In July, 1905, he sent me one of the inauguration medals signed by Saint-Gaudens. In looking at the head upon that medal, one realized perfectly by the strong lines of temple and forehead that Theodore Roosevelt had come to the fulness of his intellectual powers.
About the same time there was a naval review at Oyster Bay, and Mrs. Roosevelt writes: “The review was a wonderful sight. I wish you could have been here. The morning was dark and stormy, with showers of driving rain, until Theodore’s flag broke out from the Mayflower, when the clouds suddenly dispersed and the sun shone brightly.” How often we used to feel that the sun always broke out when Theodore’s flag flew!
One other little line from his pen, December 19, 1905, shows the same constant thoughtfulness. He says: “Will you send the enclosed note to Dora? I am not sure of her address. I hate to trouble you, but I want to have poor ‘Dolly’ get it by Christmas Day.” Dora was his old, childhood nurse, one to whom we were very much devoted, and whom he never forgot.
At the beginning of the new year, 1906, he writes to my husband: “Dear Douglas,—By George! Stewart is doing well. [I think this referred to the fact that my youngest boy had been chosen as goal-keeper of the St. Paul’s School hockey team!] That is awfully nice. I was mighty glad Wadsworth was elected. I shall have difficulties this year, and I cannot expect to get along as well as I did last year, but I shall do the best I can.” Never blinded by past popularity, always ready for the difficulties to come, and yet never dwelling so strongly on these difficulties that by the very dwelling on them even greater difficulties were brought to bear upon him. It was quite true that it proved in many ways, a more difficult year than the one preceding, but a happy year all the same, a happiness which culminated in his satisfaction in the marriage of his daughter Alice to Nicholas Longworth, of Cincinnati, Ohio, an able member of the House of Representatives. His announcement to me of the engagement was made at the dinner-table one evening before it was known to the world, and not wishing to have it disclosed to the world through the table-servants, he decided to give me the news in French. His French was always fluent, but more or less of a literal translation from the English, which method he exaggerated humorously. “Je vais avoir un fils en loi,” he said, smiling gaily at me across the table, delighted at my puzzled expression. With a little more explanation I realized what he was suggesting to my befuddled brain, and he then proceeded to describe a conversation he had had with the so-called “fils en loi,” and how he had talked to him like “un oncle Hollandais,” or “Dutch uncle”!
There was much excitement at the prospect of a wedding in the White House, and, needless to say, so many were the requests to be present that the line had to be drawn very carefully, and, in consequence, the whole affair assumed an intimate and personal aspect. Alice’s Boston grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. George C. Lee, were especially welcomed by Mrs. Roosevelt, and my memory of the great morning of the wedding has a curiously “homey” quality. I much doubt if there was ever a function—for a wedding in the White House could hardly be anything but a function—so simple, so charming, and so informal as that marriage of the lovely daughter of the White House. Almost all the morning Mrs. Roosevelt knitted peacefully at the sunny window up-stairs near her secretary’s desk, chatting quietly with Mrs. Lee. All preparations seemed to have been made in, the most quiet and efficient manner, for there was no hurry, no excitement. My husband took Mr. Lee for a walk, as the dear old gentleman was very much excited at the prospect of his granddaughter’s nuptials in the “East Room.” Everything seemed to go on quite as usual until the actual moment came, and Alice Roosevelt, looking very beautiful in her long court train and graceful veil, came through the group of interested friends up to the white ribbon which formed, with flowers, a chancel at the end of the “East Room.” My brother was at his best—gay, affectionate, full of life and fun, and later took his son-in-law (no longer “to-be”) and all the ushers, members of Harvard’s Porcellian Club like himself, into the state dining-room to drink the health of the bride and groom, and recall various incidents of his and of their college days.
In March of that year I wrote him that my youngest boy was to debate at St. Paul’s School on the Santo Domingo question, and he answered at once, with that marvellous punctuality of his: “I wrote Stewart at once and sent him all the information I could on the Santo Domingo business. I wish you were down here. In great haste. Ever yours, T. R.”
In great haste, yes, but not too busy to write to a schoolboy-nephew “at once,” and give him the most accurate information that could be given on the question upon which he was to take part in school debate.
Again, when I suggested joining him in his car on his way that fall to vote at Oyster Bay, he writes: “Three cheers! Now you can join me. We will have lunch immediately after leaving. I am so anxious to see you. I shall just love the Longfellow.” [Evidently some special edition that I am about to bring to him.]
On November 20, with his usual interest in my boys, he sends me a delightful letter from his ex-cowboy superintendent, Will Merrifield, with whom they had been hunting in August and September, 1906; and I am interested to see after reading his opinion of my boys how Mr. Merrifield, although many years had passed since the old days of the Elkhorn Ranch, still turns to him for advice, still, beyond all else, wishes to justify his various ventures in the eyes of his old “boss.” Merrifield writes: “I have sold my ranch, and will be able to make good all my financial obligations, which was my great ambition, besides having something left, so that I will not take office for the purpose of making money. [That was one of Theodore Roosevelt’s perpetual preachings, that no one should take office for the purpose of making money.] I can be independent as far as money goes, and above all will be able to make good my word to you years ago, as soon as my business is straightened out.” He sends me the letter not because of that sentence, but because, as he says, “This letter from Merrifield is so nice about Monroe and Stewart that I thought I would send it to you. How well they did.” Always the same generous joy in the achievements of any of the younger generation.
Again, on December 26, comes a long letter describing another “White House Christmas.” He deplores the fact that the children are growing a little older, and that “Ted” says in a melancholy way that he no longer feels the wild excitement of former years and the utter inability to sleep soundly during the night before Christmas. He adds, however: “Personally I think that ‘Ted’ also was thoroughly in the spirit of the thing when Christmas actually arrived, because by six o’clock every child of every size was running violently to and fro along the hall, in and out of all the other children’s rooms, the theory being that Edith and I were still steeped in dreamless and undisturbed slumber!”