Louis Gaillard was quite a friend of the Clerk of the Council, a very scholarly and interesting young man with a French name, who was kindness itself in showing us the treasures of the City Hall. He knew and loved every one of them, and Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, could not have been more eloquent in praise of her jewels. He might well be proud of them, as I doubt there being a more complete collection of things of civic and historical interest in any City Hall in all the world, certainly not in America.
In the Mayor's office there hung a peculiarly interesting fragment of a painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller. It was Queen Anne's hand resting on a crown. The rest of the picture had been cut away by some vandal after the wonderful painting had gone through various vicissitudes during the Revolutionary War. Queen Anne was always a dead, dull person to my mind, and the only thing that ever interested me about her was the fact that she did have a crown, and perhaps if the picture was to be destroyed the crown was about the most interesting part to preserve.
I don't want to sound like a guide-book, and I am afraid I might if I tell of all the treasures in that Council Chamber. I must mention Trumbull's portrait of Washington, however. It is very wonderful. The great general stands in Continental uniform by his white charger, every inch a soldier.
"It does not look exactly like the Gilbert Stuart portraits," said Dum.
"No," explained the young man ingenuously, "Stuart painted Washington after he had false teeth, and that changed his appearance a great deal. This picture is valued at $100,000, but of course no money could induce the City of Charleston to part with it."
Then there was Healy's portrait of John C. Calhoun, a wonderful painting. Dum and Mrs. Green thought that from an artistic standpoint it was of more value than the Trumbull portrait of Washington. I am frankly ignorant of what is best in pictures, but I am trying to learn. I certainly liked the Healy portrait very much, though. The hands were wonderful, and Dum said that was a true test of painting; that if an artist was not a top-notcher he could not draw hands, and usually made the model sit on them or put them in his pocket, or if it happened to be a woman, covered them up with drapery. The Clerk of the Council seemed very much amused by Dum's remarks and delighted with her interest, and we noticed he addressed most of his explanations to her while we trailed along in their wake.
There was a portrait of Francis Marion which rather amused us, as he is dressed in uniform with a brigadier general's hat. Now we all knew that Marion never wore anything more tony than a coon skin cap, and he looked as funny as Daniel Boone would painted in a Tuxedo with an opera hat.
Portraits of President Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Zachary Taylor, General Moultrie, Beauregard, Wade Hampton, and five mayors who held the civic reins of Charleston in troublous times adorn the walls. There were many other Charlestonians of note whom their city had delighted to honor, but I am afraid of getting too guide-booky if I dwell on them.
The cablegram Queen Victoria sent at the time of the earthquake, expressing her sympathy for the sufferers has been carefully preserved. It is the original autograph copy, which, together with the letters from Mayor Courtney, Secretary of State Bayard, and E. J. Phelps, United States Minister to the Court of St. James, which were written in regard to obtaining the original message, are embodied in a book and handsomely bound. The message reads:
"To the President of the United States: I desire to express profound sympathy with the sufferers by the late earthquake, and await with anxiety further intelligence which, I hope, may show the effects to have been less disastrous than expected.