YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Bought with the income
of the
ALFRED E. PERKINS FUND

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

iy*ZH*U&ryv/!'&i^ S/uar.a^' Ji$a^.fj.

WILLIAM BUTLER OGDEN
CHICAGO'S FIRST MAYOR

CHICAGO
YESTERDAYS
A SHEAF OF REMINISCENCES

Garnered By
CAROLINE KIRKLAND

Qlhirann
DAUGHADAY AND COMPANY
1919

COPYRIGHT 1919 BY DlOBHlDil AND COMPANY
PUBLISHED DECEMBER 1919

FOREWORD
The historian sifts and sifts through his sieve, and from
the residue — that which is too thick and solid to go through
his meshes — he constructs his story. In this book we lov
ers of Chicago have done differently. Only that which
would slip through the sieve is here offered the reader.
Truth lies in the dust that the scholar rejects as well as in
the solid nuggets he gathers. From this dust we hope to
reconstruct for your delectation at least a vision, a mirage
of the simple, hard-working, every-day existence of the
men and women of yesterday whose dutiful, industrious
hves bequeathed to us of to-day one of the wonders of this
age. Fourth city on the globe in point of size as the census
goes, Chicago is second to none in importance as the great
market of the western and eastern hemispheres. Reapers
made in Chicago reap the grains of Siberia and the Argen
tine. Products of Packingtown support life at the North
and South Poles, and in the loneliest, remotest of the Poly
nesian isles. Steel from our great mills forms the skeletons
of ships on the seven seas, and the rails of transcontinental
railways in distant countries.
The strenuous industrial and commercial present is re
flected in the city's social life. The families of the men at
the head of the vast enterprises, which are the sources of
the city's power, are the directing force in Chicago's soci
ety. They organize and run entertainments, charitable in-

iv CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
stitutions, clubs, and reform movements of all kinds. So
absorbed are our men and women of to-day, however, in
their many activities that they give small heed to the city's
very honorable and interesting past. They are more in-
clined to hang it up in a dark closet like an outworn cloak,
instead of wearing it like a bright diadem as do older, more
mellow cities. This lack of heed to our predecessors is a
sign of our youth. It is only as we grow older that oui
thoughts turn backward.
It is but the lifetime of an octogenarian since Chicago
got its city charter in 1837. At that time it had no water
system, no drainage, no street pavements, no railways en
tered or left it. It was the crudest of frontier towns. But
its inhabitants even then had a peculiar pride of place.
Writing on March 22, 1833, Mrs. R. G. Hamilton, an early
resident, said: —
"For in all my lifetime I never saw a place where nature
had done so much. Our society is very good and large for
a place so new. We have the military here, who are very
agreeable, rather gay and extravagant for my turn of mind
.... " and so on and so forth.
In the letters of Mr. and Mrs. Augustus Burley, in Mr.
Joseph T. Ryerson's invaluable memoir, in Mrs. Leander
McCormick's charming and artless account of the furnish
ing of her first house here, we get the homely, sweet flavor
of those early days. Mrs. William Blair and Mrs. Arthur
B. Meeker deal delightfully with later decades and bridge
the time to the period of that genial and friendly west-side
settlement — mainly from Kentucky — of which Mr. Car
ter H. Harrison gives so vivid a description.

FOREWORD v
Mrs. Joseph Frederick Ward, Mme. Charles Bigot, and
Miss Mary Drummond make the sixties and seventies live
again for us. Mrs. Frederick T. West and Mrs. Frederick
Greeley, daughters of eminent pioneers, give us vivid
glimpses of the aspect of a north-side residence district, a
place of pleasant homes, set in large gardens on quiet
streets. They also call up visions of Chicago's greatest dis
aster — the catastrophe that set her in the same category
with Pompeii, London, and Lisbon, the Chicago Fire of
1871. Mrs. B. F. Ayer brings before us old Hyde Park.
Mr. Edward Blair's entertaining narrative, describing
the founding of the Chicago Club, shows our society grow
ing sophisticated, and links the past to the present. There
is no stronger contrast in the book, however, than Mrs.
Robert G. McGann's lively picture of early Lake Forest as
it stands against the elegance, fashion, and up-to-dateness
of that community to-day.
Mr. Hobart C. Chatfield-Taylor's chapter on "The Yes
terday of the Horse" taps wells of personal memories of
people who — well, who don't consider themselves entirely
ancient. To conclude this collection of yesterdays with a chapter
from Mrs. William J. Calhoun, on the World's Fair, is to
put the cap-stone on a fair edifice built of material no his
torian would use. Yet who shall say that Chicago of other
days — yesterdays — does not live and breathe and move
in these pages as no mere searcher after dry-as-dust facts
could make her? It is men and women, and the children
they rear, who make a city, not the streets that are laid out,
the houses that are built, nor the laws that are passed.
And, if after reading the words herein set down, thoughts

vi CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
may occasionally come to you of those who once lived here
in Chicago as ardently as you, with ideals of civic and do
mestic life as high as yours — if not higher — then this
book has not been achieved in vain, though it be composed
only of historian's dust.

CONTENTS PAGE
Foreword  iii
I. The Twenties and Thirties Caroline Kirkland 1
II. A Pioneer Couple 
. Letters of Mr. and Mrs. Augustus H. Burley 15
III. A New Home . Letter of Mrs. Leander McCormick 35
IV. The First Church Wedding in Chicago ....
 Mrs. Arthur B. Meelcer 41
V. Gleanings from a Family Memoir 
 Joseph Turner Ryerson 47
VI. Out of the Past .... Mrs. William Blair 73
VII. As I Remember It . Mrs. Joseph Frederick Ward 88
VIIL Long Ago  Mary Drummond 117
IX. Forgotten Chicago .... Mme. Charles Bigot 143
X. A Kentucky Colony . Carter H. Harrison 162
XL Old Hyde Park  Mrs. B. F. Ayer 179
XII. Before the Fire .... Mrs. Frederick Greeley 193
XIII. The Chicago Club  Edward Blair 201
X1Y. Through a Child's Eyes . Mrs. Frederick T. West 216
XV. Early Lake Forest Mrs. Robert Greaves McGann 237
XVI. From Fire to Fair  By Various People 257
XVII. The Yesterday of the Horse 
 Hobart C. Chatfield-Taylor 273
XVIII. The World's Fair . . . Mrs. William J. Calhoun 283
Index  299

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS i
THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES
By Caroline Kirkland
Where Madison Street crosses State Street is said to be
the most traffic-congested spot in the world to-day. On
foot and awheel thousands of people of every race on this
round and rapidly shrinking globe of ours pass and repass.
The roar of this constant movement is punctuated by the
shrill whistle of the traffic policeman. The warning clang
of the street -cars is almost lost in the general din that rises
skyward in waves of reverberation to vanish in the upper
ether. A hundred years ago this same spot was an unnoticed
part of a flat, marshy, windswept expanse that stretched
from the sedge-bordered banks of a sluggish little river
south to a distant, knoll-dotted prairie, and west to one of
the two forks that fed the little river. Instead of to-day's
high buildings, a few widely scattered, one- or two-roomed
wooden houses dotted the green waste of water-logged
land. Instead of to-day's deafening uproar, the breeze
whispered among the reeds. The quail's clear call repre
sented the policeman's warning whistle. State Street, now
flanked by magnificent shops^and^towering office buildings,
was then a shallow, fern-bordered slough, emptying its

2 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
muddy surface drainage, by a slow ooze, into the sluggish
river, called by the Indians the " Che-ca-gou," or Garlic-
weed creek.
This anemic stream staggered, now eastward, now west
ward. Spring freshets carried its waters over a low water
divide into the Desplaines River, and thence, by the Illinois
and Mississippi rivers, into the Gulf of Mexico. The rest of
the year it drifted nonchalantly lake ward. At its mouth a
sand-bar opposed its career, whereupon it turned docilely
southward to meet the lake about where Madison Street
now touches the shore.
The chief sign of man's handiwork in the landscape was
Fort Dearborn, consisting of a regulation blockhouse, char
acteristic of our frontiers of those days. This, with a few
low buildings, such as barracks, officers' quarters and store
houses, all built of rough-hewn logs, was enclosed by a
stockade. The fort was the second on this site, having
been built in 1816 on the ruins of its predecessor, which
had been looted and burnt by the Indians who perpetrated
what is now known as the Chicago Massacre, on August
15, 1812.
Across the river and a little to the east of the fort, John
Kinzie's house stood, — about where the new boulevard
abutment and Kirk's soap factory now meet, — in a fence-
enclosed space, with three tall poplars in front and a giant
cottonwood tree shading it from the rear. This house was
the center of many social activities for several years.
In the forest of low scrub-oaks and other deciduous trees
which covered what is now the "North Side," deer crashed
through the underbrush. On the river's brink the unmo
lested crane stood for hours at a stretch in a one-legged

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 3
contemplation of life and time. Innumerable water-fowl,
wild swan, wild geese, and wild ducks, semi-annually settled
in vast clouds of bird-dom on the soggy, sedge-grown
reaches adjacent to the river.
Where now the West Side lies in a huge, more or less rec
tangular conglomeration of streets, parks, and buildings, in
1819 was a wide, flower-grown prairie where as late as 1837
deer were hunted with hounds, and where wolf packs
roamed, filling the night with their melancholy and disturb
ing hullabaloo. They even prowled about the habitations
of man and were our first scavengers'. The children of
that era after nightfall cowered in their beds, hiding their
heads under the blankets when the fierce and mournful
howls came too near the scattered hamlet. The pack loved
best to congregate near Charlie Cleaver's soap factory, on
the North Branch, to devour the scraps thrown out from
there. Their quarrels disturbed every one within a radius of
half a mile.
Ashbel Steele, an early resident, had a fine team and
sleigh, and two dogs with which he used to hunt wolves in
the winter time over what is now the West Side. He took
with him his wife and two little girls, well wrapped up in
buffalo robes, and in his letters, now in the archives of the
Chicago Historical Society, he describes the thrill of the
swift flight of his long-tailed team over the smooth, flat
surface of the snowbound prairie. The dogs roused the
wolves and ran them down, the Steele family following the
chase in their low sleigh.
The same writer describes an afternoon walk between
Clybourne's house and Huntoon's sawmill, both on the
northwest side of the city, when he came upon the bodies of

4 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
two dead Indians. One corpse was wrapped up and laid in
the branches of a tree. The other was placed in a fenced-in
inclosure, facing eastward, in a sitting posture, his back
against a tree, his pipes by his side, his gun across the life
less knees. Mr. Steele didn't know that this strange appari
tion was the body of an Indian chief, Big Thunder, who
had requested to be so placed after death, saying : —
" Out of the East shall come great danger to my people.
When it comes I will arise and lead my braves to victory."
There is no record of the time when this strange spectacle
disappeared from that part of the country.
On this same stroll Mr. Steele describes what he calls
"Indian ladders," which were used to climb to the tops of
trees for racoons and wild honey. As much as two hundred
pounds of honey was taken at a time from one tree.
Browsing among the records and yellow, musty, old let
ters at the Chicago Historical Society is a far from unplea
sant occupation. Notes there gathered mention I. K. Bots-
ford's tinshop as being the first building on Lake Street, the
principal thoroughfare in Chicago. Near-by was Charles
Follansbee's "family grocery store," and Tuthill King's
clothing store.
One Thomas Church, who landed here June 2, 1834, with
his wife and two little girls, has left some letters describing
his impressions and experiences. He says that he found less
than half a dozen dwelling-houses on South Water Street;
also several stores and the huts of Indian traders. There
was then not even a foot-path where Lake Street now runs
east and west. He was urged by the residents at Wolf
Point to buy land and settle there, as they contended that
the boggy condition of the territory south of the river would

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 5
forever prevent its being usable. During the periods of in
undation frequently the garrison at the fort could only be
reached by boat or on horseback. When he wanted to get
title to land near South Water Street, either it was marked
as preempted, or there was a worn-out and stalled wagon
stuck in the mire which it would have cost five or six dollars
to dig out and haul away, an expense the value of the site
did not warrant. Finally he built a store and house in "a
pathless region" on what is now Lake Street west of Dear
born. Here he sold groceries, hardware, tools, crockery,
and paints, and dealt with the Indians, who paid him, not
in cash, but in furs, deerskins, and game, while the squaws
brought in wild berries and maple sugar in birch-bark
baskets. After the death of his wife in 1839 he married again; this
time a widow, Mrs. Benjamin Jones, and built for her and
his daughters a new home on Lake Street just west of where
the LeMoyne block now stands. He had a garden full of
flowers, fruits and vegetables, and the west of his lot he
planted thick with sunflowers and hollyhocks to neutralize
"the odiousness of Johnston's soap factory." A heavy
growth of shrubbery concealed his house from the street,
and a " snow-white picket fence, whose massive posts were
surmounted by massive balls," earned for his place the
sobriquet "the snowball garden."
Mr. Church mentions the old burial ground on the lake
front south of the present Madison Street, and says that
easterly storms frequently washed away the earth, exposing
and battering to pieces the coffins, and strewing the shore
with ghastly remains.
Everyone was not buried there, however. In 1832 the

6 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
first cholera epidemic visited Chicago, brought here by
troops from Detroit. Lack of any appliances for combating
the disease resulted in many deaths both in the fort and
outside of it. The corpses of the luckless victims were hastily
tossed into a big general grave or trough, dug where now
Wabash. Avenue touches River Street. As the burial squad,
on one occasion, was hurrying through its grewsome task,
one corpse sat up and remonstrated, which sent the squad
helter skelter back to the fort.
I think it was of a later cholera visitation — Chicago had
many — that that delightful wit and raconteur, Dr. Charles
Dyer, — now long dead, — used to love to tell of his own
part. A ship-load of cholera-stricken people arrived in port.
He was delegated to take off such as he thought could be
saved. Looking over the miserable victims he selected fifteen,
leaving another fifteen to certain death, as he supposed.
Man proposes; God disposes! Dr. Dyer's fifteen all died
of the disease; those he left on the ship got well! What can
medical science do with such obstinate, unappreciative
mortals? Life in the third decade in Chicago, was simple, rugged,
and fairly wholesome. The fort, with its little group of army
officers and their families, was the center of sociability. A de
bating society, which met there, was the acme of gaiety.
Scarcely second to this, however, were the impromptu
dances which took place in the old Sauganash Hotel when
the innkeeper, that gay and genial Frenchman and pioneer,
Mark Beaubien, would take down his fiddle and set all feet
twinkling in the square-dances of that period. This once
popular old hostelry stood on the southeast corner of Mar
ket and Lake streets. On this same site Abraham Lincoln

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 7
received the Republican nomination for president on May
18, 1860, in that famous old convention hall, the Wigwam.
As the many men and women of that neighborhood
transact their daily business, could magic turn to-day's
sights and sounds into those that filled the eye and the
ear on that spot on a certain day eighty-four years ago,
these same dutiful clerks, stenographers, accountants, and
other workers would forsake desks and typewriters and
rush to doors and windows that command that part of
Lake Street.
On August 18, 1835, eight hundred Indian braves cele
brated the signing of the treaty which gave all their claims
to land in and around Chicago to the "pale faces" by organ
izing a great war-dance. Starting on the north side of the
river about where the northeast corner of Rush and Kinzie
streets now is, this band of warriors proceeded along the
river's brink westward to the north branch. They were
naked except for loin cloths; their faces were streaked with
paint — vermilion and red predominating — with accent
ing splashes of black. The coarse, long, black hair of each
brave was gathered up in a scalp-lock on the top of the
head, and adorned with hawks' and eagles' feathers. Leap
ing, crouching, creeping, bounding, they advanced to the
hideous din of their own band. The savage rhythm to which
their wild capers corresponded was given by measured beat
ing on hollow vessels and striking war -clubs together, accom
panied by discordant yells, made more horrible by the rapid
clapping of the mouth with the palm of the hand, — that
blood-curdling Indian war-whoop which is fast fading even
from our traditions, but which, a century ago, was the sig
nal for terror and foreboding.

8 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Crossing the north branch the howling, leaping savages
turned southward until they came to what was then known
as Wolf Point, a collection of rude cabins clustered at the
junction where the north and south branches met to form
the main river. They crossed the south branch at about
where Lake Street now runs, and advanced to the space in
front of the Sauganash Hotel. The windows of the hotel
parlors on the second floor looking westward were crowded
with spectators, among whom was the young lawyer, John
Dean Caton, and his pretty bride, Laura Sherrill, of Utica.
When the Indians saw white women watching them, their
frenzy increased. Writing of the scene afterwards, Judge
Caton thus vividly describes it : —
"The morning was very warm and the perspiration was
pouring from them. Their countenances had assumed an
expression of all the worst passions . . . fierce anger, ter
rible hate, dire revenge, remorseless cruelty — all were ex
pressed in their terrible features. . . . Their tomahawks and
clubs were thrown and brandished in every direction . . . and
with every step and every gesture they uttered the most
frightful yells. . . . The dance consisted of leaps and spas
modic steps, now forward and now back or sidewise, the
whole body distorted into every imaginable position; most
generally stooping forward with the head and face thrown
up, the back arched down, first one foot thrown far for
ward and withdrawn and the other similarly thrust out,
frequently squatting quite to the ground, and all with a
movement almost as quick as lightning.
"When the head of the column reached the hotel, while
they looked up at the windows at the 'Chemokoman

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 9
squaws' ... it seemed as if we had a picture of hell itself be
fore us and a carnival of the damned spirits there confined."
Passing on eastward, they disbanded under the Fort
Dearborn stockade with parting yells, to end their last day
in Chicago in a final glorious debauch.
The thirties of the last century in Chicago were as
lively as the twenties were quiet. Speculators, gamblers,
adventurers of all kinds flocked to the frontier settlement,
along with the solid and substantial citizens who came to
found families and fortunes in this outpost of civilization.
Many arrived by the big, canvas-covered wagons called
"prairie-schooners" and camped in a semicircle on the con
fines of the village. Frequently more than a hundred camp-
fires dotted the night landscape. Land was the great specu
lation then; lots in 1833, for instance, selling for $3,000 that
had cost their owners $80 the year before. All this, however,
is a matter of writtenhistory and therefore not within our prov
ince. But of interest alike to housekeeper and householder
is the cost of living in that era. Viewed in the light of to
day's expense account, it looks like the golden age to you
and me. Beef was six cents a pound; butter the same. Flour
was three dollars a barrel; grouse a dollar a dozen; quail
thirty-seven cents a dozen; venison a dollar and a half the
carcase. Fruits were more costly, as they had all to be
brought from the East over land and lake — a long and
laborious journey. The water supply was primitive, to say
the least. A man collected water from the margin of the
lake in a hogshead and peddled it from door to door.
Social customs were informal and animated by that spirit
of boundless hospitality which is to this day the unwritten

10 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
law in Chicago — to the amazement of our eastern visitors.
In 1837 the daughter of one of our earliest settlers, a
French-Canadian, La Framboise, was married to a Chicago
postal clerk, name not recorded. (Later she became the
wife of Medard Beaubien.) The bridegroom had fifty invi
tations struck off on the village printing-press. On hints he
had another fifty printed and distributed; then a hundred
more. Still the demand for invitations grew, so he an
nounced that tickets were not necessary and that every
one might come.
In 1831 the first bridge over the river and its branches
was thrown across the south branch between where now it
is crossed by Lake and Randolph streets. It cost $286.20
and for some unexplained reason the Pottawotamies paid
$200 of this sum. Near the present Kinzie Street bridge a
foot-bridge was built in 1832. In 1834 at Dearborn Street
a "jackknife" bridge was constructed. This was three hun
dred feet long, with a sort of gallows frame at each end,
and was drawn up and let down by cables worked by hand-
power. The first steamboat entered the river on May 4, 1834.
It was the S. S. Michigan, Captain Blake, and owned by
Oliver Newberry of Detroit, brother of Walter L. Newberry
of Chicago, whose fortune founded the library bearing his
name. The first grain elevators were on the north side of the
river, which made south-side business men so envious that
they tried to do away with the bridges and cut off the
North Side from any communication with their part of
town, except by the tedious hand-worked ferry which ran
back and forth where Rush Street bridge now is. Some

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 11
years later, to improve communication between the north
and south sides, William B. Ogden and Walter L. Newberry,
both of whom owned much north-side property, gave the
present block bounded by State, Superior, Cass streets and
Chicago Avenue, where stands the Cathedral of the Holy
Name and other church-owned buildings, to the Roman
Catholic Church so as to get the Catholic vote for the pro
posed Clark Street bridge. This vote is supposed to have
carried the measure, greatly to the ultimate advantage of
both the north and south sides of the city.
In 1832, Chicago taxes totalled almost $400, which was
considered a matter for great rejoicing. In 1833 the settle
ment became a regular village, with old John Kinzie's son,
Major John H. Kinzie (his title came from Governor Cass
of Michigan), as first president of the board of trustees.
On this board were T. V. Owen, Mark Beaubien, and John
Miller. Chicago early acquired the fire habit which culminated
in the famous orgy of October 9, 1871. Her first great fire
was in 1838, when seventeen wooden buildings on Lake and
Dearborn streets were swept away, including the original
Tremont House on the northwest corner of these two
streets. In 1835 a fire company had been formed at a gen
eral meeting of citizens called for this purpose in Ike Cook's
saloon, on South Water Street. A month later the village
board created a fire department. If this is mentioned here it
is because the fire brigade was a part of fashionable, social
life in those days. Among those composing this first fire
company were John K. Wilson (father of the subsequent
proprietor of the Chicago Journal), P. F. W. Peck, E. C.
Brackett, John Holbrook, Silas B. Cobb, Arthur B. Meeker,

12 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
James K. Botsford, Grant Goodrich, William H. Taylor,
George W. Snow, Jeremiah Price, B. W. Raymond, Ira
Couch, H. 0. Stone, T. B. Carter, James Wadsworth,
Tuthill King, P. C. Sheldon, Samuel N. Davis, and J. M.
Adsit. The company bought a hand engine for $894.38, and
it was the correct thing for everyone to go to a fire in those
days; the men to take a hand in passing buckets while the
women passed cups of hot coffee. As the buildings were
practically all of wood and were hastily and not too
carefully constructed, there were many of these pleasant
social occasions. In the Burley letters in a later chapter you
get an interesting account of the firemen's ball, which was
the chief social event of that season.
In 1837 Chicago became a full-fledged city, with William
Butler Ogden as its first mayor.
Among the eminent citizens who came to Chicago in this
and the previous decade and left descendants, direct or
collateral, were William B. Ogden, John Wentworth, Justin
Butterfield, Philo Otis, H. 0. Stone, P. F. W. Peck, George
W. Dole, George W. Snow, Charles Follansbee, Walter L.
Newberry, E. K. Rogers, Silas B. Cobb, Augustus and
Arthur Burley, Isaac N. Arnold, Henry Hubbard, Daniel
Brainerd, Norman B. Judd, Thomas Bentley, J. Y. Scam-
mon, Mark Skinner, Grant Goodrich, Alexander Wolcott,
Arthur B. Meeker, William Bross, Henry W. Blodgett,
Stephen Gale, and Isaac N. Harmon. Chicago's most not
able pioneer, however, was Gurdon Saltonstall Hubbard,
who came for the Astor fur-trading company in 1821, and
was practically a resident of this city from then on until his
death in 1886.
One name among those of the pioneers prominent in local

THE TWENTIES AND THIRTIES 13
annals about that time here listed recalls a romance which
connects Chicago with one of the most celebrated English
writers of the past thirty years, Rudyard Kipling, and, as
this chapter purports to be merely a not too coherent as
sembling of personalities and incidents, I venture to bring
it in here.
Ellen Marion Kinzie, eldest child of John Kinzie, who
married Dr. Alexander Wolcott, had a niece-in-law, Caro
line Wolcott, gay, pretty and much admired, who came to
visit her Chicago connections, the John H. Kinzies, in the
late thirties. She was only sixteen years old at the time.
Therefore, when young Joseph N. Balestier, a brilliant and
enterprising citizen who had come to Chicago from the
South, met and fell violently in love with her and she with
him, her Chicago hosts strongly opposed the marriage. One
story goes that the ardent young couple were on the eve of
elopement when they were intercepted and induced to ask
once more for the consent of Miss Wolcott's temporary
guardians. This was finally secured. The marriage took
place and the Balestiers ultimately settled in Brattleboro,
Vermont. A grandson, Wolcott Balestier, became Rudyard
Kipling's Fidus Achates;, and a collaborateur in one or more
of his books. After the death of the former, the now famous
English author married the sister, Miss Caroline Balestier,
and in this roundabout way established a relationship with
Chicago. In his children's veins runs the blood of some of
Chicago's early settlers, that fine crop of citizens who gave
this city its best characteristics.
Kipling's one visit to Chicago, some time in the last de
cade of the last century, left such a bad taste in his mouth
that, of all his bitter comments as to his trip across this

14 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
continent, his diatribe on Chicago was the most stinging.
But then he had not yet married a descendant of one of our
f. f. Cs.
From this point on, lights are turned on some of Chicago's
yesterdays by the various contributors to this volume, who,
for the love of Chicago, have kindly searched family ar
chives and their own memories for material that may, we
hope, for a moment hold the attention of impatient to-day.
Perhaps the narratives here set forth will leave a per
manent impress on the minds of their readers, so that
never again can they feel detached from the intangible, but
inescapable clutch of the past, even of so vibrantly young
and lusty a city as Chicago.
After all, what is it that makes any city interesting and
gives it its charm and flavor? Is it its present? Decidedly
not. It is the centuries of turmoil and achievement which
lie behind London, Paris, Florence, Rome, and Athens that
draw us and thousands, even millions, of other tourists
to these cities. So it behooves us Chicagoans to cherish
our city's past and to write its history in street names,
parks, and monuments, as well as in books and memoirs.

II
A PIONEER COUPLE
Letters of Mr. and Mrs. Augustus H. Burley
Two of Chicago's early and eminent citizens were Arthur
Burley and Augustus H. Burley, brothers, who in 1837, the
year Chicago became a city, came from Exeter, N. H.,
by rail, Sound steamer, river boat, canal boat, lake ship,
and horse and wagon to the uncouth, unkempt frontier
settlement that sprawled along both banks of a shallow
stream. The new town had been in turn a halting place
for wandering Indians, a fur -traders' camp, a military
outpost of civilization, and now was fast becoming a
business center for a rapidly developing agricultural dis
trict. The two Burleys were preceded by their half-brother,
Stephen Gale, and followed later by their younger brother,
Charles. From the beginning Augustus, and later his wife,
Harriet, kept up a continuous correspondence with their
eastern relatives — a correspondence which gradually un
folded a graphic picture of the conditions of life in this part
of the world.
From this carefully treasured bundle of letters their
son, Mr. Clarence Burley, has allowed me to cull
what I need, to give as vivid an idea as such frag
ments can of the crude conditions and interesting de
velopment of domestic and social life in Chicago from
1837 to 1852.

16 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Augustus H. Burley writes to Miss Harriet M. Gale in
New England: —

"Chicago, September 7, 1837
". . . . The times are exceedingly dull in this city of
Chicago; there is no business, no balls, no parties, some
shooting, some riding, and plenty of loafers, and to-day,
after the rain, a plenty of mud which completes the picture,
excepting watermelons, which we have here in any quant
ities (alias slathers of them) and of the most delicious
flavor. . . .
" We 1 have started a Circulating Library, and have a
room, 'most finished to keep it in, and another room for a
sleeping room, which form an addition on the back part of
the store.
"Chicago is a pretty good place for men that are in
business for making money, but it is a miserable place for
loafers, — for there is no 'Valient,' no 'Hampton Beach,'
no theater, no museum, or any other place except our store,
which is generally allowed to be the best loafing-place in
the city. . . . " Chicago, November 20, 1837
"... The prairie takes fire every dry day that we have,
and in the evening burns beautifully and lights up the
whole sky. The weather is very warm for the season, with
more than the usual quantity of rain. The Indians predict
an open winter."
Of the rugged conditions of life in the thirties in Chicago
1 His older brother, Arthur Burley, was associated with him in this and
other business enterprises.

A PIONEER COUPLE 17
these extracts give proof: —
"I am glad to hear that Edward S. is coming West, for
it is one of the best countries for young men that can be
found; it completely cures them of all greenness, also of
weak stomachs and fastidiousness. I can eat 'most any
thing, and pull a long hair out of my mouth with perfect
nonchalance. "You can tell Uncle Gray that it was told me on the way
that I should learn to drink rum, brandy, etc. before I had
staid here long, but I have not drunk anything of the kind
but once, and then I was actually sick. It is true that the
water here is first-rate bad, and the only way we get along
is by drinking a great deal of coffee and tea — two coffees
to one tea. The weather, till within two or three weeks, has
been very mild. In that time there has not been snow enough
to stop the burning of the prairies. " Chicago, June 20, 1838
". . . . Our weather this spring has been pretty much
the same as usual, rather cold, but changeable of late. We
have had some warm weather, and a great deal of thunder
and lightning. The trees and the earth are now clothed in
their beautiful garment of green; the prairies are enlivened
by thousands of beautiful flowers and the birds, insects, and
the snakes (O, delightful idea !) are as lively as you can
imagine, and I will renew my promise to get you some
flower seeds if I can. . . .
"I suppose that you will laugh when I tell you that I
have got the itch, and I believe that I have never been
fairly rid of it since I caught it of Harrison. It does not
trouble me, only by its breaking out. It does not itch any.
It is called, through courtesy, the 'Prairie' itch, but it is the

18 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
old-fashioned variety. It is as common here as it is to have
warts on the hands or any other little troubles.
"Chicago, August 14, 1838
" . . . To me and to the rest of us the distance between
here and Exeter seems only a step, but to you I know that
it seems a long way. If the waters of Lake Michigan con
tinue to rise for a year or two more Chicago and all the sur
rounding country will be covered with one vast sheet of
water, finding an outlet through the Mississippi, and the
inhabitants of this place must find a home elsewhere, — and
I for one will find said home farther east.
"Chicago is very healthy for the season; we have had
some very warm weather indeed, but now we have a cold
snap which will probably last a day or two longer, and will
conduce very much to the health of the city. Water-melons
begin to come in in large quantities and of excellent flavor.
Doesn't your mouth water?"
To his half-sister, Harriet M. Gale, he writes: —
"Chicago, December 28, 1838
"... We have moved from our store in South Water
Street to a new one on the corner of Lake and La Salle
streets. Lake Street being our principal business street, the
stand is much better for our business than the old one. The
store is large and airy. We have it hung around, in the
back part of the library room, with portraits of Indian
chiefs, of which more anon.
"The store is well finished and, when we first came into
it with our new stock, looked very well. Now some of the
shelves are getting to be rather bare, which, by the way,

A PIONEER COUPLE 19
is not to be regretted, only as it spoils the uniformity of our
arrangements. "The Indian portraits I spoke of are from a work pub
lished at Philadelphia under the patronage of the Govern
ment, entitled Indian Biography, being portraits of dis
tinguished Indian chiefs and warriors, with their biogra
phies connected. It is published by subscription; (the Govern
ment subscribed $100,000 towards it).
"Stephen is agent in Chicago, and subscribed his pay as
agent for it, amounting to more than the subscription,
which for the whole is $120, being six dollars a number and
twenty numbers, the first nine numbers being published and
received. Stephen has had his framed in black walnut, which
I think is very appropriate. They hang around us in gloomy
majesty, and form an excellent ornament to our store, ex
citing a great deal of interest and curiosity among visitors
in general, and more especially among some Indians of the
Winnebago tribe who were brought in to see them. They
appeared very much pleased with them, — expressing it in
frequent grunts, and recognizing several of the likenesses.
"As to Chicago, it is pretty much the same old place —
full of bustle, activity, and the flower of American young
men. The business this fall has been very much increased
by the southern rivers being so low as they are, and their
navigation being closed. This has forced a great deal of
southern trade to Chicago. This trade has been so great
that it has nearly emptied Chicago of everything. Salt be
ing in great demand at the South, Chicago has been drained
of nearly all except a lot in the hands of one man who
wants it for his own use, and the remainder is selling at six
dollars per bushel. All other articles in the grocery line

20 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
have risen nearly one hundred per cent. . . .
"My letter has now had a resting spell for about one
week, during which time I have been too busy to write,
and now commence again. The old year is past and gone,
and the new year has come, and with it we must renew the
cares and troubles of those which are past. My Christmas
and New Year's day passed the same as usual, — in the
store all the time. Stephen attended a ball at Joliet New
Year's night. The ball was very large, there being about
sixty couples, everything being in the best style.
"There was also a ball in town, but it was small and did
not go off with great eclat. The New York fashion of calling
upon the ladies and taking a glass of wine, or of something
else, on New Year's day, is in vogue here, but, as my time
was so much taken up, I made no calls. . . .
"Chicago, January 11, 1839
"... On Tuesday evening there was a ball which I at
tended and danced until two o'clock among the elite of
Chicago. Last night there was a party which I did not
attend. For a few days the weather has been very mild,
and the mud is up to one's knees nearly. The ladies ride
out in one-horse carriages without any seat or top, and a
tail-board like a potato cart. The river is breaking up and
it is very much feared that it will not be closed again. —
Here comes Arthur with a green blind over his eye. — Dur
ing this bad going, business is very dull; we have nothing to
do but stand at the door and see people get into the mud."
The flight of time somewhat developed Mr. Burley's
gregariousness and letters to his mother in the winter and
summer of 1841 show Chicago's early social tendencies:—

A PIONEER COUPLE 21
"Chicago, January 10, 1841
"... The New Year commenced here with the New
York custom of calling on all acquaintances. I mingled
with the rest, making, myself, thirty-three calls, most of
which will last until the first of New Year again. Stephen
made thirty calls, a wonder for him."
By 1843 Mr. Burley had married and a daughter had
been born to the young couple. A letter of Mrs. Burley's
describing a journey from New York to Chicago is es
pecially recommended to the modern traveler who is
accustomed to stepping on the Twentieth Century train
at two o'clock in the afternoon, and arriving at his destina
tion in eighteen or nineteen hours : —
"Chicago, September 5, 1843
"... We left New York Saturday eve for Albany.
About an hour before, I received a letter from Gus with
directions for me to buy some things, as he had concluded
to keep house. But I did not, as we had no time. We ar
rived in Albany early the next morning. I went to see my
cousin Charlotte and spent the forenoon with her. She was
well and very glad to see me. I believe she is to be married
soon. At one o'clock we took the cars for Buffalo. Baby was
very good all the way. We had a large car but no saloon.
There were but seven or eight on board. I made a bed for
baby on one of the seats and she slept there all night as
well as though she had been at home. Monday eve we
reached Buffalo so I had all day Tuesday to rest, and
Wednesday noon we went on board The Western and started
for home. Tell Harriet we stopped at Detroit after I was

22 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
abed and asleep, but Charles went on shore and saw the
folks. They were all well. You know I have a habit of retir
ing very early. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday it was de
lightful on the lakes. It was as calm as could be. If Harriet
remembers, we could have no music on board The Western
when we went home because one of the band was sick. He
died in a few weeks and his father died just before we reached
Mackinaw, and was buried while we were there. They both
died from bleedings at the lungs caused by playing on
wind instruments. There is another son in the band and,
as the father was dying, he motioned for the son not to play
any more.
"Mrs. Howe was at Mackinaw waiting for The Western
to bring her child to Chicago. It is quite sick. The boat was
so crowded that she could not come. I was thankful she
did not, afterwards, for I do not know what would have be
come of her poor child. Just before we left Mackinaw it
began to blow a little and kept increasing, and that night
we had as severe a storm as has been known on the lakes.
The boat pitched so that the man at the helm had to be
chained fast to keep from going overboard. Some horses on
the lower deck got nearly drowned from having the waves
wash over them all the time. We saw a light and thought
it was the landing place at Manitou and cast anchor, but
the cable soon parted and we lost the anchor, and, as we
drifted on, we found that the light proceeded from a scow.
Sometimes we would go on a minute and then we would go
back, and only went three miles in five hours. About day
light we anchored off the Manitou and were safe, but could
not go near the shore, for there were one or two vessels
aground already. In the midst of all this storm, there was a

A PIONEER COUPLE 23
child born on the boat to a deck passenger. I believe the
woman was made quite comfortable. There we had to stay
three long, long days, and were nearly out of provisions and
had to live on two meals a day. Finally we found that
the forward deck passengers were almost starving. They
were all brought up and had one good meal. Then there
was but enough for two meals more and nothing to be got
from the island, and all the other boats in the same con
dition, so Wednesday morning we put out in quite a blow,
but it went down towards night. Thursday noon I saw the
pier at Chicago and standing on it was my dear husband.
We had six hundred people on board. There was a good
deal of anxiety felt here about the boat.
"I did not mean to fill my letter with my journey home,
but Stephen will tell all about Chicago and its inhabitants.
We have concluded to stay at Mrs. Heights' this winter,
and have a girl for a dollar a week who will do our washing
and work for Mrs. Heights in the morning to pay for her
board, and I have her in the afternoon to take care of the
baby. Do you think it a good arrangement?"
The following is especially interesting to our real-estate
experts. Mr. Burley writes to his father, James Burley, of
Exeter, N. H.: — "Chicago, December 15, 1845
"... There is a three-story brick store a short distance
above our present situation, on the second twenty feet from
the N. E. corner of Lake and Clark streets, which can be
purchased for six thousand dollars, and we have thought it
not improbable that Mr. Robinson would like to make an

24 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
investment here which would pay him good interest.
"The store is three stories high with attic and 80 feet
in depth — the lot is 100 feet deep, with a passage way at
the back end (for the use of it and the next 20 feet) across
the corner lot, to remain forever open; the store has been
built seven years and is good, tho' in need of some repairs,
to plastering, etc., and wants also the addition of iron shut
ters; the roof is tinned and painted.
"Clark Street is the street on which the bridge crosses
the river, and the corners of Lake and Clark streets are
considered the most desirable in town.
"We should be willing and glad to take a five-year lease,
paying $500 rent besides insurance and taxes. This, as
stores now rent, would be low.
"I should prefer hiring the money and making the pur
chase for ourselves, as we then should get the benefit of
the rise in its value, which we consider unquestionable, but
we suppose it impracticable to borrow the amount on long
time, tho' the security would be good and the interest at
six or seven per cent easy for us to pay, and be a low rent.
" Chicago's prospects never were so good, nor has it ever
done so much business in the same time, as this fall. The
receipts of wheat have been immense, varying from 20,000
to 25,000 bushels per day for weeks together, and some days
reaching 28,000 bushels. The cash price now is 95 cents and
$1.00. One house has made actually $30,000 in wheat opera
tions, and have now on hand 100,000 bushels at an aver
age cost say of 73c or 75c.
"The speculating mania is getting fast hold again of the
people, there is no disguising it, and another season will
see '36 reenacted in Chicago. Our business necessities will

A PIONEER COUPLE 25
keep us clear, but it is hard to avoid wheat, copper, stock,
land, or some of the other operations in which 'most all
take a chance. . . .
"You may think my expectations extravagant and my
picture highly colored, but it is not, and, could you see the
immense strides of increase our city actually takes, and the
business it does, in a moment you would feel that any rea
sonable investment would repay many fold.
"With due deference, I remain, "Your affectionate son,
"Augustus H. Burley."
To the few Chicagoans whose memories go back to the
fifties of the last century the names, Mrs. Humphrey and
Mrs. Pay son, will recall two charming sisters of French ex
traction, their father, Eugene Canda, having been born in
France. They played a conspicuous part in local society.
Their names, as well as those of other early Chicagoans,
progenitors of to-day's prominent families, appear in this
exceedingly sprightly letter from Mrs. Burley: —
"Chicago, November 15, 1846
"... I suppose ere this you have heard that Mr. Payson
is married!!! as he has been married over a month. They
were engaged only two weeks, and his sister only knew of
it two or three days before. Dr. Stuart's family and Mr.
Bishop's family were all that were invited to the wedding.
Some of Mr. Payson's friends are very angry with him be
cause he deceived them so. He said that he was only going
to Buffalo with his sister. Wilder said he was sorry, as he
wanted to send a package by him to Boston; this was the

26 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
night before he left. They were married in the morning be
fore breakfast and left at nine o'clock. They expected to
stay in Boston till June, so I expect that you will hear of
nothing but 'the beautiful Mrs. Payson who is flourishing
in Boston.' Wilder and Payson have been acquainted from
boys and Nat felt a little hurt. He and some others went
down to see the boat off. They merely nodded to Mr. Payson
and said 'good morning Miss Canda,' and walked off. They
made believe that they did not know he was married, and
he looked so sheepish.
"I understood that George Meeker said to her, 'I con
gratulate you, Mrs. Payson.' She put her hand over her
mouth in her usual fascinating style, and said, ' Dear me, I
cannot answer to that name ! '
"Mrs. Charles Larrabee was here. One day she said that
when Mr. Payson visited her, he came one eve and said
that he had just been to call on Mrs. Humphrey and she
was a very pleasant woman, but, said he, 'I should not
think that Dave would like to have that sister of hers stay
ing there, she is so inferior to his wife.' Poor Matty, she
cried all day after they were gone. She declares that neither
of them want the other, but Mrs. Humphrey forced them
both into it. But enough! I guess you are tired of Payson.
"Mr. Ogden 1 inquired very particularly of Gus about
you, Mary. I really think you must have made an impres
sion on him. Poor Carry ! I dread to speak of Mr. Forrest.
Jane has jilted him; she is engaged to someone at the East.
He felt dreadfully about it and went to Mary Ann Maxwell
for sympathy, and she seemed to sympathize so well with
him that he has about concluded that perhaps she will do
William B. Ogden, Chicago's first mayor.

