Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

When summer came, the Adamses removed to the old family mansion in Quincy, and here, too, sister Julia and I had the pleasure of visiting them. I am afraid we did not think much about the presidential memories connected with the house, which was certainly a delightful one. On the second floor was a spacious drawing-room, only opened, I think, for state occasions. It was furnished in yellow damask, and I have a dim memory of family portraits as we sported about among the cushions.

Evidently the sturdy spirit of the old Adamses was not wanting to their descendants, and with Master Brooks we had some conflicts (he was seven or eight at this time). Perhaps we, being so many girls, in some way infringed upon his rights.

The older sons of the house, John Quincy and Charles Francis, Jr., were at this time students at Harvard College, or had recently graduated there-from. They were genial, witty and delightful, and showed great kindness to their little sister and her friends. Of course we were only too well pleased to listen to the conversation of such clever and agreeable young men, though too youthful to have developed much feminine coquetry. Yet it was a salve to our pride that we were considered old enough to be worthy any notice from such brilliant people. Master Brooks did not appreciate us as his elder brothers did.

“Green Peace” was not more than eight miles distant from Quincy. My father was extremely fond of riding on horseback and often took us with him. The younger generation of the Adamses were also fond of this exercise, hence we used occasionally to join forces and pace through the lovely country lanes together. By this time I had attained to the dignity of semi-young-ladyhood. An untoward event attended our return from one of these expeditions. As our hospitable hosts detained us to “high tea,” it was dark when we went to the gate to remount our horses, and one of the young gentlemen, in putting me on my palfrey, landed me on the horse’s neck. When this disaster was discovered every one laughed heartily, while I crawled back into the proper position, feeling my youthful dignity somewhat diminished.

My father, who was active in the councils of the Republican party and who was a friend of Charles Francis Adams, once called to see him about some matter connected with his approaching election to Congress, if I remember aright. We were received in the wonderful mahogany room. The existence of this was not known until recent times, when some workmen accidentally discovered beneath the plaster a wall of solid mahogany reaching from floor to ceiling. The plaster was removed and the mahogany paneled and varnished, thus making a beautiful and unusual interior.

Mrs. Charles Francis Adams was a fine-looking woman whose bright black eyes bespoke keenness of mind as well as geniality and vivacity of temperament. At the time of which I speak, her hair was jet black and worn in the smooth bandeaux then fashionable. Both in appearance and in disposition she formed a contrast with her distinguished husband, who was already bald and gray, with blue eyes.

Brother Harry and sister Laura went at this time to a school kept by Miss Susan Hale, a sister of Edward Everett Hale. Harry had been from his tenderest years an extremely mischievous child. If Miss Hale punished him by putting him in the closet, some damage to the clothing hanging there was sure to result. Laura was a very good and amiable little girl, and conscientious as well.

Nevertheless, when she was about five years old a curious indisposition was wont to attack her as the time approached for starting for school. With the brutal penetration of the older sister, I saw that this was only “shamming.” But the elders were more lenient. The child perhaps might not feel well, so she was allowed to remain at home. As soon as the rest of us had departed she recovered her health with surprising promptness!

In extenuation of this little piece of innocent deception it should be said that she was rather a delicate child.

She, as well as Julia, developed a literary turn of mind very early. When only five years old she delighted the rest of us by reciting “Annie of Lochroyan” and other ballads from Thalatta, a book of which we were all fond. A little later, when she went to the school kept by Mr. Henry Williams, he called her in to read before the older girls, for the instruction of the latter. Dear, good man, he did not realize the naughtiness of girls. They made the child’s life miserable by teasing her after this event.