“So radiant! So beautiful!” she said in a voice of indescribable pathos, “And to think you, too, may come to this!”
I have spoken of Mrs. Pryor, the beautiful wife of the young diplomat, who had won general public approbation for his success in conducting a mission to Greece. Not of our especial mess, Mrs. Pryor frequently mingled with us, being the friend of Mrs. Douglas and Mrs. Pugh. They were, in truth, a very harmonious trio, Mrs. Pugh being a perfect brunette, Mrs. Douglas a blonde, and Mrs. Pryor a lighter brunette with soft-brown hair and eyes. She wore a distinctive coiffure, and carried her head charmingly. Even at that time Mrs. Pryor was notable for the intellectuality which has since uttered itself in several charming books.
Though not members of our resident circle, my memories of dear old Brown’s would scarcely be complete without a mention of little Henry Watterson, with whose parents our “mess” continually exchanged visits for years. Henry, their only child, was then an invalid, debarred from the usual recreations of other boys, by weak eyes that made the light unbearable and reading all but impossible; yet at fifteen the boy was a born politician and eager for every item of news from the Senate or House.
“What bills were introduced to-day? Who spoke? Please tell me what took place to-day?” were among the questions (in substance) with which the lad was wont to greet the ladies of our “mess,” when he knew them to be returning from a few hours spent in the Senate gallery; and, though none foresaw the later distinction which awaited the invalid boy, no one of us was ever so hurried and impatient that she could not and did not take time to answer his earnest inquiries.
It is safe to say that no member of our pleasant circle was more generally valued than that most lovable of men, Lucius Q. C. Lamar, “Moody Lamar,” as he was sometimes called; for he was then, as he always continued to be, full of dreams and ideals and big, warm impulses, with a capacity for the most enduring and strongest of friendships, and a tenderness rarely displayed by men so strong as was he.[[2]] Mr. Lamar was full of quaint and caressing ways even with his fellow-men, which frank utterance of his own feelings was irresistibly engaging. I have seen him walk softly up behind Mr. Clay, when the latter was deep in thought, touch him lightly on the shoulder, and, as my husband turned quickly to see what was wanted, “Lushe” or “big Lushe,” as all called him, would kiss him suddenly and lightly on the forehead.
Yes! Mr. Lamar and his sparkling, bright-souled wife, Jennie Longstreet, were beloved members of that memorable “mess” in ante-bellum Washington.
Next to Congressman Lamar, I suppose it may safely be said no man was more affectionately held than another of our mess-mates, Congressman Dowdell, “old Dowdell,” “dear old Dowdell,” and sometimes “poor, dear old Dowdell” being among the forms by which he was continually designated. Mr. Dowdell had a large and loose frame, and walked about with a countryman’s easy indifference to appearances. A born wag, he sometimes took a quiet delight in accentuating this seeming guilelessness.
One evening he came strolling in to dinner, prepared for a comfortable chat over the table, though all the rest of our little coterie were even then dressing for attendance at a grand concert. It was an event of great importance, for Gottschalk, the young Créole musician, of whom all the country was talking, was to be heard in his own compositions.
“What!” I exclaimed as I saw Mr. Dowdell’s every-day attire, “You don’t mean to tell me you’re not going to the concert! I can’t allow it, brother Dowdell! Go right out and get your ticket and attend that concert with all the rest of the world, or I’ll tell your constituents what sort of a country representative they’ve sent to the capital!”
My laughing threat had its effect, and he hurried off in quest of the ticket, which, after some difficulty, was procured.