A PIONEER COUPLE 27
just as well as Jane. They go to our church sometimes, and
then walk up by our house and around the block home so
as to make the walk as long as possible. I am afraid that
your chance is small, and I hear that you are getting fat.
So am I, just think of that! Judging from my own feelings
I suppose you must be delighted. Would you not like to
know if I have an 'x' under my name? Well, guess if you
can; I shall not tell you. I have gained twelve pounds in
six weeks. My weight now is 116 pounds, just to think it!
I shall catch up to you soon. I never felt better in my life
than I have the last week. Gus has got a barrel of cider and
I drink it two or three times a day. I think it does me a great
deal of good. I forgot to say that Miss Cotton is an uncle
and they are very much disappointed, as she wished to be
an aunt. Such a looking baby you never saw in all your
life; it looks like a little monkey.
"Gus brought me lots of pretty things from New York.
A cherry -colored scarf; a gingham dress with a silk stripe
in it — very pretty; a Thibet cloth cloak, a dark mulberry
color; a bonnet, trimmed so heavy, which he only paid ten
shillings for because it was old-fashioned. It weighs more
than the worth of that. It is perfectly plain and just what I
wanted. I went down to Mrs. Daniel's to get my bonnet
trimmed and she asked me if I would not bring down my
silk quilt and show it to her. Mrs. King had told her of it,
and she said that she would save me some pieces. I took it
down and she gave me a peck of most beautiful velvets, all
colors; they have almost set me wild they are so pretty. I
had to piece two blocks before I could do anything else. I
will describe them to you. One is purple satin center, next
row white uncut velvet; next blue velvet and the last row

28 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
orange-colored silk. The other block is cherry satin center,
next white velvet, next green velvet, and last pink satin.
Don't you think they must be pretty?
"Would you believe it? I am almost to the end of my plain
sewing. I have my cloak to make and then I shall go at my
quilt, and that is all I expect to do this winter. I mean to
go out and enjoy myself, study French, etc. I have a great
many plans laid out for the winter. I have just got an ex
tract book to try and improve myself in writing and I shall
practice on my guitar all I can. The piano is sold.
"News ! News ! News ! ! ! I have just come from down town.
Mrs. Walter has twins! Two boys — did you ever hear the
like of that? She was here the other day and said she was
going to have twins so as to let me have one. She has been
married just eight months and two days. Joel is almost be
side himself; he thinks he is so much smarter than other
folks. ..."
A ball in January, 1847, was the great event of that
social season. Mrs. Burley gives this picture of it: —
"The Firemen's Ball was the 22nd of January and was
the grandest affair that Chicago has ever known. Gus was
one of the managers. There were thirty -five. He was on
the committee for invitations. They sent out 1,050, just
think of that ! Both the dining- and the dancing-hall were
used for dancing. They were trimmed with bunting in
festoons all over the ceiling. The firemen's caps, trumpets
and buckets were hung all around, with innumerable lamps.
The new engine, No. 3, was trimmed with flowers and rib
bons and set in the^lower hall. There was a bell hung in

A PIONEER COUPLE 29
each hall and at the end of each set they gave a stroke on
it instead of a tap on the fiddle. Both bands of music were
very good, as they have been practicing all winter for the
occasion. They had supper-tables set in three rooms all the
time, so as not to stop the dancing. Parties of about two
dozen could sit at one table, which made it very pleasant
as we could pick our company. ..."
In that decade Chicago was just rising from the marshy
banks of the river. Her streets were at times impassable
sloughs only to be traversed, as Mrs. William Blair points
out in another chapter, by men in hip-high boots and by
women in two-wheeled carts, into and out of which they
had to be lifted by strong arms.
The men of the community were all hard workers then as
now, frequently staying in their offices and shops until
after ten o'clock in the evening. The women were as in
dustrious as their men-folk. Servants were few and far
between, and none too competent. The women of that epoch
cooked and washed and scrubbed and cleaned house, with
sewing, tending children, and church work as recreation.
Several times in her home letters, Mrs. Burley refers to a
patchwork silk quilt on which she was working. Returning
from a visit in 1848 to her husband's family in Exeter, in
writing to her mother-in-law she completes the tale of the
quilt, which was evidently a work of art of much renown : —
"I suppose you are skipping all this to hear some news
of the quilt and I may as well tell you first as last. When I
got home I found the Fair was deferred till the 10th of
November and that my quilt would not be considered a

30 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
quilt if it was not finished, and two or three said it would
look so much better if it had a border. I was discouraged,
for I had so much to do and was more than half sick and
had neither silk nor velvet for a border, so I concluded not
to send it to the Fair. Now I think I hear you exclaim,
'Foolish child to spend all summer for nothing!' but I
wasn't a bit and I will tell the rest of the story. My neigh
bors all saw how the case stood and thought if it was fin
ished it would take the prize, so they brought all their
pieces of silk and thimbles. Gus got some more velvet and
turkey red to line it, and red ribbon to bind it and lo ! it
was done. The border was pieced in points alternate of silk
and velvet. It went to the Fair and took the first prize from
twenty -five quilts ! There were some there with more pieces
and some that looked prettier as they hung, but none bore
examination so well as mine. I did not think mine looked
so pretty there as it did at home, as it hung so high that it
looked dark and small. The prize is a very handsome basket
worth about $15.00."
The survival of the fittest was the rule in those rugged,
strenuous days. "The white plague" claimed many a vic
tim, especially among the women who lived in airtight
houses heated by the deadly airtight stove — successor to
the unconscionably open fireplace.
The common phrase of the time was, "she just went into
a decline and pined away," or "she had the galloping con
sumption and died." The nature of the disease was so little
understood that the first step taken was to shut the victim
up in rooms still more hermetically sealed from the health-
giving fresh air outside, and to torture the sufferers with

A PIONEER COUPLE 31
plasters, and dose them with strong drugs. After writing
about the quilt, Mrs. Burley continues: —
"My cough has been getting gradually worse since I came
home, and about three weeks ago Dr. Boone examined my
lungs. He says that my left lung is perfectly sound, but
there is an inflammation of the bronchial tubes of the right
lung, or congestion, he calls it. Since then I have had a sorry
time of it. I have been plastered, blistered and dosed till,
as I told the doctor yesterday, 'I thought the remedy
much worse than the disease.' Did you ever have a tar
tar emetic plaster? If you did, you know how to pity me
for I have one on all the time and sometimes three at a
time, on my breast, side, and back. Every three hours I
take a dose of ipecac and paregoric. So between drowsi
ness and sickness at my stomach all the time, I am not
very interesting, and you may feel thankful that you are
rid of my company. Notwithstanding what Hatty says
about exercise, the doctor will not let me even hold the
baby or poke my nose out the window, nor do anything like
work. He has said nothing about my sewing, but I am
growing downright lazy, so much so that I do not even
darn my own stockings. I really do not believe I have my
wits more than half the time as I take so much paregoric."
A few months later, in February, 1849, she writes to her
father-in-law, the last letter of hers in the series : —
" . . .1 am about half sick all the time and feel so stupid
that it is almost impossible to do anything. The only thing
that I feel like doing, you and the doctor deny me. I do not

32 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
feel well enough to go out often; I get tired reading; it gives
me a pain in my side to write; you will not let me sew, and
here I have to sit and fold my hands and rock all day —
which is the hardest work of all. I have gotten so used to
the rocking-chair now that anyone might take me for one of
the Smith family (if you do not understand this, Harriet
will). I wish I had one of the girls here this winter to keep
me company. Gus can never leave the store till nine or ten
o'clock in the evening and I get so tired of sitting here
alone. "This winter I have been plastered, blistered, cupped,
taken ipecac every two hours for weeks and now I am in the
stocks. Some time ago Gus wrote to Dr. Fitch of New
York (the great consumption doctor) about me, and yes
terday came a box from him containing twenty-one bottles
of medicine, four boxes of pills, shoulder -braces, back-sup
porters, inhaling tube, pamphlets, directions, etc.
"Now, I am in for a siege. I am afraid I shall find the
remedy worse than the disease. I suppose you will say,
'Serve you right, no school like experience: you must let
sewing alone, bed-quilts particularly.' Whatever is the
cause, I 'pay dear for the whistle.'"
The wordless hiatus between this and the next in the
series dated May 23, 1852, from Mr. Burley to his half-
sister, Miss Harriet M. Gale, tells its own story. Once more
he is a bachelor, alone, working out his destiny in Chicago,
only this time in much greater material comfort than when
he arrived in 1837. He no longer has to practise sang-froid
when plucking a hair from the stew, or cope with the crude
conditions of fifteen years before : —

A PIONEER COUPLE 33
"Dear Sister:
"Here I sit in my new quarters with a window open look
ing up Clark Street upon a crowd of promenaders, who are
all out to enjoy one of the very fine afternoons of the season.
The bells are just ringing for evening service. My rooms
(parlor and bedroom) are on the corner of Clark and Lake
streets, fifth story, with two windows on south and three on
east side, being about the pleasantest in town. The front
room is carpeted with the blue and white.
"Our city is and has been for some weeks quite full of
strangers, many of whom have been attracted by the land
sales. And both railroads, being now completed to the city,
are bringing large additions, making everything appear
lively and very materially increasing business. I have found
an abundance to do since my return. Arthur seems also to
be very busy. . . .
"Say to John that the strides of Chicago are enormous,
its increase is astonishing. The streets, hotels, everything is
filled to overflowing and business, tho' now dull, has been
very large. It seems impossible to conceive when or where
it will stop. The improvement astonishes even the old
settlers. Our city has been filled with men of note and
wealth from the east, many of whom have been buying
property and taking stock in our railroads. . . .
"Our Fourth of July passed off without any fuss in par
ticular. On Tuesday last we had a procession and eulogy in
honor of Henry Clay and it was the largest and most im
posing thing of the kind ever gotten up here. Your humble
servant was one of the marshals and had the pleasure of
being in the saddle during four of the hottest hours that
need be. The procession moved from Michigan and Wabash

34 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
avenues and State Street on to the West Side and back, and
then on to the North Side to public ground opposite Mr.
Ogden's, where the eulogy was delivered by Lisle Smith.
The stores were all closed and many hung in mourning.
The bells were all tolled and guns fired during the moving of
the procession. . . .
"Charles1 has been elected to the important position of
Foreman of the Hook-and-Ladder Company. ..."
1 A brother.

Ill
A NEW HOME
Letter of Mrs. Leander McCormick
A complement to the preceding chapter, which gives a
glimpse of some of the outward aspects of life in Chicago,
is this artless, engaging, garrulous letter written by the
late Mrs. Leander McCormick on arriving here in 1838.
No family is more thoroughly identified with this city
to-day than the McCormick family, descendants of the
three Virginia brothers, Leander, Cyrus, and William. They
are leaders in the industrial, social and philanthropic life of
Chicago. Their name is known in every country on this
globe where harvests are sown and gathered. The incomes
of the great fortunes that have come to them through the
world-famous business, which for so long bore their name,
and through wise investments, have been spent with the
same ability as the fortunes were made. Charities, local and
foreign, civic institutions making for music and art, educa
tional enterprises, have all been benefited by McCormick
aid; while the most magnificent of the Medici princes was
not better known to the art dealers of his time than are, or
have been, some of the McCormicks of to-day. The "little
Hall" referred to in this letter was the late Robert Hall
McCormick, whose collection of the works of famous Eng
lish portrait painters from the time of Van Dyck down to
Watts and Rossetti is said to be one of the largest and most
complete in this country. He also delighted in collecting

36 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
curios, tapestries, rugs, furniture, and other objects of art.
His house on Rush Street was crowded with interesting,
valuable examples of the art and handicraft of ancient and
modern times. He had made and published for private cir
culation a really beautiful illustrated catalogue of the best of
his possessions, but it is safe to say that he took no deeper
satisfaction in the ownership of his treasures than did his
mother in her "beautiful flowered red and green carpet,"
her "dozen cushioned mahogany chairs," and her "twenty-
four-dollar card-table in the parlor."
Nothing more completely epitomizes the growth of Chi
cago than the contrast between this first home made by the
Leander McCormicks and the many and beautiful resi
dences in and near the city of their adoption now built and
occupied by the descendants of the three brothers. It is
such sharp contrasts, such swift developments from simple
beginnings to sumptuous fruition within the span of one
lifetime, which have made the name of the city of Chicago
famous the world over.
To be inscribed on an hotel register as coming from Chi
cago, no matter what your real financial status may be, is
to be accepted immediately as having the wherewithal to
pay your way and something over. But familiarity with
the fact does not diminish the wonder of the accomplish
ment so emphasized by this happy young wife and mother
of 1838: — "Chicago, December 3, 1838
"My Dear Sister Martha Ann:
"We arrived in this city nearly two weeks ago, after
having a very pleasant and safe journey from Rockbridge.

A NEW HOME 37
It was twelve days from the time we left Pa's till we reached
here, and we could have come in seven days if we had not
been detained on the way, and if we had been so fortunate
as to have taken a swifter boat for crossing Lake Erie.
But we happened to get into a slow boat, and were three
days crossing the lake, while other boats came over in one
day. That was the most unpleasant part of our trip.
Leander and myself were both seasick, and I had Hall1
to nurse, so that I was worn out and tired of that part
of the trip.
"Since we have been here, we have been boarding at
the Sherman House (the finest hotel in the City), until the
first day of this month. On that day we commenced house
keeping. We are very nicely fixed indeed, and are very
much pleased with our new home and friends so far. I
would be so glad if you and Ma and my friends could see
how well we are fixed for housekeeping.
"I have drawn off in a careless manner the plan of this
house which I will put in the letter. Our furniture is all new
and of the best quality. Beautiful flowered red and green
carpet in the chamber and parlor, and when the folding
doors are open, the stove in the chamber will heat both
rooms. One dozen cushioned mahogany chairs for the two
rooms, beautiful bureau in the chamber, and a twenty -four
dollar card-table in the parlor. I would like to have a sofa
and a pretty lamp in the parlor, and think likely we will
get them before long. The stairs are carpeted and the pas
sage floor has oilcloth on it. The dining-room is not fur
nished except with nice chairs and tables; my dishes and
1 R. Hall McCormick, later one of Chicago's well-known citizens and art
collectors.

38 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
eatables are kept in the pantry. There are three rooms
up stairs, one finely furnished for Cyrus,1 the others will
not be furnished till we get our boxes of beds and bed
clothes. "December 10, 1838
"It is one week to-day since the above was written, and
I had concluded not to send it, but as it will save me some
trouble of writing it over, I will add a few lines more and
put it in the post office. We are all very well at present,
and very much pleased indeed. This city contains twenty-
thousand inhabitants, but it does not compare with some
places of its size, not even with Lexington with regard to
buildings. The houses here are nearly all frame, but quite
large, and some very fine brick buildings. I don't think
the people any more fashionable or gay than they are in
Pa's neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton and family are
our most particular friends, and they are as friendly with
us as any of our old acquaintances in Rockbridge. Mrs.
Hamilton is from Kentucky, and she seems to look upon
us as kinfolks.
"A great many Yankees here. Mrs. Hamilton does not like
them much. She says that we must have a Southern society,
and let the Yankees, Germans, Irish, French all alone. The
people here seem to be from all quarters of the globe. We
will soon have as many acquaintances as we want, and of
the best in the city.
"Leander and myself have brushed up considerably. He
1 Cyrus McCormick, the founder of the great company now known as the
"International Harvester Company."

A NEW HOME 39
has bought a new suit, overcoat and all. I bought a very
fine velvet bonnet in New York for $3.50. It is prettier
than any I have seen here. A milliner here said that it
would have cost $8.00 in Chicago. It is cherry color with
plume and ribbon of the same color. I bought a small cloak
the other day for $11.00. I have two women at present.
The kitchen woman is the best I ever saw, either white or
black; she is so good that she leaves nothing for the house
woman to do except nurse, so that I will give up the house
woman and get a little girl for a nurse.
"The white servants here are greater workers than the
blacks in Virginia; they do everything you tell them to do
and do a great deal better than black people. The white
woman that we have is better than any black woman I
ever saw. She keeps everything in order and perfectly nice.
I have everything here that anyone could wish to make me
happy, except my relations, and I live in hopes that I will
see some of them here next summer.
"They have most excellent markets in this place. We
can get the best of meat of every description for four cents
per pound, such as sausages, venison, beef, pork and every
thing except fowls, they are very high-priced. We can get
most excellent apples and dried peaches, also cranberries,
which I am very fond of. The people here cook very dif
ferently from what they do in Virginia. Here they live on
tea, cold meat and bread, crackers and cheese, pastry and
cakes, and Irish potatoes for supper and breakfast. They
never have a single meal without potatoes.
"Do excuse this letter, if you please. It looks so badly
that I would not send it, but as I have written so many

40 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
little particulars, I think I had better send it.
"You must write soon, and give me all particulars as I
have done. Leander sends his love and says that he will
write to James in a few days. My best love to him also.
Your affectionate sister,
"Henrietta."
"To Mrs. Martha A. Hamilton,
"Covington, Alleghany County,
"Virginia."

IV
THE FIRST CHURCH WEDDING IN CHICAGO
By Mrs. Arthur B. Meeker
During the month of September in the year 1845, I ar
rived in Chicago on board the old steamship, Constitution.
We landed at the foot of State Street. It is difficult to
imagine that this was the only means of reaching the city
from the East, except by the big canvas-covered wagons,
known as "prairie-schooners." It is also a bit taxing to
imagine our Chicago River with green, sloping banks on
either side. The front yards of some of our best homes ran
down to the sedge-grown water's edge. After spending one
whole week on the lakes coming from Buffalo and another
week before that in the packet boats on the Erie Canal from
Syracuse, not to mention a long coaching trip through the
Berkshires, it was with a feeling of having very nearly
encircled the globe that we arrived at the American Tem
perance House, on the corner of Lake Street and Wabash
Avenue. This hostelry was one of the few inns here at that
time and harbored temporarily many an eastern new-comer.
After a survey of the small number of available houses, a
desirable one was found near the northeast corner of Lake
Street and Michigan Avenue. The grounds of this house ran
down to the lake; the waterworks were on the corner, our
house was next, and on the other side of us lived the then
mayor, R. K. Swift- Other residents of this block included
Isaac Cook, James Peck, and Frank Sherman.

42 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The lighthouse which stood on the south side of Rush
Street and about one hundred feet west of it was cared for
by James Long. One of my great delights as a child was to
climb its long, circling stairs with his daughter Clara to
see the great light turned on.
Fort Dearborn, as many old Chicagoans know, did not
stand where the tablet which faced Rush Street bridge for so
many years commemorated its site, but east of that, on the
other side of Michigan Avenue, its grounds running to the
river as well as to the lake. J In 1845 the Fort and its whole
enclosure were deserted and served principally as a play
ground for children.
On the northwest corner of Michigan Avenue and Lake
Street was a very large, vacant field which was usually
filled with camping parties; whole communities migrating
from the East to the West. It was a common sight to see a
long line of prairie-schooners drive into this field, with cows
tied behind the wagons. There they would unload for the
night. There was always mystery and charm about their
evening camp-fires, and we hovered as near as possible on
the outskirts of these fascinating groups.
The greatest excitement was the arrival of the weekly
boat from Buffalo. Sometimes it brought people who had
stopped behind until their more adventurous relatives had
tried the new country. These boats also brought many
supplies and our only news from the outside world. In those
days the great West Side as we know it now, did not exist;
and even the North Side seemed like a separate town be
cause there were only one or two bridges connecting the
1 The tablet was placed about where the southwest corner of the stockade
once stood. — Editor.

THE FIRST CHURCH WEDDING 43
two sides of the town. Our chief means of communication
with the other side of the river was the old Rush Street
ferry, a flatboat affair, carrying about twelve passengers,
which was drawn back and forth by a rope worked hand
over hand.
Lake Street was our one and only shopping street until
Marshall Field built his shop on State Street shortly before
the Fire. Washington Street was always called Church
Street in those days, as the First and Second Presbyter
ian, the Methodist, Baptist, Unitarian and Universalist
churches were all on this street. A block farther south was
Trinity Episcopal Church.
I first attended Miss Moore's school, which was on Lake
Street near Michigan Avenue. Miss Moore eventually
married Mrs. Henry King's father, Mr. Case. Later I was
sent to Mrs. Gaylord's school on State near Madison Street.
The year before I was sent east to the Utica Female Aca
demy, I attended the Gleason School on the West Side.
This could only be reached by walking over the Madison
Street bridge and about four blocks west, at that time quite
a country stroll. Needless to say we always brought our
lunch with us.
The town crier will always be remembered by those who
lived in his day. He was a colored man, and when he stopped
at each street-corner, ringing his big bell, crowds would
gather to hear whose child was lost. Very often it was my
cousin, William B. Walker. This would happen especially
often in circus time when there was little doubt as to where
we might find him.
Up to 1856 the only way one could go as far south as
Eighteenth Street, unless one owned horses, was by the

44 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
old stage down State Street. Arrived at the southern ter
minal the horses would rest many hours before returning.
This trip was made only twice a day. It was a common
sight to see poles stuck in the mud in the road with the
sign, "No bottom here," nailed to them.
Until my marriage in 1856, the few social affairs we had
were extremely simple. I can remember the afternoon sew
ing societies at the churches. After our work was done, we
were joined by our brothers or men friends and had an old-
fashioned supper together. Then there were early evening
parties when we danced a little and sang, always ending
with a supper. This consisted usually of chicken salad and
scalloped oysters.
In the winter time we frequently had sleighing parties
which made their way over the snow-bound earth up north
to the old Lakeview House — which seemed miles distant
at that time — where we danced and a hot supper was
served. While east at boarding-school, I met my future husband.
Our marriage took place September 24, 1856, in the LaSalle
Street Baptist Church. This building was afterward taken
down brick by brick and, carefully rebuilt, now stands on
the West Side. The hour for the marriage service was set
at eight o'clock in the evening. Being the first church wed
ding in Chicago I remember that it excited a good deal of
interest and curiosity. The church was, in consequence,
crowded with people.
Preceding me up the aisle, when the wedding proces
sion entered, were my two bridesmaids, Miss Alice Meek
er and Miss Clara Thomas, on the arms of our two ushers,
George C. Walker and Frank Van Wyck. Miss Meeker was

THE FIRST CHURCH WEDDING 45
dressed in blue silk, while Miss Thomas was in yellow.
Following them I came on my future husband's arm. I
was dressed in white silk, with a white tulle veil. As we
approached the altar our bridesmaids went to the left,
while our ushers turned to the right. Behind us in a semi
circle stood my entire family. My great concern all day
had been the non-appearance of the Rev. Dr. Howard,
who was to marry us. An accident on the railroad had so
delayed his train, that he only reached the Church just as
we were starting down the aisle. My joy was complete when
I discovered him waiting for us; I was very fond of him.
A supper was served afterwards at our home, only inti
mate friends, besides the family, being present. My uncle,
Cyrus Bentley, objected so strongly to my going away the
first night after I was married that I was obliged to stay
at home, much to my annoyance. The next day my hus
band and I started for Clinton, Iowa. This was as far west
as the railroads were built at that time, and as we were
going east to make our home we felt that it was our last
chance to see the West for a long time. We took our brides
maid from the East, Miss Meeker, with us, and also one
of our ushers.
After spending six months in the East, my husband and
I returned to Chicago and for some time lived on Ontario
Street. At this time everyone was devoted to dancing and it
was one of my greatest pleasures; but I was soon to be de
prived of it as it created such a disturbance in the Baptist
Church, to which we belonged, that I was brought up be
fore the Board of Deacons and told that I must decide be
tween the Church and dancing.
From the beginning of the sixties the Civil War stands

46 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
out most prominently in my memory. Everything was at
fever heat during those early years of the war. Colonel
Ellsworth and his Zouaves will always be remembered by
Chicagoans of that time, nor can anyone who was then
alive forget Jules Lombard when he mounted the Court
House steps and sang The Battle Cry of Freedom, before the
ink was dry on the manuscript. This famous song was writ
ten by George Root, of Chicago. Crowds gathered in the
street before the Court House and soon all were singing it.
The beautiful Crosby Opera House, with its openwork
horseshoe of boxes, was a great addition to our social life;
and Kinsley's restaurant, next door, was one of the best-
known and most popular places of its kind in the city. Bryan
Hall, where the Grand Opera House stood later, was our
one hall for public entertainments. Here were held our
Sanitary Fairs.
In closing this brief memoir, I will enumerate a few of
the families living in Chicago when I first arrived: Judge
Mark Skinner, George Snow, Charles Follansbee, the Had-
ducks, the McCaggs, William B. Ogden, Mahlon D. Ogden,
John H. Kinzie, J. A. Smith, the Pecks, the Haynes, Silas
Cobb, the Buchers, L. C. P. Freer, I. H. Burch, Dr. Levi
Boone (our most prominent doctor besides being mayor of
the city), and my uncle, Cyrus Bentley.
Much of this memoir has been written on a journey from
Chicago to Santa Barbara. Crossing the Arizona desert we
have passed many prairie-schooners, filled, I fancy, with
families who have left their homes farther east to better
themselves in the Great West, just as did those other fam
ilies in the early days who journeyed westward to Chicago.

V
GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR
By Joseph Tcfrner Ryerson
[Even as long ago as 1882 the dramatic quality of Chicago's
swift rise from primitive conditions to a position of world
importance was keenly realized by her citizens. It was this
realization by the late Joseph T. Ryerson that prompted him
to write for his family his impressions of Chicago and a
few of her prominent citizens as he first met and knew both
when he arrived here in 1842. Not the least interesting part
of his narrative is his description of the methods of travel in
those days. From this valuable memoir Mr. Ryerson's son,
Mr. Edward Larned Ryerson, has allowed me to cull the
following chapter. — Editor. ]
About the first of October, 1842, at the age of twenty-
nine years, after a varied and not entirely fortunate busi
ness experience in Philadelphia, I thought it was time for me
to seek some new field for my efforts, and determined to
follow Horace Greeley's advice, "Go west, young man, go
west." On a few hours' notice, I was on my way to the then
Far West to seek my fortune. I left my old home in Philadel
phia, a sad-feeling and sober-minded young man, not hav
ing any certain destination, Pittsburgh being my first stop
ping point. I travelled by rail from Philadelphia to Colum
bia, Pennsylvania, and thence by four-horse mail-coach to
Pittsburgh over the Allegheny Mountains. The Pennsyl-

48 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
vania Canal from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh was then in
operation (it was abandoned some years ago in the
interests of the railways) and there were through passen
ger boats. As they were slow, I preferred the mail-stage,
although a long and wearisome ride of nearly two days
packed in with nine passengers was my portion.
I remained in Pittsburgh a few days and then took the
stage again for Cleveland — an eighteen-hours' ride. Thence
I took a side-wheel lake steamer — there were no propel
lers on the lakes then — to Toledo. So favorably was I im
pressed with Toledo's geographical location and its coming
advantages from the opening of the Wabash and Erie
canals, that I meditated a settlement in Toledo, provided
I could make satisfactory business arrangements. On my
return to Pittsburgh, however, my destination was sud
denly changed by the proposition of an iron manufacturing
house there to send me to Chicago as their agent with a
heavy stock of Pittsburgh manufactures. I soon started
for Chicago, a place I had scarcely any knowledge of ex
cept as a broken-down, speculative town on the western
shore of Lake Michigan and on the edge of the great prairie
nearly surrounding it. Retracing my steps to Cleveland, I
took a boat around the lakes to Chicago, where I arrived
November 1, 1842. I put up at the old Tremont House, a
wooden building on the southeast corner of Lake and Dear
born streets, where I boarded for four years, day board, at
$2.00 per week, for which I received, as they say, "three
square meals " a day of the fat of the land, which was in
abundance, good and cheap. The hotel was kept by Ira
and James Couch. My sleeping quarters were over my
store.

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 49
Chicago, at that period, was broken down through wild
land speculation, the stopping of work on the Illinois-and-
Michigan Canal, and the panic of 1837. Many of the in
habitants had left and the town contained only 6,500 people.
Navigation being near its close, the streets were compara
tively free from the activity usually prevalent during the
autumn months, but T could discover from the teams loaded
with farm products, entering the city from all directions, that
there was a good prospect for a respectable-sized city in
time, and a fair chance for a young man to settle down to
hard work and grow up with the town and its people.
The winter of 1842 set in early. We had, on November
19th, a heavy snow-storm, and there was good sleighing all
over the country until the following March. Chicago mer
chants used to make journeys on runners as far as Galena
for trading, returning with loads of lead, shot, and other
merchandise. The business of the country with Chicago
far and near was done largely on sleds. It was a very severe,
cold winter.
I started on March 25, 1843, for Philadelphia on a stage
coach, arriving about evening at Michigan City, fifty to
fifty-five miles from Chicago. Finding a heavy bed of snow
on the ground, we changed to a stage-coach on runners,
wrapped ourselves in our buffalo robes, our feet being in
cased in buffalo shoes, and composed ourselves for a "long
winter's nap." We changed from coach sled to wagon-box
sled and open sleigh at times, and finally reached the then
small town of Toledo, Ohio. We rested part of a day at
Toledo, took a regular stage-coach and jogged along to
wards Cleveland. We arrived at Cleveland towards even
ing. I put up over night at the best hotel there, the Amer-

50 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
ican, and started the next morning by stage for Pittsburgh,
making the journey by stage from Chicago to Pittsburgh in
seven days and nights. After a day's delay at Pittsburgh, I
took stage again over the mountains, most of the time being
the only passenger. The road was cut through snow, in some
places five to seven feet deep. I arrived in Philadelphia in
ten days' travelling from Chicago.
Our usual route at that time between Chicago and the
East, during the season of lake navigation, was by steam
boat around the lakes to Buffalo, by rail to Albany, and
by steamer to New York, — occupying six to eight days,
according to weather on the lakes and the necessary calls
of the boats at ports along the way. The lake passages in
the summer seasons were very pleasant. The boats were
large side-wheel steamers, with cabins and state-rooms all
on deck. The saloon, stretching from bow to stern of the
boat, with state-rooms extending the whole length on
either side, was handsomely decorated, carpeted and fur
nished. There was generally a full load of passengers and
in the evenings the saloon was handsomely lighted and
cleared and, there being usually a band of music on board,
the passengers amused themselves by dancing, singing, card-
playing, and promenading outside of the saloon or inside
until the time came to retire to their state-rooms.
I used to travel back and forth to Philadelphia and New
York twice a year, sometimes via Buffalo and Albany, but
generally by boat to Cleveland, thence to Pittsburgh and
on to Philadelphia. On one occasion, however, I went from
Chicago to Ottawa by stage; and thence on the Illinois and
Mississippi rivers by boat to St. Louis, and again by boat
on the Mississippi and Ohio rivers to Pittsburgh; thence by

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 51
stage over the mountains to Philadelphia, — a very long
and wearisome journey. This was in 1844, the season of
high water on the western rivers, when the bottom lands
for 400 miles were swept by floods and the country generally
soaked from the long continued rains. As our boats passed
down the Illinois River, we made landings at the second
story of some of the warehouses on its banks, and, on
arrival at St. Louis, found the river had been up to the
second floors of the stores and warehouses on the levee and
was then washing over the pavements in front of the stores.
As we passed down from the mouth of the Illinois River
and along the Mississippi in the middle of the afternoon,
the sun shining brightly, we came to the wide-spreading
mouth of the Missouri, — a grand sight! That noble river
came coursing down with its overloaded volume of water
in a wild and rushing torrent, struck the Mississippi and
annihilated it in a moment with a turbid body of water.
Some of our Missouri passengers appeared overjoyed at the
sight of the muddy stream and cried out for a drink. A
bucketful was soon drawn up and they indulged freely in
the thick and yellow water, as if it were the most delicious
drink in the world.
When I came to Chicago the sand-bar at the mouth of
the river had nearly disappeared and the shore of the lake
south of the harbor was about 175 feet from the east line
of Michigan Avenue. For some distance south the land
had been washed away by the lake. At the point on the
lake where old Deacon John Wright at one time had a
large garden with fruit and other trees, east of Michigan
Avenue opposite the southwest corner of the Avenue and
Madison Street, the land had nearly all been carried away

52 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
by the action of the waves, and a few years later this gar
den had entirely disappeared. I recollect on one occasion a
severe storm on the lake which washed away one-third of
the width of Michigan Avenue. The City and owners of
lots fronting on the Avenue were compelled to protect the
land from further encroachments.
The settlement or town of Chicago first began on the
North Side, near the foot of Rush and Cass streets on the
river. In this locality speculation in land ran high. The
house of the American Land Company, afterwards pur
chased and occupied by William B. Ogden as a residence,
stood alone on the block bounded by Erie, Rush, Ontario
and Cass streets. I was told on reliable authority that the
block south of it was sold for $40,000 at that early day and
some years later was bought by E. J. Tinkham for $5,000.
About the same time the block west, known as the Magee
block, was purchased by Magee for $5,000. I paid, soon
after I came to Chicago, $100 per front foot on Cass Street for
property 150 feet deep. The block north brought double
this amount after the Fire. These facts show the ups and
downs that have occurred in north-side real estate within
the forty years from 1842 to 1880.
Speculation ran high on the North Side, because it was
considered more eligible for business and residence, the
South and West sides then being low, wet prairie-lands,
and no one dreaming that the city level would or could be
raised by three successive ordinances about ten feet above
its original level. Whole blocks of stores and massive build
ings were screwed up to grade. In one instance the half
block extending from Clark to La Salle Street on the north
side of Lake Street, by one movement of 6,000 screws, was

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 53
lifted above six feet, — a feat of mechanical operation the
country had never heard of before. The business of the
block went on as usual during the operation; not a pane of
glass was broken, nor were people aware of the movement,
so gradual was the process. About all the heavy and per
manent buildings of the South Side, including the large,
five-story brick Tremont House, were screwed up in this
way, business going on without interruption. In places
the sidewalks were four to six feet above the roadway with
steps at the corners. At every street-corner in the business
portion of the South Side pedestrians went up and down
stairs. Until the grade of the city was raised, there was no
possibility on the South Side of having any cellars or base
ments under buildings. If a hole was dug in the ground a
couple of feet, it would fill with water seeping through the
wet soil. If a descent of a few feet was made, water from
the river would come through.
Drainage at that early day was a difficult problem. The
streets were the natural soil, and in continued rains or in
the spring season when frost was coming out of the ground,
they were, in places, seas of mud of unknown depth. One
would frequently see an abandoned wagon in the mire and
a sign board set up, "No bottom here." I had personal ex
perience of this once on South Clark Street, opposite the
Court House block, when on a Sunday afternoon, going to
church, my hat being carried by the wind into the middle
of the street, I sank knee-deep in the mud in regaining it.
Once in a while you would see ladies and children seated on
buffalo robes going to church in a cart to avoid the mud.
Arriving at its destination the cart would back up to the
church door and unload.

54 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The city fathers about this time were struck with a bright
idea in the way of sewerage engineering. The surface of the
ground was so level that the water would not run in any
one direction, and to accomplish surface drainage it was
ordered that ditches should be dug on the sides of the streets
running towards the south banks of the river. However,
when one of the periodical rises in the water of the lake
came, the water ran back into the city instead of out of it.
Another experiment, for fire prevention purposes, was
the laying of wooden conduits from the river up into the
business portion of the city below water-level, with wells
at the corners, out of which water was pumped by hand-
engines; but these wells got stopped up and were a failure.
When I came to the city, the Chicago River was a small
stream, whose clear water was used by those living on its
banks for house and culinary purposes. It ran within its
natural banks, which in many places were covered with
grass. On the main river were a few docks for warehouse
and shipping purposes, but the branches were almost en
tirely free of improvements. There was an old wooden
bridge across the river at Clark Street. The bed of the
bridge rested on a scow float which was swung about by a
rope wound on a windlass to accommodate passing vessels.
A similar bridge crossed the South Branch at Lake Street.
Later on, a rope ferry with a scow was installed at State
Street, and a short time subsequently another rope ferry
was placed at Rush Street. In winter the main river and
its branches were used for sleighing: I once followed the
South Branch on the ice in a sleigh until nearly lost far out
in the prairie. The main river from Rush Street to the forks
of the stream was used on winter afternoons as a race-

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 55
course, where with sleigh and bells the speed of the native
nags was tried out.
North Water Street used to run along the river from the
North Branch east to about the foot of Cass Street, where
it intercepted Kinzie Street, now occupied by railroad
tracks. The great hotel of the early days of land specula
tion was the Lake House, quite a large, four-story brick
building, destroyed by the great fire. It stood on the north
east corner of North Water and Rush streets. On the river,
across from the Lake House, stood the wheat storage and
forwarding warehouse of Newberry & Dole. (Oliver New
berry of Detroit and George W. Dole.) I think Julian S.
Rumsey was a clerk with this firm at the time I brought
letters of introduction to it.
In 1842, the south pier forming one side of the harbor
extended out into the lake about a thousand feet from the
present Rush Street bridge. The lighthouse stood on the
bank of the river just west of the present south abutment
of Rush Street bridge; the lighthouse tower and the keeper's
house were built of stone. The south pier used to be a fav
orite walk on summer evenings and on Sundays, and also
a swimming place at times. We used to go down on the lake
shore opposite Dearborn Park, 1 on the warm summer even
ings after the stores were closed, about ten o'clock, for a
swim before going to bed.
Old Fort Dearborn, then abandoned, was at the east end
of River Street, surrounded by a high picket -fence. The
whole fort was built of logs, — officers' quarters, block
house, magazine, and other buildings. Michigan Avenue
abutted on the Fort grounds and was not extended north
1 Where the Public Library now stands.

56 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
to the harbor for some years. When Major Charles H.
Larned, — my brother-in-law through my marriage to
his sister, — was ordered to Chicago on recruiting service
after the Mexican War, he made his headquarters in the
officers' barracks at the old Fort, and during the winter
assembled a large company of ladies and gentlemen in the
old military apartments. This was one of the social affairs of
the season. It was at this party that the " German," the
now popular dance, was first attempted in a simple way
under the leadership of Captain von Schneidau and his
wife, late of Stockholm, Sweden. He was once attached to
the court there, and had come to this country to seek his
fortune. On the northeast corner of Clark and Randolph streets
stood, in 1842, the City Hotel, a three-story brick building,
kept by Jacob Russell. This was the crack hotel of the town
and was supposed to be just a little "extra" in the way of a
hotel, where the higher-toned travellers put up. An old one-
story brick court house, about thirty by eighty feet, stood on
one corner of the public square on the southwest corner of
Clark and Randolph streets, in the basement of which, in the
west end, was the Recorder's office, while in other portions
of the basement were the clerks' and other offices. It was
sometimes used for concerts and exhibitions. I once saw
Tom Thumb there in after years. It was lighted by candles
or oil lamps, and was a pretty rough-looking place, includ
ing the bench for His Honor, the Judge. It was in this
courthouse that Judge Buckner S. Morris, Judge Mark
Skinner, Judge Hugh T. Dickey and others held forth,
and all the legal profession practiced law.
Of the large wooden warehouses, built for the storage of

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 57
grain and the receiving and forwarding of merchandise,
there were, on the South Side, the Reed warehouse, occu
pied by Bristol & Porter; on the dock at the foot of
State Street, Charles Walker's warehouse; on the block
west of State Street, James Peck & Company's warehouse;
on the dock at the foot of Dearborn Street and west of there
between Dearborn and Clark streets, Humphreys & Win
slow's and D. D. Stanton's warehouses; and west of Clark
Street bridge one more, which was occupied by Russell &
Company. The elevator power in all these warehouses was
supplied by a horse, sometimes on the first floor, though in
some warehouses the horse was elevated for life and put to
work in the loft. Of course, these grain elevators were small
affairs compared with those of the present day. The wheat
was unloaded from bags out of a farmer's wagon at a small
hopper on the front of the building.
The first large steam elevator that was ever built in Chi
cago for handling grain from railroad tracks was on the
North Side, on the river west of Wells Street. It was built by
George A. Gibbs and E. W. Griffin of Gibbs, Griffin & Com
pany. Gibbs told me that people thought he was crazy to
undertake such a thing and that it would not pay. A year
or two later George Steel, a Scotchman, built another eleva
tor just west of Gibbs, Griffin & Company. He sold out to
Wesley Munger and George Armour. Munger had owned a
small mill at Waukegan, which had burned down, and
George Armour had been a contractor on the canal. Both
were at this time men of moderate means, but their early
development of the grain-elevator business made for them
both great fortunes.
The other business buildings of Chicago were devoted

58 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
mainly to the selling of goods and to trade in one form or
another. They were generally built of wood in the "balloon"
style on account of cheapness and the speed with which
they could be erected. They were one and two stories high,
occupying lots of twenty feet front mostly on South Water
and Lake streets. The dwelling-houses on the South Side
were near at hand on the north-and-south streets. These
were small frame houses, a story or a story and one-half
to two stories high, often covering a good deal of ground,
convenient, snug and neat inside, and easily kept in good
order and attended to. Servants were either not obtainable
or, for the sake of economy, were dispensed with. Nothing
but stoves were used for heating, and wood was the only
fuel. This cost about two dollars per cord, and a Norwegian
man would saw it twice, split it and carry it into the shed,
for three to four shillings a cord — or thirty -two and one-
half to fifty cents.
About 1849 I bought of John P. Chapin, of Chicago, the
northwest corner of Wabash Avenue and Madison Street
for $2,050 cash. About the same time I bought of Edward
J. Tinkham sixty-five feet on Ontario Street, one hundred
feet west of Cass Street, two hundred and eighteen feet deep
to Erie Street, for $1,600, intending both these lots for resi
dence property, one for myself and one for my brother-in-
law, Dr. Rutter, and his family. The Doctor chose the
Wabash Avenue lot as the better location for his profession,
and I conveyed the corner lot, twenty-five by one hundred
and fifty feet, to his wife; of the Ontario Street lot I con
veyed twenty-five by one hundred and fifty feet to my
maiden sister, Mariette Ryerson, and twenty-five by one
hundred and fifty feet, to my other maiden sister, Ann Cather-

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 59
ine Ryerson. On the last described lot I built for my sister,
Ann Catherine, the owner, the first three-story brick dwell
ing ever built in Chicago, at a cost of $5,000; and it was
also the first house in the city with a double front-door and
vestibule. It was twenty-five feet front and about fifty feet
deep, with stairs in the rear, dining-room and kitchen be
yond on the same floor, and a good cellar under all. It was
a Philadelphia style of house, the plans having been drawn
in Philadelphia. This house was the best dwelling erected
up to that time (about 1850) in the city, and was the object
of much curiosity and comment because of its size, general
appearance, and the spaciousness of its interior.
There were no public buildings in Chicago in 1842 except
the small one-story Court House on the northeast corner
of the public square, and the old log jail surrounded by a
high board fence on the northwest corner of the same square.
There were no public halls or meeting rooms for amuse
ment or other purposes, except the hall on the third floor of
the saloon building on the southeast corner of Clark and
Lake streets. There was a small wooden theater on the
west side of Dearborn Street between South Water and
Lake streets, where, about 1843, I saw the play of The
Stranger, by some native artists. It was a pretty rough and
dilapidated place. In a corner of the building was a small
saloon kept by Ike Cook, at that time a well-known char
acter in Chicago. He was a good-natured and well-behaved
man, who in the political days of Senator Douglas was a
strong adherent of "Little Doug.," as he was called. It was
Ike Cook who remarked on a certain occasion at a Douglas
meeting: "Gentleman, I tell you, truth squashed to earth
will rise again." On the same occasion Frank Sherman,

60 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
once His Honor, Mayor Sherman, said, "I only hope in
these remarks to facilitate business!" Sherman owned the
Sherman House and from him the hotel took its name.
In the way of concerts, I recollect one got up by the
Unitarian Church in the winter of 1842-43 and held in the
east hall of the saloon building. The overture (to something)
was by the following performers: Charles Burley, who
played in the Unitarian choir, violincello; Edward J. Tink
ham and C. B. Nelson, flutes; a man by the name of Col-
lamer, violin; and at the piano, I think, was Mrs. Dr.
Stewart, while her sister, Mrs. Harrington, the wife of the
minister of the Unitarian Church, was the vocalist of the
occasion. There was no regular music in town for dancing. At
parties, after the refreshments had been served, sometimes
John H. Kinzie would play dance music on his violin for
the young people; and now and then a Mr. Nicholson, liv
ing on the southeast corner of Rush and Ontario streets,
would do the same thing. On rare occasions Mr. Kinzie
would go through the Indian "pipe-dance" for the pleasure
of the company. The dances were all the old-fashioned
square-dances. Society at that early date was very simple. It had to be,
everybody being poor. The style of dress was plain and in
expensive; silks and satins were the exception among the
ladies, and I doubt whether a lady's dress for a party cost
more than from five to ten dollars, for it was mostly what
they called "white tarlatan" adorned with some bright-
colored ribbons. Everybody had just as good a time, how
ever, and enjoyed the entertainments as much, as if velvets,
satins and silks, diamonds and other jewels had abounded

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 61
The parties usually began about half-past seven or eight
o'clock, and "the ball broke" generally about eleven or
twelve o'clock; when there was no dancing it ended at ten
or eleven o'clock.
In later years we indulged at times in sleighing parties.
We would send word to a country tavern, some ten or
twelve miles from the city, hire a number of double sleighs
and take a violinist along. Then when we arrived we would
have a dance followed by a good supper, and after supper
more dancing: it was often two o'clock in the morning be
fore we reached home. These very pleasant occasions were
always chaperoned by some married couples.
The only literary association in the city was the "Young
Men's Association and Library." It had a small room in the
third story of the saloon building where its meetings were
held and its few books were kept. This was Chicago's first
attempt at a library. An occasional lecture was arrang
ed by the members of this association. In later years it
was reorganized under the direction of E. B. McCagg, Ed
win C. Larned, F. B. Cooley, myself and others, when a new
course of lectures was inaugurated. These were delivered in
the State Street Hall, a new assembly room, the first lec
ture being given by George William Curtis, of New York,
on "Alcibiades," a character which Mr. Curtis treated in
his finished and elegant style of oratory. After Mr. Curtis,
came Bishop Alonzo Potter of Pennsylvania, on "The
Character of George Washington," a good, moral, fatherly
kind of address, which he closed with the remark, which
we often repeated afterwards, "If you want to be as Wash
ington was, you must do as Washington did."
Some years later the Chicago Historical Society was

62 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
founded with the idea of forming an historical library of
general character. To house it, a good building was erected
on the northwest corner of Dearborn Avenue and Ontario
Street, which included a comfortable little hall for lectures,
capable of holding three or four hundred people, while below
were necessary rooms and a spacious library on the second floor .
In 1842 and '43 the Catholics had a small one-story frame
church on the southwest corner of Wabash Avenue and
Madison Street, which was later moved to the rear of the
lot and turned into a school-house to make room for the
brick church of St. Mary, which was burned in the great
fire. On the southeast corner of Clark and Washington
streets, was the frame Methodist Church; on the same site
a few years later they built a brick church which was also
destroyed in the great fire. On the north side of Washington
Street, about midway between Clark and Dearborn streets,
stood the neat frame church belonging to the Unitarian
Society of which the Rev. Mr. Harrington was pastor. On
south Clark Street, between Washington and Madison
streets, stood an old, one-story church, the First Presby
terian, the Rev. L. F. Bascomb, pastor. On La Salle Street,
on the southeast corner of Washington Street, was the
First Baptist, an old one-story frame building. On Ran
dolph Street, about a hundred feet east of Clark, stood a
neat, new modern church, the Second Presbyterian Church,
of which the Rev. Robert W. Patterson was pastor.
On the north side of the city at the southwest corner of
Cass and Illinois streets, stood the original St. James's
Episcopal Church alone in its glory. It was a small brick
building in the Gothic style, quite simple in its exterior.
The interior was remarkable for a mahogany pulpit and

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 63
altar screen built at a cost of $2,000. The first rector of this
church was the Rev. Isaac W. Hallam. The new St. James's
was built on the southeast corner of Cass and Huron streets
and the old brick church was sold to the Presbyterians. The
great fire later swept away the comparatively new build
ing, the tower alone remaining standing.
In continuation of church memoranda, I might say that
the south-side Unitarian Society divided the value of its
Washington Street property, giving to its west-side church
a portion and the rest to the north-side church which was
then under the ministry of the Rev. Robert Colly er. The Unity
Church congregation built a neat frame church on the north
east corner of Chicago Avenue and Dearborn Street, where
I remember hearing Ralph Waldo Emerson preach one
Sunday morning.
The Fourth Presbyterian was the first church of that
denomination started on the North Side. Prominent among
its members were Messrs. Wadsworth, Woodbridge, Hoge,
Dorman, McCormick, Mason, Miller, and others, under the
Rev. Mr. Richardson, pastor. Their first meeting-house was
built on the east side of North Clark Street, between Illinois
and Indiana streets. This was several years later moved to
the southeast corner of State and Illinois streets, at which
time the Rev. Dr. Rice was pastor. They moved later into a
new brick church on the southeast corner of Cass and Indiana
streets, the old church being turned into a sales-stable for
horses and carriages. Both the old and the new churches
were destroyed in the great fire.
For some years there had been another Presbyterian
church in existence, the Westminster Church, on the south
east corner of Dearborn and Ontario streets, under the

64 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
charge of the Rev. David Swing. * These two churches were
found to be in too close proximity to each other, so they
united as one church, the Fourth Presbyterian, under Pro
fessor Swing, in the new stone church built after the Fire,
on the northwest corner of Rush and Superior streets. Pro
fessor Swing retired from the Fourth Church and in later
years became a noted independent preacher.
The Rev. Dudley Chase, son of the Right Rev. Phi
lander Chase, first Episcopal Bishop of Illinois, founded the
Church of the Atonement, as the first Episcopal church on
the West Side. It was built on the northeast corner of
Peoria and Washington streets. The Church was reorganized
afterwards by Bishop Whitehouse and became the Cathe
dral of Saints Peter and Paul.
The first theater with any pretensions to respectability
was built by John B. Rice, at one time mayor of Chicago,
and representative in Congress from the Chicago district,
a man of good character and good sense, and much esteemed
as a citizen. This theater was built about 1846 on Ran
dolph Street east of Clark. Later Mr. Rice built a larger
theater on Dearborn Street, where the Rice Block now
stands, which was finally made over into stores and offices
about the time McVicker built his theater before the Fire.
The Crosby Opera House, built about 1862 or '63, and said
to have cost $400,000, equaled anything of its kind in the
United States.
In the Randolph Street theater the best people were to
be seen. All the noted actors and singers of the day ap
peared, and Italian opera was produced there.
] David Swing (1830-1894) was called to the Fourth Presbyterian Church in
1866. In 1874 he was tried for heresy and acquitted, but, as a consequence, re
signed his pastorate and withdrew from the Presbyterian ministry. — Editor.

