Mrs. Campbell,
Houston Street.
When Professor Anthon was about forty-eight years of age Edgar Allan Poe described him as "about five feet, eight inches in height; rather stout; fair complexion; hair light and inclined to curl; forehead remarkably broad and high; eye gray, clear, and penetrating; mouth well-formed, with excellent teeth—the lips having great flexibility, and consequent power of expression; the smile particularly pleasing. His address in general is bold, frank, cordial, full of bonhomie. His whole air is distingué in the best understanding of the term—that is to say, he would impress anyone at first sight with the idea of his being no ordinary man. He has qualities, indeed, which would have assured him eminent success in almost any pursuit; and there are times in which his friends are half disposed to regret his exclusive devotion to classical literature."
My father was a trustee of the venerable New York Society Library and one of the directors of the old United States Bank in Philadelphia; and I have in my possession a number of interesting letters from Nicholas Biddle, its president, addressed to him and asking his advice and counsel. For eighteen years he was a trustee of Columbia College in New York, and enjoyed the close friendship of President William A. Duer, Reverend and Professor John McVickar, James Renwick, Professor of Chemistry, whose mother, Jennie Jeffery, was Burns's "Blue-e'ed Lassie," and Professor Charles Anthon, all of whom filled chairs in that institution with unquestioned ability. My father was also a member of the St. Andrews Society of New York. After his death, President Duer in an impressive address alluded to him in the following manner:
"Two of our associates with whom I have been similarly connected and have known from boyhood have also departed, leaving sweet memories behind them, James Campbell and David S. Jones, the former a scholar and a ripe and good one, once honoring the choice of his fellow citizens and winning golden opinions as Surrogate of this city and county."
President Duer had a most interesting family of children. His eldest married daughter, Frances Maria, was the wife of Henry Shaeffe Hoyt of Park Place, and died recently in Newport at a very advanced age. Eleanor Jones Duer, another daughter, married George T. Wilson, an Englishman. She was a great beauty, bearing a striking resemblance to Fanny Kemble, and was remarkable for her strong intellect. Her marriage was clandestine, and the cause, as far as I know, was never explained. Still another daughter, Elizabeth, married Archibald Gracie King of Weehawken, and was a Colonial Dame of much prominence in her later years. She was the mother of the authoress, Mrs. John King Van Rensselaer. President Duer's wife was Hannah Maria Denning of Fishkill, New York. I knew her only as an elderly woman possessing a fine presence and social tastes.
In my early life the students of Columbia College enjoyed playing practical jokes upon its dignified professors. As an illustration, I remember once seeing the death of Professor Renwick fictitiously published in one of the daily journals, much to the sorrow and subsequently the indignation of a large circle of friends. Professor Anthon, too, although a confirmed bachelor, had to face his turn, and his marriage to some unknown bride bearing an assumed name was an occasional announcement. But the most amusing feature of the joke would appear in the morning, when an emphatic denial would be seen in the columns of the same newspaper, accompanied by a quotation in spurious Latin. Professor Anthon lived with his two spinster sisters in one of the college buildings, and their home was a rendezvous for an appreciative younger generation. In connection with his duties at the college, he was the head of the Columbia College Grammar School, and I have always understood that he strictly followed the scriptural injunction not "to spare the rod." His victims were repeatedly heard to remark that these flagellations partially counterbalanced the lack of exercise which he felt very keenly in his sedentary life. But with all his austerity his pupils would occasionally be astonished over the amount of humor that he was capable of displaying. His handwriting was exquisitely minute in character, and I have in my possession two valentines composed by him and sent to me which are quaintly beautiful in language and, although sixty years old, are still in a perfect state of preservation.
To Miss Marian Campbell.
The Campbell is coming! Ye Gentles beware,
For Don Cupid lies hid in her dark flowing hair,
And her eyes, bright as stars that in mid-heaven roll,
Pierce through frock-coat and dickey right into the soul!
And ye lips which the coral might envy, I ween,
And ye pearl rows that peep from the red lips between,
And that soft-dimpled cheek, with the hue of the rose,
And that smile which bears conquest wherever it goes,
Oh, could I but think that you soon would be mine,
I'd send Marian each morning a sweet valentine.
Feb'y 14, 1844.
(Written a few years later.)
Sweet girl! within whose laughing eye
A thousand little Cupids lie,
While every curl, that floats above
Thy noble brow, seems fraught with love.
Oh, list to me, my loved one, list!
Thy Tellkampf's suit no more resist,
But give to him, to call his own,
A heart where Kings might make their throne.