Dreadful to the eyes of the bereaved wife were the pomp and show with which her hero was buried.
After he became President, General Taylor said, that “his wife had prayed every night for months that Henry Clay might be elected President in his place.” She survived her husband two years, and to her last hour never mentioned the White House in Washington, except in its relation to the death of her husband.
She was succeeded by a woman of superior intellect, who in a different sphere had proved herself an equally devoted wife. Mrs. Abigail Filmore, the daughter of a Baptist clergyman, grew up in Western New York, when it was a frontier and a wilderness. Yearning for intellectual culture, with all the drawbacks of poverty and scanty opportunity, she obtained sufficient knowledge to become a school-teacher. It was while following this avocation that she first met her future husband, the thirteenth President of the United States, then a clothier’s apprentice, a youth of less than twenty years, himself, during the winter months, a teacher of the village school. They were married in 1826, and began life in a small house built by her husband’s hands. In this little house the wife added to her duties of maid-of-all-work, house-keeper, hostess and wife, the avocation of teacher. She bore full half of the burden of life, and the husband, with the weight of care lifted from him by willing and loving hands, rose rapidly in the profession of law, and in less than two years was chosen a member of the State Legislature. Thus, side by side, they worked and struggled, from poverty to eminence.
Strong in intellect and will, her delights were all feminine. Her tasks accomplished, she lived in books and music, flowers and children. At her death, her husband said: “For twenty-seven years, my entire married life, I was always greeted with a happy smile.” She entered the White House a matron of commanding person and beautiful countenance. She was five feet six inches in height, with a complexion extremely fair and pure, blue, smiling eyes, and a wealth of light-brown curling hair. A personal friend of Mrs. Filmore, writing from Buffalo, says:
“When Mr. Filmore entered the White House, he found it entirely destitute of books. Mrs. Filmore was in the habit of spending her leisure moments in reading, I might almost say, in studying. She was accustomed to be surrounded with books of reference, maps, and all the other requirements of a well furnished library, and she found it difficult to content herself in a house devoid of such attractions. To meet this want, Mr. Filmore asked of Congress, and received an appropriation, and selected a library, devoting to that purpose a large and pleasant room in the second story of the White House. Here Mrs. Filmore surrounded herself with her little home comforts; here her daughter had her own piano, harp, and guitar, and here Mrs. Filmore received the informal visits of the friends she loved, and, for her, the real pleasure and enjoyments of the White House were in this room.”
Mrs. Filmore was proud of her husband’s success in life, and desirous that no reasonable expectation of the public should be disappointed. She never absented herself from the public receptions, dinners, or levées, when it was possible to be present; but her delicate health frequently rendered them very painful. She sometimes kept her bed all day, to favor that weak ankle, that she might be able to endure the fatigue of the two hours she would be obliged to stand for the Friday evening levées.
Mrs. Filmore was destined never to see again her old home in Buffalo, with mortal eyes. She contracted a cold on the day of Mr. Pierce’s inauguration, which resulted in pneumonia, of which she died, at Willard’s Hotel, Washington, 1853. What she is in the memory of her husband, may be judged by the fact—that he has carefully preserved every line that she ever wrote him, and has been heard to say that he could never destroy even the little notes that she sent him on business, to his office.
The child of this truly wedded pair, Mary Abigail Filmore, was the rarest and most exquisite President’s daughter that ever shed sunshine in the White House. She survived her mother but a year, dying of cholera, at the age of twenty-two, yet her memory is a benison to all young American women, especially to those surrounded by the allurements of society and high station. She was not only the mistress of many accomplishments, but possessed a thoroughly practical education. She was taught at home, at Mrs. Sedgwick’s school, in Lenox, Massachusetts, and was graduated from the State Normal School of New York, as a teacher, and taught in the higher departments of one of the public schools in Buffalo. She was a French, German, and Spanish scholar; was a proficient in music; and an amateur sculptor. She was the rarest type of woman, in whom were blended, in perfect proportion, masculine judgment and feminine tenderness. In her were combined intellectual force, vivacity of temperament, genuine sensibility, and deep tenderness of heart. She saw clearly through the forms and shows of life, her views of its duties were grave and serious; yet, in her intercourse with others, she overflowed with bright wit, humor and kindliness. Her character was revealed in her face, for her soul shone through it. Words cannot tell what such a nature and such an intelligence would be, presiding over the social life of the Nation’s House. She used her opportunities, as the President’s daughter, to minister to others. She clung to all her old friends, without any regard to their position in life; her time and talents were devoted to their happiness. She was constantly thinking of some little surprise, some gift, some journey, some pleasure, by which she could contribute to the happiness of others. After the death of her mother, she went to the desolate home of her father and brother, and, emulating the example of that mother, relieved her father of all household care; her domestic and social qualities equalled her intellectual power. She gathered all her early friends about her; she consecrated herself to the happiness of her father and brother; she filled her home with sunshine. With scarcely an hour’s warning, the final summons came. “Blessing she was, God made her so,” and in her passed away one of the rarest of young American women.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WHITE HOUSE DURING THE WAR.
Under a Cloud—“A Woman Among a Thousand”—Revival of By-gone Days—Another Lady of the White House—A “Golden Blonde”—Instinct Alike with Power and Grace—A Fun-Loving Romp—Harriet with her Wheelbarrow of Wood—A Deed of Kindness—The Wheel Turns Round—An Impression Made on Queen Victoria—In Paris and on the Continent—An American Lady at Oxford—Gay Doings at the Capital—Rival Claims for a Lady’s Hand—Reigning at the White House—Doing Double Duty—Visit of the Prince of Wales—Marriage of Harriet Lane—As Wife and Mother—Mrs. Abraham Lincoln—Standing Alone—A Time of Trouble and Perplexity—Conciliatory Counsels Needful—Rumors of War—the Life of the Nation Threatened—Whispers of Treason—Awaiting the Event—Peculiar Position of Mary Lincoln—A Life-long Ambition Fulfilled—The Nation Called to Arms—Contagious Enthusiasm—What the President’s Wife Did—Nothing to do but “Shop”—Sensational Stories Afloat—Stirring Times at the Capital—What Came from the River—The Dying and the Dead—Churches and Houses Turned into Hospitals—Arrival of Troops—“Mrs. Lincoln Shopped”—The Lonely Man at the White House—Letters of Rebuke—An Example of Selfishness—Petty Economies—The Back Door of the White House—An Injured Individual—Death of Willie Lincoln—Injustice which Mrs. Lincoln Suffered—The Rabble in the White House—Valuables Carried Away—Big Boxes and Much Goods—Going West—Mrs. Lincoln Disconsolate—False and Cruel Accusations—Considerable Personal Property—Missing Treasures—Mrs. Lincoln as a Woman—Tears and Mimicry—The Faults of a President’s Wife.