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 65
There is much talk nowadays of Chicago's variable cli
mate. The changes in weather when I came in 1842 were
just as frequent and as violent as they are now. The only
difference I can see is that the atmosphere seems to be more
cloudy or darker. When the city was small, with no manu
facturing, very little coal was used. There was scarcely a
boiler in the whole town. No steam, no engines, no steam
tugs, and wood was the only fuel, so our atmosphere was
beautifully clear and pure, and was one of the delights of
life. There was no sewage in the river; there were no pack
ing-houses or anything of the kind. The lake winds and the
prairie winds and the water were all free from pollution,
and Chicago, at that early day, was a good place in which to
live. It was rarely very hot in summer, and, however cold
the winter might be, a stout, large, air-tight, sheet-iron
stove, with a chunk or two of wood in it, would keep us
warm night and day.
About the coldest weather I ever experienced in Chicago
was the long, bleak winter of 1842 and '43, and again in
January of 1864, when the thermometer marked 30° F.
below zero in and about Chicago. The night of January 2,
1864, there had been a very heavy snow-storm, and the
morning of the 3rd opened intensely cold and with a heavy
gale blowing the drifting snow in every direction. My wife's
sister, Mrs. Samuel Greeley, died that day. I wanted to get
a carriage to take my wife to the house, which was on
Hinsdale (now Chestnut) Street, near Wells. The livery-
stable man would not send a carriage out, because the
weather was so bitter. He let me have a cutter, however,
one horse and plenty of buffalo robes, in which I managed
to drive my wife up to her sister's house and return to the

66 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
stable as quickly as possible. On the same night the regi
ment in barracks at Wright's Woods, opposite the forks
of the Graceland and Lakeview roads, broke camp and
started for the city to save themselves from freezing to
death. In the morning some of them were seen straggling
down North Clark Street and all the sleighs and horses
that could be gathered were sent up to get them into town.
Before railroads began operating out of Chicago, there
was quite a furore for plank roads to overcome the bad
condition of the dirt roads, — turnpikes, they were called,
made from mud thrown up from the side ditches in the
spring and during the rains. These new roads were made of
planks about three or four inches thick and a foot or so wide,
of the required length, laid on stringers and spiked down.
There was the Milwaukee Plank Road, the Northwestern, the
Southwestern, and the Blue Island Pike roads, all toll roads.
When railroads came into operation they were abandoned.
The first piece of wooden block pavement put down in
Chicago was the original "Nicholson" on South Wells
Street, between South Water and Lake streets. Samuel S.
Greeley, a civil engineer, laid this initial stretch of wooden-
block pavement; it was a good, honest job and wore well for
years. The patentee, a Mr. Nicholson of Boston, had never
been able to do much with it. Chicago soil was well adapted
to it, and from its introduction here has come the exten
sive use of this kind of pavement in many cities of the
United States. Mr. Greeley really made known the pave
ment for the patentees, and about the first thing the paten
tees did was to part with a large portion of their interest
and deprive Greeley of the benefits justly due him in its
introduction in the West.

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 67
Among the early residents of Chicago, whom I knew,
was Walter L. Newberry, whose name is perpetuated by
the Newberry Library. A few years after I came to Chicago
he married a Miss Clapp of Lenox, Massachusetts, and
lived in what was called the Hunter House, on the south
east corner of Illinois and Rush streets. Afterwards he
built a house on the northeast corner of Rush and Ontario
streets, where he lived until he died. His death occurred on a
steamer going to Europe. He left a widow and two daughters.
The death of these heirs released his large fortune for use in
founding the reference library which now bears his name.
Another old resident was Justin Butterfield, an eminent
lawyer who came from western New York and owned
the half block on the northwest corner of Rush and Mich
igan streets, adjoining John H. Kinzie's property. His
residence was a two-story frame house, double front, with
a large garden. His eldest daughter married William S.
Johnston, and the youngest daughter, Ada, married a Mr.
White. Old Justin Butterfield was said to know more law
than any man in Illinois and could refer to book and page
from memory. He was a rough and surly man in manners,
as a general thing, and never noticed anyone in the streets,
unless it might be some professional friend or client.
He was said to be a man of wit, quick at repartee and
cynical, but certainly he was not an agreeable man to deal
with. It was related of him that when he was defending
Joseph Smith, the Mormon, at Springfield, the court room
: being crowded with ladies, Mr. Butterfield opened his
- address with these words: —
» "I rise to defend the prophet of the Lord, surrounded by
his angels."

68 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
John H. Kinzie, son of old John Kinzie, the first white
settler in Chicago, was one of the early residents I knew
well. Kinzie's Addition was named for him. He lived in a
two-story brick house on the northeast corner of Cass and
Michigan streets, with barn and garden. There was noth
ing remarkable about John H. Kinzie, except that he was
one of the old inhabitants. I think that in 1842 and '43, he
was the registrar of the Land Office, his office being on
Kinzie Street near State. I brought a letter of introduction
to him and presented it there. Mrs. Kinzie was a woman of
intellect and influence. Their daughter, Nellie, married a
Mr. Gordon of Savannah, Ga., and a son, Arthur, com
manded a colored regiment during the Civil War. There
was another son, George, who was in the regular army.
The Kinzie house was a headquarters for Episcopalians,
Mr. and Mrs. Kinzie being chief pillars in St. James's
Church. She was the author of Wau Bun, a book which gave
an account of the early days of Chicago and Illinois. Kinzie's
estate was small. He generally held some public office. He
died in Chicago during the Civil War.
On the block bordered by Rush, Erie, Cass and Ontario
streets stood William B. Ogden's residence, a large, double,
two-storied, conspicuous house, with portico and columns
and broad steps. There were stables, outhouses, and green
houses. Originally built by a land company, it was sold to
Mr. Ogden during the panic of 1837 and 1838. Mr. Ogden
was a very pleasant man socially. His manner was genial,
attractive, and gentlemanly, and his conversation intelli
gent, reflecting the power of keen observation — altogether
he was a very agreeable bachelor. He was also a man of
great ability; clear-visioned and far-sighted, a projector on

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 69
a large scale. I knew Mr. Ogden well. He was always cour
teous and pleasant, and on several occasions did favors for
me for which I was very grateful. In about his seventieth
year, he married a Miss Arnot, a maiden lady of Elmira,
New York. He died a year or two afterwards at his country
place near New York City, "Boscobel," leaving a widow,
but no children.
On the northwest corner of Dearborn and Ontario streets,
in a long, low frame house, lived Isaac N. Arnold, a lawyer.
On this corner the Chicago Historical Society building
now stands. Mr. Arnold was a man of acknowledged
ability in the law; was a member of Congress from the
Chicago district; an honest, patriotic Republican, and a
friend of Abraham Lincoln. He wrote several books on
historical subjects, among them a life of Lincoln.
Gurdon S. Hubbard was, after John Kinzie, I believe,
the oldest settler in Chicago. He came from Middletown,
Connecticut, but had been in the northwest country since
boyhood. He was a widower when I came to Chicago. He
had one son, Gurdon S. Hubbard, Jr. His second wife was
his cousin, a daughter of Mr. Hubbard, who lived on the
northeast corner of Dearborn and Ontario streets. Henry
Hubbard, the father of Mrs. Herbert Ayer, was a son of
the same Mr. Hubbard. I knew Henry Hubbard very well,
having hunted deer with him and others along about 1844
and '45 in the " sag timber " twenty miles below Chicago.
Henry Hubbard, or "Hank" Hubbard, as he was called,
married a daughter of Judge Smith. She was a sister of
Mrs. Dr. Boone and Mrs. Stephen F. Gale. Gurdon S. Hub
bard married a second time, about 1850. He was a pork
packer when I arrived in Chicago, his establishment being

70 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
next door to my store on South Water Street, near Clark.
He was a man of iron constitution. He told me that he
once walked seventy miles in one day from early morning
to candle light and beat some famous Indian walkers across
country. He was always a pleasant, genial man, — a good
citizen and much respected. He had much to do with the
Indians in his early life as a fur-trader, and now and then
when we were neighbors on Indiana Street, some of his
old Indian friends when in town would come to see him.
On Cass Street, between Huron and Erie streets, lived
the McCagg family. I first knew Mr. McCagg as a store
keeper on Randolph Street, not far east of Randolph Street
bridge. Afterwards he entered into partnership with
John S. Reed in the lumber business. Ezra B. McCagg, the
well-known lawyer, was his son. Another son went to the
Civil War with a Chicago battery, contracted a disease and
died. His name is recorded with others on the Soldiers'
Monument in St. James's Church vestibule. He had two
daughters, one who married Andrew Brown of Evanston,
and another, Miss Caroline McCagg. E. B. McCagg's first
wife was the Widow Jones, a sister of William B. Ogden.
They had one son, Louis McCagg.
Another old resident was Monsieur Canda, father of Mrs.
Humphreys and Mrs. Payson, and also of the first Mrs.
William Norman Campbell. He owned a large plot of
ground on North Wells Street, where he was living when I
first came to Chicago in 1842. I made the acquaintance of
his daughter, Miss Canda, later Mrs. Humphreys, about
1844 in New York, when I called upon her with a mutual
friend to get some trifle she wanted to send to her father in
Chicago. She was a very agreeable young French lady.

GLEANINGS FROM A FAMILY MEMOIR 71
She came to Chicago the same fall after my return here,
and married David Humphreys a year later.
In 1842 the city had about 6,600 people and the popula
tion did not increase until the resumption of work on the
Illinois-and-Michigan Canal. There was really but very
small increase in population until the railroads reached
Chicago and began to build west from the city. Chicago's
location demanded railroads and they came as a necessity.
Chicago had not had any better start in a business way
than several other lake towns. It had five or six grain stor
age warehouses of moderate capacity, and fair stocks of
goods in the hands of active, energetic traders, who were
always ready to buy whatever farmers had to sell and to
pay for them in goods or cash, but there was very little
capital in the town in 1842. Most of the merchants pur
chased their goods in the East on time twice a year, and
about all the money to buy wheat was furnished by the
Wisconsin Marine and Fire Company Bank, of which George
Smith was the head and Alexander Mitchell, of Milwaukee,
the cashier. The rate was twelve per cent per annum on
drafts or bills of lading consigned to the Bank's agents at
Buffalo, and Smith, on the proceeds going to New York,
charged merchants two and one-half per cent exchange in
New York, which really cost him nothing; while his agents
handling the stuff between received their commission on
sales of the produce. It was in this way that Smith,
backed by Scotch capital in Dundee, made his money and
laid the foundation of his large fortune. Then too, he com
manded the Galena lead trade through his bank there
under direction of James Carter.
In those quite distant days in Chicago the comparatively

72 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
small circle of business and professional men, and others of
note, were generally well acquainted with or known to one
another, and whenever there was a social gathering there
would be a good deal of mixing in. Every man in those days
stood on his own merits. There were very few conventional
restrictions on society. There were really no rich men, al
though there were a good many people possessed of land
who were really land poor. Each one seemed to have but
one object in life and that was to strive for the main chance,
the means to live and get along, so that in this respect all
were very much on a level. There were, however, some
people better educated, more cultivated, of more intelli
gence, than others and, as a matter of course, these were
more agreeable to meet in a social way; but there were no
purse-proud people, nor any fashionable and exclusive, for
the simple reason that the people were all poor and every
one was disposed to respect his neighbor. Vice, wickedness
and crime were comparatively unknown. Chicago was not a
fertile spot at that time for amusements of a public char
acter. There was not a restaurant in the city, nor what is
now known as a saloon. 1 If one wanted a drink, about the
only place he could get it was the small, simple bar in the
public room of such hotels or farmers' taverns as there
were here then. Chicago in the forties was really a
"one-horse" town and had not begun to step forward to
wards metropolitan proportions and surroundings, — with
all the attending evils of a great city.
1 Written in 1882.

VI
OUT OF THE PAST
By Mrs. William Blair
I first saw Chicago in 1854, when I came here a bride. It
then boasted a population of 75,000, which we thought a
large city compared with the 5,000 when my husband took
up his residence here in 1842. My first impression was:
How very low ! How very flat ! How very muddy !
When I think of the earlier Chicago and the influence of
environment, I ask myself whether hills and mountains are
essential to romance and especially attractive to brave and
chivalrous spirits.
We recall the historical novels that center about the
rugged banks of the St. Lawrence, the Heights of Abraham,
the Chateau of St. Louis or Frontenac, which read like the
social life of a new Versailles in a new France; or we look
back to the hill-country of our own New England, where
many of us have seen, in old Colonial homes, much to excite
the imagination. What have we to compare with such set
tings of social life? Let us gather up what we may.
Our prairies, we grant, are low and generally level, but
they are not without beauty. In the early days their flora
excited enthusiastic admiration. "Flower oceans," they
have been called, and the green swell of the rolling prairies
contributes to the fitness of the simile. Of our admiration for
our ever changing and ever beautiful inland sea, it is not
necessary to speak.

74 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
And when we turn to the men who made Chicago, even if
they were not born on our soil, or cultivated and developed
here, we feel that they created a community which enables
us to call ourselves "citizens of no mean city or state."
While we may not say "Chicago is Illinois," as the French
say "Paris is France," yet all must acknowledge the domi
nating influence of our city in the State.
Whenever I have heard some of the pioneers of Chicago,
by my own fireside, relate their early experiences, I have
thought that the courage in surmounting obstacles, the in
domitable perseverance in overcoming difficulties, contempt
for hardship, were the same in essence — whether exercised by
soldiers in war, in mountains or wildernesses, in the Old
World, or in the New — as these men exercised in the
sloughs and quicksands of our own Prairie State.
Judge Grant Goodrich said of Gurdon Hubbard, in an
address before the Historical Society, after rehearsing some
of his acts of heroic endurance and self-sacrifice, at the im
minent peril of his own life, to save another, "In ancient
Greece or Rome the memory of such deeds would have been
perpetuated in bronze or marble and glorified in historic
song." The Chicago Spirit, of which we hear much, is not
a rhetorical vaporing, or of recent birth. It has been with
us from the beginning.
For several years of its early existence, Chicago was sim
ply Fort Dearborn and the trading establishment of John
Kinzie. "Only this and nothing more," save perhaps a few
huts, inhabited by half-breeds, and the wigwams of the
Pottawatomies .
The early social life of Chicago was influenced greatly
by events that mark our financial history. From 1833

OUT OF THE PAST 75
to 1837, the city experienced unparalleled prosperity,
owing to the prevalence of "the western fever," when
thousands were flocking from the East to secure homes in
the West.
The superior advantages of Chicago were being exploited;
the most alluring reports of the character of the soil of our
State, its productiveness and the facility for making farms
on our prairies, were circulated far and wide. Soon both
capital and credit were enlisted. Money, owing to unlimited
bank issues, was abundant, and loans to any amount were
effected with the greatest ease. The building of the Illinois-
and-Michigan Canal was the Panama event in our early
history. The sales of the city lots donated by the State for
the benefit of the project were epochs in the financial world
that served to increase the speculative fever. The high tide
of speculation was reached in 1836. The turn in affairs came
the following year, and in 1837 — the year the city was in
corporated — occurred one of the greatest financial panics
that has ever afflicted our whole country. It was a period,
generally, of protested notes. In Chicago, it was a season of
mourning and desolation. Real estate in which all had in
vested was greatly depreciated — in fact, could not be sold
at any price. The depression continued until 1839-40.
Everybody was poor, and at the social gatherings of those
days, a writer says, "the costumes of both men and women
were of a bygone age."
There were but one or two private carriages, but the con
dition of the streets in winter was such that a dray was a
safer vehicle than a carriage.
No merchant of the present time can realize the money
troubles in the forties, or the blessings now of a stable cur-

76 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
rency.1 All western bank-notes were then at a discount,
which varied from day to day. There were also hundreds of
counterfeit notes in circulation. A necessary equipment for
every store was a copy of The Bank Note Detector, issued
monthly in New York, which gave the present value of all
bank-notes and described counterfeit paper. This was con
sulted in nearly every trade where money was paid. This
experience was repeated in 1857, and I remember waiting
at the counter in Carter's, our leading dry-goods store at
that time, while my bills were passed upon as to their gen
uineness and their value. On the counter, also, was a bottle
of nitric acid with which to test coins.
Many people, after the collapse of the real estate boom
in 1836, went back East, or to Galena, where the lead mines
were doing well, or to the new town of Milwaukee, which
attracted numerous immigrants.
The position of Chicago, however, was too favorable to
permit the city very long to be seriously affected by any
calamity, however great. Her citizens returned to early
habits of industry and economy; her business men called
into requisition all their experience to build up their injured
credit, and to restore their business to a safe and permanent
foundation. Some years ago I spent a delightful hour with Mrs.
Gurdon Hubbard talking over early days. She arrived with
her father's family in 1836. At that time everybody was
rich. There was much elegant dress. Fashions were peculiar
and school-girls wore low-necked frocks and slippers to
school, even when there were no sidewalks. The school
taught by Miss Willard was near the present location of the
1 The population of Chicago in 1840 was 4,479.

OUT OF THE PAST 77
Sherman House. Many of the girls came from the north
side of the river. On South Water Street they had to cross
the slough on a plank. Mrs. Hubbard recalled this incident:
One day, as the girls were coming from school, they met on
this plank a number of Indians, who, with heads erect, look
ing neither to the right nor the left, brushed the young girls
off the plank into the slough.
At Rush Street there was a ferry, but at Dearborn Street
a drawbridge, which was used by the school-girls. It was
drawn up by a windlass and chain, which would often catch
and furnish a convenient excuse for being late at school.
Since Chicago began, the river has been the scapegoat for
many a tardy mortal. Extravagance in dress in those days
was encouraged by the system of long credit which pre
vailed. Everything was charged, and unfortunately little
was paid for when the general failure occurred the following
year. Mrs. Stiles Burton also told me interesting incidents of
the early days. She explained to me why, in the first year
or so of my life in Chicago, I so frequently heard allusions
to Warren ville and Geneva. I did not understand their re
lation to Chicago. The farmers in that region had come
from the eastern part of Massachusetts at an early day and
naturally brought families with them. The daughters had
become attractive young ladies; while Chicago men, both
business and professional, were generally young bachelors.
There were very few young ladies in Chicago. When the
sessions of the County Court met in Geneva — the county
seat of Kane County — the young lawyers, Norman B.
Judd, Judge Hugh T. Dickey, Thomas Hoyne, Judge John
Dean Caton, and others, attended the sessions, followed by

78 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
a greater or lesser number of young business men interested
in the cases. It was always an occasion for a dance and
the farmers' pretty daughters were gathered in.
There were seven sisters in the Warren family, who lived
in Warrenville, near Geneva. Later, one was married to
Silas B. Cobb. Another, Mrs. Jerome Beecher, is well known
for her many charities. Mrs. Stiles Burton met her "fate" on
a horseback ride — the popular pleasure of the day. Chi
cago bachelors who wished to show some politeness to a
young lady visitor invited her for a horseback ride.
In going to dances in those days, or rather evenings, the
gentlemen walked, wearing high boots on account of the
mud, exchanging them for slippers at the house. The young
ladies sat on buffalo robes spread in the bottom of two-
wheeled carts, which were backed up to the doors, when
strong arms lifted the fair freight from carts to front halls.
An address by Isaac N. Arnold on the presentation of a
portrait of William B. Ogden to the Chicago Historical
Society gives an interesting picture of early days here.
Speaking of the old Lake House, the principal hotel,
corner of Kinzie and Rush streets, Mr. Arnold says: —
"It faced across the river towards the neatly kept and
brightly whitewashed stockade, pickets, and buildings of
old Fort Dearborn. The river was spanned at this point
by a rope-ferry and on the south side of the river was
the military post, with its grass plot, shaded by the old
historic honey-locust, and within it stood the granite boul
der, which, tradition said, had been the Indian 'Stone of
Sacrifice and Death. ' 1 The river was then a clear, trans-
] After a half-century in the Arnold garden, this stone now rests in the
Chicago Historical Society rooms.

OUT OF THE PAST 79
parent, running stream, its grassy banks fringed with trees
and flowers.
*' Toward the east, the grounds of the old Kinzie house,
the home of the father of John H. Kinzie, sloped gently to
the river. The banks were grassy and the broad piazza was
pleasantly shaded by four large Lombardy poplars. The
young ladies of those days were accustomed to the saddle,
and horseback riding was a common amusement. There was
a fine natural forest between Clark and Pine streets, north
on the lake shore, and along its grassy paths lay fallen and
decayed trees. Over these we practiced our horses and
Indian ponies in leaping. Few now living can recall those
gay scenes, but those who can will not have forgotten the
almost unequalled beauty of a daughter of Colonel Whistler,
nor those black-eyed, dark-haired Virginia girls, nor the
belles of mixed French and Indian races, who united the
graces and beauty of both. And I am quite certain none
who was so happy as to participate in those rides will have
forgotten that rosy-cheeked, golden-haired lass, the most
fearless and graceful of all, whom the Indians in their ad
miration called, 'O-go-ne-qua-bo-qua' (The Wild Rose)."
This was Mrs. Skinner, the wife of one of Chicago's most
eminent jurists and mother of the late Mrs. Henry J. Will
ing, the late Mrs. Ambrose Cramer, and the Misses Eliza
beth and Frederika Skinner, and grandmother of Mark
Skinner Willing, Ambrose Cramer, Jr., and Mrs. J. G. Mc-
Clure, Jr. I have been told of the special admiration of a
young chief who gave her a silver ring and wished to marry
her. Mr. Arnold gives us a picture of the house of William B.
Ogden, the first mayor of Chicago. He writes: —

80 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
"There is not to-day (1884) in our wealthy and luxurious
City — there never has been in fact — a residence more
attractive, more homelike, more beautiful than that of Mr.
Ogden, which, with all its treasures of art and books, was
destroyed in the great fire of 1871. The house stood in the
center of a block bounded by Rush, Cass, Erie and Ontario
streets. On it was a fine growth of maple, cottonwood, oak,
ash, cherry, elm, birch, and hickory trees. In the center
stood his double house built of wood. A broad piazza ex
tended across the south front. A large conservatory and
fruit houses added to its beauty and comfort."
In this house of generous and liberal hospitality was
found no lavish or vulgar exhibition of wealth. Here were
refinement, broad intelligence, kind courtesy and hospital
ity. Here all prominent and distinguished strangers were
welcomed and entertained and here, too, the humble and
poor, if distinguished for merit, culture or ability, were
received. Among the guests entertained in this home were
Martin Van Buren, Daniel Webster, Henry J. Tilden,
William Cullen Bryant, Miss Harriet Martineau, Fredrika
Bremer, Margaret Fuller, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Wen
dell Phillips, Charlotte Cushman, and Charles Lever, the
Irish novelist.
In 1854, my first winter in Chicago, our ways were not
yet all made smooth. Lake Street was the only paved street
and that was only "planked" and was in bad condition.
Along the lake shore, which was sandy, it was always dry,
but the sand was so deep and heavy that carriages plowed
their way as slowly as through the prairie mud not more
than a couple of streets away.
There seemed to be a change of climate about 1854, if I

OUT OF THE PAST 81
may believe what was then told me. There was more snow
and much colder weather than formerly. In the winter of
1855, President Hitchcock, of Amherst College, the noted
geologist, was invited by the Y. M. C. A. to give a course of
lectures on geology. He was our guest during his stay in the
city. The cold was so intense and Metropolitan Hall at the
corner of Randolph and La Salle streets, the Auditorium of
those days, was so poorly heated, that during two of his
lectures he wore his overcoat and leggings, looking like
an Arctic explorer. One evening the gas failed from
frost — a not infrequent occurrence — at the beginning
of the lecture and the hall was dimly lighted by lamps
and candles.
Furnaces were not common in private houses and, in our
parlors, we warmed ourselves one side at a time before the
grate fire, and our "hot faces were steaming, the while we
were freezing our backs." My first home, a three-story-and-
basement brick house, was at No. Ill Wabash Avenue, now
part of Stevens' dry-goods store, then a quiet residence
district. Our church, the Second Presbyterian, stood on the
corner of Wabash Avenue and Washington Street. Our
friends and neighbors on either side in our block, were J. H.
Dunham, Dr. Rutter, the Stephen Gales, Judge John M.
Wilson and others, while across the street was the home
and garden of Judge and Mrs. Mark Skinner.
I attended many delightful parties, as they were then
called, that winter. My sister-in-law gave one to introduce
me. It was no small task to give a party in those days. First
of all, your very formal invitations must be written in a
fine, feminine hand, and next, they must be delivered in
person, lest some should be lost. The mail was not thought

82 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
of, and it was some time before it was considered quite safe
or even polite to trust such an important matter to a
messenger. The caterer, who kept a small shop on Lake Street,
could be depended upon for little else than ice-cream. His
sign proclaimed proudly that this commodity could be fur
nished "at all seasons of the year." Your cakes, a prom
inent feature of the table, and whatever else you desired,
must be prepared, not by a chef, but by your plain, willing
cook, with yourself as first assistant.
In the early days, our food supply was varied and abun
dant. The prairie teemed with game, so that we had prairie-
chicken, partridge, quail and other birds, and venison also,
while from the lake we drew delicious fish, lake trout, white-
fish and perch.
In fresh fruit we were deficient. Only berries were abun
dant. The larger fruits were all brought around the lakes
from Buffalo.
I remember our long and disagreeable drive, with mud
often to the hubs of the wheels, the afternoon before a
party, to a village called Cleaverville, somewhere between
35th and 39th streets, east of Cottage Grove Avenue, to
the only florist known, where we could buy flowers. Flowers
were rarely seen at an entertainment in the winter and our
friends expressed surprise at seeing them on the parlor man
tels on this occasion.
The people of that time were delightful, so wide-awake
and intelligent ! The young men were educated, energetic, and
high-principled. Where there was not a surplus of young
ladies, I can testify that young matrons did not lack for at
tention. There were so few young ladies that it was quite

OUT OF THE PAST 83
common for married ladies to have some young woman
friend from the East spend the winter or part of it with
them. I remember that it was a common question, "Do
you know what young ladies are expected here this winter?"
When we moved into what was for over fifty years our
home at No. 230 South Michigan Avenue,1 there was but one
other house in the block, a one-story-and-basement brick,
and in the block north there was but one house (the Clarks'),
which was the beginning of Terrace Row. We felt ourselves
quite in the country. One of the familiar sights was the
"lowing herds which wound slowly o'er the lea," attended
by the cowherds, who for years drove them, morning and
evening, to and from the open pastures farther south
on Michigan Avenue. Every self-respecting family kept
a cow. The basin of water between the narrow park and the rail
way was much used for boating.
I would like to refer to a small, but charming, literary
club organized in the late fifties, at the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Walter Neef — a house of delightful social culture.
Mrs. Neef was a sister of the late Mrs. R. W. Patterson.
Mr. Neef was chosen president of the club. We met Satur
day evenings at each other's homes — about twenty mem
bers, ladies and gentlemen. At the close of the evening
simple refreshments were served. The members were the
Burches, Bentleys, Farnums, Judds, Farwells, Havens, and
a few young ladies and gentlemen. We wrote no papers; the
literary part was chiefly selected readings. I remember one
Christmas Eve two ladies read Dickens' Christmas Carol,
which was new at that time. But we had, even then, aspira-
1 Where the Congress Hotel and Annex now stand.

84 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
tions for cultivating our dramatic tastes, different members
taking part in reading expurgated plays. There were none
to laugh at us but ourselves.
My large parlor, sixteen by twenty-four feet, was the
scene of numerous delightful occasions. The memory of
many of these is now like the dim outline of old daguerreo
types. There were two or three benefit concerts for local
charities. I recall one for the building fund of the Home for
the Friendless, especially promoted by Mrs. Joseph Medill.
The music was given by the very popular singers Clara
Louise Kellogg and Annie Louise Carey. The gentlemen who
sang with them were Castle and Campbell or Tom Carl.
Another interesting evening was an annual meeting of the
Historical Society, before they had a building. The address
of the evening was given by Dr. Charles H. Ray, at that
time editor of the Tribune.
But to consider society with its present-day definition —
one author says, "We had nothing worthy of being called
'society' until after the great fire of 1871." Another says,
"Not until the Columbian Fair of '92." I have no means of
knowing when it was organized, but I remember some things
that would have hindered a large organization of this kind
during the first thirty years of our city life, besides those
hindrances that have been already mentioned.
In 1854, there were but two or three benevolent institu
tions established in Chicago — Mercy Hospital and the
Catholic and Protestant Orphan Asylums. If one should
try to count the large number of institutions and societies
"ministering to all the ills that flesh is heir to," established
during the last fifty years, he would realize how very busy a
great many men and women have been — especially women.

OUT OF THE PAST 85
During our four years of Civil War our women were much
engrossed in work for the comfort of our soldiers at the
front — sewing, knitting socks, and scraping lint for the
wounded. Later they worked for the great Sanitary Fair, in
which Chicago led the way and set the fashion for eastern
cities. In this grand and successful effort, Mrs. A. H. Hoge
and Mrs. Mary Livermore were leaders. After the war, Mr.
Lincoln presented medals to these noble women.
Six years later, on October 9, 1871, came the great fire.
The churches were open daily that winter to feed the home
less and to distribute clothing to thousands who had not a
change of any sort. The Michigan Avenue front of the block
between Congress and Harrison streets, where my home
was, was the boundary line of the devastation of the "Big
Fire," and also of the great fire of three years later. I was
asked to open my parlor as a distributing center for new
clothing intended for those who had been driven from
homes of every comfort, until they should have time to look
about and in some way provide for their needs. For six weeks
I received and distributed clothing, some of my friends
coming in to assist me — among them our well-remembered,
generous-hearted Jessie Bross Lloyd. * The experience of
those weeks will never be forgotten.
Among the many memories of sixty -four years of social
pleasures, of hospitalities in homes whose doors are forever
closed, I treasure those of that most gracious hostess, Mrs.
Norman B. Judd, who on account of her husband's va
rious official positions, always entertained distinguished
strangers; of the generous hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. J. Y.
Scammon; of the charming host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs.
1 Daughter of Governor Bross and wife of Henry Demarest Lloyd.

86 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
G. P. A. Healy; of Dr. Rutter, where we met Judge Stephen
A. Douglas, when he first brought home his beautiful
bride; of the cordial and frequent entertainments of Judge
and Mrs. Skinner, of Mr. and Mrs. Henry W. King, and
of Mr. and Mrs. E. W. Blatchford, will always be delight
ful recollections, as will be the dignified home of Mr. and
Mrs. W. H. Brown, where, with a small company, we met
Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, and Mr. Hannibal Hamlin, the Vice-
President, just after Lincoln's first election to the Pres
idency. Mr. Lincoln chanced to walk from the dining-room into
the parlor with me, where we sat on a sofa for a little time,
and I remember my embarrassment in finding myself con
versing with one for whom I already felt unbounded ad
miration. His simplicity and cordiality were very apparent.
I recall his standing back to back with Doctor Robert W.
Patterson, to see which was the taller !
I remember, too, an interesting visit with Judge Stephen
A. Douglas, the political opponent of Mr. Lincoln. It was
on the deck of a Mississippi steamer that he entertained a
little group of us with the recital of his recent visit to Russia,
where he had been received with distinguished honors, be
ing invited by the war-Emperor, (Nicholas I, to review
with him the Russian army.
We met General and Mrs. U. S. Grant, soon after the war,
at Mrs. Judd's. Notwithstanding the great success that
had crowned his career, the grave face and taciturn man
ners reminded me of the stories told me in my girlhood of
Napoleon by an old man who in his youth was an English
sailor, and was on the ship that carried Napoleon to St.
Helena. I remember his picture of the great Emperor sitting

OUT OF THE PAST 87
immovable on the deck for hours every day, with elbows on
his knees and (head resting on his hands. But this, as
Kipling says, "is another story."
I recall a gentlemen's dinner that we gave when the
guests of honor were Hugh McCulloch, Secretary of the
Treasury under Lincoln, and called the "Father of the
Greenback Currency," and Speaker Colfax, afterwards
Vice-President. One evening at the Brown's, after the war, we enjoyed a
visit with Mrs. John H. Kinzie, author of Wau Bun, and
her daughter, Mrs. Gordon of Savannah (Nellie Kinzie),
granddaughter of John Kinzie, Chicago's first white set
tler. Mrs. Gordon told us a story of Sherman's entry into
Savannah, when he was "Marching Through Georgia," and
her attempt to illuminate her home, frustrated by other
members of her family with Confederate sympathies.
Out of the dim past they come before me — the dear
friends of those early, golden days. In Memory's hall, in
my inmost heart, I entertain them still.

VII
AS I REMEMBER IT
By Mrs. Joseph Frederick Ward
The words "Old Chicago" bring to my mind a vision of
joy and gladness. The Chicago of my youth was a green and
flowery place — a place of gardens and trees and birds and
grass and charming homes — of sandy beach and dashing
waves, with a sense of youth and of the beginnings of
things all about us.
The region about the river was always devoted to busi
ness — River and Canal streets, South Water and all the
docks. Randolph Street had wholesale places and leather
and hardware. Lake Street was our shopping street; there
T. B. Carter, whose children live among us, had the first
dry -goods store, and Henry Willing, a boy then, later mem
ber of the firm of Field, Leiter & Company, would carry
your packages home for you on foot. The first deliveries by
wagon were considered very grand. There, later, Potter
Palmer had a store, and was always about it himself —
would stop and chat while you tried on your new coat, and
would perhaps cheapen the price.
On State, between Lake and Washington, was the market,
with a red brick market -house in the middle of the street,
and here on market days would come the farmers from the
prairie farms, their wagons piled with the marvelous fruits
of the virgin soil, their wheels thick and clogged with that
same virgin soil which neither corduroy nor plank roads

AS I REMEMBER IT 89
could quite subdue. The Court House, standing where the
County Building now does, was in the center of a green
square with a high iron fence about it. A number of churches
faced it around the square and the whole place had a rather
reserved and solemn air.
The lake shore was a sandy beach, and at Van Buren
Street there was a place where horses could be driven in to
drink and wagon- wheels could be washed. There were
several places where the young people could rent rowboats
to go on the lake. When the Illinois Central Railroad was
built, piles were taken out of the railway breakwater and
patches of white made to show us where we could go
through to the open lake.
The streets of the young city were frightful, with deep
mud and holes and many places marked "No bottom." A
frequent sight was a cart stuck fast and abandoned. I re
member one such cart deeply imbedded in the mud just in
front of McVicker's Theater. The sidewalks were of uneven
planks, with frequent steps up and down, but the homes
were charming, a favorite style of architecture being a
square building with a hall through the middle and a white-
pillared veranda. All had gardens with fruit trees, overflow
ing flowers and an abundance of shrubbery. All had fences
and gates, I do not know why, as all our cows were driven
away out to Twelfth Street, were watched and driven back
at night. We were a very primitive people; we knew
everyone or at least knew who they were; the men
called each other by their first names and frequented the
family grocery of a Saturday night to talk politics and
discuss business. R. H. Countiss' grocery, on the corner
of Clark and Van Buren, was a very favorite meeting

90 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
place. Mr. Countiss' son has been, I believe, president
of the Chicago Stock Exchange.
The churches were great factors in social life. The Sun
day School Picnic and the Church Social were events.
Creeds and rules were also of more importance and more
rigidly observed. For instance, little girls in those days wore
pantalets. These could be embroidered or braided or hem
stitched. They were stiffly starched and grandly flopped
and rattled about their white stockings and cross-tied slip
pers. A great disturbance arose in the First M. E. Church
because the minister's wife trimmed her daughter's pan
talets with lace, and also, herself, went the length of wearing
a plain gold watch on a black ribbon. It almost dismem
bered the Church.
Everyone even then had a most joyous faith in the
future of Chicago, although it was feared at one time
that St. iCharles, a far older place, would surpass it
and become the metropolis of the West. If one possessed
any real estate at all, that one's fortune was considered
made. When Washington Irving wrote the Knickerbocker His
tory of New York, he began at the creation of the world to
get a really good start, and in this little personal history I
also will start a little back of my remembrance.
In 1835, my husband's father and mother came west
from Massachusetts, intending to invest here and stay, if
they liked it. They were offered twenty acres within the
then narrow limits of the city for two thousand dollars,
but the place was such a mess and medley of mud, shanties,
and Indians, that they declined the offer and returned to
live and die in Massachusetts.

AS I REMEMBER IT 91
That same year a young man,1 a scion of the Governor
Wentworth family of New Hampshire and a graduate of
Dartmouth College, arrived in Chicago. He had very little
money, but in some way became possessed of a lot on
La Salle Street between Lake and Randolph, built a print
ing-office, called it Jackson Hall, and began to publish a
daily paper which he named the Chicago Daily Democrat.
He was six feet six, or more, in height, and was very generally
known as "Long John Wentworth." In 1837, having been
elected to Congress, he wrote my father, David M. Bradley,
then just out of his 'teens and an old schoolmate, to
come and run the paper while he went to Washington. My
father did so and in 1839 went back East, married, and
brought my mother to Chicago. They boarded at the old
Sauganash Hotel, and, among other fellow guests, were Mr.
and Mrs. Augustus Garrett. Mr. Garrett was at that time
mayor of the town. I do not know what his business was,
but in some way he made the money with which later Mrs.
Garrett founded Northwestern's Theological School (Gar
rett Biblical Institute).
In 1841, having then one child, my eldest brother, my
parents purchased a piece of land, one hundred feet on
Jackson Street, running through to Quincy. It was be
tween State and Dearborn, but Dearborn at that time was
only cut through to Monroe. Jackson was a fairly wide
street, but Quincy was a narrow lane called "Printer's
Alley." My mother declared, if she had to live way out
there, she did not wish to turn her back on the town. So
for her benefit the lane was widened to a street, and, hav
ing a great admiration for John Quincy Adams, she named
1 Hon. John Wentworth.

