Wednesday, October 22d.
Last evening the company began to assemble for the levee at an early hour, and consisted of persons selected without any reference to the accidental distinctions of wealth and rank. Mr. Marshall, the attorney General, and Thomas Jones the reformed inebriate, but now one of the most respectable and respected citizens of the town, were in close proximity. Here too, were Mr. Allen and Mrs. Lucy Mansfield, at the head of the wealthy aristocracy, in animated conversation with William and Anna Reynolds, once so oppressed with poverty. Mr. Benson and Emily, who would anywhere be recognized as persons of true refinement and grace, bestowed special attention upon those present, who were unaccustomed to such scenes, and on that account timid and reserved. A table was extended the entire length of the dining room, and bountifully crowned with delicacies and luxuries, of which at the proper hour all were invited to partake. The bride and bridegroom with their train, who were in attendance as at the wedding, mingled with the company and addressed a kind word to each.
There were so many children and young people present who were obliged to leave at an early hour, that the Doctor, after consultation with me, requested Mr. Munroe to close this interesting interview with prayer. Instead of complying immediately with this request, I noticed that Dr. Clapp stepped forward and said something to the Doctor, and then suddenly left the room in company with the reverend gentleman, Mr. Marshall, Allen Mansfield, and one or two others. I looked at Frank, wondering what this could mean. He whispered to me, that Dr. C. wanted to have a little singing. I was still more puzzled when Emily Benson touched my arm and desired to speak with me. "They have found out," said she, "that it is Frank's birth-day, and want to sing a hymn in honor of the event. Take his arm and keep him quiet, just where you are." She then went and led mother and the children near me, and taking her husband's arm, stood behind us.
The gentlemen returned, and Dr. Clapp, who is a fine singer, commenced the following hymn, in which he was joined at first by nearly all the company except our immediate family:
To him who e'er hast lent a hand
In hours of direst woe,
Who like a brother led the way,
And showed us how to go;
To him who oft has bowed the knee