’s department, and the same was true of the wife of Attorney General Gregory.

This record does not begin to sum up the contribution these women and all other women workers made to the war cause, but is given as an illustration of the serious attitude toward the war taken by the First Lady of the Land and her official family.

Mrs. Wilson, from the day of her marriage, submerged her life in that of her husband and spent herself upon her end of the presidential job. In the first days of their life together, they were given to horseback riding. Democrat and Murat carried them through the highways and byways of the District. As the weight of war bore down upon the President with its crushing cruelty, however, the task of keeping him physically and mentally fit required all her energies.

She it was who had to buoy him up, infuse the brightening bit of humour, and shore up with her courage a frame all unconsciously beginning to sag. No longer was the mercurial temperament of college-professor days able to rebound at the whip lash of his Irish wit. The elasticity of the mental processes of the Governor of New Jersey, which had fitted a limerick-making contest with his daughters in between matters of state and political campaigning, still manifested its amazing control in his methodical grasp of public matters, but the capacity to shut the doors of his mind on grave problems and turn instantly to humorous relaxation was gone. President Wilson’s power of concentration which enabled him to dispose of question after question with such amazing celerity was the wonder of his Cabinet. Accuracy and precision of method he required of those about him. His own mind grasped the essentials and presented conclusions with a rapidity that amounted to genius, enabling him to observe the schedules he set for his official appointments in the forenoons. Delegations and commissions from abroad seeking financial help all had to be received and entertained. France, England, Italy, Russia, Belgium, Japan, and Serbia sent over their premiers and great statesmen. The White House extended its welcome to Mr. Balfour, Marshal Joffre, M. Viviani, Prince Udine, Signor Guglielmo Marconi, Viscount Ishii of Japan, and M. Vesnitch of Serbia, during the period between late May of 1917 and January of 1918.

Mrs. Wilson was importuned to join all of the war projects. She always held her interest and membership on the board of a local hospital, and never let her interest in church work lapse. But she had her war mission cut out for her and let nothing infringe upon it. She worked with her hands, knitting, sewing, and writing personal letters to the mothers of soldiers who wrote to her. But first, last, and always, her main job was a watchful care of the President, who was being ground to bits on the wheel of public criticism and opposition and the feeling of his own responsibility to his government.

Chiefly a “home body” in the old-fashioned sense, Mrs. Wilson had never visited the White House during her long residence in Washington until she one time accepted an invitation to tea from Miss Helen W. Bones, the President’s cousin. But when the mansion became her home, she took the most abiding interest in its care. Her taste was everywhere in evidence. But not an unnecessary dollar was allowed to be spent for it after war was declared. The wall coverings became discoloured before the President would consent to new ones, and then the former design was duplicated. The rugs, shabby and worn, were made to answer. Because of expense, only state apartments received any refurbishing.

Although Mrs. Wilson eliminated the regular social activities of normal times, she received daily the distinguished people war brought to Washington. Usually, she merely served tea, charmingly and informally. Often-times, however, as in the case of the visit of Prince Axel of Denmark, a more formal entertainment was required.

In between her war work and golf for the President’s benefit, she turned to selecting and fitting up a billiard room at one end of the ground-floor corridor. Here she beguiled her husband into many hours of relaxation. A large fireplace and some of the President’s favourite possessions made it an attractive spot. She also set aside and fitted a room to hold the historic White House china, which Mrs. Roosevelt had started collecting. Little cabinets were built in the walls in keeping with the architecture of the house. As new china was needed for use in the White House, Mrs. Wilson inveigled the President into helping her plan the new service of 1,700 pieces to be ordered. His suggestion that the seal of the President be embodied in the design instead of the coat of arms of the United States was the basis of the decoration of the ivory and white service known as the Woodrow Wilson design.

The volcano of war was shaking the entire world. America was pouring her measure of manhood and money into the great chasm abroad. The proclamation of war with Austria was followed by conflicts such as the world had never before visioned. Then the armistice was signed. Joy beyond description broke forth over the whole United States.

The President felt he must go to Paris. He had his plan for peace and resolved that he and he alone must win its acceptance in Europe. Despite the uproar of protest, despite every argument and appeal of Congress and his Cabinet, he dashed another time-honoured precedent into smithereens, and left the United States in December, 1918, arriving in Paris December 15th. He remained away two months.

Mrs. Wilson’s memories must be as rich and colourful as the lovely wine-tinted velvets and the purple-shaded brocades and crêpes that she wore on her trips with her husband while he addressed statesmen and received the loud acclaim of the masses. The King and Queen of Belgium paid them every honour, as did all of the other crowned heads, princes, and presidents wherever their journeys took them in their tour of the war-devastated nations. Showers of violets were tossed into their carriage, and every demonstration made to express the unparalleled love and esteem in which the President of the United States was held.

Then he settled himself at the conference table to expound the philosophy and reason in his plan with its fourteen points. While he was honoured by the rulers of Europe, admired for his knowledge, and enjoyed for his wit, his training as an American scholar could not encompass the sophistry and diplomacy of the veteran officials of Europe. Schooled in the wiles of intrigue, with its admissions and evasions, they kept their ears to the ground for the murmur of the American public and fixed a weather eye upon the American Congress at Washington.

In February, the President and Mrs. Wilson, laden with rare and costly gifts and tributes of all descriptions, turned their faces homeward. They were given a tremendous reception in Boston. After taking up the threads of his work at home for a few weeks, the President became convinced that he must return to Europe. Leaving again in March, he gave his whole mind and body to getting the Allied Peace Treaty signed, which was done June 28, 1919. Then he turned to face his most difficult task—to have the Treaty ratified at home with the League of Nations covenant incorporated.

He returned to Washington in July, to be confronted by a bitter struggle with Congress. Determined to win the states by convincing the people at large, he started on his tour of the country on September 3d. Those who travelled with him recall his thoughtfulness of his party and the solace and pleasure he derived from his wife’s presence and her watchful charge of him. She could always coax a smile, and though he was weighted with cares and anxieties, his inherent wit and humour would respond to her effort to amuse him.

She lived in a dread that she had to keep concealed. She knew he was breaking, and when at Wichita the collapse came that cancelled the trip and removed him from the active political stage, it was no more than the culmination of the fear that had haunted her for months.

Throughout the President’s long illness and up to the moment when Warren G. Harding took office, Mrs. Wilson’s life at the White House was full. She was called upon to perform many services for her country far beyond the mere wifely duties of caring for a loved sick one. The iron of criticism burned into her soul when his helplessness, incurred in the line of duty as surely as the wound of any soldier on the field, was turned against him. With an outward stoicism, she busied herself with the job of keeping her husband alive and of getting him well enough to handle the reins of the government himself, before they were tugged out of his limp hand by governmental action.

Vice President Marshall was approached by men of both parties and pressed to assume the executive duties when it became known in a limited circle that the President had suffered two cerebral strokes and that his death was considered imminent. The Vice President steadily refused to act other than as a substitute in such formal matters as the reception and entertainment of distinguished visitors as in the case of the King and Queen of Belgium. Until the President resigned or some properly constituted tribunal declared the government without a head, he would not assent to any such plan.

Mrs. Wilson adapted herself to her husband’s moods. With the instinct of a loving woman she knew the struggle of this man, dominant, autocratic, and self-sufficient, baffled in his efforts to put his policies into execution. She staged every diversion that would tend toward relaxation.

When the trembling, scraggly signature to the state documents brought forth a fresh attack of criticism and a more determined effort to bring about the transfer of authority which Mrs. Wilson felt would be contrary to her husband’s wishes and the best interests of his following, she managed to secure a type of writing board which supported the weak hand in its work of inscribing the necessary “Woodrow Wilson” in the proper place.

The President’s pleasure in motion pictures resulted in Mrs. Wilson’s having a regular daily show for his benefit in the East Room during 1920 and 1921, until the morning of the 3d of March. Producers everywhere sent films. In all, more than 400 pictures were shown, many of them first productions. When he was able to go about in his wheeled chair, he liked to be taken over the house. The daily trip diverted him. On pleasant days he visited the sun parlour on the roof.

