| Abm. Schermerhorn, | J. Swift Livingston, |
| Edmd. Pendleton, | Jacob R. LeRoy, |
| James W. Otis, | Thos. W. Ludlow, |
| Wm. Douglas, | Chas. McEvers, Jr., |
| Henry Delafield, | William S. Miller, |
| Henry W. Hicks, | Charles C. King. |
Abraham Schermerhorn belonged to a wealthy New York family, and Edmund Pendleton was a Virginian by birth who resided in New York where he became socially prominent. James W. Otis was of the Harrison Gray Otis family of Boston and, as I have already stated, I was at school with his daughter, Sally. William Douglas was a bachelor living in an attractive residence on Park Place, where he occasionally entertained his friends. He belonged to a thrifty family of Scotch descent and had two sisters, Mrs. Douglas Cruger and Mrs. James Monroe, whose husband was a namesake and nephew of the ex-President. Early in the last century their mother, Mrs. George Douglas, gave a ball, and I insert some doggerel with reference to it written by Miss Anne Macmaster, who later became Mrs. Charles Russell Codman of Boston. These verses are interesting from the fact that they give the names of many of the belles and beaux of that time:
I meant, my dear Fanny, to give you a call
And tell you the news of the Douglases ball;
But the weather's so bad,—I've a cold in my head,—
And I daren't venture out; so I send you instead
A poetic epistle—for plain humble prose
Is not worthy the joys of this ball to disclose.
To begin with our entrance, we came in at nine,
The two rooms below were prodigiously fine,
And the coup d'oeil was shewy and brilliant 'tis true,
Pretty faces not wanting, some old and some new.
But, oh! my dear cousin, no words can describe
The excess of the crowd—like two swarms in one hive.
The squeezing and panting, the blowing and puffing,
The smashing, the crushing, the snatching, the stuffing,
I'd have given my new dress, at one time, I declare,
(The white satin and roses), for one breath of air!
But oh! how full often I inwardly sighed
O'er the wreck of those roses, so lately my pride;
Those roses, my own bands so carefully placed,
As I fondly believed, with such exquisite taste.
Then to see them so cruelly torn and destroyed
I assure you, my dear, I was vastly annoyed.
The ballroom with garlands was prettily drest,
But a small room for dancing it must be confess'd,
If you chanc'd to get in you were lucky no doubt,
But oh! luckier far, if you chanced to get out!
And pray who were there? Is the question you'll ask.
To name the one half would be no easy task—
There were Bayards and Clarksons, Van Hornes and LeRoys,
All famous, you well know, for making a noise.
There were Livingstons, Lenoxes, Henrys and Hoffmans,
And Crugers and Carys, Barnewalls and Bronsons,
Delanceys and Dyckmans and little De Veaux,
Gouverneurs and Goelets and Mr. Picot,
And multitudes more that would tire me to reckon,
But I must not forget the pretty Miss Whitten.
No particular belle claimed the general attention,
There were many, however, most worthy of mention.
The lily of Leonards' might hold the first place
For sweetness of manner, and beauty and grace.
Her cousin Eliza and little Miss Gitty
Both danc'd very lightly, and looked very pretty.
The youngest Miss Mason attracted much notice,
So did Susan Le Roy and the English Miss Otis;
Of Beaux there were plenty, some new ones 'tis true,
But I won't mention names, no, not even to you.
I was lucky in getting good partners, however,
Above all, the two Emmetts, so lively and clever.
With Morris and Maitland I danc'd; and with Sedgwick,
Martin Wilkins, young Armstrong and droll William Renwick.
The old lady was mightily deck'd for the Ball
With Harriet's pearls—and the little one's shawl;
But to give her her due she was civil enough,
Only tiresome in asking the people to stuff.
There was supper at twelve for those who could get it,
I came in too late, but I did not regret it,
For eating at parties was never my passion,
And I'm sorry to see that it's so much the fashion.
After supper, for dancing we'd plenty of room,
And so pleasant it was, that I did not get home
Until three—when the ladies began to look drowsy,
The lamps to burn dim, and the Laird to grow boosy.
The ball being ended, I've no more to tell—
And so, my dear Fanny, I bid you farewell.
In the old pamphlet from which I have already quoted, edited in 1845 by Moses Y. Beach and compiled for the purpose of furnishing information concerning the status of New York citizens to banks, merchants and others, I find the following amusing description of George Douglas: "George Douglas was a Scotch merchant who hoarded closely. His wine cellar was more extensive than his library. When George used to see people speculating and idle it distressed him. He would say: 'People get too many idees in their head. Why don't they work?' What a blessing he is not alive in this moonshine age of dreamy schemings." Mr. Beach apparently was not capable of appreciating a thrifty Scotchman.
