NEW YORK, May, 1864.
When we arrived in New York (we went to visit my sister and my mother) we were overwhelmed with invitations of all kinds.
I made a most (to me) interesting acquaintance at this soirée, a Mrs. Henry Fields, who I found out was the famous and much-talked-about "Lucie," the governess in the trial of the Duc de Praslin. Every one was convinced of her innocence (she pleaded her own case, refusing the aid of a lawyer). Nevertheless, she was the cause of the death of the Duchess, as the Duke killed his wife because she refused to give "Lucie" a letter of recommendation, and he became so enraged at her refusal that he first tried to strangle her, and then shot her. I had heard so much about this murder (it was along ago), and knew all the details, and, what was more, I knew all the children of the unhappy woman whose only crime was to love her husband too much, and to resent "Lucie's" taking away the love of her children from her! Warning to young women: Don't love your husbands too much, or don't engage a too attractive governess.
PHILADELPHIA, July, 1864.
DEAR AUNTY,—We came from New York a few days ago, and are staying with mama's friend, Mrs. M——, who is a very (what shall I say?) fascinating but a very peculiar person. She is a curious mixture of a poetess and a society woman, very susceptible, and of such a sensitive nature that she seems always to be in the hottest of hot water, and at war with all her neighbors; but she routs all her enemies and manages everything with a high hand.
Her daughter is just engaged to a Swedish naval officer. To celebrate the engagement they gave a big dinner, and, as the Sanitary Fair is going on just now, President Lincoln is here, and Mrs. M—— had the courage to invite him, and he had the courage to accept. It is the first time that I have ever seen an American President, and I was most anxious to see him, particularly as he has, for the last years, been such a hero in my eyes. He might take the prize for ugliness anywhere; his face looked as if it was cut out of wood, and roughly cut at that, with deep furrows in his cheeks and a huge mouth; but he seemed so good and kind, and his eyes sparkled with so much humor and fun, that he became quite fascinating, especially when he smiled. I confess I lost my heart to him…. The dinner, I mean the food part of it, was a failure. It came from Baltimore, and everything was cold; the pâté de foie gras never appeared at all! When Mrs. M—— mentioned the fact to Mr. Lincoln, pointing to the menu, he said "the pâté" (he pronounced it patty) has probably walked off by itself. Every one laughed, because he said it in such a comical, slow way.
After the gentlemen had smoked (I thought they were a long time at it) we were requested to go into the gallery, where all the gas-lights were turned up to the fullest and chairs placed in rows, and Professor Winter began to read a lecture on the brain—of all subjects! Who but Mrs. M—— would ever have arranged such an entertainment?
Professor Winter told us where our 50,000 ideas were laid up in our brains (I am sure that I have not 50,000 in mine). One might have deducted 49,999, and still, with that little one left, I was not able to understand the half of what he said.
Another wonderful thing he told us was, that there are five thousand million cells in our brain, and that it takes about ten thousand cells to furnish a well-lodged perception. How in the world can he know that? I think he must have examined his own ten thousand cells to have discovered all this exuberance of material. The President looked bored, and I am sure everybody else wished Professor Winter and his theories (because they can't be facts) in the Red Sea…. After this séance manquée I was asked to sing. Poor Mr. Lincoln! who I understood could not endure music. I pitied him.
"None of your foreign fireworks," said Mr. Trott, in his graceful manner, as I passed him on my way to the piano. I answered, "Shall I sing 'Three Little Kittens'? I think that is the least fireworky of my répertoire." But I concluded that a simple little rocket like "Robin Adair" would kill nobody; therefor I sang that, and it had a success.