Following his collapse, for five months he lay a shattered wreck, and it was February, 1920, before he was able to make his first motor trip.

President Wilson decided to make his permanent home in Washington, and purchased a commodious dwelling on S Street, where he had as neighbours the family of Herbert Hoover.

As the term drew to a close, Mrs. Wilson personally supervised the moving of their belongings—those from her own house in which she was married, and the new things purchased—so that the President might find his home all settled when he was taken to it from the Capitol after Mr. Harding’s installation. Feeble, worn, white, and thin, his helpless hands and wavering feet were placed for him when he took his seat beside Warren Harding for the ride to the Capitol on March 4th. His appearance brought an ovation, and Mr. Harding’s care of him was a matter of wide comment. Ex-President Wilson did not remain for all of the ceremony, but returned to his home, which became a mecca for pilgrimages of his followers until his death.

Few of our Presidents have dipped more deeply into the well of experience in the short period of eight years than did Woodrow Wilson. His mental processes embraced every variety of emotion in the human category. Circumstance and ambition led a tortuous path through victory, defeat, sorrow, love, courtship, marriage, responsibility for plunging his nation into war, and an even greater one of pulling it out again and establishing it in the ways of peace and order. He knew the alternating triumph of being hailed the saviour of Europe and the god of peace, and of being hissed from people’s esteem; of being applauded as a prophet of a new order and denounced as an autocrat both in his own land and abroad. Hated and loved like Lincoln, he pursued the course he had mapped out, believing he had found the solution for lasting peace. Europe accepted his solution, but his own countrymen refused it.

One of the great war Presidents of our land, he made a place in history a rightful judgment of which is beyond the powers of his contemporaries. It must be left to future generations. But with whatever historians accredit him of honour or censure, they must record his courage and independence in setting aside precedents that hampered his way. When, as President, he left the country, contrary to all established precedent, he was regarded as the saviour of Europe; he wielded power and dictated terms beyond the scope of kings. Under his leadership, the United States abandoned its tradition of isolation and entered the vast mêlée with five million of her men and many billions of her money, and placed an army on a battleline across three thousand miles of sea.

DEMOCRACY AND ROYALTY

Left to right: Queen Elizabeth of Belgium, President Woodrow Wilson,
Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, and King Albert of Belgium

(click image to enlarge)

In the light of his struggle and the opposition that attended it, his last public utterance is of deep interest. He spoke from the porch of his S Street home on Armistice Day of 1923. It was estimated that nearly ten thousand people had assembled in the street to do him honour. He paid tribute to the men who had fought, expressed his pride and pleasure at having been the commander-in-chief at that time, and concluded with the following words, which were spoken after he had turned to reënter his door:

The ratification of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth amendments, the Suffrage and Prohibition measures, and the Federal Child Labor Law, important measures long pending, were enacted in this administration.

He died on February 3, 1924, and his tomb in the crypt of the great cathedral at St. Albans draws daily pilgrims.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ADMINISTRATION OF WARREN G.
HARDING

March 4, 1921, to August 2, 1923

INAUGURATION DAY dawned clear and bright for Warren G. Harding, twenty-ninth President. His installation into office was marked by its simplicity.

The Hardings went direct to the Willard Hotel upon their arrival in Washington. On the morning of March 4th, President-elect and Mrs. Harding, Vice President-elect and Mrs. Coolidge, and George B. Christian, Jr., with former Speaker Cannon, went to the White House. As the hour of the inaugural ceremonies drew near, President Wilson appeared leaning on the arm of Mr. Harding and took his seat in the machine that was to take him to the Capitol. Mrs. Wilson was accompanied by Dr. Grayson. She and Mrs. Harding rode together in a car following that of their husbands. Four troops of the Third Cavalry had been assigned to the duty as escort.

This inauguration was not in any respect like previous celebrations; not a strain of music was heard until the party had passed the Peace Monument. There the Harding and Coolidge Band of Washington was playing. The only other music was by the Marine Band on the plaza in front of the reviewing stand. President Wilson spent a few minutes signing belated bills and then decided to take his departure, as he was taxing his strength. He was assisted to his machine, and with Mrs. Wilson, Admiral Grayson, and Mr. Tumulty, he left the scene of so much of his activity to receive a great ovation later at his own home.

In the Senate Chamber, Vice President Marshall inducted Governor Coolidge into office. Miss Alice Robertson attracted much attention as the second woman to be elected to Congress. She was from Oklahoma, and succeeded Miss Rankin as the one woman legislator. The ceremony on the East Portico deviated but little from those of former occasions. Amplifiers were used for the first time to enable the people to hear the address. The oath was administered by Chief Justice White on a Bible of historic interest. It was the one used by George Washington in 1789. It had been borrowed from the Masonic Lodge for the purpose then, and was loaned by the same Lodge for Mr. Harding’s use.

After the address, the new President went back to the Senate chamber, made a brief speech to his former colleagues, and then presented the names of his Cabinet. They were at once confirmed. All precedents were eclipsed in the celerity with which government control was transferred from the Democrats to the Republicans and in the speed with which the new régime was organized and ready for functioning. The new Cabinet consisted of Charles E. Hughes, Secretary of State; John W. Weeks, Secretary of War; Harry M. Daugherty, Attorney General; Will H. Hays, Postmaster General; Edwin Denby, Secretary of the Navy; Albert B. Fall, Secretary of the Interior; Henry Cantwell Wallace, Secretary of Agriculture; Herbert Clark Hoover, Secretary of Commerce, and James J. Davis, Secretary of Labour.

President and Mrs. Harding enjoyed a family luncheon party on their arrival at the White House.

The absence of the usual parade and the review was a real disappointment to the crowds along the way.

When Mr. Harding had been approached by the Inaugural Committee on plans for the biggest celebration ever known and the most brilliant ball of history, he was at first inclined to approve, but pressure was brought upon him and he vetoed the entire plan, asking that the celebrations be made just as simple as consistent with the dignity of the position. Confronted with this ultimatum, decorations and seat building stopped, and those not interested in the Charity Ball of the evening promenaded the brilliantly lighted Avenue.

The first official act of the new President was to order the gates opened and the public admitted to the grounds which had been closed so long. This was done upon his return from the Capitol. The Wilson sheep had been sent back to their home at Bel Air, and dogs were installed, Laddie Boy winning popularity for himself from the time he appeared.

Mrs. Harding set to work at once to banish the gloom and silence of the large rooms. She filled every possible nook with flowers and threw wide the doors to invite the public again to see the interior of the mansion.

From the home on Wyoming Avenue, occupied while Mr. Harding was in the Senate, came all of the household goods, and soon the bareness and cheerlessness that followed upon the exodus of the Wilsons with all of their lovely foreign gifts disappeared. Mrs. Harding was a housekeeper of the most efficient type, and with her husband resumed the custom of holding daily receptions. She kept Miss Harlan as her secretary and was unusually approachable. She had bulbs planted all over the lawns where the Wilson sheep had roamed. She sent away to a factory for bird houses for the trees.

The advent of a new Mistress of the White House is always the signal for the limelight to be turned upon her by the world at large. No detail of her life, family history, characteristics, accomplishments, limitations, or appearance is overlooked, and trying beyond description is the ordeal of the first few weeks of every woman who finds herself elevated to this position.

The price of residence in the White House is the loss of personal liberty and of freedom of speech and action. For every waking minute of the twenty-four hours, the man and the woman who accept this high honour must ever keep before them the rules, restrictions, and customs which tradition has fastened upon the place. To independent folk, much of this is exceedingly irksome.

Mrs. Harding, close to her husband in age, for thirty years his companion, co-worker, partner, sweetheart, wife, and adviser, the one person who believed in him more completely than any other human being, and who inspired him to real achievement, was as distinct among women as her husband was among men.

As in the case of her husband, all the events of her life contributed to equipping her for the discharge of her White House obligations, and not even her most bitter critic will deny that she established a régime that will go down in history as a tribute to her as a citizen and as a charming, gracious hostess.

