Old Washingtonians who recall Mrs. Greenhow's eventful career will associate with her, in a way, Mrs. Philip Phillips, who was also active in the Southern cause, and whose husband represented Alabama with much ability for one term in Congress. He subsequently remained in Washington, where he was known as a distinguished advocate before the Supreme Court. Mrs. Phillips's enthusiastic friendship for the South made serious trouble for herself and family. The first year of the war, all of them were sent across the Union lines, and went to New Orleans, where General Benjamin F. Butler was in command. A few days after her arrival she Was brought before him charged with "making merry" over the passing funeral of Captain George Coleman De Kay of New York, an officer in the Union Army. When General Butler inquired why she laughed, she replied: "Because I was in a good humor." Unable longer to suppress his indignation, Butler exclaimed: "If such women as you and Mrs. Greenhow are let loose, our lives are in jeopardy." Mrs. Phillips's reply was: "We of the South hire butchers to kill our swine." Another day a search was made in Mrs. Phillips's house for information concerning the Confederacy which she was thought to have. When personally searched and compelled to remove her shoes, she suggested that it was impossible for a Northern man to get his hand inside a Southern woman's shoe. General Butler finally ordered Mrs. Phillips to be confined on an island near New Orleans, and placed over her a guard whose duty it was to watch her night and day. I have often heard her give an account of her life under these trying circumstances. She said she lived in a large "shoe box"—whatever that meant—and that her meals were served to her three times a day upon a tin plate. From what I have already said, it is apparent that she was an exceedingly witty woman. One day, while walking on the streets in Washington, she was joined by a distinguished prelate of the Roman Catholic Church, and inquired whether he could lay aside his cloth long enough to listen to a conundrum? Upon receiving a favorable response, she asked: "Why is His Holiness, the Pope, like a goose?" The reply was: "Because he sticks to his Propaganda!"
I shall always recall with pleasure a dinner party I attended at the residence of Edward Everett. As Mrs. Everett was in very delicate health and seldom appeared in public, Mr. Everett presided alone. The invitations were for six o'clock, and dinner was served promptly at that hour. I was taken into the dining-room by Mr. Philip Griffith, one of the Secretaries of the British Legation. We had just finished our second course when, to the surprise of everyone, a tall and gaunt gentleman was ushered into the dining-room. It was Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, then a member of Congress and subsequently Vice-President of the Southern Confederacy. Mr. Everett at once arose and shook hands with Mr. Stephens and with an imperturbable expression of countenance motioned the butler to provide another seat at the table. For a moment there was a slight confusion, as the other guests were obliged to move in order to make room for the new comer; but everything was speedily arranged and Mr. Stephens began his dinner with the third course. No explanation was offered at the moment, but later, while we were drinking our coffee in the drawing-room, I noticed Mr. Everett and Mr. Stephens engaged in conversation.
A few days later, through Mr. Colin M. Ingersoll, a Representative in Congress from Connecticut, the cause of Mr. Stephens' late appearance at the dinner was made clear to me. It seems that Mr. Everett and the French Minister, the Count Eugène de Sartiges, his next door neighbor, were giving dinner parties the same evening. The dinner hour at the French Legation was half-past six o'clock, while Mr. Everett's was half an hour earlier. Through the mistake of a stupid coachman, Mr. Stephens was landed at the door of Count de Sartiges's home and entered it under the impression that it was Mr. Everett's residence. He walked into the drawing-room and suspected nothing, as nearly all the guests were familiar to him. Count de Sartiges, however, surprised at the presence of an unbidden guest, anxiously inquired of Mr. Ingersoll the name of the stranger, and upon being informed remarked: "I'll be very polite to him." Seating himself by Mr. Stephens' side, an animated conversation followed. Meanwhile other guests arrived and the Count de Sartiges became diverted, while Mr. Stephens, still unconscious of his mistake, turned to Mr. Ingersoll, who stood near, and in an irritated tone of voice said: "Who is this Frenchman who is tormenting me, and where is Mr. Everett?" Mr. Ingersoll explained that the Frenchman was the Count de Sartiges, and that Mr. Everett was probably presiding over his own dinner in the adjoining house.
My vis à vis at Mr. Everett's table was Miss Ann G. Wight, a woman with an unusual history. She was born in Montgomery County, Maryland, and as a child was placed in a convent. She eventually became a nun and an inmate of the Convent of the Visitation in Georgetown, where she assumed the name of "Sister Gertrude." She was an intellectual woman and was deeply beloved by her associates. Without any apparent cause, however, she planned an escape from the convent and sought the residence of her relative, General John P. Van Ness, dropping her keys, as I have understood, in Rock Creek as she passed over the Georgetown bridge. Mrs. Charles Worthington, a Catholic friend of mine who was educated at this same convent, gave me the following explanation of her conduct: There was an election for Mother Superior, and Miss Wight, deeply disappointed that she was not chosen to fill the position, was dissatisfied and when it became her turn to answer the front-door bell, suddenly determined to leave. She was, however, recognized by one of the priests, who followed her to General Van Ness's residence, where he insisted upon seeing her. At first she refused to meet him, but, upon informing the General that he must learn from her own lips whether her departure was voluntary, she consented to see him in the presence of her relative. She admitted that she had in no way been influenced. When I first met Miss Wight she was more devoted to "the pride, pomp and circumstance" of the world than many who had not led such deeply religious lives. She was still living at the residence of General Van Ness, and I have heard that she always remained a Roman Catholic. During the Everett dinner my escort, Mr. Philip Griffith, remarked to me in an undertone: "We have an escaped nun here; are we going to have an auto da fé?" I responded that I believed it to be a matter of record that autos da fé were solely a courtly amusement.