92 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
it Quincy Street. After the death of Mrs. Charles Rowe's
mother, Mrs. Samuel McCarty, some of the Chicago pa
pers told of this street naming as being due to her. It really
was my mother's achievement, however. Mrs. Rowe's early
home was on the corner of Adams and State streets where
Peacock's jewelry store now is. After her father's death,
however, Mrs. Rowe and her mother did live for two years
in a house belonging to my father, next door to us.
There was a little stream running from Quincy to Jack
son between our place and State Street — a little, muddy,
swampy stream, and Mrs. Rowe and I used to wet
our feet and soil our dresses trying to get the cattails
and blue flags that grew there. When the high building
that stands there now was being built, they found that
same little stream and were obliged to build a special
miniature aqueduct for it before they could put in their
foundations. To return to 1841 —
After my parents had sold twenty-five feet on Quincy
Street in order to have a neighbor, their home was built
out on the wide prairie, the tall prairie-grass waving all
about it, just where the Lyric Theatre now stands, and
just east of the Great Northern Hotel. It was a lonely
place and when, after the evening meal, the waste bits
were thrown out of the kitchen window the prairie wolves
would come under the window and dispose of them.
When my brother was two and a half years old, he was
lost one day, and it being such a wild place and many
Indians about, there was great excitement. A friend on
horseback, seeing the tall grass between Quincy and Jack
son, Clark and Dearborn streets waving a little in a long

AS I REMEMBER IT 93
line, rode in and found the child. The grass grew far above
his head. All this was scarcely eighty years ago.
In 1840 Chicago had 4,479 inhabitants, almost all Amer
icans, and largely from the New England states. I was
born in 1844. Among my earliest joys was visiting the
Democrat office. Being in every respect a genuine, old-
fashioned country town, people sent my father, as editor and
publisher, everything from turkeys and big pumpkins to
sofas and refrigerators. On his birthday the management of
the Tremont House, our best hotel, sent him his birthday
cake and we children marvelled at the "David M. Bradley
— Chicago Daily Democrat" in the icing. I simply adored
the printing-office. The paper's great Norwegian engineer,
Ole Gulicson, would set me on his shoulder and go about
oiling the one engine, singing meanwhile Norse Sagas; or I
was lifted high on one of the presses, and the great ink-
rollers and flapping paper-carriers lunged at me; or I
watched the marvelously quick hands setting type; or I
found good company in the office — my father, of course, and
Mr. Wentworth often; also Stephen A. Douglas, Owen Love-
joy, Dr. Evans (afterward Governor Evans), Orrington Lunt,
Dr. Charles Dyer, and many another then famous Chicagoan
whose name would be meaningless now. Mr. Douglas being
very fond of children, I often found a seat on his knee. My
mother early put a stop to these joys, but I could still swing
on the gate and watch and count the "prairie-schooners,"
or "Forty-niners," go by on State Street. Trains passed of
twenty, thirty, or even forty of the great ribbed wagons,
drawn sometimes by mules, sometimes by horses, and some
times by oxen — often a mother and baby in the wagon and
a troop of barefoot boys and girls trudging beside, all cheer-

94 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
ful and full of enthusiasm. " We'll get thar," "Pike's Peak
or Bust," "Reach it or die," and "Plenty of gold in the
world I'm told — on the banks of the Sacramento," were
familiar legends scrawled on the wagon-covers.
From that same gate in the cholera year I watched eight
funerals in one afternoon in half a square. It was a dreadful
time. Everyone left the city who could, even some of the doc
tors fled. Amember of our household, Miss Clara Martin, hav
ing an errand at a neighbor's, found all the doors open and the
lower rooms deserted, and, hearing groans above, discovered
there the master and mistress of the house, alone and desert
ed, in the agonies of cholera. She stayed and nursed them
until they were safe, and then devoted herself to that work,
nursing rich and poor to their recovery or death, until at last
she came back to us and was stricken herself. Forbidden the
room, I climbed upon the arm of a chair and, when the door
was opened for the doctor, saw her lying there black and
shriveled like a mummy. She lived, however, and knew a
good old age. Although the sanitary condition of the city
must have been frightful, and I remember no effort to im
prove it, the cholera finally left us.
Slavery and its conditions dawned early on our childish
minds. I must have been five or six when one evening, need
ing the help of a woman in the neighborhood, my nurse
took me with her on the errand. The negro woman, Aunt
Charlotte, had bought herself, one husband and one son —
husband and son were both worthless — and she often re
marked in the most heartfelt manner: " Catch me ever buy
ing another nigger!"
We found her house dark, every shade drawn. "Char
lotte can't be at home," said my nurse. At that the door

AS I REMEMBER IT 95
was softly opened and Charlotte's hand drew us inside.
The door was shut and a candle lighted. There side by side
on the floor lay sixteen of the most wretched objects in
sodden sleep. They were fugitive slaves, caked with mud,
scratched and torn with briers, and showing through their
rags marks of the most brutal ill-treatment.
"I sure thought you was them catchers 'till you spoke,"
whispered Charlotte, and, "Poor things, I must wake them
at two in the morning and start them on their way."
I never forgot that sight. On State Street not far from us
lived a man who had been born free, and had bought his
wife's freedom. They were almost white, industrious and
happy, and had twin girls two or three years old. Profes
sional slave catchers found out in some way that these
children had been born less than eight months after their
mother's freedom. They reported this to her former master,
who immediately laid claim to them. One afternoon two
men in a wagon stopped at her door and asked for a drink
of water. As she went into the kitchen to get it she heard
a struggle and rushed back to find they had thrown her
children into the wagon and driven off. She flew after
them, clung to the back of the wagon and dragged her
children out. A crowd collected, the kidnappers were forced
to go for a constable and a warrant. Meanwhile the little
girls were put into a rowboat and rowed far out into the
lake. A steamboat starting for Canada that night was as
usual searched for fugitive slaves before it left its dock, but
it found that little boat out in the lake and carried the
children to safety. Those same girls came back after the
war, educated young women, and taught successfully in
the Freedmen's schools. All officers of the law were by oath

96 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
obliged to help return fugitive slaves; all private citizens
were liable to fine and imprisonment if they gave the latter
aid. But Chicago was not a good place from which to get a
slave returned; public sentiment was against it. The sheriff
one morning received a letter with orders to arrest a woman
quite white, who was both beautiful and educated, who,
having been purchased by someone in New Orleans, had
run away. Ten minutes after receiving it he met that girl in
the street and recognized her. As he passed, he said: —
"Go at once to such a number on such a street." It was
Dr. Dyer's office, and he was the head of the "Under
ground Railroad" of the State. A few minutes later the
sheriff met my father.
"Go to Dr. Dyer," he said, "tell him to have that girl
stain her face, cut her hair, dress in boy's clothes and leave
the city inside of two hours or I will have to arrest her."
There was only one reason for which beautiful slave girls
were sold in New Orleans; this girl was saved. You can
scarcely imagine how the facts of slavery filled our daily
lives. The papers had long lists of advertisements for
fugitives, often described as branded on the hand, with
back showing recent whipping, or ridged with old marks,
or otherwise giving evidences of ill-treatment.
Being a wooden city we had many fires. Our fire-engines
were pumped by hand and we had a volunteer fire company.
All the sons of all the best families belonged to it, and ran
to the fires. Standing three or four on each side, they worked
the pump, or else did valiant things with the hose. A fire
was almost a social event. The first steam fire-engine was a
marvel; it was called the "Long John," and I believe was
presented to the city by Mr. Wentworth. Wise old heads

AS I REMEMBER IT 97
were shaken over the first paid firemen. It was prophesied
that there would be no more enthusiasm, no more heroism.
We had many Indians in those days. They brought in
furs — for Chicago was quite a fur center — also buffalo
robes and maple sugar. There was always a fringe of them
in the back of the church, and we saw them constantly
about the streets, grave and silent in their blankets and
moccasins. They certainly were neither dirty nor drunken.
We also had a town crier. We met him one night coming
along, a crowd of men and boys about him, as he rang his bell
and called, "Lost! Lost! Lost! Little girl seven years old!"
He frightened me almost to screaming when he stopped
us and swung his lantern in my face to see if possibly I was
that little girl, and several of the men and boys scratched
matches and also took a look at me.
Having weak eyes, I was not allowed to learn even my
letters until I was eight years old. Then I began to attend a
school which I cannot quite locate. It was so near the lake
that the boys brought water from the lake in a pail and
passed it around to us in a tin dipper, sometimes placing a
frog in the pail to scare the girls. It was near the river, for
at recess we wavered between playing in the sand and wad
ing, or going up to Fort Dearborn, the blockhouse of
which was still standing, and talking to a one-legged sol
dier who always sat at the door holding his musket. We
used to bring him apples and oranges, but he never said
anything to us except that we couldn't go inside. From
this school I went to "Sawyer's Female Seminary," on
Clark Street between Monroe and Madison. This was in the
heart of the residence district. Emma Bigelow, afterwards
Mrs. Milton Wilson, lived in a very pleasant home just

98 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
across the street, while the Pecks, Ferdinand Peck's family,
were two squares south. This school was afterwards sold
to Mr. Grover, moved to Wabash Avenue and became the
Dearborn Seminary.
There was a remarkable singing-school attached to the
institution, which was housed in a wooden building with a
Greek front. This school was taught by a strange genius
named N. Dye. We practiced and performed wonderful
cantatas, to the admiration of crowded audiences.
My brother attended "Snow's Garden City Institute for
Boys." This stood on Adams Street not far west of State;
part of the Fair covers the ground now. William Liston
Brown and the late Daniel H. Burnham were fellow-
students there.
We had the primitive liking for grand names and
loved to call our city the "Garden City." We had
Garden City hotels and restaurants, and banks and saloons.
Later, people not knowing what Chicago was in its youth,
have explained the name as referring to the German market
gardens that were afterward so numerous. From these
schools we went to the High School and had the honor of
belonging to the first class in the first Chicago High School
that ever existed. It was on the West Side, on Monroe
Street, a few squares west of the river. Madison Street
bridge was building and we crossed the river on an old-
fashioned ferry, with a flat bottom and a post at each end
through which passed a rope, by which the ferryman pulled
us over. We found this method of crossing delightful. The
High School gave us a stiff course of three years. We grad
uated in'great glory at Metropolitan Hall at the corner of
Randolph and La Salle streets. There never was a grander

AS I REMEMBER IT 99
occasion — there never could be a grander occasion than
that was — the city fairly crowed over us. Three of our
number, however, dying within six months of various brain
troubles, the course was lengthened to four years and
greatly simplified. That ended my school days. My brother
went East to college, but we had lost our father, and our
mother could not be left alone. It was a shocking case, to
begin school at eight years old and finish before fifteen.
The women's clubs of to-day would have taken it up, but
serenely unconscious that anything dreadful had happened,
I went joyously on, educating myself in all sorts of ways with
all sorts of results. The point is that fifty years ago there
was nothing in Chicago for a girl after the High School,
although for the boys there was the old Chicago University,
which later died a natural death and was noted only for
its telescope.
The city grew steadily larger and lost its charm. Alas! it
was one of those unfortunates that lose their beauty with
their first youth. Business pushed the homes back from the
center; the old homes became boarding-houses and went to
seed, or had store-fronts attached. People bought and built
farther out and horse railways came into being. Dr. Dyer,
whom I mentioned in connection with the "Underground
Railroad," was the first to buy and build beyond Lincoln
Park, then the city cemetery. You had to go the whole
length of the cemetery to reach his home. Now, Dr. Dyer
was a joker and a free-thinker. "David," he said to my
father, "I know you have often been anxious about my
soul. I can assure you that I have at last secured a happy
home beyond the grave."
Many bought great estates and built beautiful homes in

100 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
beautiful grounds; among them the Clarks, the Egans, the
Hart L. Stewarts, and others. Some of these homes sur
vived for years, crowded among meaner houses, with a
dignity and charm all their own. John Wentworth owned a
great piece of land extending southwest of Thirty-First
and State streets, on which a race course was in operation
until after the Civil War.
Although primitive, we were not quite uncivilized. We
had our Public Library, a Mechanics' Institute, a Phil
harmonic Society under the leadership of Hans Balatka,
and always McVicker's Theatre. There all the old stars
appeared, and little Mary McVicker, as "little Eva" in
Uncle Tom's Cabin, brought tears to all eyes. Mary was
afterward the wife of Edwin Booth, the great tragedian.
We had many lecture courses and listened to Horace Gree
ley, Henry Ward Beecher, Bayard Taylor, the incompar
able Wendell Phillips, John B. Gough, the great apostle of
temperance, Susan B. Anthony, and Mrs. Lippincott, bet
ter known as Grace Greenwood.
I went, when perhaps ten years old, one night with my
father to a concert where besides Madame Parodi, Madame
Strakosch and other stars, was a little girl about my own
age. She wore a short, pink silk dress ruffled to the waist,
and had great black eyes and long black braids, and sang
like a bird. It was Adelina Patti. She was a naughty little
girl and would not sing at all unless Ole Bull led her out
and stood by her while she did it. I have heard her since
more than once, but never enjoyed her as I did that night.
Before the Pacific Railroad was built, the city was
crowded with young men — graduates of eastern Colleges
and others, who had come West to make their fortunes. Girls

AS I REMEMBER IT 101
were in great demand and went into society far younger
than they ought. We attended many a function where
there were seven men to every girl. As soon as these
young men owned even a small portion of Chicago real
estate, they considered their fortunes made, and were ready
to propose marriage on the slightest provocation — so
every girl was a belle in those days.
Dwight L. Moody was a picturesque figure in the city.
I taught in a Sunday School in which he was interested.
He actually washed and dressed the children and per
sonally conducted them to the school. Many of the stories
told of him are apocryphal, but he really did put his hand
on the arm of a stranger going into a basement saloon,
and say, —
"My friend, you are going straight to Hell."
"Just my luck!" the man answered.
He did get up in service and announce that he had just
become engaged to Miss Emma Revell and could not be
depended upon to see the girls home from meetings any
more. However, he developed as the city did, and it was
not many years before that city was building a great tem
porary auditorium to hold the people who wished to hear
him speak.
The Ellsworth Zouaves were also most picturesque. They
were all, I think, sons of good families, and Captain Ells
worth was a fine drill-master, with ideas of his own in
regard to what a Zouave should wear. We all attended their
exhibition drills, and watched them go through marvelous
evolutions in their still more marvelous uniforms. Captain
Ellsworth took them on a grand tour through the
East which was a great success; the illustrated papers were

102 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
full of their pictures and they were admired and applauded
everywhere they went. After their return, one of them,
calling on me, said, —
"I have a button for you."
"A button?" I echoed.
"Yes," he said, "the girls fought for our buttons in
every city, but I saved three for the girls at home and one
is for you." I am afraid I was more amused than appre
ciative and afterward I was glad I did not accept the gift,
for he was the only one of them all who did not serve his
country when war came. Instead he drilled troops at Rich
mond for the Confederacy.
The Republican Party came into being while we were
at High School, and everyone, Whig and Democrat, who
was anti-slavery joined it, and all shouted for "Fremont
and Jessie"; Fremont's wife, Jessie Benton Fremont, hav
ing taken a strong hold on the popular fancy. Of course, we
were defeated.
In 1858 came the famous Lincoln and Douglas debates. I
heard both men, not in debate, but on different evenings.
As I was only fourteen and we were a party of young people
in Judge Lemoyne's office across the way, what was said
made little impression on me. The crowd and torches, the
illuminated balcony of the Tremont House from which
they spoke, the contrast in looks and manner between the
men are all that remain in my memory. This was the only
time I ever saw Mr. Lincoln alive.
In 1860 the Prince of Wales (the late King Edward
VII), then about eighteen years of age, visited Chicago.
The city simply went mad over him. My sixteen-year-old,
republican soul revolted; I was ashamed and I said so,

AS I REMEMBER IT 103
that free-born Americans should make such a fuss about a
commonplace English schoolboy. John Wentworth was
mayor at the time — he had almost as incurable a habit of
being mayor as Carter Harrison — and of course he enter
tained the Prince. When he sent me a note asking me to
make a fourth with the Prince, Mrs. Wentworth and him
self, in a drive about the city and a reception afterward at
the Tremont House, I rose to a height of consistency never
afterward reached and declined the honor, and thus lost my
first, last and only opportunity to hobnob with royalty.
Afterward we had another and different mayor and another
and different visitor. The visitor was King Kalakaua of
the Hawaiian Islands. He was received with a band of
music and a speech, then this mayor said, —
"Come on, King, let's go up to the Tremont and have a
wash-up." In those far off years we had great trouble with our
money. Our National Banking system was not yet estab
lished and private banks issuing bank-notes were far from
reliable. At one time rent and other debts were paid in
bundles of bills each with a strap about it, saying these
were worth eighty-five cents, or sixty-five cents, or even
less, on a dollar; it was a mathematical problem to find
out if one had the right amount. These must be spent
quickly or they would grow less, for the banks took them
only at a discount, and shops and stores had notices posted :
"Wild Cat money taken only at this morning's quota
tions." In 1860 the Convention was held that nominated Abra
ham Lincoln. The Wigwam in which it was held was built
in rather rough fashion on the corner of Market and Lake

104 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
streets. It was on the third day of the session that my
mother and I reached the door at eight o'clock in the morn
ing. There were no entrance tickets and the plan was to let in
a small portion of the crowd, shut the door and when that
portion had gone up a rather narrow stairway, open it again
and let in another contingent. Alas! I was let in and my
mother was shut out; I was forced up the stair a little and
there was small chance of my finding her again in the crowd.
A man named Peter Page, a rather prominent Chicagoan,
had charge of the door. I saw that his head was just within
my reach. I hesitated not an instant, but beat a tattoo on
his shining silk hat with my parasol and demanded my
mother. "Let that lady's mother in," he commanded the door
keeper, and she was let in. The crowd took it up outside and
long after we were in our seats we could hear the shout, —
"Let that lady's mother in!"
We found good seats, and young and thoughtless as I was,
and amused and flushed by my little adventure, I felt al
most at once that it was a serious and momentous occa
sion. The air was fairly electric with the great questions
and the tremendous issues at stake. The preliminaries had
been finished and the platform accepted on the previous
days. The platform stated that Congress had no right to
interfere with slavery in the States where it existed, but
that the Republican Party opposed definitely its being
admitted into the Territories. The balloting began almost at
once. Men were stationed at the skylight and down the roof
to announce the votes as quickly as possible to the crowds
in the streets. At first the favorite sons of different States re
ceived votes; then it settled down to a struggle between

AS I REMEMBER IT 105
Abraham Lincoln and William H. Seward. New York and
her following stood by Seward valiantly, yet the votes
swung into place fast for Lincoln. To the very last, the New
York chairman's call rang out, "Seventy votes for
William H. Seward;" and when it became his duty to
make the choice unanimous, he did it with choking voice
and tears streaming down his face. The great place rang
with cheers and outside pandemonium reigned, yet I think
everyone was half joyful and half frightened; it was such a
critical time that it would not do to make a mistake. The
nation's very existence might depend on what was then
done. Many of the best and wisest thought Mr. Seward's
ripe and skilled statesmanship was needed, and others,
that Lincoln alone had the moral courage for the time.
Events proved these latter to be right, but Mr. Lincoln was
not well known out of his state; in the East people asked,
"Who is Abraham Lincoln?"
This was my first convention, but not my last; I was
present at the great scene in Crosby's Opera House when
Grant was nominated by acclamation. I was in the Exposi
tion building when Conkling made his great speech for a
third term for Grant, beginning : —
"If you ask me where he hails from,
My answer can but be :
He hails from Appomatox,
And the famous apple tree."
The applause was tremendous, but a few minutes later
he unfortunately said: "Show me a better man!"
"James G. Blaine!" shouted a man in the gallery.
The place went mad with applause; Senator Hoar
beat with his gavel and the band played its loudest,

106 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
and it was funny to see the instruments move ap
parently soundlessly, while the human voice was all that
was heard. The applause only ended with exhaustion and
the Convention nominated neither Grant nor Blaine,
but James A. Garfield. I was also present at the Auditor
ium when Benjamin Harrison was nominated.
But to go back to 1860 —
Events came fast after Lincoln's election. We were shop
ping when we heard of the firing on Fort Sumter, and the
news was accompanied with the advice to buy cotton-goods
as they would rise in price, which they did to an unheard-
of height. There were at once many enlistments for three
months : that would, of course, be long enough to settle the
matter. We were at the Des Plaines Camp Meeting when we
heard of the first battle of Bull Run, and Bishop Simpson
preached such a sermon as only times of great disaster can
bring forth.
After that it was war and nothing but war. Our friends
all enlisted; we despised them if they did not. At first the
enlistments were for nine months and then for three years
or the duration of the war. Chicago was a camp of con
struction, and regiments came marching in from all of the
States north of us. Camp Douglas, south of 31st Street,
was thick, at first with tents, and afterwards with wooden
barracks, and was soon crowded. J. J. Spalding, whose fam
ily lived in Evanston, raised a company and was made
Captain. We with other friends went to the camp and gave
the company a grand luncheon and presented him with a
sword. To other companies we helped give flags. We went
on some such errand to another camp north of the city,
Wright's Grove, I think, and were the guests of Lieuten-

AS I REMEMBER IT 107
ant-Colonel Bigelow, Mrs. Milton Wilson's brother, and of
Captain Edward Whitehead, brother of William H. White
head, of Evanston.
Nothing was spoken of but the war; nothing was done
except in reference to it. We worked hard, scraped lint,
tore and rolled bandages, made hospital garments, tied
comforters, knitted stockings and mittens, put up fruit and
pickles and jelly, all for the soldiers. We held great Sanitary
Commission Fairs lasting a week, two weeks, or even three
weeks. One of these fairs was in the Illinois Central Station
at Randolph Street when the building was new and before
it was used as a station. It is difficult for anyone who sees
that building nowadays to believe that it was ever new.
The last of these fairs was in session when the war closed.
It was there I first saw General Grant. He looked tired and
bored and finally took refuge from the crowds that pressed
upon him, in the booth where I was busy. We girls were all
alert; we gave him a chair and fanned him and brought him
glasses of water and lemonade. When he finally recovered
and left us, he gave some flowers he was carrying to one of
the girls and she kindly divided them among us — I kept
my share for years.
But the end of the war was long in coming and our souls
fainted within us. Men grew scant among us and the mour
ners went about the streets. You of to-day can realize how
horrible it was to know that the armies were fighting; to
know that thousands were dead or dying, wounded or
prisoners. We soon learned to wish our friends dead rather
than prisoners. We dreaded to see the papers, yet could not
rest until we knew the latest news and scanned, with sink
ing hearts, the lists of dead and wounded. It was a desperate

108 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
time and wrought in us a desperate and passionate patrio
tism. Then came the time when George Root wrote war-
songs, and Frank and Jules Lombard sang them on the
Court House steps, and hundreds enlisted in a day. Ah,
those war-songs! They may seem trivial now, but they
meant much to us then. There was one with a simple refrain,
with a foolish little repetition in it : —
Brave boys are they,
Gone at their Country's call,
And yet — and yet, we cannot forget
That many brave boys must fall.
It went sharply to our hearts. It was cruel to sing: —
We shall meet — but we shall miss him,
There will be one vacant chair.
So many families had those vacant chairs!
It changed us, of course. No one could live through all
that and be the same. It may be that those four years of
strain and stress and horror are in a measure responsible for
the nervous temperaments of the generation following us.
Camp Douglas ceased to be a camp of construction and
became a prison. We saw the prisoners march in, seven thou
sand of them, looking most miserable. They occupied the
barracks built for the soldiers and a high board fence was
put up to enclose the place. We were very good to those
prisoners; we sent fruit, jellies, and other provisions for
their hospital, and much clothing for their wear.
The clergymen of the city took turns in holding services
for them. One Sunday, Dr. Eddy (Mrs. Tallmadge's father)
had preached and there was much interest manifested by
his audience. He closed his sermon and gave out a hymn.
There were no hymn-books except for the preacher

AS I REMEMBER IT 109
and for the young people who were there to serve as a
choir, so the custom was to read a verse and then sing it.
He read: "Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive;" the next
line was, "Let a repenting rebel live." He was quick enough
to read it, "Let a repenting sinner live," but it was evident
ly familiar, for there was a chuckle and a ripple of laughter,
and every vestige of serious attention vanished.
The Chicago preachers of Civil War times were a band
of strong men; among them were Matthew Simpson, Dr.
Robert Patterson, Dr. W. H. Ryder, Dr. T. M. Eddy,
0. H. Tiffany, and Robert Collyer. It is a roll of honor.
It was, I think, in 1862, that we were on the porch one
evening with some friends, when a troop of cavalry turned
off State Street, came to position in front of our house, and
were there put through the manual of the saber, sharp and
quick, to be addressed in very strong language by their
commander, after which they turned about and went jing
ling down State Street. A friend said, "I did not know there
were so many soldiers in the city, everything has been rushed
to the front; there are hardly enough left to guard the
prisoners." We thought little of it, and after our friends left
us, we closed the house and went upstairs. Then came a
ring at the bell and a voice, "Every man go at once to the
Armory and be armed, the prisoners are out and armed."
Our household had no men. The messenger went on his
errand down the street and presently all the men in the
neighborhood went hurrying off to the Armory. We changed
our thin summer dresses for dark walking-suits; we gathered
up a few things in hand-bags, turned out the lights and sat
in the dark, stunned and stupid with fear, and waited.
Suddenly there was a volley of musketry — another — a

110 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
third — then cannon — then all was still. It seemed ages
before a neighbor returning told us what had happened.
The fence-posts had been sawed beneath the ground in one
section so that, with a push, that part of the stockade fell.
The prisoners came forth in force, well-armed and in some
show of order and discipline. To their surprise they faced
a regiment in line, waiting for them. The rebels fired; the
soldiers answered; the regiment opened right and left, dis
closing a battery. The prisoners were warned to retreat;
they answered with another volley. Then the cannon spoke;
the prisoners threw down their arms and fled back into the
prison and all was over.
The next day the Confederate officer who was to
have taken charge was found in a house half a square
from us, where it chanced my small brothers had played
with the boys of the family all the day before. He
was in woman's clothes and had not destroyed his
orders which were : to take command, to burn the city, to
seize what shipping they needed, burn the rest, then sail
through the Lakes and out the St. Lawrence, doing all the
harm they could by the way. If they reached the ocean,
they were to proceed to Charleston or some other port and
break the blockade. It was a fine plot, except that someone
betrayed it. If Governor Yates had not been able to rush
a regiment and a battery to Chicago, there seems to be no
reason why the scheme should not have succeeded. A num
ber of Chicago's prominent families, who were responsible
for arming the prisoners, left the country that night and
did not return until the war was ended.
At last came Lee's surrender, closely followed by the
assassination of President Lincoln. I saw the sad proces-

AS I REMEMBER IT 111
sion as he was borne through our streets, and every loyal
heart was filled with deepest grief. We went at midnight to
show our respect for the dead, as he lay in state in the broad
hall of the old Court House. There was a curious silence
over the city; many had chosen that same hour for the sad
duty. Softly we climbed the long flight of steps and paused
where he lay at rest from his cares and sorrows. General
Sheridan stood at his head and General Logan at his feet.
Many were passing, and deep sorrow was on every face. As
we reached the top of the further steps we looked down on
two or three hundred men with torches and music-books,
and as we looked they began to sing a requiem for the dead.
The night, the men's voices, and the quiet dead made an
impression that remains with me still.
We saw the rebel prisoners depart for their home, strong
and hearty, and much better dressed than when they came.
Then our prisoners came home, some of them from Ander-
sonville. I hope you may all be spared such a sight. The
rest of our soldiers also returned. There had been some
anxiety as to the result of disbanding at once so large an
army, but, without a ripple, they dropped back into their
places as citizens.
Chicago grew — Irish, Germans, and Scandinavians
flocked in. The Bohemians came and formed a city of their
own. We joyously laid down miles of wooden block pave
ment, and tried to adjust our levels. Michigan and Wabash
avenues and State Street became level, but if you stepped
west off State Street, you would walk a few hundred feet
and go down six steps, a little farther you would go up two
or three, and then down again. It was like New York's
famous sky-line. Every man decided for himself what the

112 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
ultimate level of his street would be and arranged his build
ing and his wooden sidewalk accordingly. It was very in
convenient, especially in the hoop-skirts which were the
fashion during the war and for years afterward. Every
woman wore them, even my little six-year-old sister was
caged in her tiny hoop. The highest sidewalk I knew was
on Jackson Boulevard between Dearborn and Clark streets
(about where the Union League Club now is), and is con
nected in my mind with an Indian girl, the only beautiful
Indian girl I ever saw. I was walking on the low side of the
street, where the board walk was level with the roadway,
and I saw her coming toward me on the high side in her
moccasins and blanket, with her free, easy stride. She had
something she was greatly pleased with; she drew it out
and smiled at it and put it back in her bosom, only to take
it out and smile at it again. A young man passing held out
his hand for it; she gave it to him readily enough. It was
her picture and he kissed it. I never saw such a blaze of
wrath. She snatched it from him and, with one swing of
her arm, sent him flying off the edge of the walk to fall
eight feet to the roadway below, while she went her way
without one look to see where he went or how he fared.
The side toward the street of these erections was not
boarded up, but open, and papers drifted in and stray dogs
and cats and tramps made their homes there. I suppose no
place was ever so ugly as was a large part of Chicago at that
period. The business part in the center of town was built
chiefly of brick and stone. From State to the lake and quite
far south there were more or less fine homes, many built of
the white limestone which came to be characteristic of Chi
cago and which we called Athens marble. Terrace Row on

AS I REMEMBER IT 113
Michigan Avenue, a really fine block of residences, was our
idea of true magnificence. We were very proud also of our
Crosby's Opera House, although it did come to be raffled
off at five dollars a ticket. It was there we had our first real
Grand Opera. And there we listened to wonderful oratorios
with Parepa Rosa, Annie Louise Carey, Myron Whitney,
and Brignoli for soloists. The North Side, from Clark Street
to the lake and down to a few streets from the river, was
full of charming residences, and Wabash as well as Michigan
Avenue on the South Side, was lined with delightful homes.
My husband and I were boarding on Michigan Avenue
near Hubbard Court at the time of the Fire. It was Sunday
evening. We had just returned from church. When the fire
bells rang a friend said she had never seen a fire, so she and
her husband and I and mine went to watch the conflagra
tion. It was already a great blaze, and being among old
wooden buildings, it spread fast, a fierce wind from the
southwest carrying forward the flames. Our husbands soon
hurried us home and went back; we did not see them again
until daylight. In the meantime the waterworks burned, the
gas-works had blown up, and half the city was destroyed. It
was frightful — just the old idea of the Day of Judgment.
The night was light as day. The wind carried before it great
blazing pieces of roof, or building paper, or shingles; they
flew flaming through the sky. The space inside our gate
was filled with women and babies, and one man badly
burned, to whom we carried food. The part between the
sidewalk and the street was crowded with people, the few
things they had saved huddled about them. The sidewalk
was also thronged with men and women fleeing south,
carrying whatever they could. One very well-dressed woman

114 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
dragged a trunk along by a rope tied to a handle. An
other woman sat guarding her household goods and we
saw an expressman drive up and begin to load them into
his wagon; she protested and we found he was stealing
them. Then everybody tried in vain to help her, until a
neighbor with a revolver threatened to shoot the robber,
when he drove off with what he had already secured. We were
told frightful stories of thugs and robbers, and at inter
vals we heard explosions. The city was under martial law,
and there being absolutely no water after the destruction of
the waterworks, General Sheridan, in command, was blow
ing up houses in an attempt to stop the fire. The wind and
flame acted like a blow-pipe; it took just fifteen minutes,
so fierce was the heat, and so strong was the wind, to burn
to ashes a solidly built block of brick and stone.
The people about us began to move south and we were
told that in ten minutes our block would be in flames, —
but it did not come to that. The Wabash Avenue M. E.
Church stood on the corner of Harrison and Wabash.
Next to it was a broad excavation for another building and
a great pile of sand. Our pastor was a stalwart man. Gather
ing a group of young men about him, he began to cover
every exposed part of the Church and to smother every small
flame with the sand. When General Sheridan saw they were
having some success, he ordered every house for a block
around blown up, and so succeeded in stopping the progress
of the fire southward. The church was taken for a post
office the next day and never saw another service.
On the North Side all but one dwelling was consumed.
At last, late on Monday afternoon, the wind stilled and
the welcome rain came down. Many stories were told of

AS I REMEMBER IT 115
how the people took refuge in the tunnels and were almost
suffocated, how others ran into the lake as far as they could
and kept throwing the water over themselves to cool the
heat, until rescued by rowboats and carried out to ships
and steamers; how hundreds found refuge in Lincoln Park
and little ones came into the world that night under the
trees in the rain, who, but for the Fire, would have been
born in the lap of luxury. That night there was no light in
all the city. Our fathers, husbands, and brothers patrolled
the streets armed, while we quaked with fear within doors.
Tuesday morning my friend and I started with some cloth
ing for a church that was full of the homeless. Hearing
shouts, we looked up the street and saw some people trying
to throw a man out of a fourth-story window. We were told
he was caught starting a fresh fire, but we fled around the
next corner and never knew what further happened.
There was no credit for anyone, and it was astonishing
how little money people had in their pockets. It was nearly
a week before money could be obtained from the banks.
We were not allowed to use kerosene and there were so few
shops left unburned and so few candles in them that only
four could be sold to one person. Our only water was
brought in barrels from the lake.
When the vaults of the banks were opened, after four
days' cooling, a large part of the bank-notes were found
baked to a brown crisp. These were sent to Washington,
where experts estimated their value and sent back new
bills. The Horse Railway Company had built a new car-barn
near 22nd and State streets. It had never been used, and
there Field and Leiter opened a store. Mandel had a small

116 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
establishment on 22nd Street, but no one bought anything
except to make clothing for the sufferers. All the world
rushed to our relief. Tents and, afterward, rows of wooden
cabins were hastily put up; everything was done by wide
spread charity and sympathy. It is true that St. Louis,
Milwaukee, and other cities shouted aloud and printed in
their newspapers that this was their opportunity to take
to themselves Chicago's trade, but these were exceptions.
It was a strange winter. When we looked across the ruins
and counted our losses, everyone joked; it was so great
and universal a disaster, there was no other way to bear it.
There were calico balls and all sorts of entertainments, all
for the benefit of the relief and aid societies. I heard Ole
Bull play in a hall on 22nd Street where the stage
alone was lighted, and that with candles. It was a
blessing to hear Ole Bull under any circumstances. With
his grand figure, his noble head and beautiful white hair,
he came forward, gave us a bow of old-fashioned courtesy
and a benign smile, lifted his violin to his shoulder, laid
his cheek against it, closed his eyes and filled the world
with music.
I heard Charlotte Cushman read Henry the Eighth with
much the same scheme of lighting. However, we soon had
gas and water once more, and life began to be less strange
to us.
The work of clearing away and rebuilding was under
taken with great vigor and much good cheer. With that re
building my tale ends. Old Chicago passed in that smoke
and flame and on the wings of that mighty wind, and it
exists now only in the memories and hearts of those who
loved her.

VIII
LONG AGO
By Mary Drummond
As a foreword to my personal knowledge of Chicago, a few
extracts from a letter from my father, Thomas Drummond,1
to his father in Maine, may be of interest. At the time the
letter was written he was twenty -four years of age, and had
recently been admitted to the Philadelphia bar. The letter
is dated Chicago, May, 1835, at which time he spent a
week in the city which later was to be home. He was stay
ing at the old Sauganash Hotel, near Market and Lake
streets, kept by Mark Beaubien. He speaks of it as "the
best hotel in the place, with prices equal to the New York
and Philadelphia hotels, but frequently destitute of beef,
butter, and milk."
He writes of the "young Giant of the West," and of the
unparalleled rapidity of Chicago's growth : —
"Two years ago there were but forty inhabitants; and
now it contains a population of nearly or quite three
thousand. It is no uncommon thing for real estate, to
the value of forty or fifty thousand dollars, to be sold
in one day. Lots that last fall could be bought for a
thousand dollars, cannot now be purchased for seven
times that amount."
1 Judge Thomas Drummond, one of Chicago's most distinguished jurists. —
Editor.

118 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
In speaking of the buildings he writes : —
"The main object seems to be to erect a house or store,
but of what kind is a matter of small consequence. Most of
the buildings are therefore of wood and put up in the
slightest possible manner. . . . The river, though narrow,
is deep, except at the mouth, where there is quite a bar
formed by the washing in of the sand, and where they are
now building piers which are to remove it, and Chicago
will then have a fine harbor."
His first experience with Indians seems to have left a
most unpleasant impression on his mind, for he writes: —
"There is a large number of Indians encamped in and
about the town and arrangements are being made to re
move them beyond the Mississippi, several agents of the
general government being here for that purpose. The tribe,
or such as I have seen, probably one hundred or one hun
dred and fifty, are ill-featured, ill-formed, and there is
nothing noble about them. Their love for whisky seems in
curable. Last Sunday morning they found a cask in the
street, broke it open, and, with scarcely one exception, got
drunk. They cut a curious figure in the street, many of
them naked or with a piece of cloth around the loins. In
walking out towards night, in the company of a gentleman,
we found one of the poor wretches lying in the water, noth
ing but his head out — and that in the mud. A large num
ber of men were sitting around, apparently regardless of his
situation; even his wife, when we pointed out his perilous
position, only smiled. I took hold of him and awoke him,
for he was sound asleep. Having recovered a little from his

i i i

LONG AGO 119
drunkenness, he succeeded in getting up. When he came
up the bank he was saluted by a laugh from his friends. He
staggered along to a fire which was near and sat down. He
was as miserable a spectacle as you can conceive; the idiocy
of drunkenness in his face, which was, besides, covered with
mud. He took off his shirt, which was wet and dirty, and
his wife went quietly, picked it up and carried it to the
river and washed it. This same wife had an infant in her
lap and, though so careless about its father, seemed to mani
fest all of a mother's love for her child. Many of these
Indians appear to be rich, most of them have horses, and
many are very gaudily apparelled, but altogether, I cannot
look upon them with anything but disgust."
In speaking of the natives of Chicago in the early days,
he says : —
"The tone of moral sentiment among the great mass of
the people seems to be lamentably low. I have been intro
duced to many professional men, and most of them are
shockingly profane. They are great card players. The other
evening at the hotel there were no less than three whist
tables in the common sitting-room, though I did not notice
that there was any gambling. There is much frankness of
manner certainly, but little or no polish. Their knowledge
of books is small, conversation, in which they excel, being
their principal talent. Their tremendous profanity I dis
like very much. It is so unusual to hear a gentleman in
the East do more than swear a little. Here it appears to be
an admitted point that there must be an oath to every sen
tence, and the more far-fetched and strong, the better.
"There are few women compared to the men, and it

120 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
seems to be understood that a man must go East to get
married. This has long been a military post,1 and the gar
rison grounds are prettily situated. I have become acquaint
ed with some of the officers, who appear to be agreeable
men. It is almost impossible to obtain servants here, and
the wife of the man who keeps the house where I lodge is
obliged to clean the floors and make the beds herself, and
the landlord attends to us at the table; which would be con
sidered a great hardship by a landlord or landlady at one of
our city hotels in the East.
"The temperance reformation has not effected much
here in the West, at least in this part of it. Brandy and
whiskey are set upon our table every day at dinner, and
it is as much a matter of course to ask a friend to drink a
glass for old acquaintance' sake as it once was in the East.
I saw no glasses of brandy upon the dinner-table until after
I passed Utica. Since then it is universal at all hotels where
I have stopped. There is a scene passing in the room ad
joining mine which is characteristic of the country: Three
gentlemen are there drinking champagne and telling stories,
and every now and then a round oath falls upon my ears.
Though the swearing seems to be confined to one, yet he
makes up for the deficiency of all the rest. And this much
for western men and manners ! "
My father, being appointed Federal Judge in 1850, found
it necessary to remove his family from Galena to Chicago
in 1854. Thus it happened that in September of that year
a very youthful and unnoticed personage, aged eight, be-
] Fort Dearborn was built in 1804; destroyed by Indians on August 16, 1812;
rebuilt in 1816; and was finally demolished in 1856. — Editor.

LONG AGO 121
came a resident of the "Giant of the West." My father
took us to the old Lake House, which stood by the river on
Rush Street, and with this hotel are associated my first
recollections as a resident of Chicago. It is a bit humilia
ting to remember that on our arrival, our great city made
no impression on my mind, while the good crackers and
milk for our tea, the playing on the floor in Mrs. Henry
Farnham's room, and the fact that Georgie Kinzie, having
injured something in the large parlors, was not allowed to
play there with the other children, are the only incidents
wliich are firmly fixed in my memory.
We soon moved to a little frame house on Wolcott Street
(now North State Street), between Erie and Huron streets.
There was no other house in that block on Wolcott Street
except a tiny cottage, inhabited by a kindly Irish washer
woman, Mrs. Dorsey, and her two little girls, with whom I
became great friends. Often of late years, as I wait for the
State Street cars on that corner, I try to picture it as it
was sixty-five years ago, when it was a vacant lot sur
rounded by a board fence; and it comes vividly before me
as it looked in that snowy winter of '54 and '55, with the
drifts piled to the top of the fence. I think it remained a
vacant lot until after the Fire, and was used as a croquet
ground where many a battle royal was fought out among
the champions of that decade, Kitty Goodrich and Will
Scudder ranking high on the list of players. Vacant lots
were common in those days, and many were the cross-cuts
we children took in walks and runs.
The next year we moved to Dearborn Street, remaining
on the same square, and so it happened that my home life
in Chicago was spent on the block bounded by Erie and

122 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Huron, Wolcott and Dearborn streets. In our early years
our daily horizon is apt to be exceedingly circumscribed;
add to that the fact that our own feet, and those of our
good friends, the horses, were our only means of transporta
tion, and it is easily seen that of necessity my childish
memories are largely limited to the North Side.
On the South Side we did not often go beyond Madison
Street. Lake Street was our shopping street, Palmer's1 hose
and jewelry store, the grandeur of "Ross and Gossage, "
with its black lions guarding the entrance west of Clark
Street, and almost all the other retail stores of those days
being found there. Many south-side families, the Judge
Mark Skinners, the Dr. David Rutters, the J. Y. Scam-
mons, the Highs, Chapins, Clarks, Brosses, Carters, Bent-
leys, Dickeys, Farnhams, Fleetwoods, Blackwells, and nu
merous others, were household names, but it seemed a long
way to their homes. Trinity Church, on Jackson Street, was
"miles away," and when James Bowen, whose daughter
Jennie was my schoolmate and friend, moved to Twelfth
Street, we almost felt it an eternal farewell.
The North Side was "home," and a lovely, homelike
place it was. The large grounds, and beautiful shade-trees
about so many residences gave a sense of space, rest, flow
ers, sunshine and shadows, that hardly belongs nowadays
to the idea of a city. There was great friendliness, and much
simple, charming living. While in new places the propor
tion of scholarly and professional men and cultivated wom
en is generally not so large as in older cities, in early Chi
cago it was greater than usual. The more ambitious and
energetic among eastern young men of the first half of the
1 Potter Palmer.

LONG AGO 123
Nineteenth Century were keen to move to what was the
"out west" of their generation.
Some of the homes stand out clearly in my mind. On
Michigan Street (now Austin Avenue) and Cass Street,
across from the old St. James's Church, of which they were
stanch supporters, was the homelike place of Mr. and Mrs.
John H. Kinzie — a low house with pleasant rooms, standing
in a large yard, with many trees scattered here and there.
On the porch of this old house Mrs. Erskine, the little
"Tinie DeWolf " of those days, remembers being swung in
the hammock one day by Arthur Kinzie, when she caught
sight of a company of Indians coming through the gate. She
screamed and ran to bury her face in Mrs. Kinzie's lap,
but found her quite undisturbed by this not uncommon
occurrence. Many were the pleasant meetings in the parlors of the
"Kinzie House," when Mrs. Kinzie at the piano, and Mr.
Kinzie with his violin, would play for their guests to dance.
I can remember a cap of Mrs. Kinzie's with pink ribbons,
which appealed to my childish taste, and how I tried to
induce my mother, a much younger woman, not yet forty,
to wear pink ribbons !
Old St. James's Church across the street, was a brick
building with a square tower, square pews in the galleries,
and four large square pews with tables in the center for
books, in the rear of the church. Ours was one of the gallery
pews and we little people, sitting on small chairs in the front
of the pew, found it a most interesting place, as we had a
fine view of the congregation. The Sunday School was in
the basement, and I well remember being taken there with
my sisters, who were to be put in Mrs. Kinzie's class, while

124 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
I belonged in Mrs. George W. Dole's infant class. From
the Sunday School we had to go outdoors to reach the
church, and one rainy Sunday, Mary Newberry, 1 who was
a veritable goody -two-shoes that day with her new shoes,
refused to expose her treasures to the wet. So down she
sat on the steps and took them off, trotting up to the
church as a barefoot girl. Dr. Robert H. Clarkson, 2 the well-
beloved rector of this church for so many years, with his
poetic nature, warm sympathy, and keen sense of humor,
can never be forgotten by the large circle in and out of his
own church, who loved and honored him.
Not far from the river also lived Edward K. Rogers, and
Judge Grant Goodrich; and on Indiana Street (now Grand
Avenue) were many pleasant homes, among them those
of George B. Carpenter and Mr. Hathaway. Over be
tween Clark, Illinois, Dearborn and Indiana streets,
stood the old North Side Market, where the men of the
families often took their market-baskets in the morning,
while the "virtuous woman" stayed at home and "looked
well to the ways of her household." A pleasant place was the
old market, with the big doors opening to north and south,
and with stalls on either side, where meat and fish and crisp,
fresh vegetables and fruit were displayed. To-day South
Water Street offers more variety, but the old market, clean
and cool and roomy, was far more tempting. On the corner
of Ontario and Clark streets stood the brick house of Mr.
and Mrs. William F. DeWolf, with a broad flight of steps
leading up to a pillared porch, a style repeated in Mrs.
1 A daughter of Walter L. Newberry, whose fortune founded the Newberry
Library. 2 Afterwards Episcopal Bishop of Nebraska.

LONG AGO 125
Dodge's white frame house (afterwards the home of W. H.
Bradley), on Ontario and Wolcott streets.
On Ontario and Dearborn streets stood the Arnold cot
tage, occupied by Isaac N. Arnold and his family until they
moved to Erie and Pine streets, the family home until
1914. After the Arnolds moved from Ontario Street, the
cottage was occupied by Samuel H. Kerfoot and family,
who moved from Maryland to Chicago in 1849, going first to
the Sherman House and afterwards living on or about Ohio
and Ontario streets. In 1856 they moved north to their
well-known place "Dawn," in what was then known as Lake
View. This residence was the scene of many good times,
as were also the homes of John Valentine LeMoyne and
Dr. Charles Dyer, north of the city, and of Thomas B.
Bryan at Cottage Hill, now Elmhurst.
Miss Alice Kerfoot remembers how, in her childhood
days, General "Joe" Stockton and his companions would
put an organ on a hand-cart and "go serenading," and
also, how they would get a big bob-sled and drive from
house to house picking up "the girls," giving them no
time to "prink," and then drive out to "Dawn" for a
dance; and how one night a heavy rain came up and carried
off the snow. One of the bob-sled horses had to be saddled
and ridden to the nearest livery stable four miles away to
fetch the town "hacks" to convey the guests to their vari
ous homes. The company had breakfast at the Kerfoots', as
candles and lamps flickered yellow in the light of the coming
day, after which the party drove down through what is now
Lincoln Park and was then a dripping, sodden, melancholy
cemetery. It was indeed a long journey from "Dawn" to
daylight when the weary revellers reached town !