Mrs. Harding, born Florence Kling, the daughter of Amos and Louisa Bouton Kling, disappointed her wealthy father immeasurably by being born a girl. He bitterly resented that fact. Her mother’s health became so fragile during her little-girlhood that she and her father came to depend upon each other for outdoor companionship which the mother could not share. Being obsessed with disgust over the ignorance of the majority of women in business matters brought to his attention daily in his banking affairs, Mr. Kling decided to take a hand in his daughter’s education and add another study to a programme already filled with the useful and ornamental branches usually planned to fit out a girl. Among these was a study of music that was encouraged and developed to an almost professional degree, and the five hours of daily piano practice carried in its wake much besides the ability to interpret the old masters.

Banker Kling approved of all this and more, so he took his lively little daughter in hand and trained her as he would have trained a first son, in all the details of business and banking. Florence Kling was an apt pupil, and soon she was as familiar with her father’s routine and detail of work as he was. Naturally, the comradeship and understanding between them became very close.

All the joys and sports of her day, the frolics, parties, and good times belonging to girlhood, were also open to this girl, who had a knack of making and keeping her friends. Early in young-ladyhood she became the wife of Mr. De Wolff and the mother of a son. The marriage was not happy, and in the course of time a divorce terminated it. Both Mr. De Wolff and their son died.

As a child, this girl learned to ride horseback, becoming an expert horsewoman, being able to handle any horse she chose to ride. This accomplishment played a prominent part in her friendship with Editor Harding. Gossip declared that they met at a dance and that the mutual interest there created was speedily fanned into love. An ardent courtship followed, much of which was spent by the two riding horseback through the country lanes.

Mr. Kling viewed this budding romance with stern disfavour, for he had little use for the newspaper profession. As the affair progressed, his opposition increased, and he took a high hand in forbidding the marriage. Equally high-spirited, his daughter refused to give up her fiancé just because he was struggling with a one-horse newspaper. She chose her lover in preference to her father, and for seven years Mr. Kling refused to speak to either of them. Later, however, he came to admire his son-in-law and to admit that his daughter’s husband was all that he could desire. Because of the bitter feeling in her family, the young couple were married in the house which Mr. Harding bought and which they occupied as their home during all of their years of life in Marion, and in which the front-porch campaign for the Presidency was conducted.

From the beginning, their domestic life was ideal, that of comrades sharing every problem. In the privacy of their home circle, they were “the Duchess” and “Sonny,” and sometimes these nicknames slipped out more readily than the Florence and Warren. He was always deferential and solicitous to a degree that was a point of pleased observation to the throngs that met them. Mrs. Harding was a notable example of the modern woman whose pride in her husband personally as well as in his career was the outstanding motive of her own life and activities. Apart they were never content.

“I have no ambition for myself. I am content to trail along with Warren Harding. He has the warmest sympathy of any man I know,” she once said, adding, “Even the newsboys were crazy about him, just as crazy as his dogs were.”

In the strenuous pre-election days, Mrs. Harding’s faith in the successful outcome never faltered. She earned her place at his side, for she worked tirelessly night and day in all kinds of weather with all of the energy and more of the astuteness and patience than the average male campaigner. She made countless addresses, wrote reams of campaign literature, and organized numerous clubs of women voters. Furthermore, she kept a check upon every move, and her advice on political matters was the wonder of the old-timers in political wisdom. With it all, she kept out of the fierce limelight.

She stands out among our Presidents’ wives because she was the first woman voter and politician to come to the White House. A trained business woman, possessed of a keen analytical mind, with a gift of executive ability beyond the average, she was also a charming, tactful, gracious hostess. She knew every detail of her housekeeping, and at the White House as well as in her own home, she saw to it that money’s worth was being obtained for money spent.

For thirty years, this woman had studied the political life of her country as well as that of foreign nations. She knew her city, her county, her state, and her country. Great national issues were as familiar to her as to her husband, and the big questions of the day slipped into her conversation as readily as the polite small talk. Frank almost to abruptness, she looked a visitor squarely in the eye and gave him a man’s handshake along with a greeting that matched her friendly smile.

Both President and Mrs. Harding enjoyed their stay in the White House, and they were frank enough to admit it. She loved the historic associations of the mansion and said the thrill of showing people through it and pointing out its treasures never palled upon her.

True to her husband’s policy of economy, she declined to have any of the available money spent upon refurnishing the place to please her taste, as is the privilege of each new First Lady. Downstairs, she revelled in the daily arrival of the flowers, and every nook, corner, vase, or basket that was available had its use in brightening and enhancing the beauty of the main floor.

Scarcely a day passed but that both the Executive and his wife received a number of delegations, as well as hundreds of individuals. Neither of them took any of the applause and attention to themselves. Both insisted that it was but the homage due the highest office, regardless of the man and woman filling it for the time. Both made their endless stream of callers realize that they were human ordinary folk, genuinely glad to see the American people who came to see the head of the nation and admire the home which the nation had provided for him to use.

During his first year, President Harding gave orders to permit as many people as possible in the daily line to be received by him. Some days there were fully three thousand to file by and shake hands, and rarely less than four or five hundred. Some of his associates urged him to discontinue this custom or make it weekly, thinking it too much of a strain.

“Not on your life,” he answered, when the idea was broached to him; “the only big bright spot of my day is seeing those admiring and kindly faces. I love to meet them. They have nothing to ask. They are typical Americans, and it is merely their way of showing reverence for their President. Besides, it is a treat to meet someone at the White House who is not seeking executive favour.”

He often expressed the view that he belonged to the people and it was his duty to grant every wish in reason.

His wife shared his views in this respect, as in most others, and their social régime was planned to give the greatest pleasure and include at the big official functions as many people as the size of the house would safely admit.

Their first New Year’s reception was notable in that for the first time in many years a President’s wife went through the hand-shaking ordeal. Six thousand, five hundred and seventy-six people went through that line in five hours, and to each one the President and his wife gave a cordial greeting and a hearty hand-shake. True, Mrs. Harding’s right hand became so swollen that she had to use her left, and when the hour for the end of the reception came and people were still passing at the rate of about thirty to the minute, with a long shivering line outside, the President decided that every last person should be admitted, and for another hour these two kept up the pace without flagging. Mrs. Harding’s gloves became so discoloured that she changed several times in brief lulls. After that, she quickly developed a little efficient swing that made her right arm and shoulder stand the strain of the daily receptions as well as did her husband’s golf-trained muscles. The ability to perform the prodigious hand-shaking was due to her years of piano practice and the strength of wrists that horsemanship gave.

President and Mrs. Harding endeared themselves to the disabled soldiers, for neither of them ever wearied doing things for them, and none who witnessed the reception which they gave to the wounded men of the Great War will ever wonder why these boys were so devoted to them and mourned their passing so deeply.

They were idolized by the children, and with good reason. At Easter, Mrs. Harding reopened the grounds for the annual egg rolling that had been so long abandoned, and then she and the President called Laddie Boy and walked about, mingling with the youngsters, giving and getting a full measure of fun out of the day. Her love for children was very deep.

Upon another occasion, when five hundred school children gathered at the Lincoln Memorial to sing and leave flowers as their part of the Dedication services, a heavy storm prevented the arrival of speakers, and the children marched over to the White House to sing for the President. Mrs. Harding saw them and gave orders that they all be brought in, dripping and soaked as they were. After they had finished their songs and been thanked as a group, Mrs. Harding greeted each of them most warmly, and as they passed her they put their flowers at her feet. By the time the last wet little one had gone, she was waist deep in a bank of dripping flowers, and drenched to the skin. Her only comment in reply to the remarks about her lovely dress was terse: “What’s a gown amount to compared to a child’s disappointment?”

This is the reason why the soldiers and the children, as well as the general public, prayed for her recovery—some kneeling on the White House steps—and kept a steady stream of inquiry and flowers pouring into the mansion during her critical illness of September, 1922. In the acute stages, her husband kept vigil in a chair outside her door when the physicians would not allow him to remain longer at her bedside. To all letters of sympathy and inquiry about her condition, President Harding placed his signature upon the replies, and there were bushels upon bushels of them.

