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:
My dear little Friend:
When you came into my car at Richmond I did not see you until you stood at my feet looking up to me so sweetly that I did not know but a little fairy had come in through the window. But when I picked you up and you gave me a kiss, then I knew it was a real little girl. The pretty knife you handed me I will keep till you are a big girl, and when I go back to Indiana to live you must come to see me and I will show you that I have not forgotten you. The little doll which you will find in the box with this letter is for you, and I hope you will think it is pretty. If the doll could talk she would tell you how much I love to be loved by the little children.