126 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Miss Kerfoot also tells a story, learned from her father,
of a basket -picnic on July 4, 1849, which was considered
then a great expedition into the wilds. Mr. Kerfoot and Dr.
Swope, then Rector of Trinity Church, being the best
horsemen of the company, headed a procession of citizens
from the Sherman House, marching to "the woods" on
the North Side, said woods being where the Cyrus H. Mc
Cormick and Isaac N. Arnold houses afterward stood, on
the block now bounded by Rush, Huron, Erie streets and
North Michigan Avenue.
Between Ohio and Ontario, North State and Cass streets,
stood, in the center of the block, the brick gabled house
of H. H. Magie, father of Mrs. Lambert Tree, grand^
father of Arthur Tree and great-grandfather of Ronald
Tree. The house was full of beautiful things brought from
abroad, among which was the celebrated "Nydia," by Ball.
Back of the residence were many currant and gooseberry
bushes, which made an impression on my mind. Directly
north, on the corner of North State and Ontario streets, sur
rounded by large trees, stood the low, brown cottage of the
George B. Meekers and Mr. Meeker's sister, Mrs. Scudder,
and a block east, between Ontario and Erie, Cass and Rush
streets, stood the charming home of William B. Ogden and his
brother-in-law and sister, Mr. and Mrs. Edwin H. Sheldon.
This was a large, white frame dwelling, surrounded by fine
trees. The rooms were spacious and delightful, the dining-
room, with its windows opening on three sides, being one of
the most beautiful rooms in Chicago. In early days Mr.
Ogden's housekeeper, Mary (afterwards Mrs. Henry Wisch-
myer), was a local celebrity, and few were the north-side
people she did not know. Her tea-biscuits were renowned,

LONG AGO 127
and her invitations to "help yourself often" were rarely
refused. In the large parlors of this pleasant home one night in
the sixties, a clever little performance caused much enter
tainment, both to actors and audience. Not the least of the
fun was the program. The " Grand Opera," The Lovers, was
presented for positively one night only, with Signorina
Eleanora Wheeleretta (afterwards Mrs. A. C. McClurg,
mother of Ogden McClurg), the "famed cantatrice, whose
recent triumphs have set all Europe in a furore," as prima
donna, and Signor Guglielmo Emersonio Strongini (Gen
eral William E. Strong), as Prince Almanzor. The other
parts were taken by Fraulein von Schneidau, Signora Drum-
mondini, Signor Giacomo Kelletto (James Kelly) ; Signor
Samuellino Jonstonio (Sam Johnston) ; Signori Enrico De-
Wolfo and Edwino Sheldoni (Henry DeWolf and Edwin
Sheldon). "The management," we are told, "takes plea
sure in announcing that the remarkably large chorus is in
perfect order, and the costumes have been imported espe
cially for this occasion." Also that "the management has
with the utmost difficulty secured the services of the re
nowned Directeur Musical, Carlo Iones" — this "renowned
directeur" being Caroline Ogden Jones, to whose bright
mind and musical knowledge was largely due the enter
taining little "opera."
A member of this household from her early girlhood un
til her marriage to Eugene Jerome of New York in 1867,
was Pauline von Schneidau, probably one of the most beauti
ful girls Chicago has ever known. Her father, who belonged
to a noble Swedish family, came here with his wife from
Wisconsin in 1844. Mr. von Schneidau, owing to pressure of

128 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
circumstances, became a daguerreotype artist, — I think
the first in Chicago, — and some of his old pictures still
remain to show his skill. His wife dying in 1855, the little
Pauline became a member of the home of those good and
kindly friends of her father, Mr. and Mrs. George W.
Dole. Afterwards, just before her father's death in 1859,
she moved to the home of William B. Ogden, Chicago's
first mayor.
Another beautiful girl, Rose Howe, was often, with her
young sister, "Frank," a guest of some of the old families,
the Arnolds, DeWolfs, Scammons, and Ogdens. They were
daughters of Francis Howe. Their mother, a highly edu
cated woman, was a descendant of a French grandfather
and a French and Indian grandmother, which romantic
circumstance, added to the fact that the elder daughter so
strongly resembled Faed's picture, Evangeline, made them
most interesting personalities to us all.
East of the Ogden house, between Rush and Pine, On
tario and Erie streets, stood the brownstone house of Wal
ter L. Newberry, whose fortune founded the reference
library that now bears his name. The Newberry residence
was placed on the southeast corner of the lot, and, oddly
enough, after the Fire the ground on this corner was never
broken for building until the erection of the little shops
now occupying it. On the northern part of the square was
the garden, and here grew yellow roses and fragrant
Madonna lilies. As this family was one of the few that
often visited Europe, the house held many lovely things,
but nothing more beautiful than G. P. A. Healy's por
traits of the two daughters of the family — Mary, with
her dancing blue eyes, fair hair, and face so full of vivac-

LONG AGO 129
ity; and Julia, with her dark hair and splendid gray eyes.
The loss of these pictures in the fire of 1871, particularly
the one of the younger daughter, attired in a simple white
dress, with a string of bright red beads about her neck,
is something I often mourn, as I also do, the beautiful
portrait of Edwin H. Sheldon with his children, "Ed and
Fanny," (the latter the late Mrs. William Fitzhugh White-
house). Anent the question of going abroad, I remember a story
once jestingly told of a party at the Newberrys', when it
was claimed that those who had been abroad twice were
welcomed in the parlor; those who had been once were
received in the dining-room; those who had hopes of going
were relegated to the hall, while those without hope were
out on the porch.
Mrs. M. Tiernan, now living at Evanston, but whose
pleasant home in those days was on the southeast corner
of Rush and Ohio streets, opposite that of George E. Stan
ton, tells of an incident during the Civil War which hap
pened at one of the Newberry parties to her brother, Gen
eral Joseph Stockton, and which furnished much amuse
ment to him and to that delightful, fun-loving family of
Stocktons of which he was a member. He was at home on a
furlough, and Mrs. Newberry, who considered him a bit of
a lion, introduced him to a lady guest as, "the brave and
gallant Colonel Stockton, of whom you must have heard."
The truth-loving lady, seemingly fearing that silence
might give consent, frankly answered, —
"No, I never did."
Those who knew General Stockton will understand his
enjoyment of this.

130 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Mrs. Tiernan also remembers another of the Newberry
parties being distinguished by the presence of three brides,
Mrs. Colonel Graham, Mrs. Henry Miller, and Mrs. Steph
en A. Douglas, x the latter dressed in a "simple white dress,
low-necked and short-sleeved." Later Mrs. Douglas became
the wife of General Williams and lived many years in
Chicago. North of the Newberrys, in 1854, was "the Arnold's
new house." Well do I remember its vegetable and
flower gardens, and the joys of the juicy stalks of rhu
barb "served on the spot." In this large house, strangely
enough, where there was so much ground, there was a
basement dining-room. There were at that time not a few
subterranean dining-rooms and they were difficult of access
at parties. There was a story that made me regard my
clever schoolmate, Louise Goodwin, daughter of Stephen A.
Goodwin, with deep admiration. She and her escort were
going downstairs to supper at a party at John N. Jewett's
on Ontario Street when the youth quoted in Latin, "Facilis
descensus Averni." Much to his surprise his clever com
panion continued in Latin, "Sed revocare gradum, hoc opus,
hie labor est." Bright school -girls were in evidence in those
days as well as in these.
The Arnold house made its first deep impression on me
because it was the scene of my "introduction into Chi
cago society," the occasion being the birthday party
(Valentine's Day, 1854) of the eldest daughter of the
house, Miss Katherine Arnold, who, honored and beloved,
is still well known in Chicago.
Dr. Brainerd's Milwaukee-brick house on the corner of
1 The mother of Mrs. Walter Farwell, of Chicago.

LONG AGO 131
Rush and Huron streets was the scene of my second "ball,"
and I remember feeling properly dressed for the occasion in
a long-sleeved, high-necked, blue merino gown. Dr. Brain-
erd was probably Chicago's most able surgeon at that time,
and his daughter, Julia, became one of our most gifted and
delightful musicians, though perhaps not ranking with
Annie Tinkham (afterwards Mrs. James Anthony Hunt).1
On Huron and Cass streets, diagonally opposite each
other, were the homes of the Julian Rumseys and John
Reed. Few locations in Chicago have remained so long the
home of one family as has that of the Julian Rumseys, the
house being rebuilt after the Fire on much the old lines
of the earlier building, and having been lived in ever since
by the children of the original owners.
On North Clark Street, opposite Washington Square,
was what was perhaps the handsomest place in the city, the
home of Mr. and Mrs. Ezra B. McCagg, occupying fully
two blocks, well planted with noble trees. The driveway
wound through the beautiful grounds from the southwest
corner of the lot to the north end, where stood the delightful
house. Among its many attractions perhaps the fine library
counted first. A large, stately room, lined with books almost
from floor to ceiling, was the sanctum sanctorum of Mr.
McCagg. Mrs. McCagg, 2 a social leader in the best sense of
the word, and the Misses Jones, her daughters by a former
marriage, made this home the center of everything charm
ing, simple, and refined in social life; and many were the
happy times enjoyed there — delightful dances, musicals,
private theatricals, et id omne genus, — but no elaborate
1 Mother of Mrs. Ralph Hamill, of Winnetka.
2 A sister of William B. and Mahlon Odgen.

132 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
suppers, late dances, or other harmful forms of entertain
ment. Just north of the McCagg place stood the dainty little
house of those two charming daughters of Mr. Canda, Mrs.
Humphreys and Mrs. Payson, with their attractive French
ways and gay music. To have these two sisters play their
delightful duets for a little dance was enough to make the
heaviest feet "light as a feather." East of Mr. Canda's
came the house of Mr. Mahlon Ogden, which escaped
the Fire but afterwards gave place to the Newberry Li
brary. This was the home for many years of two other
charming sisters, Mrs. Ogden, one of the noblest and most
beautiful women Chicago has ever known, and her delight
ful sister, Mrs. Wright, afterwards Mrs. J. Y. Scammon. All
the three "Ogden families" were celebrated for their hos
pitality, and it was a rare thing when their homes were not
full of guests and their carriages overflowing with friends
and neighbors.
There was no lack of good public amusements in the
fifties and sixties, with North's and McVicker's theaters, and
Metropolitan, Bryan, Smith and Nixon, and Farwell Halls,
as their scene of action. Two of my sisters kept scrap-books
of their programs, and from these I glean many items of
the "gay world" of that time. The first record is a program
of The Witch's Daughter, given by Mrs. Julia Dean Hayne
at the Chicago Theater in 1855. The boxes sold from three
to five dollars, other seats at from twenty-five to seventy-
five cents apiece. There was a notable concert in 1857 with
the Great Western Band, Messrs. Ahner and others, as at
tractions; packages of five tickets for one dollar being for
sale at Higgins Bros, and Well's shoe stores. There were

LONG AGO 133
concerts of the Chicago Musical Union, with Mrs. Emma G.
Bostwick as soprano; Mrs. Mozart in concert; Mme. Jo-
hannsen in Child of the Regiment; Mr. Hans Balatka and
the Philharmonic Concerts; Parodi in Ernani; Carlotta
Patti and Gottschalk (with tickets at twenty-five to fifty
cents!). "Little Adelina Patti" first sang in Chicago as a child,
at the Tremont House, before we moved to town, in 1854.
The giving of one opera under Mr. Balatka's direction, I
remember caused us quite a feeling of triumph for our city
on one occasion. A foreign visitor of those days, Colonel
Lichtenheim, thoroughly posted about operas, was talking
over those that had been presented in Chicago. He seemed
much surprised at their number and at last exclaimed, "I
know there is one you have never seen, The Czar and the
Zimmerman. Great was our joy to be able to reply that
we had, and we felt deeply grateful to Mr. Balatka for
having enabled us to say so.
In 1859, at McVicker's, came Strakosch with his opera
troupe, Mmes. Colson, Cora de Wilhoest, and Strakosch;
and Messrs. Squires and Brignoli as stars. This was the first
appearance here of Brignoli — that wonderful tenor whose
voice, to my mind, has never been equalled. There being no
phonographs in those days, this statement cannot be proved,
or disproved, but I doubt its being contradicted by those who
heard him and who have heard our later tenors, Campanini,
de Reszke, Caruso, and others. Good opera seasons in 1863
and '64 at McVicker's brought Lozini, Susini, Adelaide Phil
lips, Cordier, and Tamaro; while in 1858, Uncle Tom's Cabin
at North's Theater; in 1864, Frank Aiken in the Ticket of
Leave Man, at Wood's Museum; and in 1867, Joseph Jef-

134 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
ferson in Rip Van Winkle; and Edwin Booth and Mary
McVicker in Romeo and Juliet, indicate that the theatrical
side of the amusement world was provided for.
On April20, 1865, occurred what was probably the most im
portant event in Chicago's operatic history, when Crosby's
Opera house was opened with II Trovatore as the opera, and
that inspiring soprano, Mme. Zucchi, as Leonora; and Mas-
similiana, Morensi, Bellini, and Colletti in the other roles.
It is cheering to see in the newspaper account, that the
opera house and the opera seemed to be more important
than the audience and the costumes thereof.
That opera season lasted a month, and great was the
pleasure it gave. The newspaper description of the house
itself speaks of "the blue and gold, the artistically chiseled
figures, the beautifully carved pillars of white and gold in
closing the proscenium boxes, the crimson and gold cur
tains of these, the beautiful frescoed chariot of Aurora
sailing through the clouds, the mellow moonlike light
emanating from above and throwing its pale shadow over
the beautiful faces of our Chicago houris."
Alas, that the great fire deprived Chicago of what, de
spite the hyperbole of the foregoing account, was a really
lovely auditorium. It was my good fortune to be present
that opening night and the charming effect of the white,
gold and blue coloring, the lightness and grace of all details,
made a deep impression on every one. Of course the dress
ing of the " Chicago houris" was such as to do honor to the
occasion, though little attraction nowadays could be found
in the fashions of the sixties.
There were numerous entertainments with local talent.
On a program of the second graduating exercises of the

LONG AGO 135
Chicago High School in 1858, I find the names of Al
bert G. Lane, Charles V. Kelly, and H. F. Chesbrough. In
1865, for the benefit of the Sanitary Fair, "the young
ladies and gentlemen of Chicago" presented The Loan of a
Lover, Perfection, and Poor Pillicody. Well do I recall a
play, The Little Treasure, given by our then young people,
in which Miss Clara Gage, now Mrs. Edwin Clarke, gave a
most charming impersonation of the title r61e.
In 1863, a company of ladies and gentlemen from Detroit,
with Mr. and Mrs. Richard Stors Willis at their head, re
peated in Chicago for the benefit of the Soldiers' North
eastern Fair, a program of most beautiful tableaux, which
they had given in Detroit. This was quite a "society
event," and one of great interest to me as, Mrs. Willis
being my mother's cousin, she and Mr. Willis were our
guests and it seemed to me almost like being "behind the
curtain" at a play!
War times brought many such entertainments, giving a
touch of brightness in the shadows. Numbers of the young
men had gone, some never to return. The city was full of
patriotism, flags flying, war-songs filled the air, with the
Roots as composers and the Lombard brothers as singers.
Before the war, came the Lincoln-Douglas campaign,
with the great meeting at the Wigwam, and party feeling
running high. A night when the " Wide-A wakes " serenaded
my father with their marching-song, "Ain't we glad we
joined the Wide-A wakes! joined the Wide-A wakes! down
in Illinois, — Lincoln boys we, Lincoln boys we, . . .
seemed an exciting occasion to me. My last sight of Mr.
Lincoln was when, after his nomination, he came to St.
James's Church with Isaac N. Arnold. When, in 1865, he

136 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
next came back, we watched the solemn procession that
bore his body through the streets of our mourning city. I
have few personal memories of him, but I recall his walk
ing, at my father's request, under the chandelier in our
parlor, to see if his tall head would hit it. War times brought
the great Sanitary Fair, and our women were quite as busy
with making bandages and scraping lint, as were, recently,
the women of to-day for our friends across the seas, and
for the American Army and Navy.
One sad feature of those days was the severed friend
ships. Some of our southern citizens were "copperheads,"
and a copperhead was persona non grata even to his best
friends. But the southerners who stood by the Union, like
the Bryans, and Clarksons, "grappled their friends anew
with hooks of steel."
The great meetings at Bryan Hall, April 18-24, 1861,
and April 9, 1863, at all of which my father presided, were
enthusiastic occasions; and the list of speakers and con
tributors for war funds includes most of the well-known
names of the city: Julian S. and George Rumsey, Solomon
Sturges, William D. Houghteling, Orrin Lunt, Dr. Brain-
erd, Dr. N. S. Davis, Gurdon S. Hubbard, Judge Van H.
Higgins, Samuel Hoard, Edwin Tinkham, and others.
Another ante- war memory is of a little upper room in a
brick building near Rush Street bridge, where he who was
afterward Colonel Ellsworth — a slight, alert figure, with
gallant bearing — drilled his Zouaves. It was a sad "for
tune of war" that brought his death in the very beginning
of hostilities. While his military career was too short to
make his name widely known, in Chicago, at least, it should
never be forgotten.

LONG AGO 137
An important part in the lives of our youthful citizens
was played by our schools. On the South Side, "The Misses
Lane and Baker's," and the Dearborn Seminary, are the
ones I best remember. On the North Side, the school of
Mrs. Whiting and her daughter, Miss Mary, was the place
where many of the "young ideas" of that generation were
trained. Mrs. Lewis' School, on Indiana Street, was the
principal school then. Everyone loved and admired Mrs.
Hiram Lewis and her daughters, Anna and Mary (after
wards Mrs. Otto Matz). The older girls with Mrs. Lewis,
and the little ones with Miss Anna, were fortunate. (Miss
Mary took charge of music lessons only.) Then there was
Misses Saunders' school where, I remember, the Marys —
Mary Adams, Mary Wadsworth, Mary Murray, Mary Howe,
and myself — outnumbered Queen Mary of Scotland's, Marie
Seaton, Marie Beaton, and Marie Carmichael. Later on,
Mrs. Newall (afterwards Mrs. Kate Doggett), had a school
which some of us attended. Then there was Mr. Snow's
school for boys on Huron Street, and here I remember see
ing Louis James,1 who was always getting up plays, act
Bombastes Furioso with a fire that gave promise of the name
he won on the stage later. In a letter from Mrs. Nellie
Kinzie Gordon to Edward P. DeWolf, she says that Louis
James assured her he made his debut as an actor in her
father's barn! The Ogden School, a public school, took
many pupils from the private schools. Then came M.
Berteau's French school on Cass Street near Erie.
The physicians of those days, Drs. Brainerd, Freer,
Blaney, Herrick, Davis, Small, and others, were a close part
of our family lives; while the many fine lawyers, Messrs.
1 Later, one of America's best-known comedians. — Editor.

138 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
I. N. Arnold, Edwin C. Larned, S. A. Goodwin, Van H.
Higgins, E. B. McCagg, J. Y. Scammon, Judge William
Beckwith, Mr. Blackwell, and Leonard Swett, made a bar
of which one might well be proud.
One of our "institutions" was New Year's calls, when
those on the "distaff" side of the family either hung out
baskets to show they were not receiving, "or decked them
selves in gallant array," ready to receive the masculine
portion of the community who sallied forth, on foot or in
carriages, singly or in groups, to give their New Year's
good wishes. Sometimes the refreshments served included
wine, but this was considered by some as "fast," and the
results of so doing were not always fortunate. New Year's
calls slowly disappeared, but they were pleasant, and the
keeping and comparing of lists was always exciting. On
those I have in my possession, appear the names of most
of the "beaux and gallants" of the day. One New Year's,
that dreadful January 1, 1863, when the mercury in the
thermometer almost dropped out of sight, and the wind
howled and the snow-drifts were deep, I remember plung
ing through the snow to carry to Dr. Clarkson a large card
which, anticipating numerous calls, he had asked my bro
ther to print, and which he expected to hang on his popular
doorway. The legend it bore being, "Please walk in with
out knocking," my labor seemed quite unnecessary!
At Mrs. S. A. Goodwin's that same day, while the ladies,
dressed in their best "bib and tucker," waited for the
callers that did not appear, a carriage drove up and the
driver brought in a small thermometer to which was at
tached the card of William H. Kerfoot !
Certainly so great a delight to old and young as the

LONG AGO 139
Ogden skating-rink at the then foot of Ontario Street, near
the lake, must not be forgotten. Here, those of us who were
still at school, met after school and on Saturdays for the
joy of ice-skating; and on the afternoons and evenings, when
we had carnivals, it was a gay sight, with the many lights,
pretty costumes, and graceful skaters. I remember one after
noon when we were all singing with the band, hearing a
beautiful voice near me. I turned and saw, and heard for
the first time, Mrs. George B. Carpenter, a recent bride,
whose lovely contralto was a gift to the musical life of
Chicago, brought through her marriage into that musical fam
ily, the Carpenters. 1 Their homelike brick house in Indiana
Street must have heard many a "concord of sweet sounds."
Another institution of our day was the custom of sitting
on the front steps, though even then there were those who
rather scorned that democratic meeting place. But for those
of us who did not rejoice in porches and large grounds, they
had their joys, and many were the pleasant summer even
ings which my sisters' friends, young men and maidens,
spent on our front steps. In fact it was even possible for un
conventional people like ourselves to carry out chairs, and
sit on the board platforms built across the ditches that
ran along each side the street, and on which carriages drove
up to the sidewalks. My memories of a wonderful comet of
that year are always associated with watching it from our
platform. Our streets certainly had their "ups and downs"
in those days. Under the board sidewalks and in the road
side ditches lived many rats who doubtless considered
themselves among the city's "first families."
1 The sons of this family, Captain Benjamin, Judge George A., Hubbard,
and John A., carry on the family's musical traditions. — Editor.

140 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The social clubs were an important element in our life.
One was "The Grasshoppers," which consisted largely of
southerners living at that time near Ashland Avenue,
among whom were the Badgers, Kerfoots, Harrisons, Hon-
ores, Rogers, Walkers, and Halls. This was the first of
many such organizations, and got its name from the fact
that the dresses of the ladies, as they passed to each other's
houses through the high grass of the fields, were often cov
ered with grasshoppers.
As I look back through the perspective of the long years
since those early days, I try to bring before me the atmos
phere in which we "lived and moved and had our being."
We all realize our tendency when old to think that "the
former days were better than these," and must guard
against that; but, while to-day sees great improvements,
social, moral, religious, and philanthropic, as well as mate
rial, in some things we can claim much for the past. Nat
urally, in a smaller city and with less wealth, there was
more simple living. Of course there were "high teas," when
our mothers and fathers were regaled with "pound to a
pound" preserves, chicken salad, escalloped oysters, pound
cake, fruit-cake and all other cakes known to womankind;
and where they played old-fashioned whist and chess, —
but such things as the bridge-parties of the present day with
women playing for money were indeed rare. At many of
our parties, ice-cream and cake for refreshments were con
sidered "an elegant sufficiency." The ladies' dressing also
was simpler than it is to-day. Young ladies wore organ
dies and tarlatans for party-gowns, and it can fairly be
claimed that, in spite of a few exceptions, the gowns were
modest. I remember that our rules for the popular Sans

LONG AGO 141
Ceremonie Club required afternoon dress, — which in those
days meant high neck and long sleeves, — very simple
refreshments, but good music, and home by twelve o'clock.
Escorts were not to bring carriages for the ladies. These
rules were for all the parties except the last one of the
season, and in spite of them, never was there a more pop
ular club.
Of course there was no "organized charity," as we know
it nowadays, but there was much of that now despised
"basket charity," when friendships were formed between
rich and poor. Certainly there was at that time far less
class feeling. Most of our young people who sought to be
philanthropic worked through their churches, and the
churches and religious observances seemed to enter more
closely into our home lives than is the case to-day. Many
were our "Mothers in Israel," who did noble work. Mrs.
Joseph T. Ryerson, Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Hoag, Mrs. Clark-
son, Mrs. F. B. Peabody, Mrs. W. D. Houghteling, and
many others, were our "United Charities." Perhaps, how
ever, the greatest change is in the way everything in that
era centered in the home. No such article as, "The Passing
of Mother," suggested itself at that time. Even fathers
were a part of family life, and were expected to have a
voice. There were no dinner-parties for young people; no
smoking by the women; gentlemen, even, asked permission
to smoke when in general company; hours were early, and
it was rare to find wine at a party. "Square-dances" were
popular, and at one time a program would have two to
every "round" dance. Afterwards they alternated, and then
the square-dances hid their defeated heads entirely.
Perhaps one thing that kept the home-ties strong was the

142 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
established "festivals," Christmas and Thanksgiving, which
were always spent in the bosom of the family and added
their happy associations to "the dearest spot on earth." It
was a homelike, simple, friendly life we led, and those of us
who look back on those decades as the "days of our youth,"
see them through the shimmering clouds that hang be
tween us and them, and give thanks for the "good old times,"
while we bid "all hail" to the powers and opportunities of
the present !

IX
FORGOTTEN CHICAGO
By Madame Charles Bigot
There comes before my mind a little picture of which I
can recall every detail: A small, cozy salon in a Paris apart
ment, Rue de Ponthieu, close to the Champs-Elysees ; an
open fire; around table with a big lamp on it; our mother,
surrounded by those among us who were old enough to
understand, reading a long letter on thin paper, written
very small, for in those far-off days postage was abominably
dear and we were not rich. These closely-written pages
came from over the ocean, from a town with an absurdly
difficult name which we pronounced something like
"Tchicaggo," and which was situated on a lake as
big as a sea. How my elder sister and I listened, as
to some wonderful tale, open-mouthed and wide-eyed!
The letters were written by our father1 who had left us
for a venturesome journey into the unknown. They told
of a hearty reception, kindnesses without number, un
ceasing work.
And this is how it all came about.
A most charming gentleman, who had become quite in
timate in our Paris home and whose name is associated with
the early history of Chicago, William B. Ogden, never
wearied of talking about the prairie town, destined, he felt
sure, to become a very great city indeed. It has become
1 G. P. A. Healy, the distinguished artist. — Editor.

144 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
greater and richer and more important even than our visitor
imagined it could ever be.
Our father had had a remarkably successful early
career; he had been sent by Louis Philippe, first to Windsor
Castle, with Queen Victoria's permission, to copy historic
portraits; then to America to paint portraits of well-known
statesmen for the Versailles gallery. He took this oppor
tunity to collect an immense number of likenesses of orators
and political men which he utilized in his great picture of
Webster replying to Hayne, now in Faneuil Hall, Boston.
After the fall of his royal patron, the enormous expense
incurred in the painting of this big picture, caused the
young artist some financial embarrassment. The family
was growing rapidly; there was always a baby in the house
in those days. Two of the older children, both boys, had
died in childhood, but the series of girls continued with
alarming regularity.
Mr. Ogden, keen-eyed and shrewd, persuaded my father
to go to Chicago, on a visit at least, and with true American
hospitality opened his house to his new friend. It was from
that house, at the head of which were Mr. and Mrs. Edwin
Sheldon, brother-in-law and sister of the owner, that came
the closely-written pages of thin paper. I suppose that we
did not clearly understand everything they contained, but
we were fascinated. Once the letter told of cold such as we
had never imagined: "I stood," said the writer, "on the
high steps of a house where I meant to pay a visit and the
fierce wind, the cruel cold, made my old Roman cloak seem
a mere sheet of paper." What sort of country was this, and
how could one live in it without being frozen into a lump
of ice?

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 145
But there were many other details which made us glow
with anticipation for, almost from the beginning, we felt
dimly that we, too, were destined to see that strange town
of "Tchicaggo."
After a year came the long-expected summons. We were
all to cross the ocean as soon as our mother could have the
furniture boxed, get a few clothes made, and start on the
lengthy and painful journey.
What were our first impressions of Chicago? They re
main very vague in my mind.
As no home was yet ready for us, we were all received
with open arms in the big, roomy Ogden house, situated in
the middle of a garden filled with superb trees. I had just
made my first acquaintance with Fenimore Cooper's ro
mances, and I liked to imagine great, stealthy, soft-footed
Indians lurking behind those trees, ready to swoop down
upon us children — with rescue at hand, of course. Unless
I am much mistaken, Mrs. C. Wheeler, an elder sister of
Mrs. Sheldon, was then also at the Ogden house with
her children, some of whom were about our ages. I re
member especially Ellie, because she wore little low-
necked frocks, a fashion I longed to imitate. Many, many
years after, I saw her as Mrs. Alexander C. McClurg, a
rare woman, whom I greatly loved and, later, most sin
cerely mourned.
Without any transition in my remembrances of these pre
historic days, I see ourselves installed in a tall shell of a
frame house on Illinois Street, rather near Clark Street.
My mother trembled when the furnace roared and sent up
great blasts of heat. She felt sure the tinder-box of a house
would burn up; and so it did — but after we had left it.

146 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
We had not long been in our new home when one morn
ing at breakfast time, we noticed through the dining-room
window, some strange and certainly unexpected guests on
the porch. We went out to investigate and found ourselves
face to face with real American Indians, men and women;
among the last, I fancy, who ever visited this spot which
was once the hunting-ground of their forefathers. These
poor creatures carried no tomahawks and very gratefully
accepted the meal my mother caused to be served to them.
This really was an American episode, and my romantic
young soul was satisfied.
It would be difficult to enumerate the kind friends who
opened their homes and their hearts to the rather bewil
dered little troop of uprooted pseudo- Americans. My moth
er was English to the backbone and remained such to her
last day, ever loyal to "her Queen," whom she somewhat
resembled, and who was about her own age. As to the
rest of us, we seemed, what Mr. McCagg later called,
"blasted foreigners"; but we took to our new home with
great zest after the first surprise had passed. In many of
the families we quickly got to know there were boys and
girls — especially the latter — with whom we were soon
intimate. Our best friends we found in the families of Judge Drum
mond, Judge Mark Skinner, and Isaac N. Arnold. And now
that our hair has turned gray or white, they are still close
and dear to us.
My mother was particularly fond of Mrs. Drummond,
whose modest pecuniary position, borne with unswerving
dignity and courage, recalled her own circumstances. Judge
Drummond, a very remarkable man, was universally re-

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 147
spected and admired. His foremost fellow-citizens were
proud to be invited to his nice, comfortable and very sim
ple home.
We, the older children, spent many a cheerful hour in
that living-room with its worn carpet and faded armchairs.
We enjoyed there some of the happiest, jolliest evenings I
can remember. All of us, boys and girls, were as chummy as
possible without — as yet — any thought of flirtation.
Then, for my sister and myself, came the question of
school. Of course, our first education had been in French,
though we had been taught some English too.
It was decided that we should go to a school kept by two
highly-educated eastern ladies, Miss Lane and Miss Baker.
This school was held in the basement of a church; of
what denomination was the church, I have no idea. At
any rate, during the week the basement was filled with the
murmur of young voices. Of course, it was only a day-school.
It was a very bare and ugly place, supported by wooden
pillars. Rows and rows of small desks were occupied by the
daughters of the "first families" of Chicago, that is, of the
old settlers. I forthwith fell madly in love with Miss Baker,
the younger of our two teachers, a pretty young woman,
as I remember her, with very white skin and clear, rather
cold, blue eyes. She taught English and encouraged my
feeble efforts.
My sister and I used to attend school most regularly,
generally crossing the river in a ferryboat at Rush Street,
before the bridge was built. One morning, we boarded it as
usual, I holding in my hand a theme for the beloved Miss
Baker. Suddenly, there were cries of alarm; a steam tug
was close upon us and the danger was great. Men shouted,

148 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
women screamed; we remained close to each other, not
uttering a sound, it seems to me. Luckily, just in time, the
ferryman was able to lower the chain or cord and the tug
passed by without upsetting us. But my masterpiece was
lost in the very dirty water and I shudder still to think
that we might have been drowned in that horrid, slimy
river of long ago. When my brother grew up to the dignity
of breeches and school, he was asked what was a river.
He promptly answered: "A body of water that has a very
bad smell."
Among the younger girls I noticed two, Minnie Burch
and Sarah Farnham, who were always together. They were
so natty, in their little short frocks and with curling hair
that I regarded them with a curious sort of envy. When I
was eight or ten, I never used to look as dainty as they.
Sarah married an American. Minnie went to school at
Fontainebleau. It had come to be a sort of home for the
American girl, and she was married from it. Some years
later, her first husband having died, she married his most
intimate friend, M. Alexandre Ribot, who has made a great
name for himself, was once very nearly elected President of
the French Republic, and, during the great war, directed the
finances of the country in a most masterly fashion. Madame
Ribot has long been a very prominent figure in ministerial
circles, where her charm and tact have made her a uni
versal favorite.
Memories of other schoolmates flit before me, though only
a few have remained distinct. But I see, especially, the room
as a whole when I shut my eyes. In reality, my sister and I
only remained at the Lane and Baker school about a year.
I remember that the winter was a hard one, with blizzards

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 149
and cruel cold, or else a thaw with such mud as we had
never imagined, accustomed as we were to the clean Paris
streets. But whatever the weather might be, we trotted off
with our books under our arms. Our father, the kindest of
men, was inflexible when he thought duty was involved.
Personally, nothing stopped him when he had made up his
mind to do a thing. And, what he could do, we were also
forced to do. One day, I happened to be coming from
school alone. The streets were in a terrible condition. In
those days, the sidewalks were raised on high, I suppose for
the better accommodation of thousands of the largest rats
I ever saw in my life. Rickety steps led up to these side
walks and, where the mud was deepest, a board was thrown
across the street. Just as I put my foot on one end of such
a plank, a great, coarse German put his on the other side.
I had a strong sense of my personal dignity and it had been
dinned into my ears that chivalry, supposed to have been
banished from the old world, had taken refuge in the new,
where my sex was held in high esteem. My dignity refused
to yield. Chivalry, represented by this hyphenated Amer
ican, held its ground — or rather advanced along the plank.
We met in the middle. With a Teutonic curse, the man
pushed me into the deep mud, and went on his way rejoic
ing, as though he had invaded a neutral country. I, poor
tot, humbled and heart-broken, dragged my left leg,
encased in filthy mud, as far as our house, where my mother
consoled me, wiped away my tears — and washed me.
Among the stories of those times was the following: A
man's head was visible above the sea of mud and kindly
Samaritans proposed to throw him a rope that he might
land in safety, at which he exclaimed: "Don't

150 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
bother about me, I am riding a good horse." It must
have been about this time that I had a curious adventure.
I was a little intoxicated with the new liquor of liberty,
and determined to go out into the world and see what it
was like. Without saying anything to my mother, I sallied
forth — probably it was a holiday, as I had no thought of
school. At that period, from Illinois Street to Chicago
Avenue the waves washed in where now stand great rows
of houses and factories, and the lake possessed for me
a singular attraction. I plodded through a wide sandy
territory, where hovels were inhabited by a very queer
population. Untidy women stood in doorways and looked
at me askance; ragged children ran after me. I did not
care. I was out for adventure. Soon, I reached the beauti
ful water's edge. I walked on good, firm sand. There were
no evidences of the nearby town. Then came trees, many
trees, to my mind a primeval forest. A forest had always
had for me a peculiar fascination with its silence, broken
only by rustling leaves, its depths full of mystery. En
chanted, I went on and on. What is now lovely Lincoln
Park was a sombre tangle. I was absolutely alone in this
new world, and if my heart beat a little faster than usual,
that was added pleasure.
Only — only — from the dark woods suddenly emerged
an ill-dressed man. He came toward me rapidly. Should I
turn and run? Perish the thought ! Besides, I knew that if
he had evil intentions, he could easily overtake me. So I
went on, but with less pleasure in my adventure. The man
and I were rapidly nearing each other when — still from
the woods — another man, an older one, came toward me.
He looked severely at me :

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 151
"What are you doing here alone, little girl?"
"Just taking a walk."
"Well, turn around and walk home as fast as you can. "
Meekly, I obeyed, internally most grateful to my
gruff protector. At the sight of him, the young man had
taken to his heels. When, at last, I reached the unsavory set
tlement by the water side, the policeman — for it must have
been a policeman — was still following and protecting me.
I never boasted to my mother of my adventure.
Among the friends my parents had made were Mr. and
Mrs. Thomas B. Bryan, who, in the late fifties, built a
house and planted trees in a place derisively called Cottage
Hill. The village now rejoices in the more appropriate name
of Elmhurst, and nowadays, in 1919, we occasionally motor
over to the old Bryan house, the same, but much enlarged.
The trees are now magnificent, a veritable English park. Mr.
Bryan advised my father to buy a little place just opposite
— wliich he immediately did — and there established his
young and numerous family.
It was a queer frame house, with a good many rooms, but
so low of ceiling that when, one day, George Higginson
came to call, he touched the ceiling with his hat, saying:
"You are not very high up in the world here." I was silently
indignant and looked upon our visitor as a very rude gentle
man, for I, with my enthusiastic nature, took to country
life — during the summer at least — most fervently. Be
sides the Bryans, we had but few neighbors. However, I
remember pretty distinctly Mrs. Case, step-mother to Mrs.
Henry W. King, and her small brood of children. But on
the whole, our mother found this long sojourn in the coun
try rather austere. We children had a governess, a nice

152 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Maine girl of twenty -two — an advanced age, it seemed to
us. I think her greatest recommendation was that she had
a broken heart, which it was hoped might be mended in
time. It evidently was, for later she was very happily
married. It rendered her to us, the elder children, an object
of much interest and speculation. We had a school-room
fitted up on the second floor next to the billiard-room. Off
this billiard room were tiny cells, occupied by the governess,
my sister, and myself. To have a bedroom all to oneself
seemed to us the greatest of luxuries, even though it might
be about the size of a closet.
During this first winter, our one joy — and it was a great
one — was to crowd around our mother and listen to her
reading of anything and everything, poetry and prose,
French and English. The days might be dull, with horrid
arithmetic or what not, but we could always look forward
to the evenings, when bedtime came ever too soon. And
our young governess was as eager as we were ourselves. I
think I have never heard anyone read better than our
mother. In that way, she made Shakespeare and her be
loved Byron familiar to us, as well as the best novelists.
She read Les Miserables of Victor Hugo, which fascinated
us . . . and how many other works !
Our parents soon understood that for my sister Agnes
and myself some sort of instruction, other than that given
us by our nice governess — who at least had learned some
French from us — had become necessary. We were taken
to a convent in western Virginia, highly recommended to
my father.
This school period spent far from Chicago, with our
holidays in the country, is quite out of my subject. Mean-

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 153
while, the war of Secession was going on. We, of course,
were ardent northerners and there were many southern
girls in the school. The nuns were forced to forbid any
allusion to politics, else we should have fought the battles
over again in our class-rooms. So, after one long stride, I
must get back to Chicago once more, as a grown girl, when
Agnes and I began to see something of society, in a very
modest way, however, — very different from the "coming
out" of the modern young lady, with its wealth of flowers,
its innumerable engagements, its whirl and fatigue, end
ing at times in absolute lassitude — until one becomes,
what is so gracefully called, a "back number," or is married.
Nothing of that sort was the fashion in the sixties, at least
so far as I can remember.
Let me try to see the past, as clearly as one can after
such a lapse of time.
My father bought a house on Wabash Avenue, between
Jackson and Van Buren streets. It was a frame house,
originally small, probably, but to which numerous additions
had been made, so that it was of rather singular construc
tion, very deep for its width, giving us a large living-room,
excellent for dancing. Unfortunately, during our long ab
sence from Chicago, the friends we had made as children
had grown up in their own way. We were now almost as
much strangers as on our first arrival. Some of the girls we
still knew and loved; they received us with open arms, and
that was very pleasant. But we knew almost no young men.
An experience of mine at that time has remained stamped
on my mind with most unpleasant vividness.
A friend of the family who had a daughter, a little older
than I, out of the goodness of his heart, asked me to accom-

154 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
pany them to some big ball, given where, on what occa
sion, I do not remember. A ball — a real ball ! I was
frightened, but yet in a state of excitement and expectation.
All the novels I had read, those of Miss Austen especially,
turned on such events : the heroine generally met the hero
at an "assembly," and great were the consequences thereof.
But when I found myself in the midst of a crowd where I
knew no one, I began to wish myself safely back in my little
room, far from curious and unsympathetic glances. The
young lady whom I had been asked to accompany was soon
whirled away by a partner. By some chance a young man,
whom I knew, asked me for a waltz, but ever, ever so far
off. My friend's unfortunate father stoically sat beside me
until I so earnestly begged him to leave me to my sad
fate, that he did. Before long I was submerged by rows of
chairs occupied by dowagers, utter strangers, who looked
at me askance. I could have cried from sheer mortification
and misery. Hour after hour of this torture passed. Mean
while, I saw my one partner go by, evidently looking for
me. I hid behind a stout lady. Anything, rather than to be
found in my forlorn condition; I felt sure that I had grown
ten years older and ten times plainer after this ordeal.
Since then my pity for wall-flowers has grown apace.
Before very long, however, we made our own friends and
our circle was enlarged. My father, more popular than
ever, saw his studio always filled, and my mother's quiet,
gentle grace in receiving his friends, old and new, made of
our home a center. Little by little, my sister Agnes and I,
not only went to parties, but helped our parents to receive.
In these days when the smallest entertainment is adorned
by masses of flowers from the fashionable florist, where

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 155
there is rivalry as to the newest gowns, when balls have to
be given at hotels or halls, because one's own drawing-room
is too small to contain the innumerable guests, and where
everything is regulated according to a well-established,
rigid and somewhat monotonous method, these informal
receptions of ours would seem singularly provincial. But
we enjoyed them and they became popular among our
friends. Someone opened the piano and we had many a gay
waltz or polka, long before the "Boston" became the rage
— that poor, graceful Boston, now so forgotten and super
seded by queer dances, not always very proper to my old-
fashioned mind. We always wound up with a Virginia Reel,
as in old Sir Roger de Coverley 's time — just think of it !
Often we would go to each other's houses without any
invitation at all and, as soon as a few couples had assembled
— quick! the piano was opened and we had an hour of
delightful dancing, in our every-day clothes. We also got
up private theatricals of a primitive kind, which greatly
amused us, if not the spectators.
Our way of living differed greatly from that of the present
day. As my father's work was chiefly in the morning, we
had a regular old-time American breakfast, with meat,
potatoes, cakes, and so forth. The dinner was at two o'clock.
At seven, we had supper, or "high tea, " as it was called, the
coziest and most elastic of meals. Constantly some friend,
or friends, would drop in. There was plenty for all : cold
meats, hot biscuits, jellies, cakes, tea. It was a simple sort
of life, but a singularly pleasant one, it seems to me.
Then, often in the mornings, we would go and chat with
our girl friends, the Drummonds, the Skinners, the Arnolds,
the Brainerds, the Newberrys, and others. In the last named

156 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
family there were two really beautiful daughters, Mary and
Julia. Both of them died young. Their fine house was in the
midst of a superb "yard," occupying a whole block, bound
ed by Rush, Pine, Erie and Ontario streets, shaded by mag
nificent old trees. Chicago in those days fully justified its
name of the "Garden City." This household was kept up
in a somewhat European style, though even there, I do
not think that there was a butler. The fact that Mary had
her own suite of beautiful rooms rather awed me, but we
were very good friends all the same. Some years later, we
saw them again in Europe, where they were much sought
after. But their young lives were embittered by the fear
of falling a prey to fortune-hunters, and they turned aside
from many a suitor who, very likely, saw, not their fortune,
but themselves.
Another great house, most luxuriously comfortable, open
ed its doors to us: that of Mr. and Mrs. Ezra B. McCagg,
which also stood among great trees and beautiful flowers,
on Clark Street where now are the Walton apartments.
When my father first came to Chicago, the McCaggs were
abroad. On their return, Mr. McCagg absolutely refused to
make the acquaintance of that "Frenchified artist," who
was being lionized by everybody and about whom all the
women were making such a fuss. But he did finally meet
the "Frenchified" painter and very soon succumbed to his
charm. They remained intimate friends to the last.
I have now come to the age of wide hoop-skirts, of war
horrors, and of heroism, of a more dignified Chicago, where,
however, frame shanties still held their own by the side of
tall, marble-fronted houses, very grand and somewhat cold
ly uniform in style. The North Side kept its beautifully

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 157
shaded streets and was still very rickety as to sidewalks.
Michigan Avenue had become the fashionable residence
quarter. Our Wabash Avenue retained its look of suburban
beauty, with its two rows of fine trees and its frame houses,
low, but comfortable. The sidewalks, however, were a
terror. One still had to climb four or five crazy steps held
together by huge nails; these often caught the lowest hoop
of our voluminous skirts. Many were the falls we endured.
These same hoops were a source of annoyance and of shame
too, as, in order to scramble into a carriage we always had
to be preceded by the extended skirt or to let it go up un-
blushingly behind. But carriages were rare in those days.
I suppose that there must have been some sort of public
conveyance, but I cannot recall it. How we covered the
great distances between our different homes, I do not
remember. I suppose that we were better walkers than we
now are. We have grown lazy, thanks to the street-car, to
the taxi, or, frequently, to the automobile or "electric" of
our well-to-do friends.
Meanwhile, in spite of war and apprehension as to the
future, my father kept very busy. Among his sitters at this
time was a very pretty girl, one of Chicago's belles, who, in
spite of her beauty, sometimes ventured to improve on
nature. My father looked upon this as disloyal rivalry:
paint against paint. One morning, the young lady arrived
with so high a color, that much embarrassed, he said: "My
dear child, you must have walked too fast, you are so
flushed that I must put off the sitting until to-morrow —
when I beg you to come in a carriage." At the following
sitting, she was less "flushed."
At times my father went here or there, professionally. In

158 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Washington, Lincoln sat to him for the fine portrait which,
with many others, is in the Newberry Library. Generals
Grant and Sherman, and Admiral Porter also sat to him.
He was then meditating the picture called, "The Peace
makers," which showed Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, and Por
ter on the River Queen, discussing the conditions of peace.
This picture was destroyed when the Calumet Club, to
which it belonged, was burned to the ground.
The great excitement of those years was the building
and opening of Chicago's first opera house. Even as I reflect
upon it, I cannot quite make out why the excitement should
have been so universal, as well as so intense. Of course, it
was a justifiable subject of pride to our young town to
possess as fine a theater as could be found in the eastern
cities and, as I remember it, the house was not only large
and commodious, but very harmonious in all its details.
These, however, were minor considerations. It was built,
not by a company, but by one man, a society man, Mr.
Crosby. He had a great fortune, of course, otherwise, he
could not have built the Crosby Opera House. According to
my remembrance of him, he was neither handsome, nor
fascinating. There were many men in Chicago, even then,
richer than he proved to be, but they dwindled into insignif
icance in his presence. I do not pretend to solve this mys
tery. It was so, because it was so. He possessed a fine turn
out, with two high-bred horses that he drove himself. The
palpitating question of the day was: "Whom is Mr. Crosby
going to take out?"
It was the fashion in those primitive times for young
girls to go out with young men, even to the theater or to
balls. When my sister first came out, a very well-known

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 159
society man asked her to go to the opera with him: "Thank
you," she said, "but we are all going with Papa." At which
he stared at her in amazement, and when it was understood
that we were "Frenchified" enough never to go anywhere
without our parents, the amazement turned to something
like indignation. This was one of the things which, in our
society life, was singularly against us.
Naturally, when the time came for the opening night of
the Crosby Opera House, at which we all assisted, public
curiosity was on tiptoe to discover who was the fortunate
belle who would be brought in by the hero of the evening.
It was Miss Mattie Hill, a remarkably beautiful and stylish
girl, whom, in advance, we dubbed Mrs. Crosby. But Mrs.
Crosby she never became. It seems to me that the opera
given on that occasion was Martha, and beautifully given it
was, with Clara Louise Kellogg, Brignoli, Susini, and
others in the cast whose names escape me. The old-fash
ioned music, light and graceful, — long before the Wagner
craze and certainly long before the Strauss madness, —
was a delight to this unsophisticated audience.
Mr. Crosby's extraordinary triumph came to a sudden
collapse, how or why, I have never understood. I suppose
his great venture had ruined him.
At about the same period, a big bazaar, The Sanitary
Fair, was held by society women for the relief of the war
victims. We helped in one of the booths. General Sherman,
fresh from his Georgia raid, was in Chicago just then and
was the hero of the moment. My father and he were de
voted friends, and later his daughters and we became quite
intimate, especially during the Shermans' stay in Rome.
So he patronized our booth and gave us many of his mili-

160 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
tary buttons, which we sold at a good price. On one occa
sion, I think it was General Grant who addressed the au
dience from a platform. The crowd was so great that it
was almost alarming. We were protected by our counter,
but those just outside seemed in danger of being crushed.
A young man, whom I recognized as a member of the
Italian Opera company, jumped over the counter, among
our pretty, useless knick-knacks, and landed at my side.
When he discovered that I spoke French fluently, his joy
knew no bounds and he straightway began making des
perate love to me, declaring that American girls were far
too charming to marry American business men. I was im
mensely amused and perhaps — who knows? — a little
flattered, not having been over-spoiled by masculine hom
age. When I try to recall the singer's name, or even his
looks, I fail to do so.
And here is a very different picture. One March day
came the sudden, terrifying, tragic news of Lincoln's assas
sination. It was as though each and all of us had lost one
near and dear. A whole nation weeping is a tremendous and
magnificent sight. I do not know how it was accomplished,
but scarcely had the news come to be understood, than
Chicago was draped in black : every shop, every house, had
its signs of mourning. How so much black material had
been instantly found, I cannot tell, but the fact remains.
With this picture of universal sorrow my souvenirs of
American life come to an end.
My father, terribly overworked, needed a long rest, and
my mother decided that the only way to force the paint
brushes from his hand was to go back to Europe for a year
or two. This "rest" lasted until 1892, with many a journey

FORGOTTEN CHICAGO 161
to and fro for him alone, except when my mother, with
one or two of the younger girls, accompanied him. He was
already an old man when he decided that he wanted to
return to his native land and to die there. The end came
in 1894.