The first group of any size received by Mrs. Harding after her six months of illness and sickroom seclusion was that of about thirty women writers of the Capital City, most of whom represented large papers and magazines, while the rest were well-known free-lance writers. Next to the pleasure of again seeing Mrs. Harding, for whom each one had a feeling of warm friendship, all appreciated the little personal touch of being received in her own sitting room, the large oval apartment above the Blue Room—the room that was replete with historic associations of the first levees in the mansion under Mrs. John Adams, and that later was made the coziest spot in the building by Mrs. Fillmore and her library. Great, comfortable, chintz-covered chairs, davenports, mahogany bookcases, shaded lamps, and a fire crackling cheerily in the fireplace above which hung Laszlo’s sketch of Mrs. Harding herself, all made the place most homelike and attractive. This atmosphere was emphasized by the winter sunshine streaming through the three south windows that look toward the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the lovely Potomac. Major Baldinger and Lieutenant Taylor, both of whom she proudly introduced as “two of my boys from the Marion Star,” were there as military and naval aides.

Frail, dainty, and courageous, the White House mistress had come back from the Valley of the Shadow, and while now and then she had to think for a word, she was just as merry and full of energy as when she had last talked over the events of her first year in the White House. She told of her desperate struggle against death, solemnly stating that it was only the prayers of the people that had saved her life.

Mrs. Harding also spoke of the pleasure it had been to have her husband with her, and to a special friend she remarked:

“In one way this illness has been a blessing. We have had more time with each other than at any period since the beginning of the campaign. Before I had to go to bed there was not a minute of the day that either of us was free. There was never a meal when we were alone. I can tell you it was a treat to be able to take advantage of my condition and sit upstairs here in the evening and talk to my husband.”

Though a good mixer like her husband, whose friends were her friends, Mrs. Harding was not much of a “joiner.” She was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, by her descent from Captain Edmund Richards, of Connecticut; but had been identified with that organization for many years in Ohio and became honorary member of the Mary Washington Chapter of the District of Columbia. Wives of the Presidents are so hedged about with restrictions that they make as few new moves as necessary to avoid the criticism that is always ready to descend upon them.

Mrs. Harding once remarked that she had joined every Animal Rescue League in the land, for that seemed a perfectly safe thing to join. At the time of Mr. Harding’s election, she became an active member of the League of American Pen Women, holding that membership until her death.

When President Harding set out for Alaska, it was to realize a dream he had nurtured from the time he came to the Presidency. Yet there are many who believe that he had a premonition that he would not survive the trip, for he set his house in order, made his will, rearranged his investments, sold certain properties, and left his personal affairs in ship-shape condition. The trip, though interesting and enjoyable, proved a severe strain, although his sixty speeches in thirty-nine days was not an unusual number for Presidents on such long journeys across the continent. But his vitality had been weakened by a sick spell in the early summer. The deaths of the three men, all friends of his and members of his party, whose car plunged over the cliff in Colorado depressed him greatly. Mrs. Harding’s threatened collapse in Alaska, and the accident to the boat that brought them back to Seattle, all added to the weariness. At San Francisco, almost at once came his severe illness, and when the nation watched with anxiety the sickroom bulletins, the relief at the news of his improvement and the assurance of recovery was heartfelt.

No one believed that death was near, certainly not Mrs. Harding or the physicians. Always devoted, she sat at his bedside, happy that he was interested in being entertained. She was reading Sam Blythe’s summary of him and his administration, “A Calm Review of a Calm Man.” Apparently comfortable and free from pain, and enjoying the sound of her loved voice, appreciating, no one knows how deeply, the words of commendation of his efforts from a writer of authority, he murmured when she hesitated:

“That’s good; go on, read some more.” As she picked up the magazine again, he threw up his hand, perhaps to ward off the swift blow of the Grim Reaper he felt coming, and, with a sigh, he was gone—the valiant spirit had flown—the splendid, vigorous body lay limp—but an empty shell.

While Mrs. Harding rushed for help, she knew all too well that it was too late—her husband was dead.

A shocked and grief-stricken group of relatives, Cabinet members, officials, and friends quickly assembled and were rallied to the necessities of the hour by the heart-broken wife, who had never failed Warren Harding in life and would not let herself fail him in death. Upheld by the marvellous will power that had characterized her life, though prostrated by her sorrow, she reassured her pitying friends: “I will not fail—I will not break down.” No one can imagine how she went through the formalities and services in the hotel, calm and controlled; how she endured the long, weary, sorrowful journey to Washington in the car beside the bier of her husband, the return to the White House—there to stand by the casket in the East Room and then calmly and quietly to go through the solemn scenes at the Capitol, with the oversight in the evening that compelled her to ask the hospitality of a friend’s car to take her to the train—the journey to Marion, the scene of her childhood, her romance, her happy wifehood, business life, political triumphs, past the little home where she had been married, to the home of her aged father-in-law. Then she greeted the officials who had journeyed many hours and miles to pay final honours to Marion’s great man, and, still controlled and composed, she participated in the last rites that returned her husband to the dust whence he came.

Even greater courage was required to turn her face to Washington, once more to endure the fatigue of another journey, and to remove their belongings from the White House and make room for their successors. After ten days of heartbreaking residence in the great mansion, where she lived alone, she slipped out of the city in a dismal downpour at dusk with the saddest part of life yet before her. In all this time, never once did she utter a plea for herself. With super-courage she filled her rôle as she felt her husband would expect her to fill it. But the effort was too great.

Mrs. Harding lived but a year and a half after her husband’s death. She died November 21, 1924.

******

Warren Gamaliel Harding was born on a farm just outside the little town of Blooming Grove, Morrow County, Ohio, on November 2, 1865. He was the first child of eight, born to a country doctor, George Tryon Harding, and Phœbe Dickerson Harding. To his parents he was, of course, a prodigy; and his mother, deeply religious, supplied his middle name, Gamaliel—which in Hebrew means “God is a reward”—from the Bible, and in her heart settled upon his future in the ministry, in the Baptist faith.

Typically and wholly Colonial, the ancestors of President Harding were Puritans and Pilgrims who came to wrest freedom and livelihood from an unbroken wilderness and played their part through the generations as pioneers, soldiers, and patriots. Dr. George T. Harding, his father, was a Civil War Veteran.

Warren G. Harding’s boyhood was spent upon a forest-bordered farm, and, like most country boys, his time was filled with a routine of work and chores that never failed and seldom varied. He chopped down trees, split rails and firewood, dug post holes, built fences, planted and hoed corn and other crops, and tended stock and painted barns and farmhouses. One season, it is said, he left a crimson trail all through Morrow County in the barns he tinted a vermilion hue. This barn painting was done with extra zeal, as the money was to take him to college. In the strenuous days of his farming, chores, and general utility work, in the school of poverty that has turned out so many of our great men, who in such environment learned the industry and the mastery of detail along with the dignity of labour, that made them grasp opportunity with both hands and braced feet, Warren G. Harding laid the foundation for all later successes.

A little knowledge of the printer’s trade, learned during his college career as editor of the college paper, fired the boy with a desire for more, and soon he handled odd jobs at the town printing office, later becoming a practical pressman and a “make-up” man.

Seventeen found him the dignified teacher of the district school and an energetic member of the town band.

Photo. of Mrs. Harding (upper right corner) by Clinedinst Studio, Washington, D. C.

THE BODY OF WARREN G. HARDING

Lying in State in the East Room of The White House

In 1884, his father, Dr. Harding, pulled up stakes and moved his family and chattels into the little town of Marion, the county seat of the adjoining county, then of about four thousand population. But the eldest son did not join the family for several months. When he came, at the age of nineteen, barefoot and astride an old white mule, his advent into the city that he was destined to put upon the map in later years furnished the material for one of the stories he enjoyed telling upon himself.

“My father moved to Marion, from a farm near Caledonia, the winter before I came,” he used to relate.

