Very little seemed to be known about Louis Hammersley, as he lived a retired life, and when seen in public was almost invariably accompanied by his father, Gordon Hammersley. When the two appeared upon the street, they were sometimes facetiously dubbed "Dombey and Son." They were familiar figures on Broadway, where they invariably walked arm in arm. John Hammersley, a brother of Gordon, was the æsthetic member of this well-known family. One of his pet diversions was the giving of unusual, and sometimes sensational, dinners. To celebrate the completion of the trans-continental railroad, he planned what he called a Roman dinner. His guests were furnished with togas and partook of the meal in a reclining position, like the Romans of old. This unique entertainment was, of course, thoroughly enjoyed, but did not become à la mode as the flowing toga could hardly compete with trim waistcoats and clinging trousers, even on festive occasions.
Fifty years ago, more or less, a house was erected in New York on the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street by Mrs. Charles Maverick Parker, and, to the astonishment of Gothamites, it was said to have cost one hundred thousand dollars! Later it became the home of the Manhattan Club. Many old residents visited it on its completion, as such a costly structure was regarded with nothing short of amazement. I remember it was an on dit of the town that upon one occasion, when Mrs. Parker was personally escorting some unusually prominent person through the mansion, she pointed to a pretty little receptacle in her bedroom and exclaimed as she passed: "That is where I keep my old shoes. I wear old shoes just as other people do." The cost and pretentiousness of her establishment caused her to be nicknamed "Mrs. House Parker." Her residence was built of brown stone, which so strongly appealed to the taste of New Yorkers that in time the same material was largely employed in the erection of dwellings. High ceilings were then much in vogue and were greatly admired. In our house in Houston Street, where I passed my late childhood and early womanhood, the ceilings were unusually high, while all of the doors were of massive mahogany set in ornamental white frames. In subsequent years I met so many persons who in former days had been our neighbors in Houston Street that I was conceited enough to designate that locality as "the cradle of the universe." Anthony Bleecker Neilson was our next-door neighbor in this famous old street, and during my life in China twin sons of his, William and Bleecker, were again my neighbors in Foo Chow, where they were both employed in the Hong (firm) of Oliphant & Company.
A rival to Mrs. Parker's fine house was not long in appearing. Directly opposite a stately residence was built by Mrs. Richard K. Haight which subsequently became the New York Club. A great rivalry existed between these two matrons which even extended to hats, feathers, gowns and all the furbelows so dear to the feminine heart. In fact, the far-famed houses of Montague and Capulet could not have maintained more skillful tactics; and all the while the Gothamites looked on and smiled. A few years later Eugene Shiff, who had spent the greater portion of his life in France, built a large house on Fifth Avenue which he surmounted with a mansard roof. These pioneers having set the pace, imposing residences were erected in rapid succession, and the process has been continued until the present day.
In December, 1851, New York was agog over the arrival upon the shores of America of Louis Kossuth. As everyone knows, he was the leader of the Hungarian revolution of 1848-9, and became the first governor of the short-lived Hungarian Republic. When this was overthrown by Austria and other countries, Kossuth fled to Turkey and subsequently sailed for this country on the U.S. Frigate Mississippi. When his arrival became known, thousands of people thronged the streets anxious to catch a first glimpse of the distinguished foreigner. One might have fancied from the enthusiasm displayed that he was one of our own conquering heroes returning home. Americans were even more sympathetic then than now with all struggles for political freedom, as the history of our own trying experiences during the Revolution was, from a sentimental point of view, even more of a controlling influence than it is to-day. Several months later I heard Kossuth deliver an address at the National Hotel in Washington before a large assembly chiefly composed of members of Congress, when his subject was "Hungary and her woes." I vividly recall the impression produced upon his audience when, in his deeply melodious tones, he invoked the "Throne of Grace" and closed with the appealing words: "What is life without prayer?" I have never before or since observed an audience so completely under the sway of an orator, as it seemed to me that there was not a person in the room who at the moment would not have been willing to acquiesce in whatever demands or appeals he might present. Kossuth's countenance suggested such profound depression that one could readily credit the assertion he made during his remarks, "I have been trained to grief." He wore during the delivery of his address the picturesque costume of the Magyars of his country.
New York had an unusually large coterie of littérateurs, many of whom it was my good fortune to know. Some of these had only recently returned from Brook Farm "sadder but wiser" and, at all events, with more practical views concerning "the world's broad field of battle." Brook Farm had its origin in 1841, and completely collapsed in 1847. It was chiefly intended to be the fulfillment of a dream of the Rev. Dr. William Henry Channing of "an association in which the members, instead of preying upon one another and seeking to put one another down, after the fashion of this world, should live together as brothers, seeking one another's elevation and spiritual growth." It was essentially socialistic in its conception and execution and, although professedly altruistic in its nature, was in reality a visionary scheme which reflected but little credit upon the judgment of either its originators or its patrons. Its company was composed of "members" and "scholars," to whom may be added a celebrated list of those who sojourned at the Farm for brief periods and were known as "visitors." The whole scheme was without doubt one of the most visionary expressions of New England transcendentalism, and it failed because in the nature of things no such ventures ever have succeeded and, until human nature is essentially revolutionized, probably never can. Among its most distinguished members were Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles A. Dana, later the brilliant and accomplished editor of The New York Sun, and George Ripley. George William Curtis was one of its scholars, and among its visitors were the Rev. William Henry Channing, Margaret Fuller, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos Bronson Alcott, Orestes Augustus Bronson, Theodore Parker and Elizabeth P. Peabody—forming together one of the most brilliant intellectual galaxies that were ever associated in a single enterprise.