X
A KENTUCKY COLONY
By Carter H. Harrison
If you will look at the map of Chicago, you will find
a subdivision marked down as Ashland Second Addi
tion to Chicago. Just what its boundaries are, has es
caped my mind, and I used to class myself as a pretty
fair real-estate man at that. The old Harrison homestead,
which formerly stood at the southwest corner of Ashland
Avenue and Jackson Street, however, was within this
territory. In my boyhood days Ashland Avenue was known as
Reuben Street. When "Hey! Rube!" came into its great
est vogue as a term of ridicule and reproach, the name of
the street, upon petition of its sorely-tried residents, was
changed to that of the subdivision.
The name of Ashland was taken from the country home
of Kentucky's greatest statesman, Henry Clay. The "Mill-
boy of the Slashes" lived and died at Ashland, the splendid
mansion on the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky, the
shade of whose ash trees still mellows the fresh green of its
blue-grass lawns.
As may readily be assumed, the subdividers were Ken
tuckians — clear-eyed, sharp-witted, big-hearted Kentuck
ians — lovers of man and beast, sons of the farm whose
affections naturally ran to trees and flowers, to horses, dogs,
and chickens; to the pleasures of a hospitable table, groan-

A KENTUCKY COLONY 163
ing under the weight of good things to eat and drink for
the elders; to the joys of the dance for the young people.
In the days of which I write, Reuben Street was a dirt
road bordered on either side by a deep ditch to carry away
the surface water — no light task in the early spring weather
of nearly a half-century ago when, from the scattered
houses which fringed the rambling city as far as the Des
Plaines River ten miles away, the prairies, flooded knee-
deep, became a lake.
South of Union Park to the Burlington tracks at Six
teenth Street — the limits of my boyish territorial ken —
there were seven houses in Reuben Street.
At the southeast corner of Madison Street and what is
now known as Ogden Avenue, stood the rambling frame
structure of the Washingtonian Home. In the earlier days,
this had been the Bull's Head Tavern, the hostelry for the
first Stock Yards of Chicago. In the late fifties the Stock
Yards were moved to Bridgeport, their present location,
and the old tavern passed into the hands of the Washing
tonian Home. For years this corner was the western ter
minus of the Madison Street car-line with its seagoing, one-
horse rattle-traps, whose drivers had imposed upon them
the double duty of serving as money-changer and con
ductor! There were no street-car men's unions in those
i days !
About 1874, when the Home became financially able to
[ erect its present structure, the old building was moved
away to some site in the northwestern section of the city
i: — just where, I have never been able to learn. But "some
where in Chicago " the historic structure may still be stand-
f ing, its erstwhile glory gone, a forgotten relic of early days

164 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
when farmers and cattle-breeders were wont to come to
town on the old plank road to meet stockmen and packers
at trade by day, to enjoy by night the bright lights of what
was then but little more than a frontier town.
There was as yet no Ogden Avenue to perpetuate the
name and memory of Chicago's first mayor. The street was
notorious as the Southwestern Plank Road, compared with
which the corduroy "tote-roads" of the lumbermen in
the pine-woods country would seem veritable boulevards.
There were then seven houses in Reuben Street. One of
these was "the chicken-woman's," at the southwest corner
of Reuben and Monroe streets. She probably had another
name — a good old Irish patronymic on the order of
O'Brien, Mclnerney or Gallagher: I did not know it. She
was "the chicken- woman " to all of us. Her home, an eye
sore to the neighborhood, was a tumble-down frame shack,
fenced in with a dilapidated barricade originally intended
to keep her two cows, her goats, and her geese within an
enclosure, but which, long since fallen to pieces, had ceased
to serve its purpose.
If I close my eyes to-day, even after all these years, I
can see myself, a barefooted boy, crossing the road to give
the dogs on the place a wide berth; the hissing of her
geese, the quacking of her ducks, and the clatter of her
chickens still ring in my ears.
The first of the old homes of the district was built by
Henry H. Honore, who, in 1916, passed away at the age of
ninety-two years, one of the most vigorous, most public-
spirited, most ambitious, most progressive of the men Ken
tucky contributed to the up-building and development of
Chicago. He built at the southwest corner of Reuben and

A KENTUCKY COLONY 165
Jackson streets. For years the mansion, for such it really
was, served as a landmark of the West Side; its breezy
air of hospitality, its jutting bay-windows, its spacious pil
lared front porch, its cupola, and its cheery, smiling grounds
are still remembered by old-time Chicagoans.
Judge John G. Rogers, another good Kentuckian, father
of the late George Mills Rogers, of Mrs. Samuel P. McCon-
nell, and of Mrs. Joseph M. Rogers, built a home and lived at
the corner of Monroe and Honore streets. Somewhere in the
same neighborhood were the firesides of Judge Samuel M.
Moore and of Judge Murray F. Tuley. Farther west, at
the southwest corner of Madison and Robey streets, lived
John E. Owsley. All were Kentuckians and prominent in the
early business and political history of the city. The A. C.
Badger home at the southwest corner of Reuben Street and
Tyler (as Congress Street was then known) had been built
by another Kentuckian, Colonel Winchester. A. C. Badger
was the father of Mrs. Turlington Harvey, of Mrs. Robert
L. Henry, and of the famous beauty of those days, Eva,
who became the wife of Charles Angell. At the corner of
Sangamon and Van Buren streets lived Judge Morris, the
second mayor of Chicago, whose wife played such a prom
inent part in helping the rebel prisoners at Camp Douglas.
My father, in those early days, lived in the home he him
self had built at the southwest corner of Hermitage Avenue
and Tyler Street, to which he moved in 1860 from the
Boardman House, a fashionable pension hotel, in which, by
the way, I was born in April of that year, located and still
standing at the southwest corner of Clark and Harrison
streets. In 1866 the Honores moved to Michigan Avenue on the

166 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
South Side and were thus the first in the long line of those
who established the fashion of peregrinations of west siders
to the more modish districts of the North and South sides.
Our family thereupon moved to the quarters vacated by
the Honore family which my father had bought, and our
old Hermitage Avenue home passed into other hands, final
ly to be torn down to make room for the buildings of
the Presbyterian Hospital.
The homes of the Honore, Winchester, Owsley, and Har
rison families had grounds covering the entire blocks on
which they were located. These Kentuckians were farmers'
boys; plenty of space and fresh air were necessities to them.
On their grounds they kept their horses, cows, and chickens,
and here they had their gardens in which all the family
vegetables were raised. My father, a farmer to his finger
tips, went further in this path perhaps than any of the
others, for he cured all the hams and the bacon needed for
his family use.
And I had good cause to remember it. For upon me, at
the early age of eight to ten years, devolved the duty of
keeping the hickory-wood fire ever alive upon the altar in
the smoke-house. Speaking of a smudge-fire in a smoke
house as an altar may smack of the irreverential to some.
Let them but remember that the obligation of keeping it
going to an old time Kentuckian came close to being a
religious ceremony. They will then pardon me.
The late fall and early winter was hog-killing time. Long
before daylight it was necessary for me to roll out of bed
to start the smudge for the day. On many a morning I had
to brush the snow from the wood-pile and kick apart the
hickory sticks which during the frosty night had been

A KENTUCKY COLONY 167
frozen into a solid mass. With fingers half -congealed, with
eyes smarting and running copious tears from the acrid
smoke, I learned in the task one lesson which has stood me
in good stead during all the years of a busy life : the need of
constant care and attention to things if they are going to
be done right.
On the day the body of the martyred President Lincoln
passed through Chicago to lie here in state, before being
laid away in its last resting-place at Springfield, a terrific
windstorm, approaching a hurricane in its intensity, lifted
the Hermitage Avenue smoke-house of my father from its
underpinning, and laid it low, its framework and planking,
as well as all its valuable contents, a jumbled mass of
debris. As Chicago advanced in dignity and prosperity, Reuben
Street became Ashland Avenue and the old homestead was
given a street number — at first 163, later 231 Ashland
Avenue. Here our family lived from 1866 to 1904 with the
exception of three years, from 1873 to 1876 to be exact,
wliich we spent in Germany.
During these three years the home was occupied by
Samuel J. Walker and his family. He was also a Kentuckian,
one of the breeziest of all the dashing real-estate operators
of the early days in the Windy City, the father of Judge
Charles M. Walker, of the present Cook County Circuit
Court, and of Dr. S. J. Walker, also of Chicago.
A fine lot of hams and sides of bacon, all sugar-cured in
the most approved Kentucky style, as well as a quantity
of home-made sausages, were left for the delectation of the
Walker family palates.
In the dining-room of this old home on the night of

168 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
October 28, 1893, in the closing hours of the World's Fair,
at which he had put in a busy day, my father passed away
— the victim of an assassin's bullet. Thenceforth the old
home had such trying memories of his tragic death, that
none of his children cared to live there, even had they
been able to afford to keep up the roomy house and spacious
grounds in the old accustomed manner.
As a child I used to hear an interesting story connected
with the building of the old home. The building was up,
the roof almost shingled when, for some reason, the carpen
ters quit work. Whether it was a forerunner of the modern
strike, the result of a disagreement, or just an ordinary
laying down of the tools on a job, I do not know. It is
enough for the purpose of the story that the men stopped
their labors while the roof remained incomplete. A thunder
storm was brewing. Black clouds lay off in the southwest,
darkening the skies. It was important that the shingling of
the roof be completed before the storm should break. So
in good, neighborly, whole-souled Kentucky fashion, Mr.
Honore commandeered the services of his friends, among
whom were Colonel Winchester, John G. Rogers, and my
father. Off went coats and collars and in a short while the
remaining shingles were laid and the roofing completed.
Now comes the nub of the story. While the work was in
progress, at the corner of Reuben and Harrison streets,
only three blocks away, the sheriff of Cook County was
publicly executing a criminal, and Mr. Honore furnished
his guests with an opera-glass that they might take turns
in watching proceedings and, incidentally, that he might
keep them on the job !
The Honores' and Winchesters' were two of the seven

A KENTUCKY COLONY 169
Reuben Street homes. At the southwest corner of Adams
Street lived S. S. Hayes, the donor to Chicago of Union
Park; not a Kentuckian, but having many of the charac
teristics of that strong race. At the northeast corner of
Jackson Street lived Henry Waller, who, with his brothers,
James B., Edward, and William, did their share towards
keeping up the traditions of the Kentucky builders of
Chicago. At the northeast corner of Van Buren Street the
house, still standing on the spot, was built in the later sixties ;
it remained idle for some years, for reasons unknown to
me until finally it became the home of Jasper D. Ward, who
served two terms in Congress from the old west-side dis
trict. Halfway between Van Buren and Tyler streets, on
the west side of the street, stood the W. S. Bryan home.
This completed the roll-call of Reuben Street houses prior
to 1866.
The two blocks east of us from Reuben Street to Loomis
Street were vacant prairie. Like all the other land of the
neighborhood, what with the rains and melting snows, these
blocks were flooded deep all winter long and here we had
our skating-rink. In the summer-time they served as cow-
pastures for the milch-cows of the neighbors, except on rare
occasions when a baseball game was played by the better
known nines of the city.
I recall, for instance, how just before July 4, 1868, an im
posing grandstand, capable of seating at least two hundred
people, was erected in the block between Reuben, Jackson,
Van Buren and Laflin streets. On the Fourth, the ball play
ers with their friends, families, and sweethearts drove out
in buggies, barouches, rockaways and omnibuses and an
exciting game was played between — was it the Excelsiors

170 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
and the Eurekas? — ending in a score of something like
98 to 87! I was hired at the princely pay of "two bits" to
pass the pink lemonade to players and guests between
innings, as well as to chase foul balls during the progress of
the game.
The frozen, flooded prairies made it possible for the boys
and girls to skate miles and miles over ice, wind-swept until
it was free of snow and smooth as glass, even to Riverside
and the Des Plaines River, ten miles to the west of us — in
the latter case, however, only when we were in sufficient
numbers to protect ourselves from those we were wont to
term the "Micks." These were sturdy, aggressive young
sters, whose homes were along the C. B. & Q. tracks. They
were better skaters and better fighters than we. As good
skaters, the "Micks" had an artist's admiration and an
amateur's coveting for the Barney & Berry club-skates on
which we more prosperous children of fortune were accus
tomed to flash about in all the intricacies of the "double
roll" and "spreading the eagle."
In the good-humored, daredevil, Celtic faces of some of
Chicago's old-time "cops" from time to time I have caught
a fleeting hint, an ephemeral suggestion of resemblance to
a face I have known in trying circumstances in the long ago.
Is it possible that as mayor I have been called upon to com
mand policemen who in our mutual boyhood days had put
the fear of God into my heart, before whose fiery attack I
had shown my heels in reckless flight?
There was fresh air a-plenty in the Ashland Avenue sec
tion in these early days. The cupola on our home was a
favorite stamping-ground for the children, because from
it great vistas of things unknown, and therefore alluring,

A KENTUCKY COLONY 171
opened up in every direction. It was one of my boyish
joys to sit there, high above the street, opera-glass to my
eyes, and watch the life that went on about me.
In the morning, in a cloud of dust on fair days, in a sea
of mud when the weather was "soft," the cow-man took his
herd of milch-cows out on Harrison Street to pasture on the
rich prairie-grasses somewhere out west, to bring them home
again by the same route in the evening. In the herd there
would be a hundred or more cows owned either by milkmen,
or by the prosperous Irish residents of the territory ad
jacent to the Jesuit Church in Twelfth Street.
To this church, by the way, there was a well-beaten
footpath, striking catty-cornered across the prairie blocks
from Reuben and Van Buren streets, for St. Jarlath's
Church had not yet been built and the Jesuit Church, a
good mile away, was the nearest sanctuary for the Catholic
faithful of our neighborhood, as well as of the section to
the west of us.
Still farther to the south our childish eyes could watch
the trains moving east and west along the Burlington
tracks in Sixteenth Street. To the west there were a few
houses : our first home at Hermitage Avenue and Congress
Street; the Jennings home in Marshfield Avenue; immedi
ately behind us, in Hermitage Avenue near Adams Street,
a charming old place belonging to a family whose name I
have forgotten; the Hugh Maher place at Ogden Avenue
and Adams Street, where stands to-day the Mary Thomp
son Hospital; the Silver Leaf Grove, a good old-fashioned
beer-garden, at Ogden Avenue near Twelfth Street; as well
as scattered homes in MonroeJStreet. The houses were so
few and far between, however, that with the glasses, from

172 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
our old home I have watched croquet games in the Owsley
yard at Madison and Robey streets !
Every Sunday morning in the summer season there would
be a picnic of some German society either at the Silver Leaf
Grove, or in another beer-garden of the same type in Mad
ison Street near Western Avenue. Out on Madison Street the
procession would move, with band playing and flags flying;
the leaders on horseback, the well-to-do, the women and
children in open barouches, buggies or rockaways, hoi polloi
on foot, trudging vigorously to get up a good thirst. Bayern
or Schwaben, Singing Society or Turngemeinde, the pro
cession would move to the distant garden where the day
would be spent in a round of singing, laughter, eating,
drinking and dancing, with a few speeches interpolated in
memory of the Fatherland beyond the seas.
The Kentuckian's hospitality and his love of social life
are proverbial, whether he remains in his native State, or
whether he moves his Lares et Penates abroad in quest of
fortune. The Kentuckians who came to Chicago brought
with them all the characteristics of their sturdy stock. I was
too young for my mind to carry more than the faintest
recollections of the social pleasures of the early days.
Indeed, to folk of these days of the Casino and the Saddle
and Cycle clubs, the Assemblies, and the Butchers and
Bakers balls at the Virginia, and coming-out parties at the
Blackstone, the social life 'way west of the river in the
sixties would seem hopelessly crude.
The principal dances were given by a social organization
known as "The Grasshoppers." The try sting place alter
nated in the spacious parlors of the old homes. Round-
dance and square-dance took turn and turn about until at

A KENTUCKY COLONY 173
eleven o'clock the musicians struck up the supper-march,
when all the guests lined up in gay and formal array to
move with dignified step to the dining-room, where the
center-table was weighed down with great dishes of chicken
salad, escalloped oysters, sandwiches of various kinds,
coffee and chocolate, oranges and Malaga grapes, ice
cream and cakes.
The grapes always carried a powdering left over from
the sawdust in which they had been packed for the long
journey across the seas from far-away Spain.
English walnuts in those days, be it remembered, came
from England in fact as well as in name. A barrel of apples,
of hickory nuts, butternuts or walnuts, each in its appro
priate season, for us youngsters was a genuine treat. As for
oranges and bananas, these fruits were real luxuries. There
was no cold-storage transportation. Communication with
the semi-tropics, because of its infrequency, was a negligible
quantity. Florida fruit-lands had not yet been developed.
California was still an arid waste. There was no Imperial
Valley to glut the market with early melons. Grape-fruit,
casabas and honey -dew melons had not yet been dreamed of.
This reminds me that years ago, in Pasadena, I asked a
waitress where the casaba melon came from. "Oh!" she
answered, "it's one of Burbank's freaks — a cross between
a cantaloupe and a cucumber!"
Toward the end of the sixties William Waller, eldest son
of our neighbor, married a Louisiana belle. One Christmas
her father sent her a box of Creole oranges. Well do I remem
ber the envy and the heart burnings with which I watched
Jim Waller,1 William's youngest brother, take a big yellow
1 James Breckenridge Waller, a well-known Chicagoan of to-day.

174 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
orange from his pocket during the recess at school, peel it
with critical care and eat it slowly down to the last shred.
Even the discarded peeling seemed a delicacy to me !
In the beginning the merrymakers were married couples,
still too young to have children of an age to sit up to the
late hours of the festivities. Gradually the children grew
up and became young men and young women, supplanting
their parents in the social life of the community.
When the "Grasshopper" dances were held at his home,
by the way, Mr. Honore was wont to place a lamp in the
cupola high above the street, that its cheery rays of welcome
and promised hospitality might light the way of the guests
across the open prairie. The Reuben Street community was
a sparsely settled section of the city, but socially quite on
a footing with the gay life of the North and South sides.
Only in later years did it become the fashion to ignore the
great West Side as the social Brooklyn of Chicago!
In all likelihood there were young people who took part in
the merry-makings of the group in the early sixties. Who
were they? I do not know. Not until the two or three years
prior to the great fire of 1871 do names appear in the social
life, headed by the west-side colony of Kentuckians, which
I am able to recall. Colonel Nelson Thomasson, Edward C.
Waller, Henry H. Walker, Adrian and Harry Honore, Harry
Rogers, were some of the young beaux whose names occur
to me. The beautiful Bertha Honore (later Mrs. Potter
Palmer), the equally beautiful Eva Badger, who married
Charlie Angell, and her elder sister Belle, who became Mrs.
T. W. Harvey, Judith Waller (now Mrs. William Johnston),
and her elder sisters were among the most attractive of the
young women.

A KENTUCKY COLONY 175
What old-timer can ever forget the feverish joys of New
Year's Day in the sixties? Few were the houses to hang out
a basket as a receptacle for the cards of those who wished
to call — an inhospitable way of telling callers that the doors
of the mansion for the day were closed to them ! Practically
every family kept open house. The front doors were con
stantly opening and closing, as the throng of visitors, young
and old, entered into the realms of hospitality beyond,
regaled themselves with the good things provided for the
inner man, and proceeded on their joyous way to visit
other friends until the early hours of morning. How they
ever carried the food they ate, the drinks they imbibed,
was a mystery to my young mind. Great bowls of egg-nog of
the good old kind, made of genuine Bourbon and "with a
stick in it" and no mistake, stood on every sideboard. In
some homes port and sherry, a rare bottle of champagne,
but many a jug of an especial distillation of Kentucky
corn-juice, were at hand to add their potency to the egg-nog
in rendering the callers hors de combat, and incidentally in
bringing the custom of New Year's calls into such disrepute
that finally public opinion forced its abandonment.
While not strictly in line with the life I am describing, it
might not be amiss for me to recall that in 1866 the second
annual banquet (or was it the first?) of the Chicago Yale
Club was held in the parlor of our old home at Ashland
Avenue and Jackson Street. Among the songs which, with
my ear at the keyhole, I heard this night for the first time,
the rollicking refrain of "Upidee! Upida!" stands out the
freshest in my memory.
The winter cold of the earlier days must have been more
intense, the snowfall greater, than what we now experience.

176 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
I have seen the snow-drifts in our side yard so deep, that
when a way had been shovelled for the horse and cutter to
reach the street, my father's slouch hat could just be seen
as he held the reins over his spirited trotter dancing gaily
to the music of the jangling bells. It was my duty at this
period to help shovel the sidewalks clear of snow of a Satur
day morning. The unwilling labor in which I was forced to
indulge, while the other boys were skating on the prairie
across the street, may have something to do with my recol
lections as to the depth of the snowfall ! As an evidence of
the utter unreasonableness of youngsters, while I detested
the job of clearing the family walk of snow, in common with
my companions, after every heavy fall it was my practice
to shoulder a snow-shovel and solicit a like job from house
to house, a half-cent a foot, two bits for a fifty-foot lot,
being "Union wages!"
My sister, Mrs. Heaton Owsley, recalls that in 1864 a
Kentucky cousin visiting at our home was taken sick and
died. Trained nurses were then aids unknown. The last sad
rites of laying out the dead were not left to the cold, un
friendly hands of the undertaker. My mother not being
well, it was necessary to call upon a woman friend to dress
the body for the grave. The night was bitterly cold; the
snow was too deep in the wind-driven, prairie drifts for a
horse to break through without the greatest difficulty.
There was no alternative to my father's walking to the
Bryan home, five blocks away in Reuben Street, to ask aid
of an aunt of Mrs. Bryan, a Miss Rogers of Boston. To
gether, Miss Rogers in high rubber boots as partial pro
tection against the drifted snow, they set out on the slow
and painful return. Before the distance had been half cov-

A KENTUCKY COLONY 177
ered, my father's heart was cold with fear lest his companion
should lack the strength to complete the journey. All traces
of the road had been obliterated by the swirling snows;
the drifts were waist-deep; the cold drove to the very mar
row. It was with a feeling of intense relief and with thank
fulness to a kind and watchful Providence that he finally
opened the door of his home after an experience fraught with
the gravest dangers.
In Union Park of a summer Saturday afternoon, concerts
were frequently given between the hours of five and seven
by Voss' band, Voss being the Johnny Hand of early Chi
cago. Billy Nevins, the "drummer-boy of the Rappahan
nock," as I recall his war-time nickname, played the drum,
his piece de resistance being an imitation of the fury of a
battlefield, the roll of his drum for the rattle of the musket
ry, the bass drum at regular intervals furnishing the boom
of the heavy artillery.
My one ambition at this period was to serve my country
as a drummer-boy, to lead my regiment until I fell, and
while my own young life's blood ebbed slowly out, to hear
the victorious shouts of those who had followed me !
While the band played, the fashion of the neighborhood
paraded in fine array, some strolling, some driving slowly
in wide, open landaus, the populace in the meanwhile look
ing on in rapt admiration. Union Park was the Bois de
Boulogne of the West Side !
There were no more zealous patrons in Chicago of the
big doings in an operatic, theatrical, and musical way at
Crosby's Opera House than these same west siders.
Ole Bull, Edwin Booth and Charlotte Cushman, Brignoli,
Adelina Patti, and Christine Nilsson, were names to con-

178 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
jure with among the adults. For the younger generation,
Wood's Museum was the scene of countless, ecstatic de
lights. What boy of the sixties can ever forget the min
strel shows at which the four Billies — Rice, Arlington,
Manning, and Emerson — were the star performers on the
bones and tambourine?
Black Crook, with its frank display of feminine beauty,
came in these days to Crosby's Opera House, scandalizing
the community. The women of the period deplored beyond
measure the depravity of a performance which they were
consumed with curiosity to view with their own eyes ! What
excuse could they give for patronizing such reckless inde
cency? A happy thought suggested itself. I was of too tender
an age to suffer injury; the bright colors, the merry music,
the kaleidoscopic shifting and changing of the tableaux
should prove instructive and educational to me in an artis
tic sense. However, some form of chaperonage was im
perative. Whereupon my mother, accompanied by three
ladies of our neighborhood, escorted poor little me to the
Saturday matinee! Debutantes of to-day would turn up
their noses at Black Crook in its mildly-seasoned spiciness
and find it deadly dull.

XI
OLD HYDE PARK
By Mrs. B. F. Ayer
Early in the sixties, a jovial Irishman, Dr. William Brad
shaw Egan, a practicing physician, ambitious for such an
estate as an Irish gentleman at home might have, bought a
large tract of land in the marshy wilderness three miles
south of Chicago. It had truly magnificent proportions as
it extended from Lake Michigan to what is now Cottage
Grove Avenue, and from Forty-Seventh Street to South
Chicago. The appellation Cottage Grove, by the way, came
from a nameless early settler's cabin in the one little clump
of trees which broke the wide, flat expanse of water-logged
land stretching from the river to the southern horizon.
With proper and paternal pride, Dr. Egan called his newly
acquired tract, Egandale. He selected, as a site for his house
and gardens, the western part of his estate. The ground
here was somewhat higher than the surrounding territory
and thus gave its owner the semblance of a view. There is
nothing so cherished by the dweller in a flat country as an
eminence, no matter how insignificant. At that time no
other house, or sign of man's occupancy, was visible from
Dr. Egan's "hill -top." Following the customs of his native
land he called in the services of a landscape gardener, who
laid out his grounds in quite a stately fashion. Early settlers
remember the imposing rustic gate and lodge which opened
on Forty-Seventh Street, and which was the formal en-

180 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
trance to Egandale. In the neighborhood one could walk
for miles in grassy lanes shaded by cedar and wonderful,
great oak-trees. Some of these endured for sixty years to
tell the tale, when came so-called progress which uprooted
them to clear the ground for the building of apartments.
Dr. Egan, being a bachelor, kept open house, where con
vivial friends met far from the gossip of neighbors. Though
he was a genial man, his extensive real-estate transactions
sometimes made him anxious and distrait. The story is told
that, when a patient once asked of him directions as to how
a prescription he had given her was to be taken, he answered,
"One-third down, balance in one, two, or three years."
Later Dr. Egan returned to Ireland — possibly on ac
count of the cold winters in Egandale, but more probably be
cause he found too few of the leisure classtoenjoy his generous
and gay hospitality. When, in the seventies, Egandale was
subdivided, the village of Hyde Park, the pioneer suburb
to the south of Chicago, was formed.
Among the early settlers of Hyde Park were Charles
Mather Smith,1 Lester Bradner, J. Y. Scammon, Benjamin
F. Ayer, and Judge Van H. Higgins, whose homes in the
city were either burned or made untenable by the Chicago
Fire of 1871. These men bought large tracts of land and
established their families in what was then open country.
Each land-owner was forced to provide for himself all that is
usually cared for by public-utilities corporations. There was
no gas, no water, no sewers, except as furnished by the owner;
even the street sprinkling was a part of his responsibility
(my children learned to drive by driving a watering-cart).
1 Father of Frederick Mather Smith, Francis Drexel Smith, and Miss Mary
Rozet Smith.

OLD HYDE PARK 181
Immediately after the great Fire it was not so difficult
as might appear to be reconciled to the lack of such con
veniences as had formerly been enjoyed by city dwellers.
The city was gone and its inhabitants, a large proportion
of whom were left homeless, were obliged to find shelter in
the crowded and, often, primitive dwellings left on the
South, West, and far North sides.
We residents in Hyde Park were better off than most as
we had new and commodious homes, well-equipped stables
and horses and carriages, which provided means of trans
portation to the Illinois Central trains, or to the little
steam "dummy" railroad. This latter primitive institution
connected with the south-side horse-cars which carried the
citizens of that day from Thirty-Ninth to Lake Street.
By these routes we were enabled to reach the center of
the city for shopping or amusements. We were, however,
fairly independent of the social pleasures offered in other
parts of Chicago. In our little community there were many
opportunities for relaxation.
It has been said, "All the pleasant things of life are either
unwholesome, expensive, or wrong — some of them all
three." Our life in the era of which I write, looked at in
retrospect, seems to me to challenge the truth of this state
ment. We certainly had lots of wholesome, inexpensive,
harmless fun in old Hyde Park with the group of notable
personalities that chance had brought together there.
Perhaps those early forms of entertainment would not
appeal to the folk of to-day. The mad passion for gaiety
and artificial excitement, which at present characterizes
pleasure, had not yet absorbed our social life. We had
lectures; we had charades; we had no balls but many

182 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
dances — at least that was what we called them. No one
thought himself or herself too old or too proud to dance at
these parties. The Virginia reel was a favorite and was
generally a long reel. The Presbyterians, while they did not
really oppose dancing, would only slip in "just to look on."
Dominoes, checkers, and, later, spelling-bees, were among
our quiet, home diversions. Whist was often played — "a
bright fire, a clean hearth, and the rigor of the game"
prevailed, and the evening frequently closed with music,
all joining in singing the soul-stirring strains of "John
Brown's Body," or telling what that valiant man, "Captain
Jenks, of the Horse Marines," accomplished. As Hyde
Park had no gas till 1871, and no daylight saving to light
the early evening, like "wise virgins" when going to, or
coming from, these entertainments, the inhabitants took
their lanterns, well-trimmed and burning, and looked like
fire-flies, as they wended their way through the gloom.
People living near the lake, had sail- and rowboats, and
a sort of community barge, which was a broad, long, ten-
oared boat, carrying ten or fifteen people. We often went
on the water in the summer-time. Colonel Mason Loomis
used to come down from the city in his yacht, and take us
for a sail and a gay supper on board. A yacht club, too, was
a feature of early Hyde Park days.
George Root, composer of the loved songs of the Civil
War, head of the talented family of Roots, famous in
musical circles, lived in Hyde Park. His son, Frederick
Root, a leader throughout his life in orchestra organization,
was well known as such in Chicago, and his daughter, Mrs.
Burnham, was distinguished in literary work.
Flood's Hall, a good-sized room over Dow's drug store,

OLD HYDE PARK 183
near the Illinois Central station at Fifty-Third Street, was
the center of much innocent gaiety. Our public lectures,
concerts, political meetings, and dancing classes were all
held in Flood's Hall. The entertainments there were colored
by the presence of the Roots, who could sing, act, dance, and
organize theatricals better than anyone else. It was there
that the Gilbert and Sullivan operas were vividly and
brilliantly presented by the Roots and their musical circle.
Edward Woodel was an excellent "Dick Deadeye," and
Frank Fairman an imposing, stately "Admiral."
Hyde Park was a community of music-lovers. At an early
day, when the bob-tailed street -car, drawn by a single horse
with a tinkling table-bell strapped about his neck, went no
farther than Thirty-Ninth Street, these enthusiasts attended
operas, concerts, and theaters: there were no people in the
city in closer touch with musical events than Hyde Parkers.
The return home at midnight was accomplished by taking
a carryall or sleigh at the end of the car line, and driving
three miles or more, each member of the party being dropped
at his or her door.
In proportion to its population, Hyde Park in those days
had more able men in its midst than are often found in any
community. A number of the leading lawyers of Chicago,
and men of affairs, were attracted by finding country life
so accessible to the city, and came to Hyde Park in the
early seventies. Among the distinguished residents was
Judge Lyman J. Trumbull — a close friend of Mr. Lincoln's
from the early days when both lived in southern Illinois,
where they often met in court sessions or on circuit.
He held many distinguished positions, having been Judge of
the Superior Court of Illinois, and was United States Senator

184 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
from Illinois for eighteen years. An interesting incident is
told of his campaign for the Senate. Five men were compet
ing for the appointment, among them Mr. Lincoln. A dead
lock was the result, which was broken by Mr. Lincoln, who
withdrew and turned his votes to Judge Trumbull, thus
insuring his victory. Judge Trumbull seemed to enjoy
the quiet life of Hyde Park when he finally retired from his
many activities, for he lived there happily until his death.
Norman B. Judd, another of our neighbors, was Illinois
State Senator for sixteen years. Originally a Democrat, he
became, by conviction, a Republican, and was an enthu
siastic supporter of the new party. In the Convention of
1860 he had the distinguished honor of nominating Abraham
Lincoln for the Presidency. Afterward, Mr Judd was
appointed Minister to Berlin — and was a member of Con
gress for many years. His home was on Forty -Seventh
Street, near Lake Avenue.
After the Fire drove them from Michigan Avenue, Mr.
and Mrs. J. Y. Scammon occupied a beautiful tract of land
of twenty acres facing south on the Midway; the School of
Education, connected with the Chicago University, now
occupies a part of this ground. They called their place
"Fernwood Villa," and no home in Chicago had greater
charm or more of an atmosphere of culture than theirs. Mr.
Scammon had known the distinguished people of the world:
he was a devoted friend and confidential advisor of Abraham
Lincoln and other leading men, while Mrs. Scammon, a sis
ter of Mrs. Mahlon D. Ogden, drew to herself many friends
and admirers. Her social gift was remarkable and her fireside
was always the center of an attractive group. Anders
Zorn, the Swedish portrait-painter, visited at Fernwood

OLD HYDE PARK 185
Villa during the World's Fair, and painted the portrait of
Mrs. Scammon which now hangs in the Art Institute.
Mr. Scammon was a leading lawyer in Chicago for many
years, and as a citizen greatly assisted the up-building of
the city. He was always a generous contributor to various
societies, and was a founder of the Astronomical Society,
the Hahnemann Hospital, and the Academy of Science. The
first well-equipped observatory in or near Chicago was
provided by his gift of $30,000 to the Chicago University,
located at that time at Thirty-Fourth Street and Lake
Avenue. When the University of Chicago, a struggling
Baptist institution, became a beneficiary of Mr. Rockefeller,
and moved to its present location, this telescope, with its
fine glass, was afterwards presented to the Northwestern
University at Evanston, where it now is.
William K. Ackerman was an early resident in Hyde
Park, living in Kenwood. He was always interested in
the welfare of the public, and was a pillar in St. Paul's
Church, holding every office. As a young man he entered
the employ of the Illinois Central Railroad and rose, through
different stages, until he became president of the Road.
The family moved to the North Side, and, after Mr. Acker-
man's death, Mrs. Ackerman went to Rochester to live.
Van H. Higgins, a Judge in the Superior Court of Chicago,
— his career was marked by unusual energy and talent, —
was a long-time resident of Hyde Park. On his retirement
from the Bench, Judge Jamieson, another Hyde Park
resident, was elected to fill the vacancy.
Charles Hitchcock was a lawyer of great ability and a
gentleman of culture and dignity. He left a fortune that
enabled Mrs. Hitchcock to build a dormitory at the Uni-

186 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
versify of Chicago, and so perpetuate his name. The Hitch
cock home, where Mrs. Hitchcock has been living for more
than fifty years, was a country place of unusual charm, and is
now an oasis in the midst of a thickly-built neighborhood.
Horatio Waite, a lawyer, and formerly Paymaster of the
United States Navy during the Civil War, lived in Hyde
Park, and he and his wife always kept open house to friends.
Their house might well be called the home of the Shake
speare Club. This Club met informally once a week at the
home of some one of the members. Chosen ones read the
plays selected, and their declamatory and intelligent inter
pretations made many a delightful evening.
Two attempts were made to establish private schools in
Hyde Park, the first one by Mrs. Waite, wife of Judge Waite,
a character in the early days. Mrs. Waite was one of the
first women to be interested in what was then called "Wo
man's Rights"; her very walk expressed determination.
The private schools were not successful, as taxpayers pre
ferred the public schools, which is not surprising when one
realizes that the High School in Kenwood commanded the
services of such men as Davis R. Dewey, now head of the
Economics Department of the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology. Mr. Dewey was recalled after a time to Boston,
and William G. Beale, of Chicago, took his place as
head of the High School. As I remember, he pursued his
law studies while occupying this position. Even then he
gave promise of his aptness for his chosen profession which
has since been demonstrated in his very successful career.
Forty-Seventh Street leads from Lake Michigan west,
passing through a part of Hyde Park called "The Ridge,"
between Vincennes Avenue and Grand Boulevard. Mr.

OLD HYDE PARK 187
Horatio 0. Stone lived in this part of the town for many
years, having a spacious home, with elaborate lodges at
the gates. Among their neighbors were Judge and Mrs.
Henry 0. Sheppard. Mr. and Mrs. H. H. Honore, and Mr.
and Mrs. Potter Palmer had houses near-by for the summer
season. It was at this country residence of Mr. Honore
that his daughter, Ida, was married to Colonel Frederick
Grant, son of General Grant, an event of great social im
portance, the President and Mrs. Grant having come on
from Washington for the wedding. J
It is to Paul Cornell, called the "Father of Hyde Park,"
that Chicago owes its South Park System. He was one of the
largest land-owners here, and was deeply interested in the
city's betterment. He had visions of great and beautiful
play-grounds, and in 1867 he spent much of his winter in
Springfield in the interest of the South Parks' Bill, securing
its passage after much opposition. The Legislature finally
passed an act authorizing the condemnation of certain
lands located on each side of the city to be used as boule
vards and parks. This was the first step in the City Beauti
ful. The realization of this scheme, as it is now carried out
in Jackson and Washington Parks and the Midway Plai-
sance, testifies to the foresight, the imagination, the am
bition, and the ability, of a few men in Chicago. It has
been said of the establishment of the South Park System,
that for honest management and judicious expenditure
it stands without a parallel in the history of our city.
Certainly it has no superior.
Paul Cornell was appointed by the Governor on the first
1 Other prominent Hyde Park residents, besides those mentioned in the text,
were: John B. Calhoun, Homer Hibbard, James A. Root, Charles Gossage,
James Morgan, and Norman Perkins.