“When he moved to Marion, he left behind a mule, because the mule was so well known in the vicinity that it could not be sold at a profit and so valuable that he could not afford to sacrifice it.

“I started out early one afternoon; but this mule had only one gait. You couldn’t put him in second or third, and couldn’t step on the gas or anything. The shades were falling fast as I reached Roberts’ Mill, four miles out of Marion. The situation was looking dark to me, and I stopped to ask an old fellow smoking a pipe how far it was to Marion. Without cracking a smile, he replied, ‘Well, if you are going to ride that mule, it is a further distance than you’ll ever get.’”

But notwithstanding the slow pace of his temperamental mule, he arrived in Marion and set about finding a job. The study of law attracted him for a time, with insurance on the side. He frequently insisted that the first real money he ever earned was when he secured the fire insurance on the Hotel Marion from Amos Kling, who later became his father-in-law. In this transaction, his commission was $150, and his first purchase was a “slip horn,” and then he joined the Marion Silver Cornet Band. This horn is still a treasured possession in the family.

The proudest memory of his life, Mr. Harding once admitted, was when he became the leader of that band. One of the great events of those days was the band contest at Findlay, Ohio, to which competitors came from great distances. Upon the occasion that the Marion Band was to compete, its enthusiastic young leader had managed by dint of great strain upon his resources to procure brand-new uniforms, so that his musical flock would make a fine appearance. He was banking on winning prize money for reimbursement. The rival bands all got ahead of the Marion contingent in getting before the judges, and their efforts were so well appreciated by their followings that the Marion bandsmen lost heart and quietly departed, not wanting to suffer the mortification of public defeat. Finally, when their turn came, only the leader, who blew an alto horn, the bass drummer, and the clarinet player were left to perform. But they did their best with their depleted ability, and their delight and surprise may be imagined when the judges called Harding forward and announced that he had won a prize of $200. This was more than enough to pay for the new uniforms, and no prouder group participated in the review of winners than that little trio.

Neither selling insurance nor the intricacies of law held the appeal of journalism, and young Harding decided to follow the press, securing a job on the Mirror, a Democratic paper. Being an ardent Republican and already a firm party man, he fell out with his employer over the stand the editor took in the James G. Blaine campaign for the Presidency. Being a Blaine supporter, the young man found himself without a job.

Just about this time, the run-down little sheet, the Marion Star, was scheduled to be sold by the sheriff. Dr. Harding bought it in at a bargain and turned it over to his boy, because of his faith in him and because he wanted to help him get a start in the line of work he seemed most anxious to follow. From the moment he took possession of the paper that owned only two hundred pounds of type, he put into it hard work, faith, and enthusiasm. Often he could not pay his helpers in the early days, and sometimes when he did pay them off on Saturday night he would have to borrow back a little to tide himself over the opening of the week. Sometimes he had to coax advances on bills from his advertisers to keep going. He filled every position, from printer’s devil to managing editor, but he was never known to lose his pleasure in being just one of the boys. Later, when the paper began to succeed financially, he saw to it that his employees got more pay, and still later he formed a stock company in which they all held shares.

His paper never had a strike; a strike was never even threatened.

No more illuminating view of his character was ever shown than is contained in a tribute he wrote to his dog long before any high honours came to him. The obituary published in the Marion Star about twenty years before he came to the Presidency is worthy of attention. It reads:

One romance, and only one, entered into the life of editor Harding, and his ardent courtship of Amos Kling’s cherished daughter brought down upon his head the enmity of her father. In 1891, when Mr. Harding was twenty-five, despite all opposition, they were married in the little house that they called home during their lives in Marion. His wife’s influence was the greatest factor in all of his achievements. Her contribution to his paper was of the greatest value.

Soon after their marriage, Mr. Harding became ill and the circulation manager quit. Mrs. Harding had always contended that this end of the business was not properly productive. There was no delivery. Papers were sold over the counter in the business office. So in this crisis she decided to take a hand in matters for a few days to help out. She gathered some boys for carriers, installed a carrier system, started them out, and made them collect regularly. The people who did not pay for their papers received no further service until they did pay. Later, she organized the carriers into a newsboys’ club, got them a meeting place, and helped them in every possible way, even now and then administering a much-needed spanking, a scrubbing, or a patch, in the interest of their moral and physical welfare. She went to the job for a few days, but stayed fourteen years and saw her plans develop the circulation into profitable returns and many of the little carriers into splendid men.

One of these, a little red-headed youngster, claimed the particular interest of the editor and his wife, and when Mr. Harding went to Columbus to the state Senate they took him along, and soon he was serving as a page and receiving five dollars a day during the session. His father was dead, and his mother earning her own way. He sent her his wages, and she saved them for him, and later on, when he was a little older, she sent him to Staunton Military Academy because of his bent for military life. This red-headed carrier boy is Major Baldinger of the Air Service, who has had a wide experience of service and won distinction, and when President Harding came to the White House it happened that Major Baldinger was assigned there as military aide. He accompanied the President and his wife upon their journeys and was assigned to attend Mrs. Harding on her sad journeys to Marion; and after she no longer needed him, he again took up his duties at the White House.

As soon as the Marion Star got upon its financial feet, politics claimed its editor, and his steady rise in the political arena was but natural to a man of his prominence in his community. His profession as a writer, editor, printer, and business man identified with many of the projects that were developing in his state, all brought him into a continually widening circle of community and public interests. Always an active Republican, his service in the state Senate, to which he was elected in 1899 and reëlected in 1901, served to make him stand out as a coming man. His first political speech brought forth the prediction that he would some day be President, and political favour began to stalk his steps.

He was elected Lieutenant Governor of Ohio in 1904, with Governor Myron T. Herrick, but was defeated in his race for the Governorship by Judson Harmon in 1910.

Mr. Harding took all of his public duties seriously and never ceased his efforts to cope with all situations. He travelled extensively, going three times abroad, visiting most of the European countries, not wholly for the sake of the pleasure, but to study for himself the systems of government, of employment, of wages. After his election to the United States Senate, when he defeated Foraker, and before taking his seat, he visited the Hawaiian Islands to get first-hand knowledge of the production and distribution of sugar.

In the course of his public life, he spoke in almost every state in the Union and to groups representing practically every industry.

Always pleasing and forceful as a speaker, his appearance added materially to his popularity upon the rostrum. A deep carrying voice, impressive manner, and the knack of winning his hearers brought him always an appreciative audience.

His presentation of William Howard Taft’s name for renomination at the Chicago Convention of 1912, the most tumultuous convention in the annals of Republican history, his chairmanship of the Republican National Convention four years later, his notable speech, and his poise and parliamentary skill in presiding over that body are all matters of political history.

His campaign as presidential nominee of his party, and his election to the Presidency on his fifty-fifth birthday with a plurality of seven millions, were the expression of the confidence of the American people.

It was just about dinner time on election day that a delegation called at the Marion home to see Senator Harding. This proved to be a group of employees of the Marion Star who called to show their pride and satisfaction in him by presenting him with a printer’s gold make-up rule. He went out on the front porch to thank them and was choked with the emotion the gift aroused. When he got his voice in order, he said:

He had the distinction of being the first Senator elected to the Presidency while serving in that office and also the first active newspaper man to wear the presidential toga.

The outstanding feature of President Harding’s administration was the Conference on Limitation of Armaments which met on November 12, 1921. To it the President invited Great Britain, France, Italy, Holland, Belgium, Portugal, Japan, and China to send delegates. Secretary of State Hughes presided. Those who attended were Prince Tokugawa, Ambassador Jusserand, Albert Sarrault, M. Viviani, Premier Briand, Senators G. Pearce Underwood, Elihu Root, Lodge, and Schanzer, Lord Balfour, Ambassador Geddes, Sir Robert Borden, Sir John Salmond, and Srinivasa Castri.

