Mr. Pearce was a type of the gentleman of the old school. Tall, with a commanding figure, expressive features, blue eyes, and light hair, he was a brilliant conversationalist and a welcome guest at dinner.
Senator William C. Preston, of South Carolina, was not only one of the foremost orators in the Senate, but a delightful conversationalist, with an inexhaustible fund of reminiscence and anecdote. One of his colleagues in the House of Representatives, Mr. Warren R. Davis, of the Pendleton district, was equally famed as a story-teller, and when they met at a social board they monopolized the conversation, to the delight of the other guests, who listened with attention and with admiration.
One evening—as the story is told—at a dinner-party, over the Madeira and walnuts, which formed the invariable last course in those days, Mr. Preston launched forth in a eulogium on the extraordinary power of condensation, in both thought and expression, which characterized the ancient Greek and Latin languages, beyond anything of the kind in modern tongues. On it he literally "discoursed eloquent music," adorning it with frequent and apt illustration, and among other examples citing the celebrated admonition of the Spartan mother to her warrior son on the eve of battle—"With your shield or upon it!" The whole party were delighted with the rich tones and the classic teachings of the gifted colloquist, except his equally gifted competitor for conversational laurels, who, notwithstanding his enforced admiration, sat uneasily under the prolonged disquisition, anxiously waiting for an opportunity to take his place in the picture. At length a titillation seizing the olfactory nerve of Mr. Preston, he paused to take a pinch of snuff, and Mr. Davis immediately filled up the vacuum, taking up the line of speech in this wise:
"I have listened," said he, "with equal edification and pleasure to the classic discourse of our friend, sparkling with gems alike of intellect and fancy, but I differ from him toto caelo. He may say what he will as to the supreme vigor and condensation of thought and speech characteristic of classic Greece and Rome; but, for my part, I think there is nothing equal to our own vernacular in these particulars, and I am fortunately able, although from a humble source, to give you a striking and conclusive example and illustration of the fact.
"As I was returning home from Congress, some years since, I approached a river in North Carolina which had been swollen by a recent freshet, and observed a country girl fording it in a merry mood, and carrying a piggin of butter on her head. As I arrived at the river's edge the rustic Naiad emerged from the watery element. 'My girl,' said I, 'how deep's the water and what's the price of butter?' 'Up to your waist and nine pence,' was the prompt and significant response! Let my learned friend beat that if he can, in brevity and force of expression, by aught to be found in all his treasury of classic lore!"
A roar of laughter followed this humorous explosion, and a unanimous vote in favor of the vernacular awarded the palm to the distinguished and successful wag over his classical but crest-fallen competitor.
The first restaurant established in Washington was by a Frenchman named Boulanger, who was a pupil of the famous Chevet, of the Palais Royal at Paris. His cozy establishment was on G Street, just west of the War Department, where he used to serve good cheer to General Jackson, Van Buren, Clay, Sir Charles Vaughan, and other notables. His soups were gastronomic triumphs, and he was an adept in serving oysters, terrapin, reed-birds, quails, ortolan, and other delicacies in the first style of culinary perfection. His brandies, of his own importation, were of the choicest "bead and brand," and he obtained from Alexandria some of the choice old Madeira which had been imported before the Revolution in return for cargoes of oak staves. Boulanger did not cherish flattering recollections of General Jackson's taste, but Mr. Van Buren used to compliment his savory repasts and enjoy artistic cheer.
The Treasury Department, which had been destroyed by fire, was rebuilt on a plan approved by President Jackson. The eastern front, of Virginia sandstone, was a colonnade copied from the Temple of Minerva Pallas, at Athens, three hundred and thirty-six feet long, with thirty Ionic columns. The artist was Robert Mills, and he wished to set the building back some fifty feet from the line of the street, to give more effect to the architecture, but General Jackson directed him to bring it forward to the building line of the street, and stuck his cane in the ground to show where this was. Of course, he was obeyed.
John Quincy Adams used to occasionally attend the theatre, and he was especially pleased with Hackett as Falstaff. Hackett looked the fat knight well, and his face interpreted many of his remarks and situations explicitly. He delivered the soliloquy upon honor with fine effect, and the scenes at Gad's Hill with Bardolph and his nose, with Mrs. Quickly, and with the Prince when detected in his exaggeration, were very humorous and well pointed.
When Mr. Hackett took his benefit it was announced that at the particular request of Colonel David Crockett, of Tennessee, the comedian would appear on the boards in his favorite character of "Nimrod Wildfire," in the play called "The Kentuckian; or, a Trip to New York." This brought out a house full to overflowing. At seven o'clock the Colonel was escorted by the manager through the crowd to a front seat reserved for him. As soon as he was recognized by the audience they made the very house shake with hurrahs for Colonel Crockett, "Go ahead!" "I wish I may be shot!" "Music! let us have Crockett's March!" After some time the curtain rose, and Hackett appeared in hunting costume, bowed to the audience, and then to Colonel Crockett. The compliment was reciprocated by the Colonel, to the no small amusement and gratification of the spectators, and the play then went on.