188 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Board of Park Commissioners,1 and was its sceretary; he
was reappointed several times, and served for fourteen
years. He further testified to his belief in his part of town
by building the Hyde Park Hotel at Fifty-Third Street and
the lake.
The World's Columbian Exposition would never have
come to Chicago had there not been the beauties of Jackson
Park to offer the Commissioners. They saw great possibil
ities in the wide meadows, the Wooded Island and its sur
rounding lagoons, and the wonderful background of blue
lake and sky. It is not surprising that architects, inspired
by this scene, gave us those marvelous buildings.
Many questions have been asked about the origin of the
name Midway Plaisance, which was given to a drive-way
connecting the two parks — Jackson and Washington —
later made famous by the World's Fair. For a long time
this roadway was not improved. Its shaded walks and drives
made it a resort of equestrians and others enjoying real
country. It led through a grove of trees just south of J. Y.
Scammon's place. The name Midway came from its situa
tion between the two parks, and Paul Cornell, while a Park
Commissioner, brought Plaisance home with him from
Paris. I cannot find the exact meaning for the word, but it
may be roughly defined as "a place of pleasure." The Mid
way during the World's Fair was surely a place of pleasure
and delight.
Six miles south of the City was the Washington Park race
course, with its well-equipped club-house, which had fol
lowed the improvements in Washington Park and the
1 The other members of the Board of Park Commissioners were: J.M.Wilson,
President, Paul Cornell, Secretary, Benjamin F. Ayer, Attorney for South
Park Board, George W. Gage, and Chauncey Keep Bowen.

OLD HYDE PARK 189
boulevards, making the race-course very accessible, and
situated in such a way as to attract crowds. The annual
June races at the Washington Park Race-track were the
first call of summer to the fashionable world, the feminine
part of which turned out in becoming gowns, hats and
parasols. The grand-stand was like a terrace of flowers. It
was an amusing excitement to watch the anxiety in betting
circles. On the opening day the line of perfectly appointed
landaus, victorias, and tandems on the boulevards brought
out a crowd of the less fortunate who waited at the road
side to see what, to us all, seemed a real pageant, and to
point out the noted beauties and business-men of Chicago.
The dashing up to the Club-house of Potter Palmer's
four-in-hand, and the equally well-equipped coach-and-
four of Arthur Caton, was always an event in the afternoon.
In these days could such an excitement ever be produced
by the passing of a limousine, even if a President were
boxed in it?
In that simple era, the church was much more of a social
and domestic factor in our daily lives than it now is. Every
one attended at least one service on Sundays, and there
were many occasions during the week when members of
the various denominations were called by their pastors to
some kind of church meeting.
The first church erected in Hyde Park was a small frame
building at the north end, built by Charles Cleaver. It was
a Congregational organization. Paul Cornell erected a
second building "For the Worship of Almighty God,"
which had no sectarian organization behind it. Union serv
ices occasionally were held there when a wandering min
ister could be obtained. The Presbyterians would meet in

190 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
the morning, and the Episcopalians in the evening. The ut
most harmony prevailed, but, on one occasion, through
some misunderstanding, they both attempted to meet at
the same morning hour; the spirit of the Church Militant
became so aroused that one section of it finally became
the Church Triumphant. But it was not long before a new
cause of trouble arose; the usual fraternal feeling, not un-
tinged by suspicion, existed in the sects (or was it the sex
tons?), forcing the situation. Each congregation had its
own woodpile in the cellar. The sexton of the Episcopalians
seemed to miss something and put up a sign "Episcopalian
woodpile. Hands off." There being no special dispensation
as to woodpiles, there was no more molesting. Both churches
prospered moderately.
Later on, the Episcopal Church left Hyde Park and moved
to the more aristocratic Kenwood; it was a pioneer at that
end of the town. The Calvinists were left in full possession
of the one little church in Hyde Park — enlarging it so
that it accommodated the Presbyterians for some years,
until they built a more pretentious stone church.
The Episcopalians at first held services in the upper
room of the Kenwood schoolhouse. The room was not
adapted to church service ; the blackboard served as reredos,
and the imprint of the last mathematical effort, or some
rude sketch made the previous Friday, was generally left
on the board. An old melodeon led the singing. It was not
long before a frame church with a high steeple was built,
which was called St. Paul's. I remember that about this
time the treasurer of the Church, W. K. Ackerman,
reported that the magnificent sum of $45 had been raised
and expended on the services of several clergymen.

OLD HYDE PARK 191
The simplicity and contentment of the early days in
Hyde Park, and the Mid-Victorian flavor of their somewhat
ceremonious hospitality, seem to me in retrospect, to be
rather fine and distinguished. Men talked well, and com
ported themselves with dignity. Women were witty and
accomplished, as well as good home-makers. We were bound
together by the strong tie of the pioneer, and friendship was
an evident fact. I like to remember Sunday afternoons at
our house, when, in hot weather, friend® would gather for a
cooling "Tom Collins" on the porch, or, on cold days, for
a hot toddy by the library fire. Mr. Dewey, then a brilliant
young man, frequently called. Mr. Wirt Dexter, out for a
constitutional, on his big, dappled-gray horse, would often
ride down from the city, and "drop in." "Long" John
Wentworth, driving down to inspect his Wentworth Tract,
and other properties, would always stop at our house
and review with my husband the palmy days of New
Hampshire politics, when Franklin Pierce was Presi
dent, and he and Daniel Webster were leaders of their
party. Both were friends of these gentlemen, and ardent
Democrats of that day. Melville W. Fuller, later Chief
Justice of the United States, was a frequent visitor, as
were many other men who were associated with large
affairs of that time.
In the eighties, the city of Chicago began to cast longing
and jealous glances at the contented and prosperous village
of Hyde Park and sought its annexation to Chicago. For
several years the village made a strenuous fight at the polls
to retain its independence, but the time came when all
efforts failed, and Hyde Park lost its identity in the em
brace of the great city. So passed into the shades of other

192 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
days the one-time simple, friendly customs and manners
suitable to a village, but not possible under the more com
plex conditions which mark city life.

XII
BEFORE THE FIRE
By Mrs. Frederick Greeley
I am glad that I can remember some of the aspects of the
. North Side of Chicago before the great fire.
I seem to myself to have passed my childhood and grown
up in the midst of gardens; to have had my play in quiet
streets, made pleasant and beautiful by arching trees, with
soft, unpaved roadways and wooden sidewalks ; with houses
set back from the highway, and surrounded by flowers and
shrubs. Our own house stood in the center of the east side of the
block bounded by Huron, Rush, Erie and Pine streets —
the latter now North Michigan Avenue.
The house, square, stucco-finished, and stained or paint
ed a gray-brown, was a two-story structure, with high base
ment. A broad flight of steps led up to the front door, which
opened into a large, square hall, from which a comfortable,
winding stair ascended to the second story. On the right of
the hall was the drawing-room — an Early Victorian room,
with furniture, hangings, and decorations of the period.
Long French windows lighted the room; a carpet, gay with
garlands of flowers covered the floor. In the middle and at
both ends of it were designs of wreaths of roses. To me
that carpet seemed the acme of beauty and elegance.
The prevailing color of the library was green. Book-cases
lined the walls and extended to the ceiling. Back of the

194 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
library was a large bedroom, or nursery, with dressing-
room and bath-room adjacent. The dining-room and con
servatory were in the English basement. We descended to
these rooms by inclosed, perfectly dark stairs. Opposite the
lower door of this steep and un-lighted staircase was the
conservatory, with its fresh greenery, its warm, moist
fragrance, and its sunshine. Opening from this shadowy
lower hall were mysterious doors leading into various service
rooms and pantries.
On the south and east sides of the house were broad
piazzas looking into the garden. Directly in front of the
high flight of steps which led to the front door, was a foun
tain, a mossy pool, in the center of which was set an oval-
shaped boulder x of red granite, which for years had stood
within the inclosure of Fort Dearborn. This rock had been
cut out and used first by Indians, later by soldiers of the
garrison, as a place in which to grind corn. On the face of
this massive boulder had been roughly carved, by some
embryo sculptor, the features of Waubansee, an Indian
chieftain of renown in the neighborhood.
My father, Isaac N. Arnold, had purchased the boulder
and had it removed from the Fort and placed in our garden.
A hole had been pierced through the rock for a water-pipe
which came out through the depression made by the ab
original corn grinders. From a bronze mouthpiece a slender
jet of water sprang into the air, to fall back into the corn
receptacle, and from there to trickle down over the fea
tures of the old chief into the pool below. Around and
above the boulder grew a tree, completely enveloped by
festoons of wild grapevine.
1 This stone is now in the rooms of the Chicago Historical Society.

BEFORE THE FIRE 195
From the fountain to the Erie Street entrance extended
lawns and shrubberies, intersected by paths and walks.
A sun-dial "numbered the sunny hours." Tall evergreens
made secluded nooks of shade, where children played, and
rejoiced in rabbits and other domestic pets; and where birds
and wild creatures found sanctuary and shelter.
A croquet-ground occupied the lawn east of the house.
On the rear of the property, and facing Huron Street, were
grapevines and greenhouses, as well as a substantial barn.
Fruit- and flower-gardens filled the land in between these
buildings and our house.
On the block south of us was the Newberry place, with
its gardens and grape-arbors. West of the Newberry do
mains and across Rush Street, William B. Ogden's beauti
ful home occupied another whole block, bounded by Rush,
Ontario, Cass and Erie streets. Farther north, old St.
James's Church — the Mother Church of the Protestant
Episcopal faith in Chicago — cast its protecting shadows
over the homes of many of its members.
The two Rumsey households, x on the corners of Huron,
Cass and Rush streets, were bulwarks of faith and strength.
It is pleasant to remember how much of the policy and
plans for the welfare of the parish may have emanated from
informal conferences and meetings held on the hospitable
front steps of the Julian Rumsey mansion.
Opposite George Rumsey's house on Rush Street, was
the delightful home of the Henry W. Kings — a Presby
terian stronghold this, but none the less devoted to com
munity interests. Back of Mr. King's residence, and facing
1 That of Julian Rumsey was on the corner of Huron and Cass streets,
while his brother George Rumsey 's home was to the east on the corner of
Rush and Huron streets.

196 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
our place on Huron Street, was a row of two or three houses,
made of yellow Milwaukee brick. In the east end house
lived Mr. and Mrs. William McCormick. J The west end
was occupied by two maidens from the south — the Misses
Forsyth. Still farther east, and filling the corner, was the home of
Mr. and Mrs. Perry Smith, a brown, wooden house, filled
with bric-a-brac, paintings, and statuary.
Across Pine Street, in what seems, as I remember it, the
most palatial of all these beautiful homes, Mrs. W. W. K.
Nixon dispensed elegant and gracious hospitality. Dancing-
school at her house was a social function of the first magni
tude. I seem to remember with awe and reverence a dignified
butler, and a wonderful form of afternoon tea.
One of the early recollections most clear in my mind,
was a day (it must have been about 1865) when Huron
Street was filled with an angry, remonstrant crowd of men
and women. The Misses Forsyth, whose sympathies were
intensely southern, in their zeal to show their allegiance to
the Confederate cause, had hung the Confederate flag from
their windows. This was probably on some occasion of
rejoicing over victory for the northern armies. The poor
ladies held their own for some time, vociferating and gestic
ulating to the people in the streets ; but finding that their
ill-judged demonstration was creating serious trouble, they
finally withdrew the offending ensign, and the crowd dis
persed. The little girl peering through the cracks of the
"back fence" felt that she, too, knew the meaning of war.
In those days of my childhood one of our favorite amuse-
1 The parents of the late Hon. Robert Hall McCormick, William McCor
mick, Mrs. Samuel Jewett, the late Mrs. Perry H. Smith, and the late Mrs.
Edward T. Blair.

BEFORE THE FIRE 197
ments was to go down to the end of Rush Street and watch
the drawbridge open to allow shipping to pass through, and
many an exciting hour was spent jumping on to the bridge
for "a swing," as steamers and schooners were towed in
and out of the river.
In those days, too, most of us attended Miss Whiting's
School, held in a little white, wooden cottage at the end of
Ontario Street, where the sands came up to the high wooden
sidewalk. One could jump down at least six feet, landing
in the soft, white sand of the shore of Lake Michigan. Re
turning home towards evening, it was fascinating to stray
from the straight and narrow path over to Rush Street, past
the rows of cottages on the south side of Ontario Street, and
the tall picket fence on the north side of the street, which
bounded the Newberry place and through which one gazed,
as into a forbidden paradise. Arriving at Rush Street, and
perhaps lingering in the cool of the evening, one soon de
scried the herd of aristocratic cows coming home from the
pasture, leisurely pursuing their deliberate way down the
street, each one turning into its own barnyard. There was
the Henry King cow, the McCormick, the Skinner, Ogden,
and Newberry cows, and if one hurried quickly up to Huron
Street, the Rumsey cow could be seen sauntering to the
west, the Arnold cow to the east — all obedient to habit
and direction.
As all who remember the great fire know, the fateful day
was Sunday, October 9, 1871. The weather had been un
usually warm and dry, with high winds. Dead, crisp leaves
lay in drifts along the streets and in the gardens of the
North Side.
I had heard my parents speak of the fire of Saturday

198 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
night, but had no definite impression of anything impend
ing, until I was awakened in the darkness of Sunday night
and told to get up and dress and come out into the garden
to help put out fires, which started in the leaves from
falling sparks.
The sky was an angry copper-color, while what seemed
rushing flames of fire spanned the high arch of the heavens.
The family were all astir; probably my father and the gar
dener had been up all night. At that time there seemed not
so much alarm as excitement in fighting an enemy who was
sure to be conquered. I remember how gaily we children
ran from one to another of our favorite spots in the garden
to stamp out the little beginnings of fires. The air grew
hotter and hotter, the rain of sparks and burning brands
more ominous; then came a voice from the street, someone
running and shouting: —
"Mr. Arnold! the water- works are burning, the end is
coming!" With a gasp the fountain gave up its last flirt of water;
no drop came through the house faucets — the end, indeed,
was near. Then I believe for one moment the valiant heart
of my father faltered. In the next instant he was himself
again. Alert, resourceful, undaunted by the terrible situa
tion, he at once set himself to meet the immediate and ever-
increasing danger, and started efforts to save treasures from
the house — family portraits, valued pictures, beloved
books; but it was too late. The barn was on fire, a corner
of the house began to blaze, and a great burning brand fell
with a crash into the conservatory.
My mother and my little sister Alice had already left
us to go to my married sister and her husband, because

BEFORE THE FIRE 199
their house seemed less in the path of the fire. The rest of
us remained behind, believing our home was safe because
of its distance from other dwellings, and being surrounded
by green things which would not easily burn. Almost be
fore we realized it, flight became imperative. My father
gathered about him the little group, consisting of my elder
sister, Katherine, my brother, Arthur, and myself, with the
gardener and maids. Quickly we ran into the house to
snatch up "one more precious possession"; quickly the
horses and the cow were brought from the barn, now be
ginning to burn. Then, slowly, reluctantly, we turned our
faces from the house so dear to us all. My father's plan
was to go to the lake shore — a plan which was also a last
desperate resort, as north, south, and west of us, escape was
impossible. Well does the picture stand forth in my memory
— the forlorn little cavalcade making its way from the
place through the Pine Street gate, the father, the children,
the faithful servants, the patient animals.
As we moved slowly into the street, we heard a jovial,
cheerful voice, and, looking up, saw our opposite neighbor,
Samuel Johnston, a well-known bachelor and householder,
standing on his front doorstep, the door open behind him,
the house looking dark and empty, save for the red glare of
the flames; in his hands he held a decanter of wine; on the
step beside him were wine glasses. Lifting one in his hand
and filling it, he offered it to my father, saying: "We must
take one more drink together, Mr. Arnold; here's to your
very good health!"
I think he joined us on our way to the lake shore. Arriv
ing there we found a motley crowd of people — some neigh
bors, among them Edward S. Tinkham and his family, who

200 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
stayed with us until we escaped on the following day.
There on the sands we spent the remaining hours of the
night, until morning broke and turned the lurid flames
into lowering clouds of smoke. I remember sitting on a
sofa that had been pushed into the water close to the shore.
The wind blowing from the land made the lake gentle
and quiet, and I think we children must have dozed and
slept. I have no recollection of hunger, nor of food. Later
in the morning, we, with other refugees, were ferried in small
boats across "Ogden's slip." From there we made our way
to the lighthouse at the mouth of the river, where kind
people provided coffee and refreshments.
In the afternoon of that unforgetable day, a tugboat
came to our rescue, and we were taken up the river, through
the burning bridges, past the ruined and still smoldering
warehouses and elevators, to the West Side. Thence, in a
dazed condition of mind, we were conveyed in wagons
and carriages to the home of our friends, the Alonzo Hunt-
ingtons, on the corner of Indiana Avenue and Sixteenth
Street, where we stayed two or three weeks until we could
collect the family and make plans for the coming winter.

XIII
THE CHICAGO CLUB
By Edward Blair
The position occupied by the Chicago Club is rather
unique. Being the pioneer club of the West, and for many
years the only club in Chicago, it included all of Chicago's
early settlers who had any use for a club, a patronage which
in other cities is usually found divided. This is partly ac
counted for by the youth of the community as well as the
Puritan antecedents of its early settlers. They did not come
here for their health; few of them had any previous expe
rience of clubs, and if their opinion had been requested
the majority probably would have pronounced them an
undesirable influence in the community.
The Chicago Club may be said to have been the out
growth of the old Dearborn Club, a congregation of two-
or threescore congenial spirits who, towards the close of the
Civil War, began to meet in rooms on State Street opposite
the spot on which the Palmer House now stands. They
afterward moved into the upper floor of the old Portland
Block, on the southeast corner of Washington and Dear
born streets, where a few of their number in a desultory
way met to pass the time of day, sample "wet goods" or
play "draw." Their membership was so heterogeneous and
their attendance so irregular that, before the Dearborn Club
was closed by the sheriff in the fall of 1868, their president,
W. J. Barney, and several of their prominent members,

202 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
among them Judge Hugh Dickey, General Stager, John
Janes, Henry R. Pierson, Philip Wadsworth, J. K. Fisher,
Howard Priestley, Octavius Badger, David Gage, John
B. Raymond, Henry W. Farrar, Francis Morgan, and others,
had already begun to discuss a new organization.
To this end a meeting was called in January, 1869, in
the Sherman House, which was then Chicago's leading
hotel, kept by Gage Bros. & Rice. A number of the Club's
members boarded there and ate together, as they did at the
Grand Pacific after the great fire. About forty attended
this meeting, at which U. H. Crosby, of Crosby's Opera
House fame, presided. Nothing came of this meeting; but
at a succeeding meeting, of which David Gage was chair
man, and John Janes, secretary, it was decided to appoint
a committee to select a hundred men to form a club to be
known as the Chicago Club. The committee consisted of
Charles B. Farwell, Philip Wadsworth, John Janes, Henry
R. Pierson, David Gage, W. J. Barney, and Octavius
Badger. It was said that only about a dozen of the original
hundred members of the Chicago Club had ever belonged
to a club before, and there was considerable doubt in the
minds of the gentlemen approached as to the nature of the
organization they were requested to join. Even when this
was successfully explained, a further opposition on the
part of their wives had frequently to be encountered.
The names of the original hundred members of the Chi
cago Club, as nearly as can be ascertained, were as follows:
Ayer, B. F. Barter, T. O.
Ayer, John V. Bishop, H. W.
Badger, Octavius Boal, Charles T.
Barnes, Charles J. Brown, Andrew
Barney, W. J. Burley, A. H.

THE CHICAGO CLUB

203

Campbell, B. H.
Carrey, Edmond
Cobb, Walter F.
Connell, C. J.
Coolbaugh, W. F.
Corwith, Nathan
Crerar, John
Crosby, U. H.
DeKoven, John
Dexter, Wirt
Dickey, Hugh T.
Drake, John B.
Dunlap, Geo. L.
Fairbank, N. K.
Farrar, H. W.
Farwell, C. B.
Fisher, J. K.
Fiske, D. B.
Fox, Harry
Fuller, S. W.
Gage, David A.
Gage, George W.
Gale, Stephen F.
Gossage, Charles
Hall, Phillip A.
Hopkins, George B.
Howard, W. B.
Isham, E. S.
Jackson, Obediah
Janes, John J.
Johnstone, Samuel
Jones, S. M.
Kattee, Walter
Keith, Samuel L.
Kimball, Granville
Kirkwood, William
Lincoln, Robert T.
Loomis, J. Mason
Lyon, John B.
McCagg, E. B. Young,

McKay, James R.
McLaury, T. G.
Minot, Edward J.
Morgan, Francis
Munger, A. A.
Murray, W. H.
Nickerson, Samuel M.
Palmer, Potter
Parker, J. Mason
Pelton, William T.
Pierson, Henry R.
Priestly, Howard
Pullman, George M.
Rauch, John H.
Raymond, John B.
Rice, John B.
Ross, William M.
Rozet, G. H.
Russel, E. W.
Rutter, J. O.
Scammon, J. Y.
Sibley, S.
Smith, Perry H.
Stager, Anson
Tappan, Charles S.
Tilton, Lucius
Tinkham, Edward I.
Tracy, John F.
Tree, Lambert
Wadsworth, Philip
Walker, Charles H.
Walker, George C.
Walker, William B.
Washburne, Jr., Emory
WTieeler, Charles W.
Wheeler, G. Henry
Wheeler, Hiram
Whitman, George R.
Wilson, Charles L.
Young, George W.
James R.

David and George Gage, Wirt Dexter, General Stager,
C. B. Farwell, and George M. Pullman each advanced
five hundred dollars, — which was afterward repaid, —

204 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
toward the preliminary expenses of the Club. Edward
S. Isham prepared the papers of incorporation, and
the old Farnham mansion, on Michigan Avenue between
Adams and Jackson streets, was rented and furnished
for the Club. When it was ready for occupation, a meeting
of the hundred members was called for the evening of May
1, 1869. Nearly all of the members attended, but the omens
were anything but auspicious. It was a terribly rainy,
stormy night, and during the meeting one of the members
was seized with a fit and had to be carried out.
Ezra B. McCagg was elected president of the new club.
He was one of Chicago's leading attorneys, a partner of
J. Y. Scammon, who at that time was among the largest
real-estate holders in Chicago and, besides his real-estate
and his law business, owned and managed a daily news
paper, a bank, and an insurance company. Mr. McCagg had
married the sister of William B. Ogden, Chicago's first
mayor and wealthiest citizen, and his house, in which he
had collected one of the finest libraries in the country, was
one of the social centers of the city. He was a man of pol
ished manners, culture and discrimination; had travelled
much abroad and was, altogether, of a type not at all com
mon at that time in Chicago. Philip Wadsworth was de
servedly elected vice-president, and Edward Tinkham,
secretary and treasurer.
Although the Club nearly doubled its membership in its
first year, it was not much frequented except on Saturday
nights, when a free lunch was spread to attract attendance.
There appeared still to be some doubt in the community
as to its character and purposes, and a perusal of the early
records indicates that this feeling was not entirely absent

THE CHICAGO CLUB 205
from the minds of the members themselves. One of the by
laws declares: "The Club-house shall not be used as an
exchange or salesroom of any kind," and at one of the
annual meetings it is resolved that "the corporate seal of
the Chicago Club be a circle of adhesive paper with the
words 'Chicago Club' written thereon." At this same
meeting the Club voted its "thanks to Mr. P. C. Maynard
for his present of a Webster's Dictionary," a gift which evi
dently filled a long-felt want. Candidates for membership
were voted on by the entire Club, with the result that a
member whose candidate was blackballed frequently re
venged himself by excluding all the others proposed.
The Club-house, being then considered distant from the
business center, established a lunch-room on Washington
Street west of La Salle Street. This resulted in its being less
frequented than ever, except occasionally in the evening,
when a few congenial spirits would come for a game of
cards. Among these was Granville Kimball, a courtly, old-
fashioned gentleman who, like Hannibal Hamlin and Daniel
Webster, always wore a "swallow-tail" suit, resembling
our present evening-dress. Before coming to Chicago he
owned and operated several stage lines in Michigan, among
them one from Chicago to Ypsilanti, wliich was then the
western terminal of the Michigan Central Railway. The lat
ter was an old strap railroad, over which three trains ran each
day in the same direction, getting back as best they could.
Another dignified, old-school gentleman who frequented
the card-room was Colonel Lucius Tilton, resident director
of the Illinois Central Railway and one of the oldest and
most experienced railway men in the country. The Gage
brothers were also frequent attendants of the card-room.

206 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
They were from Massachusetts, where one of them, David,
had been a railroad man, and the other, George, the pro
prietor of the old City Hotel of Boston. Among other fre
quenters of the card-room were Colonel Henry Farrar, also
from Boston, and editor of the Evening Journal, a great wit
and raconteur; Dr. Eldredge, after whom Eldredge Court was
named, a well-known character among the early settlers, with
an explosive temper and an appropriate command of lan
guage; Arthur Burley, Sam Johnston, John B. Lyon, H. G.
Loomis, Sam Keith, George Hopkins, Charles Tappan,
Francis Morgan, who roomed in the Club and was one of
its first secretaries, the Fisher brothers, two big, genial Irish
men, who also roomed in the Club and were great card players
and general favorites; John B. Raymond, a society beau of
those days, like U. H. Crosby; Howard Priestley, a Mary-
lander, who was prominent on the Board of Trade and
quite a man about town.
Edmond Carrey, the French Consul, one of the few that
have taken much part in the social life of our city, was very
popular in the Club. He and Edward J. Minot were re
spected for their judgment of wines and cuisine. Mr. Minot
was a member of the old Minot family of Boston and had
been a captain in a Massachusetts regiment during the war.
At its close he came west and entered the firm of Henry
W. King & Company. Mr. Minot was a member of the
Somerset and Athenaeum clubs of Boston, and was, in every
respect, a cultivated gentleman. One of the few others who
had enjoyed any experience of club life was Henry R. Pier
son of Albany, resident director of the Chicago and North
western Railway, who had been president of a club in Brook
lyn and was a college man and a natural leader. Among

THE CHICAGO CLUB 207
others of the railroad men prominent in the life of the city
and the Club in those days, were: T. B. Blackstone, a man
with a rugged Henri Quatre face and beard, who built up
the Alton road into a great railway system, with an integrity
and conservation exceptional in those days; Perry H. Smith
and George L. Dunlap of the Northwestern, and John Van
Northwick, president of the Burlington, a regular attend
ant and card player.
Among the prominent lawyers who became early mem
bers of the Chicago Club were two of the ablest and oddest
geniuses that ever belonged to the Chicago bar, Judge
Beckwith and Francis H. Kales, of whom many anecdotes
survive. Judge Fuller and Judge Skinner, both fine Christian
gentlemen and interesting conversationalists, were only oc
casional frequenters of the Club. Wirt Dexter, Judge Dickey
and Judge Tree were also among our most distinguished
members, but although there were several of national rep
utation like Melville Fuller, afterwards chief justice, Lyman
J. Gage, Franklin MacVeagh, Robert T. Lincoln, who all
became cabinet ministers, our most distinguished member,
without doubt, was General Philip H. Sheridan. When he
came to Chicago to take charge of the Department of the
Missouri, he was invited to become an honorary member
of the Club, without payment of dues, but, with characteristic
independence, he declined, saying he preferred to be elected
in the regular way and pay his initiation fee like any other
member. He was a frequent visitor of the Club, affable to all
and as unassuming as the humblest. His appearance was in
striking contrast to his manner; a short, thick body and
neck, a massive, bullet -shaped head, close-cropped hair, a
complexion crimsoned by exposure and high living, and

208 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
features of a stern, predatory cast, like those of an Indian;
a personality eloquent of the ruthless determination which
harried and pursued the Confederacy to exhaustion — an
energy so fierce as to be even equal to changing defeat into
victory. From Sheridan's appearance you would have ex
pected the harsh voice of command and the assurance of
one who had never been withstood, but the reality was
quite the contrary. In private life his voice was low and his
manner deferential. He would chat any length of time with
anyone who stopped him. His reminiscences at such times
were far more interesting than anything in his memoirs,
which are a bare relation of facts, written with the brevity
of a military report.
Sheridan, as a man, has been misunderstood, but not in
Chicago, which he always considered his home, having
spent the best twelve years of his life here. His kindness
was so great that he was often imposed upon by people
who abused his good nature. He gathered around him the
most brilliant staff we have ever had in Chicago. It included
General Rucker, whose daughter he married; Generals
Baird and Rufus Ingalls, who were great frequenters of the
Club, and General Whipple, whose daughter became Mrs.
Charles Deering of this city; Colonels Schuyler Crosby, Fred
Grant and M. V. Sheridan, too well known to require fur
ther mention; the two Forsythes — "Tony," quiet and
dignified, the picture of a French colonel, with his prema
turely gray hair and imperial; "Sandy," who was some
times called the bravest man in the army, as he certainly
was one of the handsomest, a great diner-out and the very
type of a beau sabreur with his soldierly figure, manly face
and flashing blue eyes. The "staff" never cut such a figure

THE CHICAGO CLUB 209
in Chicago society as it did in Sheridan's day. Probably the
handsomest dinner seen here up to that time was given in
the Chicago Club by Colonel Schuyler Crosby. His guests
numbered forty or fifty, and the tables occupied the entire
ground floor of the Club.
The last dinner given in the old Club was the week before
the great fire, when General Stager asked a number of its
members to meet James Gordon Bennett, "Larry" Jerome,
"Johnny" Hecksher, and Fairman Rogers, who were re
turning from a hunting-party General Sheridan had given
them in the West. The second day of the great fire a num
ber of the members, among them Generals Corse and Ledlie,
George and James Young, J. K. Fisher, and John Janes,
who had been burned out during the night and had had no
sleep, assembled at the Club and were refreshing themselves
with what might be called "a champagne-supper for break
fast," when the house caught afire. Hastily filling their
pockets with cigars and taking a demijohn of whisky and a
red satin sofa with them, they finished their meal on the,
lake shore.
The great fire, coming so soon after the organization of
the Club, was nearly fatal to its existence. The Club lost
everything, even its records, and its members were for a
long time too busy trying to recover from the great calam
ity and rebuild their homes and places of business, to have
any leisure for clubs. The Fire of 1871 was followed so closely
by the panic of 1873 that many who had borrowed money
to rebuild their property or reestablish their business were
prostrated by this second catastrophe, a succession of mis
fortunes as fatal to our "peerage" as the Wars of the Roses.
Many who were prominent before lost everything and

210 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
dropped out of sight, while others, who might have retained
their places, thought it a good time to sever their connec
tions with Chicago and return east.
The Club maintained a precarious existence, first in the
B. F. Hadduck house on Michigan Avenue near Park Row,
then in the Gregg house on the northwest corner of Wabash
Avenue and Eldredge Court, but these locations were incon
venient and any member who went to the Club at night
through the ruins of the burnt district usually walked in the
middle of the street and carried a pistol in his pocket. The
attendance of the Club became so meager that its officers re
fused to accept reelection, and the members began to resign
in such large numbers that those left finally voted to dis
band. In this emergency, N. K. Fairbank, with character
istic public spirit, offered to buy a lot and build a club
house where DeJonghe's restaurant now stands, opposite
the Monroe Street entrance of the Palmer House. The Club
moved into its new building in July, 1876. It was regarded
as a marvel of luxury at that time and for sixty days mem
bers were allowed to bring in residents to view its splendor,
also to have lady guests on Thursday of each week. With a
view to increasing the membership and dispelling any sus
picions which might still linger in the feminine mind as to
the character of the Club, Mr. and Mrs. Fairbank gave an
evening reception in the new Club-house, which gave rise
to a fierce argument between the older and younger ele
ments of the Club as to whether evening-dress was obliga
tory on such occasions.
On September 13, 1878, the Club gave a reception to
President and Mrs. Hayes, who happened to be passing
through Chicago. The reception committee on this occa-

THE CHICAGO CLUB 211
sion consisted of General Sheridan, Franklin MacVeagh,
Levi Z. Leiter, Ezra B. McCagg, and George C. Clarke.
On November 14, 1879, the Club gave a reception to Gen
eral and Mrs. Grant on their return from a trip around the
world. It was notable for a reunion of the "Blue and the
Gray" in the cafe, which lasted until the small hours of the
morning. As Judge Lochrane of Georgia, an ex-Confeder
ate, rose to speak, Henry Norton, amid general applause,
threw an American flag over Lochrane's shoulders. Without
a moment's preparation, the Judge, who was an eloquent
speaker, made an address so mingled with pathos and pa
triotism, that his audience at one moment was almost
weeping, and at the next wildly cheering. This was the last
public reception ever given by the Chicago Club, with the
exception of the one it tendered its president, Robert T.
Lincoln, eleven years later, May 29, 1890, on his appoint
ment as minister to England.
In those days a number of the younger members, who
were of sociable habits, lived in the Club and were fuller
blooded and more riotous livers than their successors. The
genus might now be termed extinct. A crowd of them were
in the habit of coming from the Board of Trade in an omni
bus, rushing into the hall of the Club-house at noon and
finishing their trades while they ordered their lunch. At
night their favorite rendezvous was the billiard-room,
which was in the basement adjoining the bar. Here they
held frequent meetings, appointing a chairman, whose duty
was to see that hospitality was equitably distributed, and
a sergeant-at-arms, robust enough to be able to remove
such members as became obstreperous, or otherwise violated
proprieties, to the adjoining coal-cellar, where they re-

212 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
mained until they promised repentance and "liquidated"
their fines. "Derby Day" at the old Washington Park Club
was a great occasion for this crowd. There was a big table
d'hote dinner that night, and from the moment the first
arrivals, in the stampede for town, began to come in, until
the last noisy reveler sought his couch in the early morning's
light, there was continuous celebration.
In contrast to this noisy crowd, a group may be mentioned
more characteristic of the serious and commercial nature of
the Club, a number of men sometimes referred to as compos
ing the "millionaires' table." The men who started it, —
Robert T. Lincoln, Edward S. Isham, Henry W. Bishop, and
Norman Williams, — were anything but millionaires at that
time. These young men, all college-bred, and of distinguish
ed antecedents, came to Chicago about the same time and
formed a friendship which was never broken. Henry W. Bish
op was for several years president of the Union Club, on the
North Side, and later of the Chicago Club, and as such was
noted for his urbanity and tact. Norman Williams, who suc
ceeded him as president of the Chicago Club, was such a de
lightful and amusing companion, so bubbling over with kind
ness and good-fellowship, that he might have been called the
most popular man in Chicago. Edward S. Isham, their com
panion, soon became known as one of the most brilliant
young attorneys in Chicago. His partner, Robert T. Lin
coln, although he was the son of Abraham Lincoln and be
came Secretary of War and Minister to England, was
simple and unassuming, and much too straightforward for
political life.
The "millionaire" element of the round table consisted
of Marshall Field, George M. Pullman, N. K. Fairbank,

THE CHICAGO CLUB 213
John Crerar, and T. B. Blackstone. Marshall Field, a tall,
dignified man, with hair and mustache prematurely gray, a
fresh complexion, clear-cut features, and keen, blue eyes,
would pass in Europe for a nobleman or a diplomat rather
than a business man. George M. Pullman also was endowed
with a striking personality, an expression of calm confidence
and resolution which never changed. N. K. Fairbank, with
out whom the Club would not be in existence, was for fourteen
years reelected its president. He was a man of distinguished
appearance, a born leader and a daring speculator, who
won and lost several fortunes in his day, and was prominent
in every public and charitable movement of his time. John
Crerar was one of the most original characters in the social
life of his day, an old bachelor, with strongly-marked traits
from his Scotch ancestry. In appearance, he was the typical
British capitalist, with florid complexion, white side-whis
kers, and merry blue eyes twinkling under bushy white
eyebrows. For forty years no social function in Chicago was
complete without his cheery presence. While he was alive
he headed every subscription list, and when he died he left
a large fortune to the city. Heaven send us more such!
Henry W. King seldom missed a noonday meal at the
round table. He was president of the Relief and Aid Society,
which distributed several millions in charity after the great
fire. He was also a pillar of the Fourth Presbyterian Church,
and, on account of the social activities of his family and
the interest he took in his neighborhood, was sometimes called
"the mayor of Rush Street." Among others, who at various
times frequented the round table, may be mentioned Johnde
Koven, director of half a dozen railways and banks, a thor
ough man of the world, generous and companionable; L. Z.

214 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Leiter, the father of Lady Curzon, a short, broad-shoul
dered man, a shrewd investor with very decided opinions and
a voice often raised in their defense ; Charles B. Farwell, a bro
ther of John V. Farwell, and one of the founders of the Club,
who rounded out a successful business career by becoming
a United States Senator; General Anson Stager, the father
of Lady Arthur Butler, a nervous little man, who was a
general favorite and played an important part in the Civil
War, as well as in building up the telegraph system of the
country; General A. C. McClurg, a gentleman of the finest
character and culture, who acquitted himself with credit in
the Civil War; Franklin MacVeagh, a man of fine critical
and social abilities, a college-bred business-man and a student
of politics, who became Secretary of the Treasury; John M.
Clark, another standard-bearer of reform, whose strong face
and cheery voice inspired confidence; Edson Keith and Ezra
Warner, representative business men, of fine appearance and
courteous manners; the two Spragues (A. A. and 0. S. A.),
Warner's partners, college men and conspicuous in every pub
lic and charitable movement; George C. Clarke, whose attrac
tive personality won him many friends; and B. F. Ayer, for
many years attorney of the Illinois Central Railway, and
one of the original members of the Club. The Monroe Street
location in a few years was found to be too much in the
business center; the Club-house also had run down and be
come dark and noisy, so, the year before the Exposition, the
Club bought the Art Institute building for the sum of
$425,000, and remodeled it. The land alone would sell now
for three times what was then paid for it.
The Exposition of 1893, like the great fire of 1871, marked
an epoch in the history of Chicago, as well as in American

THE CHICAGO CLUB 215
architecture. Nothing of the kind had been attempted be
fore and its beautiful white palaces, connected by colonnades
and bridges, were a dream of beauty mirrored in the waters
of the lagoons and lake. The swarms of graceful gondolas
which carried the crowds from one building to another en
hanced this Venetian effect. The exposition closed an era
which might be referred to as the "Middle Ages," and
marked the adoption of metropolitan standards in the
future social and business life of our city. It was as much of
an education to the people who produced this splendid
spectacle, as it was to the strangers who extolled their public
spirit and liberality. As a foreign diplomat expressed it
"What we see here was what we might have expected in
Paris: and what we saw in Paris was all we expected here."
During the eventful summer of 1893, Chicago was the
country's center. Artists and journalists rubbed shoulders
with titled foreigners, and French, German, and Spanish
were heard in the halls of our new Club, — this, then, would
seem a fitting place to close its history, which has since
differed little from that of other clubs.

XIV
THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES
By Mrs. Frederick T. West
It is not paucity of years, but the lack of a good memory,
which will make the facts here set down so few and far
between. Then, too, to my great regret, I did not glean as
much from my elders of those thrillingly interesting early
days as I now wish I had.
My uncle, Charles Butler, x was the first member of our
family to come to Chicago. His description of the journey
from New York to Chicago in 1833 dwells on the beauties
of the Erie Canal as far as Buffalo; then describes the near
ly three-days' lake trip from there to Detroit. From the
latter place he and a friend proceeded on Indian ponies, by
trail, to Fort Dearborn, taking ten days to cover the three
hundred miles.
There were only a few hundred inhabitants in the town
at this date, and not more than twenty houses. But my
uncle writes: "Chicago is a beautiful place; the north and
south branches of the Chicago River unite in the center of
the town and form a beautiful river, 2 . . . " He stayed at
the Green Tree tavern on the point formed by the junction
of these two streams, from which he says the view was very
lovely. Considering present conditions in this section of the
city, it is amusing to read what he writes of its charms in
1 Charles Butler married Eliza Ogden, eldest sister of Mahlon D. Ogden.
8 Life and Letters of Charles Butler.

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 217
those days of long ago. But he not only saw its charms, he
saw its possibilities; and, encouraged by my uncle's view of
the situation, his friend and travelling companion bought a
large tract of land. This included one-half of Kinzie's Addi
tion, which runs from the river to Chicago Avenue, and
from the lake to forty feet west of State Street, and the
whole of Wolcott's Addition, which runs from Kinzie Street
to Chicago Avenue, and from forty feet west of State Street
to one-hundred and nine feet west of La Salle Avenue; also
Block " 1 " in the original town, running from Kinzie Street
to the river and from forty feet west of State Street to
Dearborn Avenue. It must be remembered, however, that
in those days the lake came almost to Pine Street, or North
Michigan Avenue as it is now called. For this large piece of
property the lordly sum of $20,000 was paid. The next year
Mr. Butler and some of his friends bought this same tract for
$100,000, and the following year, 1835, he persuaded his bro
ther-in-law, William Butler Ogden, to come to Chicago to take
charge of it. The property looked very unattractive to the lat
ter on his arrival. It was marshy, muddy, and covered with
scrub-oak and underbrush. There was a Government auction
coming on. To take advantage of this, streets and lots were
laid out in the new purchase, and it was ready for sale in
the required time. Although it was only two years since the
first transfer, one-third of this property sold for $100,000.
In the next year, my father, Mahlon Dickerson Ogden, a
young college graduate, just having been admitted to the
bar, came to Chicago.
Letters written in 1850 tell of how my aunts used to spend
two days a week with each other; how their children were
carefully drilled in their French lessons, these same lessons

218 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
being bestowed by a very charming Swede, Count von
Schneidau;1 how two evenings a week all the members of
the family, including the children, and a few of the neigh
bors, met together and danced, "It amused the children and
improved their manners."
A mist of happiness and content seems to envelop my
childhood days, through which I can see very little of the
outer world. A large and devoted family circle, constantly
intermingling, is the background. Doubtless we took meals
alone, but I cannot remember ever doing so. There were
always several house-guests, who often stayed for weeks at
a time, an evidence of the hospitality so universal at that
period. These visitors were of all sorts and kinds, and, to
my childish eyes, very interesting and delightful, even in
cluding a young man of our own name which, he seemed to
think, entitled him to stay indefinitely. My surprise was
great when one day I overheard my parents discussing how
they might persuade him to leave, for they had become
convinced that he was really an adventurer. One friend
spent an entire winter with us, to be under the doctor's
care. Of her stay, I remember nothing, but her going is in
delibly impressed upon my mind, for when we went to help
her to her carriage, there stood, not only the carriage, but
a little ball of a black pony with a red velvet saddle, her
gift and my delight for years to come.
I can only remember the interior of three houses, besides
our own, before the Fire, and they were those of my aunts,
Mrs. Jonathan Young Scammon and Mrs. Ezra Butler
McCagg, and of my uncle, William B. Ogden. Mr. Scam-
1 His daughter was adopted by William B. Ogden and afterwards became
Mrs. Eugene N. Jerome, of New York City.