The voice of American womanhood was heard when the President appointed four well-known women as members of America’s advisory council. These women represented ably the various schools of feminine thought of our land. They were Mrs. Thomas G. Winter, of Minneapolis, President of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs; Mrs. Charles Sumner Bird, of Boston, leader of the National League of Women Voters of Massachusetts; Mrs. Kathrine Phillips Edson, of Los Angeles, author of many welfare projects for women, and an active suffragist; and Mrs. Eleanor Franklin Egan, well-known writer and authority on the Far East.

The presence of the women added to the importance of the social functions arranged; not since the war had the city been as festive and the entertaining as general as during the session of the Conference.

Those close to President Harding, who knew how staunchly he believed in the men he picked for positions of honour and trust, believed his illness greatly aggravated by the disclosures of the Senate investigation of the oil scandal, which had already brought dishonour to one of his Cabinet and was threatening to involve others in high places.

CHAPTER XVIII

FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF CALVIN
COOLIDGE

August 3, 1923, to March 4, 1925

THE death of President Harding in San Francisco, coming so swiftly and unexpectedly on the evening of August 2, 1923, at 7:30, stunned all of his immediate party, none more so than his friend and secretary George Christian, who immediately flashed the news of the national calamity to Vice President Coolidge, vacationing in a little Vermont house, the home of his father, John C. Coolidge.

Just at midnight a messenger arrived and roused the elder Coolidge, and to this gray-haired father was given the duty of awakening his son to apprize him of the fact that fate had ordained him to assume the reins of government just fallen from the lifeless hands of his friend and chief.

By the time Vice President and Mrs. Coolidge had dressed and gotten downstairs, the newspaper men were arriving, and, shortly after, Mr. Coolidge’s secretary came. Within an hour, a telephone had been installed, the house adjoining secured for use, connection with the White House established to get the exact phraseology of the presidential oath of office, and a message of condolence sent to Mrs. Harding.

At 2:47 A. M., August 3d, the simplest inaugural in American history was enacted. In the dim lamplight, with scarce half a dozen witnesses, Calvin Coolidge was sworn in as President by his father, a notary public, taking the oath on the old, well-worn family Bible.

History was in the making by the minute in the eventful twenty-four hours that spanned August 2d and 3d. Without an instant’s warning the life record of Warren Harding had been marked “Finis,” and Calvin Coolidge, tossing hay and farming until bedtime in a smock made twenty years before by his grandmother, had scarce gotten well into his first sleep before he was summoned to pick up the mantle of his chief, step from a salary of twelve thousand to one of seventy-five thousand, move at once from a tiny lamplit farmhouse into the Executive Mansion, and from the paths of peace and serenity into a seething maelstrom of duties, to be buffeted between the rocks of the political torrent and the shoals of social quicksands.

The movements of President Coolidge in taking up his new prodigious burden were characteristic of the typical New England gentleman. Without haste and without displaying in the least degree the intense emotion that must have been surging through him, he made his brief inaugural address to be sent broadcast to a sorrowing, anxious nation:

In the early morning, an automobile rushed him and the new First Lady to Rutland, Vt., where they started their journey to Washington.

Calvin Coolidge, thirtieth President of the United States, born on Independence Day, 1872, on a farm near Plymouth, Vt., a sparsely settled mountain village twelve miles from a railroad, less than a month after his fifty-first birthday was filling the office of Chief Magistrate.

Upon reaching Washington, the President turned to the tasks already piling up, giving first thought to the funeral arrangements and honours for President Harding, and to the comfort and aid he might render to the bereft widow. The message from the new President and his wife, impressing upon her their desire that she should not tax herself with haste in leaving the White House, “It is yours as long as it is ours,” must have sent a warm glow of comfort to Mrs. Harding in her sorrowful vigil.

Four or five days after Mrs. Harding had left the mansion to visit with friends before starting for Marion with her belongings, President and Mrs. Coolidge took possession. Then President Coolidge’s great task began in earnest to jog itself down into the regular routine. His days were so strenuous that he was early forced to see the necessity of regular amusement and exercise. His relaxations, though encompassed with every possible facility, were just as modest and simple as in Northampton. They consisted chiefly of an early morning walk. When his fondness for that was discovered, several prominent officials also decided such exercise was good for them, and a small walking club came into existence, which bid fair to take the place of the tennis and golf Cabinets of past administrations. In this way, he freshened up for breakfast and the day. An afternoon horseback ride offered the freshening process for dinner. This sport, too, became quite popular after the President decided to make use of The General—the horse that Mr. Harding had used occasionally. Week-end trips on the presidential yacht Mayflower were frequently taken. Between these oases of rest, the government machine ground on its heavy treadmill.

President Coolidge made no snap decisions. He was the best-equipped man who ever stepped into the position, for he had not only taken his vice presidential duties seriously and informed himself extensively on matters pertaining to the Senate, but he had had the unusual advantage of attending the Cabinet meetings during President Harding’s régime.

While still at Marion, Senator Harding asked Governor Coolidge, as Vice President, to sit with the Cabinet. They discussed this signal departure from all precedent and agreed upon it. In referring to it, President Harding said:

A study of the men who have been called to the Presidency makes President Coolidge stand out from them all. For he is a new kind of public man. He is called “Silent Cal,” the inscrutable; he is an unguessable quantity, the shrewdest politician the White House has ever known, though on the surface he lacks all set and prescribed qualities of the successful man of politics.

He is spare in figure, auburn-haired, gray-eyed with rather thin lips and nose, in vigorous health and possessed of a dignity and reserve that have already become a national tradition.

He is a typical New Englander all of whose physical features proclaim his Pilgrim ancestry. The climate and conditions under which the early settlers of his section of the country and their descendants have battled to wrest from the rocky soil of coast line and mountain valleys the means of a livelihood, have moulded physiques and mentalities to meet force with wit and batter down obstacles with the power of brain as much as by brawn.

He is the son of the late John C. Coolidge and Victoria J. Moor Coolidge, one of the descendants of John and Mary Coolidge, early Pilgrims that settled in Watertown, Mass., about 1630. His ancestry runs through a long line of farmers of Massachusetts until his great-great-grandfather moved into Vermont, and he and his descendants tilled the soil, raised stock, tapped the trees for maple sugar, and were known and respected as substantial citizens of their community.

His mother died when he was but thirteen, and before he reached manhood his only sister passed away; these bereavements evidently drew father and son closer together.

In college—he attended Amherst—he was not a brilliant student, and the course was half over before his mates were really acquainted with him.

An analysis of all of the jumble and hodge-podge of tales that pour forth to fasten upon any man who rises to high places in his case leave beneath the froth an interesting picture that offers worth-while reading for the American boy of to-day. It paints for us a shy country lad of extreme slenderness with a mop of reddish hair and a heavier crop of awkwardness emphasized by unusual reticence and shyness. Considered “countrified,” he kept out of the way of the sophisticated city freshman, being embarrassed to a painful degree if he did happen to draw attention. But all the while that he battled within himself, the impressions gathered daily; his reserve created the habit of clear sharp thinking that found expression in a paucity of words, direct, clean-cut, and tinged with a dry wit that made his hearers smile at the humour while they remembered the common sense. In his senior year, he won the first prize, a gold medal, for the best essay on the Principles of the War for American Independence. The competition was open to all undergraduates of American colleges. By this feat he won the esteem of his college and disclosed a comprehensive and significant knowledge of his own country.

From all accounts, during college life, he was different from many lads in that he attended strictly to the business for which he had come. In all of the stories told of this phase of his career, the mention of girls is conspicuous by its absence. If he had the usual run of college love affairs and romances, no one else knew about them, and they have not come to light. All the reminiscent tales breaking forth from his classmates of thirty years ago show a deep and abiding regard for “Cooley,” as they called him, even though they poked fun at his reticence and lack of loquacity.

This very introspection provided him with a reserve fund of assurance that developed the self-confidence and poise to come through the graduation with high honours, a prize winner and orator of the class.

Not being in a financial position to take a course in law school, he studied law in the office of Judge Hammond of Northampton, Mass., and in less than two years was admitted to the bar and began his law practice there.