Mrs. Sidney Brooks, formerly Miss Fanny Dehon of Boston, was another of Mr. Everett's guests. She was a relative of our host, and it was her custom to make prolonged visits to the Everett home. Her presence in Washington was always hailed with delight. She was a pronounced blonde, and her reputation as a brilliant conversationalist was widely extended.
Rufus Choate was an occasional visitor in Washington subsequent to his brilliant senatorial career which ended in 1845. That I had the pleasure of intimately knowing this man of wit and erudition is one of the brightest memories of my life. His quaint humor was inexhaustible and some of his bright utterances will never perish. When a younger sister of mine was lying desperately ill in Washington in 1856 he called to inquire about her condition, and the tones of his sympathetic voice still linger in my ear. It has been fittingly said of Mr. Choate that even one's name uttered by him was in itself a delicate compliment. It is to him we owe the inspiring quotation, "Keep step to the music of the Union," which he uttered in his speech before the Whig convention of 1855. I have heard some of Mr. Choate's clients dwell upon his mighty power as an advocate, and it seems to me that words of law flowing from such lips might have been suggestive of the harmony of the universe. The chirography of Mr. Choate was equal to any Chinese puzzle; it was even more difficult to decipher than that of Horace Greeley. I once received a note from him and was obliged to call upon my family to aid me in reading it. He had a fund of humor which was universally applauded by an admiring public. Once, in replying to a toast on Yale College at the "Hasty-Pudding" dinner, he said that "everything is to be irregular this evening." He followed this remark by poking a little fun at the expense of the College by reading a portion of the will of Lewis Morris, one of the Signers and the father of Gouverneur Morris. This document was executed in 1760 in New York, and in it he expresses his "desire that my son, Gouverneur Morris, may have the best education that is to be had in Europe or America, but my express will and directions are that he be never sent for that purpose to the Colony of Connecticutt, lest he should imbibe in his youth that low craft and cunning so incident to the People of that Colony, which is so interwoven in their Constitutions that all their art cannot disguise it from the World; though many of them, under the sanctifyed garb of Religion, have endeavored to impose themselves on the World for honest men." The laughter which followed the reading of this extract was as regular as the remarks were irregular. It may be added that Lewis Morris died two years after making this will, when his son Gouverneur was between ten and eleven years of age, and that his desires were respected, as his son was graduated from King's (now Columbia) College in New York in 1768, when only sixteen years old. His father, cold in the grave, had his revenge on the "Colony of Connecticutt" and the hatchet, for aught we know to the contrary, was forever buried, while old Elihu's college still survives in New Haven.
An anecdote relating to Gouverneur Morris still lingers in my memory. Before his marriage, quite late in life, to Miss Anne Cary Randolph, his nephew, Gouverneur Wilkins, was generally regarded as heir to his large estate. When a direct heir was born, Mr. Wilkins was summoned to the babe's christening. One of the guests began to speculate upon the name of the youngster, when Mr. Wilkins quickly said, "Why, Cut-us-off-sky, of course," in imitation of the usual termination of such a large number of Russian names.
In 1852 John F. T. Crampton was British Minister to the United States and I had the pleasure of knowing him quite well. He was a bachelor of commanding presence, and it was rather a surprise to Washingtonians that he evaded matrimonial capture! He lived in Georgetown in an old-time and spacious mansion, surrounded by ample grounds. The proverbial tea-drinking period had not arrived, but Mr. Crampton, notwithstanding this fact, gave afternoon receptions for which his house, by the way, was especially adapted. In 1856, during the Crimean War, an unpleasantness arose between Great Britain and this country in connection with the charge that Crampton had been instrumental in recruiting soldiers in the United States for service in the British Army. Accordingly, in May of the same year, President Pierce broke off diplomatic relations with him and he was recalled. There was never, however, any severe reflection made upon him by his home Ministry, and after his return to England he was made a Knight of the Bath by Lord Palmerston, and a little later became the British Minister at St. Petersburg. In the autumn of 1856, while in Russia, he married Victoire Balfe, second daughter of Michael William Balfe, the distinguished musical composer, from whom he was divorced in 1863.
I frequently attended receptions at the British Legation, and I particularly recall those in the spring of the year when they took the form of fêtes champêtres upon the well-kept lawn. On these occasions the Diplomatic Corps was well represented, as well as the resident society. I have heard a curious story about Henry Stephen Fox, the English Minister in Washington from 1836 to 1844. He evidently represented the sporting element of his day, as it was said he was en évidence all night and seldom visible by daylight. He was, moreover, exceedingly careless about some of the reasonable responsibilities of life which rendered it difficult for his creditors to secure an audience. They, however, surrounded his house in the First Ward one evening and demanded in clamorous tones that he should name a definite time when he would satisfy their claims. Fox appeared at a front window and pleasantly announced that, as they were so urgent in their demands, he would state a time which he hoped would meet with their satisfaction, and accordingly named in stentorian voice the "Day of Judgment."
One of the constant visitors at our home on G Street was John Savile-Lumley, who was appointed in 1854 as the Secretary of the British Legation under Crampton, and in the following year became the English Chargé d'affaires in Washington. I remember him as a fine looking gentleman and an especially pleasing specimen of the English race. He was the natural son of John Lumley-Savile, the eighth Earl of Scarborough, by a mother of French origin. After leaving Washington, he represented his country in Rome and other prominent courts of Europe, and, upon his retirement from the diplomatic service in 1888, was raised to the peerage as Baron Savile of Rufford in Nottinghamshire. The last I heard of him was through one of Lord Ronald Gower's charming books of travel, where it states that he was representing Great Britain at the court of Leopold I. in Belgium. He died in the fall of 1896. His younger brother lived in London where, for a period, he acted as a sort of major-domo in society, and but few entertainments were considered complete without him.