Of this number I especially recall George William Curtis, a genius of the first brilliancy and remarkable withal for his versatile conversational powers. I was talking to him on one occasion when someone inquired as to his especial work in the co-operative fold of Brook Farm. His laughing reply was, "Cleaning door knobs." George Ripley was a distinguished scholar and a prominent journalist. His wife, a daughter of Francis Dana, became a convert to Catholicism and is said to have found much to console her in that faith until her death from cancer in 1861. Margaret Fuller, though not possessed of much outward grace, was a prolific votary of the pen. I occasionally met her in society before she started on an European tour where she met her destiny in the person of the Marquis Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, to whom she was secretly married in 1847. Some years later she embarked with her husband and little boy upon a sailing vessel for America, and all were lost off the coast of New York in July, 1850. Horace Sumner, a younger brother of the distinguished Massachusetts statesman, also perished at the same time.
About 1845 I met Anne C. Lynch of Providence, who came to New York to promote her literary ambitions, and was a pleasing addition to this same intellectual circle. She was the author of several prose works and also of some poetical effusions which were published in 1848 and received high commendation. She married Vincenzo Botta, a learned Italian who at one time was a professor in the University of Turin. Their tastes were similar and the marriage was a very happy one. They lived for many years on Thirty-seventh Street in New York, where they maintained a charming salon. On Sunday evenings their home was the rendezvous of many of the literary lights of the metropolis as well as of distinguished strangers. Some years before her marriage, Mrs. Botta was visiting in Washington, where she formed a friendship with Henry Clay. Upon her return to New York he committed to her care a valuable gold medal, but upon arriving at her home she discovered to her dismay that it was missing from her trunk. It was the general impression that it had been stolen from her on her way to New York. About the same time I also knew Donald G. Mitchell ("Ik Marvel"), but this was before he had entered upon his active and distinguished literary career, and when he was a temporary sojourner in New York. He was contributing at that time some much appreciated letters to various magazines under the signature of "The Lorgnette," which were subsequently republished as a volume bearing the same title.
N. P. Willis was another literary genius of the same period whom I had the pleasure of knowing. He was cordially welcomed into the social world of New York; but, unfortunately for his popularity, he wrote a prose effusion entitled, "Those Ungrateful Blidgimses," which was generally recognized as a direct attack upon two old ladies who were held in high esteem in New York. It was known to many persons that he had had a misunderstanding with them and that he had employed this manner of taking his revenge. New York society frowned upon what was generally considered his ungallant conduct, and for many years the doors of some of the most prominent houses in the city were closed against him. As I remember reading his story at the time, I thought its title was but a poor disguise, as the sisters were named Bridgens, the christian name of one of them being Cornelia. This name was distorted into "Crinny," who, by the way, was a woman of decided ability. It was against her that the author's animosity was chiefly directed. It seems that the Misses Bridgens and Mr. Willis chanced to be sojourning at the same time in Rome, where the scene of his narrative is laid. Miss Crinny was a sufferer from an attack of Roman fever and, under these dire circumstances, Mr. Willis represents himself as her attendant, and in this capacity refuses to condone the peculiarities of the poor old lady's sick-room. His patience in gratifying her morbid fancies is graphically described in a vein of ridicule and he tells how by the hour he threaded what he terms her "imaginary locks." He also dwells at length upon her conversational powers and likens her tongue to the elasticity of an eel's tail, which would wag if it were skinned and fried. Charles Dudley Warner has described this writing of Mr. Willis as "funny but wicked"; it was more than that—it was cruel! Willis made another reference to the two sisters in his "Earnest Clay" where he speaks of "two abominable old maids by the names of Buggins and Blidgins, representing the scan. mag. of Florence."
The New York public was in no hurry to reopen its doors to Mr. Willis; indeed, it was not until after his marriage to Miss Cornelia Grinnell, his second wife, that he was again kindly received. I recall with much pleasure a visit I made at Mrs. Winfield Scott's in New York, after that city had ceased to be my home, when we went together to dine with Mr. and Mrs. N. P. Willis at Idlewild, their country home on the Hudson. These were the days when Mrs. Scott was sometimes facetiously called Madame la Général. This charming residence of Mr. Willis was several miles south of Newburgh, on high ground overlooking the river, and from its porches there was an enchanting view of West Point. Mr. Willis told us that when he first came to that vicinity he called the attention of a countryman from whom he had purchased the land to some uncultivated acres and asked a suggestion regarding them. "That," said the man, waving his hand in the direction of the trees, "is nothing but an Idlewild." The word lingered in Mr. Willis's mind, and he subsequently adopted it as the name of his new home.
While living in New York we frequently attended parties at the hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin F. Butler in Washington Place. He was an elegant gentleman of the old school and had served as Attorney General in the cabinets of Presidents Jackson and Van Buren. They were people of deep religious convictions, and consequently all their entertainments were conducted upon the strictest code of the day. For example, dancing was never permitted and wine was never served. In place of dancing there was a continuous promenade. I generally attended these parties accompanied by my father, who enjoyed meeting the legal lights of the country, some of whom were always there. Exceptionally handsome suppers were served at these entertainments, and every effort was made by Mr. and Mrs. Butler to make up, as it were, for the lack of dancing which was sorely missed by those more gayly inclined.