Almost immediately, the young lawyer got into civic and political activities. He soon was president of the Nantucket Bank, and, in 1899, was elected to the City Council of Northampton, and the next year was chosen city solicitor. He became clerk of the county court in 1904. In 1905, his romance with Miss Grace A. Goodhue, of Burlington, Vt., culminated in their marriage.

Gossip has put forth various versions of the romance of President Coolidge and his wife. One of the stories given much repetition tells that, when Mr. Coolidge called upon one occasion, he found Miss Grace away from home. As her return was expected momentarily, he decided to wait. In the course of his conversation with her father the young man announced that he dropped in to say that he had concluded that Grace and he were going to be married. When her father inquired what Grace thought about it, Mr. Coolidge is reported to have replied that he “had not spoken to her about it yet.”

Mr. Coolidge was twice mayor of Northampton, and in 1907 was a member of the Massachusetts Legislature, going to the State Senate in 1912 and serving until 1915, including two terms as president of that body. The lieutenant governorship of the state came to him in 1916, and in 1918 he found himself elected Governor.

When he called the Massachusetts Senate to order in 1914, he made the shortest speech of acceptance on record in the annals of that body. It contained forty-two words and received state-wide attention and stamped him as timber for further political service. This speech has been regarded as a classic in Massachusetts statecraft, for it embodies the Coolidge Creed—“Do the Day’s Work” and “Be Brief.”

In 1917, he was elected to the governorship by a majority of seventeen thousand, but after the great Boston police strike, which gave him national recognition, and out of which grew the slogan, “law and order,” he was reëlected in 1919 by more than one hundred and twenty-five thousand majority, the largest vote ever given a candidate for that office in that state.

The gist of his platform in his gubernatorial race, in which he won such a sweeping victory, was as follows:

People who insist that the President is cold, taciturn, devoid of feeling and sentiment, have never seen him take from his pocket a slim little silver case, which he always carries, and open it to gaze upon the face of the mother who left him years ago.

The President and his wife are both of the Congregational faith and regular attendants of the First Church in Washington.

Mrs. Coolidge, from the first moment she appeared in Washington as wife of the Vice President, made friends, and her popularity has never ceased increasing. She is so youthful looking that it is hard to credit her with being the mother of the tall son, John, to whom she now has to look up, for he is rapidly topping his father in height.

No factor has contributed so largely to her continually mounting host of friends and admirers in the Capital City and the country at large as her modesty and simplicity, which have kept her natural and wholesome.

Mrs. Coolidge was born about a hundred miles from the home of her husband, and, like him, she comes of an old New England family. She is a native of Burlington, Vt., where her mother, Mrs. Lamira Goodhue, resides. Her father died after she came to Washington.

After a childhood and girlhood practically like that of the generality of girls born into good families of moderate means, she went to college at the University of Vermont. In her freshman year she became one of the founders of the Vermont Beta Chapter of the Pi Beta Phi Sorority, which, years after, presented a portrait of her to the White House. She took her A.B. degree, and after that followed the custom of New England girls in seeking a vocation. In her case, it was teaching, the less usual branch of teaching mutes. After three months’ training for teaching the deaf at the Clark School in Northampton, she was given a class of beginners. The difficulties of this work may be imagined when it is remembered that she had not only to teach her pupils to read, write, and cipher, but also to speak. One only need hear the vivacious lady tell of her class of youngsters set apart from others by reason of their defective senses to realize the enthusiasm she must have put into this work of helping them acquire the art of spoken communication.

Her teaching was limited to three years, for at the end of that time Mr. Coolidge persuaded her to give up a career and devote herself to making a home for him.

With the advent of her own children, Mrs. Coolidge made a thorough study of motherhood and child education. She always worked and played with her boys and thus became really acquainted with their virtues and their faults, and through this comradeship found herself able to encourage and help them best. She studied educational problems with minuteness, visiting all sorts of institutions of learning. She believes in a close personal relation between the parent, the school, and the child as a solution for many difficulties that beset both pupils and instructors.

Mrs. Coolidge is a home-maker, first, last, and always. Her conception of home-making is not bound by a perpetual routine of the mechanical phases of housekeeping, as so often has been claimed, and over which she has laughed merrily, but home-making, according to her code, means first of all providing the family with all comforts possible to the income and the luxury of genial, happy companionship: she served as a buffer, firm and gracious, for a weary Vice President husband from the importunities of the hotel telephone, and, despite the limitations of a hotel suite, manipulated a chafing dish, hot-plate, and all of the accessories for a daily popcorn feast, or a fudge party for vacationing boys pining for a bit of their home treats.

She believes that it is a woman’s first duty to provide her husband with all of the cheer and pleasure and creature comforts her surroundings will permit, and send him forth to his battle with the world, secure that at the end of a heavy day of toil he will find her waiting for him ready to share his troubles or pleasures.

All of the world looked on with approval at the simple, dignified, and wholly American good sense which controlled the movements of the Coolidge boys when their father became Vice President of the United States.

Mrs. Coolidge came to Washington with a half-formed plan for installing her family in a house and sending her boys to the public schools of the city. She had been there but a few hours, however, when she learned the futility of such an idea, for she found out, as Vice President and Mrs. Marshall had done when they came, that the vice-presidential salary would be inadequate to meet such a plan. It simply would not cover the rental of an appropriate house and the necessary upkeep, with the added burden of food and clothing. Mrs. Coolidge decided to follow the example of the Marshalls and do her official entertaining in a hotel. She further concluded to take over the hotel suite of her predecessor. As the duty of the Vice President, outside of presiding over the Senate, is to represent the President, who entertains, but is rarely entertained himself, Mrs. Coolidge rapidly became convinced that there would be but little time or opportunity for any family home life with her sons in Washington, and after they had seen their father inducted into office, she sent them home with their Grandfather Coolidge, with whom they had come to the city, and had them finish their school term at home.

Vice President Marshall called himself “the official diner out,” and the appropriateness of the term may be gathered from the fact that the Vice President and his wife are expected to attend all of the White House official dinners and receptions, all of the ten Cabinet dinners to the President, and also that of the Speaker of the House, all of which are fixed affairs. In addition, it is the duty of the Vice President and his wife to appear everywhere. Throughout the season, they are the guests of honour at dinners with such regularity that they have about one evening a month when they have the opportunity to remain at home.

Mrs. Coolidge was in constant demand for teas, luncheons, receptions, and, in fact, for every form of social gathering.

When the Coolidges found themselves in the White House, they considered it advisable to follow a schedule for their sons similar to that which had prevailed before. They selected Mercersburg, Pennsylvania Academy, with Amherst, their father’s alma mater, in the offing, as the educational programme for these lads. The boys made visits to the White House on holidays, and their mother managed to slip away occasionally to see them. In the summer, they went to their grandfather’s farm and to visit their Grandmother Goodhue at the Coolidge home in Northampton. John put in time at the Camp Devens Military Camp. Neither went to Washington when President Harding died.

In the summer of 1924, both boys went to the White House to visit their parents before leaving for vacation activities. Both of them had planned to go to Camp Devens first and then to their grandfather’s farm. While playing tennis, Calvin, Jr., got a blister on his heel, an injury so slight that he paid no attention to it until a fever developed a few days later. Examination by Dr. Boone, the White House physician, revealed the first symptoms of the blood poisoning which caused his death in Walter Reed Hospital within a week.

All of the nation grieved with the father and the mother; the hearts of all parents ached for them in the loss that nothing, not even time, can fill. They planned simple and beautiful ceremonies for their boy at Plymouth, where he was laid to rest with four generations of his forbears.

Following her great bereavement, Mrs. Coolidge spent many hours in the gardens south of the mansion knitting. Only mothers who have experienced a similar sorrow know of the heartaches and the poignant memories represented in the exquisite stitches of the silken socks, the dainty ties, and little bags, fashioned by her expert fingers, while John, all desire for the camp gone with the death of his loved younger brother, stayed around to help her get through the first lonely weeks. The pets, Paul Pry and Rob Roy, the handsome white collies; the cats (the roaming Tige would not stay home and had to be locked up to keep him from killing the birds, instead of devoting himself to his catly duty in the basement); the birds which Mrs. Coolidge has in her sitting room—all helped in a way to fill the round of duties that occupied her time.