This same pamphlet gives an account of a picturesque character whom I distinctly remember as a highly prominent citizen of New York. His parentage was involved in mystery, and has remained so until this day. I refer to Mr. Preserved Fish, the senior member of the firm of Fish, Grinnell & Co., which subsequently became the prominent business house of Grinnell, Minturn & Co. Sustained by the apparel peculiar to infants, he was found floating in the water by some New Bedford fishermen who, unable to discover his identity, bestowed upon him the uncouth name which, willingly or unwillingly, he bore until the day of his death. He and the other members of his firm were originally from New Bedford, one of the chief centers of the whale fisheries of New England, and came to New York to attend to the oil and candle industries of certain merchants of the former city. Few business men in New York in my day were more highly respected for indomitable energy and personal integrity than Mr. Fish. He became President of the Tradesmen's Bank, and held other positions of responsibility and trust. He represented an ideal type of the self-made man, and in spite of an unknown origin and a ridiculous name battled successfully with life without a helping hand.
In connection with the Douglas family, I recall a beautiful wedding reception which, as well as I can remember, took place in the autumn of 1850, at Fanwood, Fort Washington, then a suburb of New York. The bride was Fanny Monroe, a daughter of Colonel James Monroe, U.S.A., and granddaughter of Mrs. Douglas of whose ball I have just spoken. The groom was Douglas Robinson, a native of Scotland. It was a gorgeous autumn day when the votaries of pleasure and fashion in New York drove out to Fanwood, where groomsmen of social prominence stood upon the wide portico to greet the guests and conduct them to the side of the newly married pair. Mrs. Winfield Scott was our guest in Houston Street at the time, but did not accompany us to the wedding as no invitation had reached her. My presence reminded Mrs. Monroe that Mrs. Scott was in New York, and she immediately inquired why I had not brought her with me. As I gave the reason both Colonel and Mrs. Monroe seemed exceedingly annoyed. It seems that her invitation had been sent to Washington but had not been forwarded to her in New York. In those days Mrs. Scott's distinguished presence and sparkling repartee, together with the fact that her husband was Commander-in-Chief of the Army, added luster to every assemblage. The Army was well represented at this reception and it was truly "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." Colonel "Jimmy" Monroe was a great favorite with his former brother-in-arms as he was a genial, whole-souled and hospitable gentleman. My sister Margaret and I were accompanied to Fanwood by an army officer, Colonel Donald Fraser, a bachelor whom I had met some years before at West Point. The paths of the bride and myself diverged, and it was a very long time before we met again. It was only a few years ago, while she was residing temporarily in Washington. She was then, however, a widow and was living in great retirement. She is now deceased.
When we alighted from our carriage the day of the Monroe-Robinson wedding at Fanwood a young man whom I subsequently learned was Mr. Samuel L. Gouverneur, junior, a cousin of the bride, walked over to me, asked my name and in his capacity of groomsman inquired whether I would allow him to present me to the bride. I was particularly impressed by his appearance, as it was unusually attractive. He had raven-black hair, large bluish-gray eyes and regular features; but what added to his charm in my youthful fancy was the fact that he had only recently returned from the Mexican War, in which, as I learned later, he had served with great gallantry in the 4th Artillery. I had never seen him before, although in thinking the matter over a few days later I remembered that I had met his mother and sister in society in New York. I did not see him again until five years later, when our paths crossed in Washington, and in due time I became his bride.
To return to the New York Assembly in 1841. Henry Delafield, whose name appears on the card of invitation, belonged to a well-known family. His father, an Englishman by birth, settled in New York in 1783 and is described in an early city directory as "John Delafield, Insurance Broker, 29 Water Street." The Delafields were a large family of brothers and were highly prosperous. I remember once hearing Dr. John W. Francis say: "Put a Delafield on a desert island in the middle of the ocean, and he will thrive and prosper." Henry Delafield and his brother William were almost inseparable. They were twins and strikingly alike in appearance. General Richard Delafield, U.S.A., for many years Superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point, was another brother, as was also Dr. Edward Delafield, a physician of note, who lived in Bleecker Street and in 1839 married Miss Julia Floyd of Long Island, a granddaughter of William Floyd, one of the New York Signers. About thirty-five years ago three of the Delafield brothers, Joseph, Henry and Edward, all advanced in life, died within a few days of each other and were buried in Greenwood Cemetery at the same time, the funeral taking place from old Trinity Church. On this occasion all the old customs were observed, and the coffins were made of solid mahogany.