Although carrying a heavy heart, the First Lady did not obtrude her personal sorrow into her official position. Instead of the sombre black which was more in keeping with her feelings, she resolutely kept to colours, but the vivid tones and bright tints worn previously were laid aside for the softer grays, orchid, and much white.

Mrs. Coolidge’s frankness and lack of pretense have endeared her to everyone, and many stories are related of her little kindly actions. As the Vice President’s wife, she frankly discussed the futility of trying to establish and maintain a suitable establishment equipped for entertaining on the inadequate vice-presidential salary. She frankly admitted she wore ready-made gowns and liked them because she could slip into them and get the finished effect without the waste of precious time and effort in endless sessions of fittings and tiresome searches for trimmings.

She dresses in most becoming style. Her taste is quiet and refined, and she has the knack of wearing her clothes well. She always presents a chic finish and smartness that is good to look at, and her old-fashioned upbringing is apparent in that, once dressed, she never gives her clothes another thought.

One of the prettiest stories of her many thoughtful kindnesses is of the gift of huge boxes of lovely White House roses to fifty shop girls of the city who worked as seamstresses in the big establishment where her gowns were made for the first season. Best of all, when the messenger carried the great box into the establishment, he carried along a large White House monogrammed envelope to the forewoman, and within, in her own handwriting, was the First Lady’s gracious expression of her appreciation of the care and work they put on her “White House trousseau.” Further joy descended upon that establishment when the dressmaker was invited to the next White House reception to see how the gown looked and get ideas for her own future use.

From the time of her arrival in the Capital City, Mrs. Coolidge has manifested an interest in every civic enterprise of welfare. She has distributed the Salvation Army Christmas baskets to the poor at the headquarters of that organization. She and the President have given encouragement to the community Christmas trees by attending, and the President by officially lighting them. They have encouraged and participated in the Christmas carols sung in front of the White House, and they have rivalled each other in the number of memorial trees they have planted and the corner stones they have laid.

Mrs. Coolidge does not like to talk about herself. She insists that the wives of public men best aid their husbands’ careers by being seen as little as necessary and heard even less, and she puts this theory into practice.

While she does not talk politics at any time, the impression that she is not interested in politics is wrong. She holds that women have a very definite obligation and responsibility as citizens, and it is their duty and privilege to do serious and effective work toward an intelligent discharge of public duties.

In a published letter to Mrs. George Horace Lorimer, President of the Republican Women of Pennsylvania, she set forth her views most clearly:

One of the interesting and highly significant tributes to Mrs. Coolidge came in the ceremony at Boston University on December 12, 1924, when President Lemuel H. Murlin conferred upon her the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws. This was done upon the occasion of the installation of Mrs. Lucy Jenkins Franklin, the first dean of women of this university.

As President Murfin conferred upon her the purple hood with its trimmings of red and white, and the mortarboard hat with its gold tassel, he spoke of her as—

Mrs. Coolidge has so many charming qualities that all who meet her become enthusiastic in discussing her. First of all, she is good-looking; she has, in fact, just missed being a beauty, has a slight girlish figure, sparkling eyes, and a smile that is already famous.

She is youth personified. She has a buoyancy of spirit, a joy of life that will keep her young past three score and ten. She radiates cheeriness and enthusiasm. She loves people, is willing to meet everyone halfway, and enjoys her social obligations. She is perfectly fitted to fill her rôle. Health, temperament, and age, all combine to aid her. To Mrs. Harding’s cordiality and suavity she adds the vigour and lightness of youth and health. She calls people her best books, loves being in the heart of history in the making, loves the contacts she gets with the celebrities of the world and the interesting people of our own land.

At the White House she is at her best. She makes no false moves. One of her first innovations was evolving an original response to appeals from organizations seeking donations from the Mistress of the White House for every conceivable project. An autographed steel engraving of the White House now goes in place of the dainty embroidered handkerchiefs which Mrs. Harding used to send.

Mrs. Coolidge’s New England conscience and training have given her a perspective, a set of standards, an appreciation of values, and a tact that keep her anchored to the conventional neutrality zone. She has brought to the White House an all-around efficiency of the New England housewife, the modern vision of the college woman, the broad understanding of the trained educator, without the limitations of the pedagogue, and the clearly marked responsibility of the citizen and voter and co-partner with her husband in his political obligations to his party and to his country.

As the time for the inauguration of Calvin Coolidge approached, he was much better equipped even than when he inherited the office through the accident of death. Nor had he exhausted his strength or lost his calm understanding of what would be expected of him.

President Coolidge possesses a genius for work. Contrary to the popular belief developed in the past few years, that the presidential job is too much for the vitality of any man, President Coolidge has thrived upon its manifold exactions. He has gained weight and found enjoyment, not hardship, in his office and the opportunities opened thereby. Without doubt, the electrical steed which the President had installed and which caused such a whirlwind of comment, none of which retarded its use, has had much to do in keeping him fit. However it is, both he and Mrs. Coolidge approached the time of their installation as the choice of the American people, in good health and happy spirits.

Just before the Inauguration, there was a great deal of discussion and adverse comment on the custom of shaking hands. The fact that, although in the White House but about twenty months, President Coolidge had shaken hands with ninety thousand people brought forth argument against the practice on the part of some of his close friends. A committee was appointed to attempt to relieve him of some of his routine duties. When the solicitous group had expounded to him their views upon the matter and expressed their desires and intentions, expecting him to acquiesce with pleasure and possibly with praise for their thoughtfulness of him, he electrified them and disposed of the entire matter in his characteristic fashion—“BUT I LIKE IT!”

The quirky lines about the President’s mouth and eyes, a certain twinkle that insists upon showing itself, are evidences of his sense of humour, and emphasize the fact that he is a reserved New Englander, whose reserve is just the outer crust of dignity, a sort of public armour, shield, and buckler against the too intrusive, which must melt away into genial friendliness. He has a dry wit, keen-edged, that is infectious with its quiet drollery.

At one of the informal gatherings, a woman, desiring to impress herself upon his mind, remarked airily, “Mr. President, I’m from Boston!” With that twinkle that is so ready to show itself, he remarked instantly, “You’ll never get over it!”

In accordance with his wish, the ceremonies for March 4, 1925, were made as simple and free from display as possible. Fifty thousand visitors supplied in enthusiasm what was lacking in brilliant display, and many were the regrets that so momentous an event in the nation’s life should be accompanied by so little of the pageantry of pomp and power. All of the enthusiasm of former days possessed the throngs of pedestrians along the route to and from the Capitol.

Preceded by a troop of cavalry and a troop of mounted police, the presidential automobile, containing President Coolidge and Mrs. Coolidge and Senator Curtis, of Kansas, left the White House at the usual time, for the Capitol. Next came Vice President-elect General Charles G. Dawes and Mrs. Dawes, with Representative Griest, of Pennsylvania. Other members of the congressional and the inaugural committees followed. The usual programme in the Senate chamber was carried out and much enlivened by the address of Vice President Dawes, who criticized the rules of that body.

On the East Portico, the oath of office was administered by Chief Justice Taft, the only ex-president to become Chief Justice of the United States. For the first time, the President’s address was broadcast to the entire country by radio.

The ovation he received was all that could be desired. The ride back to the White House for luncheon was made as quickly as possible. There was a full programme for the afternoon and evening, including a reception to visiting governors, among whom was Mrs. Nellie Ross, one of the first of the woman governors.

After the luncheon, the entire party assembled in the reviewing stand, this time not requiring the protection of the glass windows. The parade started. As the famous Richmond Blues swung around Fifteenth Street, a man on the presidential stands several rows in the rear of the presidential box, with lifted hat, said most earnestly and fervently, “GOD BLESS THE COOLIDGES!”

Mrs. Coolidge turned, her eyes shining with the uplift of the hour, and smilingly answered with an earnestness and fervency that matched his remark—

“HE HAS!”

THE END

INDEX