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 219
mon's house stood on Michigan Avenue, just above Con
gress Street, its lovely garden occupying the spot where the
Auditorium Hotel and Theater now stand. This was the
last house to burn in both of the great fires. It was blown
up at the time of the first by General Sheridan, to arrest
further southward progress of the flames. When one thinks
of the traffic on this corner now, it is amusing to picture our
favorite sport when we went down there on summer even
ings. It consisted of a run and jump across the street which
enabled us to clear successfully the rail fence that con
served the beauties of what is now Grant Park from too
great trespassing on the part of the public. This process had
a never-ending charm, and how proud we were when, occa
sionally, we could prevail on the beautiful Miss Louise
Clark, who lived next door, to join us !
Mr. Scammon's library is the room which stands out
most prominently in my mind. It was big and high and
filled with books in every possible corner; books, by the
way, mostly bound in brown leather, with a shield derived
from Mr. Scammon's Swedenborgian proclivities, in gilt on
the back of every one of them. The largest globe I have
ever seen stood in one corner of the room, and a large orrery
in another. Both interested me intensely and, to this day, I
wonder over Mr. Scammon's unfailing kindness and pa
tience in explaining them to me.
It was these same books that were saved when, on the
morning of the great fire of October 9, 1871, many team
sters, whom Mr. Scammon happened to be employing at the
time, came and backed up their carts alongside of the house
proffering their use as vans. Mr. Scammon sent the loaded
vans forth into the unknown, anywhere to escape the destruc-

220 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
tion approaching on every side. In this connection it may be
interesting to know that two young men, Robert Lincoln and
John Hay, came to Mrs. Scammon that morning to offer
what help they could, but when they saw the rather whole
sale way in which she was planning to move her belongings,
they advised against it, saying it might complicate her in
surance arrangements later on. Considering the condition
of the insurance companies that fall, it was fortunate that
Mrs. Scammon took counsel of the heavens by ascending
to the lookout on the top of the house, and, influenced
by their angry glow, decided to move everything she could
lay her hands on.
I like to think of its being Colonel Loomis who roused the
Scammon family, as well as the whole of Michigan Avenue,
to their dangers, that morning. I can see him now, mounted
on one of his seven black horses, with his army -blanket
behind him, riding up and down the street. It was a verit
able call to arms, for surely it was a deadly foe they had to
fight. Of the north-side houses, William B. Ogden's is the one
I remember least distinctly, though a picture comes to my
mind of being there one lovely spring morning and finding
my aunt, Fanny Sheldon, sitting on a wide, side piazza with
her work, a large cage with her beloved cooing ring-doves
and her dogs beside her. The flowering shrubs were in bloom
and the square between Rush and Cass, Ontario and Erie
streets, was a delightful spot in which to wander. Not the
least interesting thing was the smoke-house, where were
cured the hams, — a delicious place and most fascinating
to us children. The main dwelling was spacious, with large
and high rooms which my youthful memories ever picture

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 221
filled with guests. There were in those days no clubs, fine
restaurants, or other general rendezvous for gregarious and
cultivated people, so many of the interesting men and women
who visited the young city of the West, gathered under
William B. Ogden's roof.
Samuel J. Tilden was a great friend of his and a frequent
visitor at the Ogden home. How we children dreaded the
advent of New York's famous governor ! If the older mem
bers of the family were not at home, one of us had to give
the two gentlemen their tea. How many afternoons I have
sat, impatiently waiting for them to finish their tea, — a
protracted feast, as you may imagine, as Mr. Tilden was
known to take as many as eighteen cups of tea. What
wouldn't I give now to remember what they talked about !
But nothing remains with me beyond recollections of my
longings to get back to my game of "I Spy."
At Mrs. McCagg's house, which stood in a large garden on
North Clark between Chestnut and Locust streets, everyone
sang or played some musical instrument. It is here I remem
ber William B. Ogden, sitting at the piano, both playing
and singing his favorite airs, Guide Me, 0 Thou Great Je
hovah; Martha; Rise My Soul and Stretch Thy Wings, Thy
Better Portion Trace, being most prominent among them.
My cousin, Louis McCagg, writes : —
"I remember our house in Chicago with much clearness.
The two parlors, dining-room, and library, as well as my
mother's bedroom, and the nursery, all on the ground floor
in the good old generous way. I have vague memories, too,
of much company in the house, music, and especially quar
tette singing by amateurs. Mrs. George B. Carpenter, Mrs.

222 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Stella Dyer Loring (Louis Dyer's sister), Mr. Nillson, and
'Jim' Kelly, are names I recall; also George Bostwick, who
had a beautiful baritone voice."
Louis forgets to mention that all the older members of
the family, including the eastern cousins who were after
wards Mrs. C. C. Tiffany, of New York, and Mrs. A. C.
McClurg of this city, took part in this singing. The letter
continues : —
"Showing in what near relation that part of the North
Side x stood to the country in those days, I remember hear
ing that a fox had been caught in our place when I was a
very little boy; and I distinctly remember discovering a nest
of little wild rabbits in the grass near its southern border.
The Lake Shore Drive was something very new and very
primitive; part of it ran through or alongside a cemetery.
Then you came to some land belonging, I think, to the New
berrys, which they would not let one drive across and a
detour had to be made. But what a treat it was if you caught
sight of Potter Palmer driving four-in-hand, with his old
mother, in her Quaker garb, beside him; of Fitzhugh White-
house driving tandem, with a negro groom up behind!"
The library referred to by my cousin had a large bay-
window at one end, but was chiefly lighted by a skylight
from above. It was faced with books from floor to ceiling.
Here was my first experience with one of the little travelling
ladders by means of which one reached the topmost vol-
1 The square between Clark Street and La Salle Avenue, Locust and Chestnut
streets.

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 223
umes. It was a fascinating affair, and we children used to
peek around the corner to see if "Uncle McCagg" looked
serene enough for us to venture to beg the privilege of
mounting its dizzy height. Here, too, hung some carved
scallop shells telling, as with the knights of old, of
the McCagg pilgrimage to Palestine, Jerusalem, and Mount
Sinai, made with my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Edwin H.
Sheldon, in 1854. How they made me hope and pray that
some day I, too, might earn the right to such trophies !
In thinking of the venturesome souls who braved those
early days in the West, one is apt to forget that they all
came from the East, and that most of them were accus
tomed to every refinement and all the existing amenities of
life in an older part of our country. The difficulties of pro
viding themselves with comforts, to say nothing of luxuries,
were, of course, nearly insurmountable, even as late as
in 1854. My mother used to tell a tale of the vexatious de
lays and ultimate disappointment when, in her early married
life, she had secured a very lovely Wilton carpet in New
York, and how impatiently she waited for the carpet, which
was an interminable time in arriving. The boat by which it
was shipped, the method by which all freight came in those
days, ran into one of the furious lake storms we all know
so well, and went to the bottom. The transportation com
pany, however, got it up, and delivered the carpet in ap
parently perfect condition. It was put down and much en
joyed, until the hot weather came, when an Egyptian plague
of flies settled down upon it. Investigation disclosed the fact
that the main cargo of the boat by which it had been shipped
had been molasses, with which the carpet had become sat
urated. So, though the company had had it thoroughly

224 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
cleansed, as they supposed, the flies were not to be deceived.
Of course, it had to be entirely destroyed.
My mother was only six years old when she came West.
Her father, General William Billings Sheldon, of Delhi, N.
Y., suffered from asthma which he thought the change of
climate would cure. She remembered, in the very first of her
days in the new country, a little girl coming to school with
her dress very neatly pinned down the back with thorns
from a thorn-apple tree, nature's substitute for pins which
were not then as plentiful as now.
To pass on to the great event of my childhood —
The day of October 9, 1871, began for us about one o'clock
in the morning, when the watchman roused my father at our
home at North Dearborn Street and what is now Walton
Place, and told him that there was a fire which was spreading
rapidly, suggesting that he might like to go to his office be
fore it was too late. This my father did at once, thus being
able to bring home a buggy-full of books and papers. The
office vaults, however, did their work well, so a duplicate of
the official city atlas, written up to within a week of the
day of the Fire, was saved in perfect order. x This was the
more fortunate as the originals at the City Hall were com
pletely destroyed. My father used to tell me how he was
the last person to cross Rush Street bridge before it fell.
Later, but still in the early morning, I was amazed to find
a strange woman in my mother's bed, and was told she was
ill and had been brought for safety from the Sherman
House. She was moved on after a time, and we never knew
who she was. Then I opened the front door to see what was
going on outside. The vestibule was a large one and, on either
1 From letters written by Edwin H. Sheldon, October 19, 1871.

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 225
side of the door, stood a good-sized arm-chair. In these Mr.
and Mrs. William M. Scudder were discovered sitting, cry
ing bitterly, and each holding a bird-cage. The sight beyond
beggared description. Nothing but flames as far as the eye
could reach. The scene was like a vast roaring furnace.
Against this background the New England Church, ablaze
from steeple to cellar, stood, roof gone, with sparks and
jets of fire outlining each rafter.
At this point, my father came in, after having battled in
vain with the flames at Mr. McCagg's house, saying, "Does
anyone know anything about Grandma McCagg?" as we
all called Mr. McCagg's dear old mother. No one knew. It
was not a morning to think of much beside the immediate
present. "I must go and find her," said he, and off he rushed into
that vortex of flames, on foot, for it was something no horse
would have faced. I was frightened then, for it did not seem as
if he could come back alive. He found her with her daughter,
Miss Carrie McCagg, sitting in the McCagg house quite com
posedly and unconscious of their imminent danger. A few
minutes more and rescue would have been impossible. The old
lady was very feeble and, after walking a short way, gave out
entirely: it was an ugly few minutes to remember, my father
afterwards said. He stood by her side in the street where
the air was already suffocatingly hot, she, unable to move,
and he, equally unable to carry or leave her. But just at
this juncture, Mr. Sullivan, the painter, dashed by in an
express wagon. It took but a moment to hail him and help
her into the vehicle. So all came safely forth from their
terrible danger.
The streets were already very crowded, almost everyone

226 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
walking, and almost everyone loaded down with a burden of
some kind or other — empty picture-frames, washbowls and
pitchers, mirrors, and what-not. Our block was the first en
closed open space they had passed in a long time, so many
a Christian divested himself of his pack and threw it over
the fence, to be reclaimed or not later on. Such a crop of
piano-legs as met our amazed eyes on our return home after
our own hurried flight, I imagine, no one ever saw before
or since!
And our flight was hurried, for my father, from the first,
expressed his conviction that our house would not burn.
Of course its position was most advantageous, standing,
as it did, in the middle of the square x between Lafayette
(now Walton) Place and Oak Street, and Dearborn and
Clark streets, and in the midst of large elm trees, all of
which, by the way, my father had planted himself. Wash
ington Square, with its many trees was directly in front of
us, and the block containing only my aunt's house diag
onally to the southwest. All this vacant space was a great
protection, though it didn't seem sufficient, as the huge fire
brands fell about us in fiery showers. The heat from the
flames to the east was so intense that it was quite uncom
fortable to sit at the side of the breakfast-table nearest
the windows. Breakfast was served to any and all who
cared to stop for it. And still we had no thought of leaving
the house.
Finally, about eleven o'clock, Major Daniel Goodwin
came in and insisted that, if my father would not go himself,
he should at least send my mother and the children. I don't
remember any especial excitement, but there must have
1 The present site of the Newberry Library.

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 227
been some, for .we made the trip to Lakeview in a lumber-
wagon, my mother sitting on a trunk filled with family
silver. Our regular carriage-horses were standing harnessed
in the barn. Later in the day, they appeared with a relative-
in-law, of whom we were none of us very fond, sitting in
solitary grandeur on the back seat of the big carriage! By
the time the carriage reached the Goodwins, where we had
gone for safety, everyone had become convinced that the
flames were still pursuing, so once more we started forth,
this time across the prairie to Riverside. Here we stayed
until the following Thursday.
Many friends and acquaintances were there, too, in the
large new hotel, and never shall I forget the looks on their
faces, when, one evening, the band began playing Home,
Sweet Home! Having been one of those cheerfully tone-
deaf children, I could not imagine why one of the party
made such a dash for the leader, bringing the music to an
ignominious ending. In those telephoneless days news trav
elled slowly, but many tales came to us from the burned
district. We heard that our house, like everyone else's, had
gone, and that my father and all the men who stayed to
fight the fire with him had been burned. So you may im
agine with what thankful hearts we listened to William W.
K. Nixon when he brought us word that all were safe, and
we were to return home the next day.
Such a trip! And such desolation! The scorched, black
ened, and leafless trees — and there were many of them,
I remember thinking — were one of the most painful evi
dences of the fiery storm. Never shall I forget jolting over
those burned, hollow blocks of "Nicholson" pavement, as
we drove up the absolutely deserted streets. Not another

228 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
soul was in sight. Years afterwards, in going through Hol
land on my bicycle, I was transported in a trice to this
same dismal afternoon, when a portion of the old brick
pavement just outside of Haarlem, worn hollow by the
tread of many feet, produced exactly the same effect on my
little wheel that the fire-tortured wooden blocks had on the
old, lumbering carriage.
But there was our home! Our yard was full of piano-
legs, and eighteen cows had taken refuge in our gar
den. These same cows rather appalled us at first, but in
the end they proved our salvation, for no one claimed them
until spring. We had forty people in our house all that win
ter. All the servants of the various members of the family
slept on mattresses laid in rows on the floor in the large
rooms in the basement. Upstairs were my uncle, Edwin H.
Sheldon, and his son and daughter; my uncle William B.
Ogden, as he came and went; Mr. and Mrs. Volney Tur
ner; General and Mrs. William E. Strong, nurse, and baby;
and my uncle, E. B. McCagg, for part of the time. These
are some of the many who come to my mind as having
spent that winter with us. You may imagine the difficulties
of providing for such a family, with every bridge between
us and the West or South Side gone !
Our nearest neighbors were four or five miles away. The
only method of reaching a shop of any kind was by way of
the La Salle Street tunnel, which was pitch black. The horses
were really afraid to go through it, so it seemed quite an
adventure to undertake it. This, however, did not frighten
me, and I was always keen to go; but what did bring
terror to my soul was to look out of the windows after
lights were out. Every forehanded resident had apparently

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 229
gotten in his winter supply of coal before the Fire, and as
the evil eyes of these many smoldering coal-piles glared at
me from under all the debris, I can assure you I scuttled
into bed in short order. We were under martial law in the
city, and I can remember the men going out with their
guns to keep watch every night, for a time. This was
the more necessary, as it seemed there was some ill-
feeling about our house not having burned. This ill-will
became more evident after we had achieved many new
neighbors in the hastily run-up barracks, which soon
filled Washington Square. Later on, smallpox developed
in this settlement, so I imagine my elders were much
relieved when one night, towards spring, these buildings,
having served their purpose, were set afire and burned to
the ground.
A letter from William B. Ogden to his niece, Julia Wheel
er, in New York, written from Springfield, Illinois, October
19, 1871, only ten days after the fire, tells so well of the
spirit in which everyone met that disaster that I will give
some extracts from it : —
"Dear Julia:
"You will have learned from the papers and from a let
ter I wrote Uncle Charlie much of the particulars of the
fire that destroyed so much of Chicago so ruthlessly and
so completely. It was an awful, unprecedented catastrophe,
wonderful, almost inexplicable, and in a good degree, incom
prehensible. "We have only to see and admit that it is, to accept it
without speculation or complaint as an event we can only
deal with by trying to repair, so far as we may, its injury.

230 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
This I have set myself to doing cheerfully and with confi
dence, but hardly in the expectation of ever seeing the past
literally restored.
"Chicago will be built up again in good time and will
continue to expand in business, wealth, and numbers, —
perhaps in ten years may contain 500,000 people, — but a
great many of the old citizens who have assisted in build
ing it up, and lived to enjoy it thus far in peace and great
prosperity and happiness, will never, I fear, be able, at their
more advanced period of life, to regain their former posi
tions, but will be obliged to give place to new-comers with
money, and leave to others the city they have assisted so
much in creating, and the beauty and extent of which crea
tion they have been so proud of, and until now loved and
enjoyed so much. It is a sad picture and result to contem
plate, and yet must unavoidably be submitted to by many,
for aught I can see.
"I feel as if I should be entirely willing, so far as I am
personally concerned, to give all I have left, and to live and
die a poor man, if by so doing, I could see the city I have
loved, enjoyed, and toiled for so long and with such hope
and realization and joy, restored to the beautiful and happy
position it occupied previous to its recent unparalleled
calamity. Indeed, I might well give the remnant of life
that is left to me to that end if it would avail anything, but
it will not. So far as I am concerned, I have all I need left,
and much more than I shall need personally, but with many
of my friends and neighbors this is not the case.
"I am here to aid in the passage of a bill by the Legisla
ture restoring to Chicago about three millions of dollars
expended by that city in deepening the State Canal, and

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 231
diverting the waters of Lake Michigan through the Chicago
River into it, to the perfect cleansing of the Chicago River
and the improvement of the Canal.
"The bill passed a few hours since, and I go home to
night. With the money it provides, we are to rebuild all our
bridges and our public buildings where they now stand, are
to pay interest on our city debt for years to come, and pro
vide for our fire and police departments.
"This reestablishes things as they were, overcomes many
obstacles, gives confidence to the people to rebuild, and to
capitalists to loan the money to do so, and will give heart
and courage to all, and I now hope to see active and hope
ful and successful efforts in reconstruction everywhere.
Were not the winter so near at hand, much would be done
before spring. . . .
"Don't understand me as in the least desponding or as
pining or unhappy on account of all that has happened
here so far as it concerns me personally, for that would be
very wide of the fact. On my account not an hour's grief
or unhappiness should I suffer, but be just as thankful as
ever that my lot and path in life are strewn with so many
friends and flowers. But for the loss of the beautiful city
I spent the best and almost the majority of the years of
my life in assisting to build, and which it gave me such
pleasure to labor for, and the growth, expansion, strength
and beauty of which it was such a joy to see — I do grieve,
— and far more for the greater calamity which has fallen so
much more severely on so many of my friends, associates,
and co-laborers in that great and interesting work. Never
before was a large and very beautiful and fortunate city
built by a generation of people so proud, so in love with

232 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
their work; never a city so lamented and grieved over as
Chicago. For this, I do weep with those who have far great
er occasion to weep than I."
As I have said before, William B. Ogden came to Chi
cago in 1835, and when, in 1837, the growing town became
a city, he was chosen to be its first mayor. The panic of that
year made the payment of indebtedness awkward, to say
the least, and a public meeting was called, at which it was
proposed to suspend the courts in order to prevent the com
pulsory payment of debt. By my uncle's influence and per
sonal appeal the scheme was overturned. A little later, he
worked with equal vigor and success in preventing Illinois
from repudiating her state debt. In this connection, it may be
interesting to note that his brother-in-law, Charles Butler,
by his own unaided efforts before the legislatures of Mich
igan and Indiana, likewise prevented both of those com
monwealths from following Mississippi's unfortunate lead
in this respect.
We have all been brought up on the theory that Chicago
grew with lightning rapidity; and this is easy to believe
when we realize the spirit of the early days. Because the
City Fathers did not work fast enough to satisfy him,
William B. Ogden, alone, caused to be laid out and con
structed more than one hundred miles of city streets at his
own expense.
In 1853, Mr. Ogden felt the need of rest from his many
activities and went abroad with his sister, Mrs. Butler, and
her husband. They went first to London and, as it shows
how Chicago was honored, perhaps a letter from Charles
Butler written at this time may be of interest ; —

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 233
"We went to the Lord Mayor's dinner last evening,
which was a most gorgeous banquet, and to us green Amer
icans, a great novelty. The places assigned to us were at the
head of the table and directly opposite to the Lord Mayor
and his lady and the cabinet ministers, so that we were
within a few feet of the speakers. We met the Lord Chan
cellor, the Earl of Aberdeen, the Earl of Clarendon, Lord
John Russell, Lord Palmerston, Sir James Graham, the
Marquis of Salisbury, Mr. Buchanan, the Lord Chief Jus
tice of England, the Lord Mayor, and the ex-Lord Mayor.
All were seated according to rank, William B. Ogden, as
ex-Mayor of Chicago, being placed among the distinguished
guests next below the foreign ministers. All the guests ap
peared in uniform, making a splendid spectacle in the finely
lighted Guildhall." 1
Although rest was a prime necessity, there was another
object of Mr. Ogden's trip, namely: the examination and
study of the great public works of the older civilizations.
Having been president of the Chicago Sewerage Commis
sion, as well as of the Chicago Branch of the State Board
of Sewerage Commissioners, he was interested in the canals
of Holland and his examination of them first suggested to
him the practicability of the free flow of the waters of Lake
Michigan through the Chicago and Des Plaines rivers to
the Mississippi.
I never hear this trip mentioned without a shudder, when
I recall how nearly none of them ever came back. They were
waiting in Paris, preparatory to sailing for home in a few
days' time. One morning, Aunt Eliza (Mrs. Butler), came
downstairs saying she had dreamed that the ship which
Life and Letters of Charles Butler.

234 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
they expected to sail on had gone down on the way to
America. The next morning she looked a little disturbed
and said she had dreamed the same thing over again, and
the third morning she begged the gentlemen of the party to
wait for another boat, "For," said she, "I not only dreamed
the same thing over again, but I saw the children and every
one of us drowning in the water." All this was so foreign to
her usual calm, matter-of-fact nature, that they yielded to
her entreaties, and so escaped the lot of those others who
sailed by the ill-fated Arctic, which went down on the next
westward trip.
When I cross Rush Street bridge, I am reminded that
William B. Ogden, who had never seen a swinging bridge,
nevertheless, caused the first one in the city to be built.
An interesting incident in connection with the early days
of this same bridge occurs to me. Another of my uncles, Mr.
Sheldon, in crossing it one morning, noted a heavily-veiled
woman walking before him. The bridge started to open
and for some reason this person was thrown forward, and,
but for his quickness in coming to the rescue, would have
fallen into the river. Great was his surprise, as he pulled her
up, to discover that she was none other than his good friend,
Mrs. G. P. A. Healy.
It was at William B. Ogden's suggestion, and on his orig
inal plan, that an underground railway for the relief of the
already congested traffic of New York was considered. Mr.
Ogden's plan was being publicly discussed at the time of
his death, and contained the embryo of New York's com
plex subway system.
These samples are chosen at random from among the
many activities of Chicago's first mayor. A dictum on his

THROUGH A CHILD'S EYES 235
life and personality published in the New York Sun, August
4, 1877, speaks of him as "a great spirit, of a well-regulated
activity, of immense energy, of captivating address and
winning manners. Mr. Ogden has contributed more than
any one man on this continent to the development of the
great Northwest."
It is a far cry from rapid transit in congested New York
City, to conditions such as those that met my uncle when
he first came to Chicago, and yet, I think, it may be of
interest to revert to them. At the time he came West in
1835, there were only five thousand people between Chicago
and the Pacific Ocean. Charles Butler, writing to his little
son, describes the prairie-schooners, the fastest method of
progression in those days, and tells the story of the famous
Winnebago Chief whom my uncle, in his wanderings on the
prairie, had often seen : —
"Prairie-schooners, as they call them, going into the city
loaded with wheat or fruit, come from a great distance, some
of them more than two hundred miles and are long on the
road. They call them prairie-schooners because, with their
swelling canvas tops, they look like schooners coming over
the prairie. Generally, they have six or eight yoke of oxen
to draw the wagon. It is a sight to see fifteen or twenty of
these great baggage-wagons coming along together; they
look more like a caravan of the East than anything I have
ever seen."
There were no roads on the prairies at that time and not
a house to be seen, but this is one of the sights we might

236 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
have chanced upon had our lot been cast in those days that
are no more. The letter continues : —

"Big Thunder was a famous Winnebago Chief who lived
and died here a few years ago [this was in 1842, in the
prairie, west of Chicago], an inveterate enemy of the white
man who kept plundering his countrymen and taking their
lands from them. He was an Indian of great size and a
noble-looking fellow. Just before he died, he directed that
after he was dead they should place him in a sitting posture
on the top of a beautiful mound in a prairie overlooking a
grove, with his blanket around him and his war-club in his
hands, and surround him with a paling, so that with his
face to the east he could keep the watch. For, he said,
there would be a great battle fought on that field between
the Indians and the white men. The Indians would come
up out of the woods and the white men over the prairie, and
he promised that he would keep a lookout. If the white
men should win, he would remain forever silent, but if the
Indians, then he would give a shout. They buried him just
as he said, and there Big Thunder sits, with the paling
built about him, with his blanket wrapped around him and
his war-club in his hands, looking out upon the wood."1
And there, other early settlers report in letters to eastern
relatives they found him waiting the great battle. What
finally became of his remains is not recorded in the early
annals of Chicago. They vanished in the great tide of Euro
pean civilization which swept from across the Atlantic,
westward over this mighty land to the waters of the Pacific.
1 Life and Letters of Charles Butler.

XV
EARLY LAKE FOREST
By Mrs. Robert Greaves McGann
A description of the important men who came to Chicago
in the early days includes the familiar names of nearly all
who lived in Lake Forest. Brilliant, individual pioneers
they were with large vision and with the ability with which
to realize their ideals.
My father x used to describe how Chicago looked to him
when he came. It was then a small town of three thousand
inhabitants, but I think even he could hardly appreciate
all the changes that had come in one lifetime.
The education we put our children through now may
bring a higher average of cultivation and general intelli
gence, but I wonder whether, in the rush and scurry of our
lives, where everyone is trying to be a little and do a little
of everything, the individual is not becoming less individ
ual, less rugged, less interesting. Perhaps, because we all
travel so much, and are so seldom in one place long enough
to identify ourselves with anything, we shirk responsibilities
rather than assume them. How different it was when people
lived their lives the year around in one place, when one was
arrayed, willing or not, for or against every subject, whether
an institution or the actions of individuals !
In 1857, a number of men, mostly members of the Second
1 The Hon. Charles B. Farwell, United States Senator from Illinois, 1887
-1891.— Editor.

238 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Presbyterian Church, — and I am sure I need not explain
that this was an important center in the social life of the
Chicago of that day, — decided that they would go up on
the North Shore and select a place to live in the country. A
special train was chartered and, headed by the Rev. Dr.
Robert Patterson, the minister of the Second Church, this
large company set forth. Arrived at what is now Lake
Forest, they walked on a deer-path down to the lake, and,
finding nothing but lake and forest, decided on its name.
Having selected it for its beauty, they were clever enough
to have the streets of Lake Forest laid out by Olmsted &
Company, the most famous landscape gardeners of that
time in America. And, furthermore, they had in their minds
that they wished to make, not only beautiful homes to live
in, but a university of the first order for the education of
their children.
Dr. Charles H. Quinlan, Sylvester Lind, Harvey M.
Thompson, Gilbert Rossiter, Judge Mark Skinner, Edward
S. Isham, D. R. Holt, Samuel Dexter Ward, and H. G.
Shumway were among these early settlers.
Sylvester Lind, a rich Scotch banker, said that he would
endow a university if it were named "Lind University,"
but, soon after, he lost his fortune, and the university pro
ject was dropped.
The Academy was the first public building of any conse
quence that was built in Lake Forest. It stood where the Du-
rand Art Institute now is, only close to the road, having two
turnstile gates, one leading up to the school-room door, and
the other to that part of the structure where the principal
and his family lived, on the other side. The building was
an imposing one for its epoch, being very large, high and

EARLY LAKE FOREST 239
white, with green blinds, and having two cupolas, one on
each side. This is where the boys' school started. Girls went
there, too, for a short time, and in it the Presbyterians held
their church services for three years.
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Baxter Dickinson managed this
school, and a son of theirs was the first minister of the
church. Soon the Dickinson daughters started a young
ladies' seminary, and had about twenty boarders. The young
girls of the very "nicest" families in Chicago went to it.
The Dickinsons themselves were unusually attractive and
cultivated people, although very prim according to our
present standards.
The boys and girls of the schools in those days were
kept religiously separated, never allowed to speak to each
other in the street and, even in church, they sat on op
posite sides of the aisle. The story goes, that young ladies
used often to faint in front of the Academy so they would
have to be carried in there.
The next group of people who came to Lake Forest in
cluded Simeon Williams, William S. Johnston, and Robert I.
Fabian, owning the I. P. Rumsey place, Deer-path Inn, and
the James Viles places respectively. These three families
were related to each other and had numerous and pictur
esque offspring. They and the H. G. Shumways were very
socially inclined, and were responsible for much gaiety and
hospitality. W. H. Ferry, president of the Northwestern
Railroad, the Carl Bradleys, William S. Warren, Amzi
Benedict, D. J. Lake, Edwin J. Larned, the E. S. Barnums,
the Hotchkiss family, Edwin S. Skinners, P. W. Pages,
William V. Kays, the J. V. Farwells — all these my family
found when they came in 1871.

240 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The picture I have in my mind of some of these men, as
they came home from their business every night on the
five-o'clock train, is typical. Their seats in the parlor-car
were always reserved for them, and they sat in the follow
ing order: first, my father; then, my uncle, J. V. Farwell;
then, D. R. Holt, prosperous on account of his large lumber
interest; Simon S. Reid, tall and slight, with a pronounced
Scotch accent, dignified, with old-fashioned courtly man
ners; Ezra Warner, of the old school, handsome and charm
ing; William S. Warren, head of a large insurance company,
and one of the most interesting men in Lake Forest; then,
Judge Henry Blodgett, an eminent lawyer in Chicago, but
who lived at Waukegan. All these men seem to me to be
much more distinguished than the types we produce now.
A curious combination they made, however, of busy men in
the midst of the making of a big city, coming back each
day to quiet Lake Forest and their families, and living as
simple a life as could be lived in any New England village.
The early days of Lake Forest should be written down
by Miss Wilkins, with a first-hand New England pen, and
not by one a generation removed. That it should have had
that particular flavor is not remarkable, as the heads of
every house had so lately come from New England or other
eastern states.
The people who thus settled in Lake Forest within a few
years of each other, had many interests in common, begin
ning, of course, with their families of young children, all to
be educated.
The life centered around the church, naturally, and every
body went to the services on Sunday, and to most of the
other weekly meetings, from Wednesday evening prayer-

EARLY LAKE FOREST 241
meeting to the young people's meeting on Sunday night at
seven. Each family, from father to the youngest child, took
some part, either singing in the choir, teaching in Sunday
School, praying or speaking in the prayer-meetings, or read
ing a verse at the young people's meetings.
The specialties of the various families seem vivid to me
still; there was one family, prominent in every way, where
the son played the organ violently, working the pedals
with his feet and shoulders as well, while the daughter
sang soprano, showing her fine row of white, large teeth,
and striking triumphantly the top note, never quite on top.
The Ward family amused us all even then, they were so
emotional and sentimental; Samuel Dexter Ward sat in the
pew on Sunday, surrounded by Mother, Lucy, Ella, Amy,
Lilly, and Frankie — the last a girl like the others, so named
because they had given up hoping for a boy. Mr. Ward was al
ways to be depended on for the longest extemporaneous pray
er, and he moved himself so much that he invariably wept.
One Wednesday night he prayed with extra fervor for my cou
sin Fannie x and me, entreating the Lord "that his two young
friends who were going to Paris to school, might return safe
ly and uncontaminated." And we giggled out loud! The
eldest daughter, Lucy, pale, blond, and ethereal, married a
missionary and went at once to China.
The young people's meetings were conducted by a dif
ferent young man, from eighteen to twenty years old, each
Sunday night. He would start by praying, reading the Bible,
and then perhaps making wise remarks. He would call on
first one and then another to lead in prayer or speak; then,
if the spirit was not moving them sufficiently, spaces would
Mrs. Henry Tuttle, daughter of John V. Farwell.

242 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
be filled by verses recited from the Bible. On one occasion,
Lawrence Williams, nervous and easily embarrassed, was
asked to give a text from the Scriptures, so he stood up and
loudly said, "While there is life, there is hope."
Then there was old Dr. Nicholas, a retired clergyman,
"Father Nicholas," they called him, who used to go to
sleep in church, and often he would take out his false teeth
and put them in his pocket.
At the right of the pulpit, almost facing the main aisle
of the church, in the front pew, sat a man named Stripe, a
house-painter, and his large family. He was English, of the
pronounced, toothy type, and his wife was fat and ruddy.
Of his numerous children, I remember the names of two,
Violet Stripe and Ida Centennial Stripe, because she was
born in 1876.
At Christmas time, all sorts of ideas were used to amuse
the children. Mrs. S. S. Reid (who managed all these affairs)
on one occasion decided to have The Old Woman who Lived
in a Shoe. A mammoth shoe was built where the pulpit
usually was, and dozens of children burst out of the top or
poked their heads out of holes in the toe.
Other years, a Christmas tree was the center of festivities
and the children were expected to come to the church and
help trim it. We strung pop-corn and cranberries, and put
green and blue candy in tarlatan bags made in the shape of
stockings. On Christmas Eve, five of us stood in a row,
with arms stretched high over our heads, each holding a
large letter, spelling "P-E-A-C-E." Each child recited a
verse beginning with her letter. All went well until it came
to me, but looking at the church filled with all the familiar
faces was too much. I could not remember a word, and sat

EARLY LAKE FOREST 243
ignominiously down, thus early forming my own particular
view about doing anything in public.
The little white, wooden church, with its tall, thin steeple,
stood where the Presbyterian Church is now, and was
moved away to make room for the present building. The new
church was built out of the original stones of which the
famous Second Church had been made before the Fire.
Dancing in that era was looked upon as the last form of
wickedness, — Mr. Holt said he would rather see all his
children in their coffins than to see them dancing. Mr. Holt
also rebuked Mr. Warner for allowing his daughter to be
overdressed; he had noticed her one morning on the station
platform in a dress made of silk. Incidentally, the dress
had been made from an old one of her mother's, but even
that did not condone its crime against Puritanism.
Mr. Holt also belonged to the session of the church when
they summoned Carrie Benedict, Allie Smith, and my sister
Anna1 to rebuke them for undue levity with Academy boys.
These men likewise insisted that a small dancing-class for
little children, which had been organized, should be aban
doned. Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis!
All the boys in the village attended the Academy, until
one Saturday when two boys, named Charlie Dole and
Edward Pritchet, decided they had had enough school, and,
having made careful preparations by soaking the floors
with kerosene, they set a match to the building and burned
it all up.
The Seminary, Ferry Hall, was started later by Senator
Ferry of Michigan, a brother of W. H. Ferry, and has been,
from the beginning to this day, a prosperous school.
1 Mrs. Reginald de Koven, of New York, the well-known writer.

244 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
There had never been a college until my mother decided
she would like to have one (a coeducational one at that) so
that my sister Anna could have a college education without
leaving home. She then set forth, first to convince the
people in Lake Forest that they wanted one, and then to
procure scholars, for there were none.
Miss Annie Williams tells me that in asking her family
for their support, she told them how nice it would be for
the three young women in the family to have so many young
men in town. Miss Williams says she mentioned that she
thought they would be rather too young to be interesting,
so my mother quickly said, "Oh, but think of the pro
fessors!" For the scholars she went to Chicago, and there in some
high-school she found young men and women who were
willing to have it done to them, incidentally to be paid for,
and brought them to Lake Forest.
The effect of this innovation was almost as a southern
feud; those who were in favor of the college and those
against it were drawn up in battle array.
The college started in the hotel which long ago was very
fashionable, and stood where the tree-shaded village park
now is. That building also was set on fire, though accident
ally this time, and burned to the ground. When the hotel
was first built it was a popular hostelry. The MacGregor
Adamses, Kings, Franklin Spencers, Arthur Catons, Augus
tus Eddys, Charles Townes, Henry Tuttles, Joseph Medills,
Wrights, Eugene Pikes, Perry Trumbulls, T. W. Harveys, A.
C. Badgers, T. T. Shreves, R. L. Henrys, James H. Taylors,
and others, used to spend their summers there. Such bache
lors as Scott Keith, Huntington Jackson, Archie Fisher and

EARLY LAKE FOREST 245
Wayne Chatfield also frequented it. There were hops every
Saturday night, and much gaiety.
The opening of the schools in autumn was always the
occasion for the greatest excitement among the young
people. We were occupied with deciding which of the boys
looked the most attractive and needed to be selected, or
which girl we would choose for a dearest friend.
The concerts in the middle and at the end of the school
year were the most important events of all. Then our long-
suffering hair, braided in infinitesimal braids for days in
advance, was finally liberated. Tied with a bow on the top
of the head, it floated in crinkly blond or dark waves down
our backs. We were proud when, in the final year of our
musical education, we played duets, the master playing on
one piano and we on another. We realized fully the impor
tance of having young ladies trained early to play upon the
pianoforte. Before my family built their house in Lake Forest, they
used often to go there for the summer, when they occupied
a house owned by Mr. Lind, the Scotchman. This stood
where the Kent Clow residence now is.
My mother has often told me that there was nothing at
that time between that house and the lake, and that she
used to walk on a deer-path through the woods to what was
called Clark's Ravine — the ravine between the Poole's and
McLennan 's — owned by the Pages and Kays. The clear,
delicious spring on the Pages' side was always a delightful
objective point.
The only houses that are just as they were in my earliest
recollections, are: J. P. Rumsey 's belonging to the Simeon
Williamses; the D. R. Holt place and garden; the Burns,'

246 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
which used to be the David J. Lakes'; and the J. V. Far-
well house and grounds. I cannot think of any other place
that has not been in some way altered.
The greatest change in the looks of Lake Forest was per
haps made in taking down the fences. My mother, who was
president of the Village Improvement Society at that time,
was, I am sorry to say, responsible for it. She said she
thought it would be nice to have it look more like a park,
so the cows which had always roamed in the streets, each
with bell attached, were herded in the outskirts of the town,
and each owner was obliged to care for his hitherto
unkempt roadsides.
Up to that time, white picket-fences were the most pop
ular barrier, but there was an occasional one, like that still
standing around the Spragues' old place, or the delightful
one around the J. V. Farwells', which had no pickets and,
if one ran it fast enough, by placing one foot neatly on the
middle bar, and the other on the top, it could be cleared
very easily.
The gates showed some taste as well. Some were "Cleve
land" gates, to open and shut which one drove the carriage
over an iron wicket, before and after entering; a most fas
cinating contrivance ! Sometimes a handle hung up high on
the right-hand side, which was pulled down and started the
necessary mechanism.
Over the Bradleys' gate was a lovely arch on which was
proudly placed in rustic letters, CARLSRUHE. Mr.
Bradley's name was Carl.
The village street was a very different sight from what
one sees there now on a summer afternoon, when the row
of motors extends from end to end of the long block. Then,

EARLY LAKE FOREST 247
the railway station, a little wooden building, stood alone
on one side of the broad village main-street, and on the other,
Taylor's meat-market. ( The Arthur Aldis' present house was
where he and his family used to live.) The Anderson store, a
small frame house, the post office, another grocery, Pratt's,
then O'Neill's hardware store, completed Lake Forest's
facade. The only livery carriage was owned by an old colored
man named Samuel Dent, an escaped slave. He met all
the trains, and I can hear him now, as we sat on the
porch, telling the casual visitors whom he drove about the
town, all the details of our houses and our persons, when
passing our homes. His manners were informal. Sometimes
when he was engaged to drive people to or from evening
parties, on arrival he would whistle, and if his fares did not
come at once, he would drive away. He is buried in the
cemetery by the lake, and over his grave is a large tomb
stone, bought by his many friends.
There were not many social distinctions in this artless
community, and if anyone was very poor or very rich there
were few evidences of either. The houses were all managed
in the same simple manner; we knew the names of all the
old family servants in every home, and they were just as
much our friends as were the family. The names of the
horses and dogs were equally familiar, and the coachman's,
too, who invariably milked the cow.
I remember well the sad day when the first family came
to "spend the summer," precursors of the present hordes.
Also I recall when livery first appeared upon the individual
who took the place of our well-beloved "hired man."
What distinctions existed were of a subtle order; the

248 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
tradespeople all lived "across the track" and, although their
children went to the same schools as we and we were with
them every morning, they did not come to skate on our pond
in the afternoon, and we did not often go to see them in their
homes. I used to ask my mother why she did not have a
sewing-machine in the dining-room, and a dish of rosy
apples always there on the table to eat, as I used to find in
the houses of some of my friends, but I never had a satis
factory answer.
And now when I call up O'Neill's on the telephone and
tell them who I am, the answer is, "Yes, this is Jo" or
"Will," and I ask how Grace his wife is, who was named
after me because her mother did the washing at our house
at the time; and when I see them, I tell them how like their
father they are growing to be. So there are a few, but very
few, reminders of the sweet, old days.
The social life had its main expression in the diversions
of the Entre Nous Club. These included serious essays by
the older members. William Henry Smith, for instance,
was a shining light. There were also musicals, Dickens
parties, when perhaps the children were allowed to come,
or original plays written by brilliant Effie Neef. One of
these was long remembered. She called it, Gentlemen, We
Can Do Without You, and after the actresses had involved
themselves in every sort of complications, she ended it by
saying, "You see, Gentlemen, we cannot do without you."
This troupe included Mrs. William Henry Smith, who
was the star; Mrs. A. F. Ferry,1 young and very beautiful;
George Holt, Will Fabian, Walter Neef, Effie Neef, and
Nellie Warren.
1 J. V. Farwell's only child by his first wife.

EARLY LAKE FOREST 249
William Henry Smith's l house, next door to ours, was a
unique place. As manager of the Associated Press, he was
in the midst of National politics for many years, and the
important man of the hour was sure to be a visitor there.
I recall seeing in Lake Forest celebrities like Whitelaw Reid,
General Philip Sheridan, William Walter Phelps, President
Hayes, Senator Allison, Senator Ingalls, General and Mrs.
Logan, and Robert Ingersoll. Whether these men had their
interesting talks on my father's piazza or on Mr. Smith's,
it is sometimes hard to remember.
When the wonderful reception for President and Mrs.
Hayes was planned, Mr. and Mrs. Smith were with the
Presidential excursion in the West. Mrs. Smith wrote
home that she wished a party arranged. The neighbors did
it for her, and she walked in with the other guests, having
had no worry on the subject whatever.
Some of the oldest houses were built originally by men
who later left Lake Forest, and were no longer associated
with it. The old Warner place, for instance, was put up
by William Blair, Edward Blair's father. He had at that
time two sons and, while the house was under construction,
one of these sons died. The Blairs were so unhappy about
it that they decided they would not live there, and sold it
to S. B. Williams. He it was who cut down the thick
woods and made the sloping lawn of which he was ex
tremely proud.
Dr. Charles Quinlan soon after built a large brick house
(now the Rumseys'), but found he had spent more on it
than he had intended, so this was also sold to S. B. Williams,
who moved there and lived in it for many years. The Ezra
1 Father of Delavan Smith.

250 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Warners then bought the frame house built by William
Blair, and came to Lake Forest in 1873.
Deer-path Inn was originally in the middle of the block,
and William Johnston, when he bought the property, moved
the market which he found there, across the track, making
then that dividing line between residences and the trades
people which remained for so many years.
Harvey Thompson's house was the show-place for a very
long time. It was directly across the street from the church.
He had greenhouses and a large art-gallery, filled with
really important pictures, and the ravine was all neatly
smoothed and terraced to the bottom. At the ends of walks
or vistas were iron benches or marble statues. The only
thing that now recalls this early luxury is an occasional
iron deer or vase on the lawn. After him, Alexander White
owned this show-place, and then, many years later, Joseph
Durand, and now the George Fishers.
The Gilbert Rossiter house, only lately moved away,
stands out in one's recollection. Here Mr. and Mrs. Nor
man B. Judd (the latter Mr. Rossiter 's sister) used often
to be guests. Mr. Judd was very important in Illinois pol
itics, and was sent as Minister to Germany by Lincoln.
Mrs. Judd was one of the most cultivated people I have
ever known. When she visited my mother a few years ago,
she, Mrs. Judd, who was then more than eighty years old,
used to read aloud in German every day so that she should
not lose her accent; and so human was she in her sympathies,
she used to say to my sister and me, "Please do not talk
while I am out of the room, because I am afraid I may miss
something." H. G. Shumway, the first mayor of Lake Forest, built the

EARLY LAKE FOREST 251
old house on the property where the Finley Barrells now
live, but soon sold it to William S. Warren. Mr. and Mrs.
Warren were a most distinguished couple of the old school,
dignified and graceful in manners. Mrs. Warren had a very
marked literary gift, as I recall it, and wrote essays and pa
pers on all occasions. Her daughter, Nellie Warren, x is the
one whose name occurs so often in the newspaper accounts
of that day. Very beautiful and witty and gifted musically,
she was perhaps the most attractive of any of the young
women. The little cottage, next but one to the church, was built
by General Webster, then owned by the Neefs, and then
the Nathaniel Sawyers, who lived in it many years.
The Neef family had a very distinct character. Mrs. Neef
was Mrs. R. W. Patterson's sister, and the family consisted
of a son and two daughters. The girls were sent to Paris to
school when ten or twelve years old, and I think of them all
as the gayest and wittiest people who ever lived in Lake
Forest. The two most important entertainments that I remem
ber hearing about were Miss Clarine Williams' wedding to
Mr. M. L. Scudder in 1873, and when William Henry Smith
entertained President Hayes.
For the former, a special train brought the guests from
Chicago at noon, and they stayed until six. General
Sheridan, an intimate friend of the family, arranged to
have his military band play all the afternoon. After the
ceremony in the house, it really was a lawn f£te as well
as a wedding.
1 She married a Frenchman, M. Moreau, and was accidentally burned to
death in her Paris home.

252 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The Smith reception for President and Mrs. Hayes was
described at length in the Chicago Tribune as follows : —
"The reception on Thursday evening at the residence of
William Henry Smith at Lake Forest was one of the most
complete affairs of the entire Presidential trip. It was the
subject of frequent remark that the proportion, not only of
well-dressed, but positively handsome ladies was much
greater than is usually seen on similar occasions. And then,
the reception being a general one to the citizens of Lake
Forest, and there being but few guests from abroad, the
occasion partook more of the nature of a social party than
a state affair. Add to this a fine brass-band, playing at inter
vals on the lawn, a quartet from the city composed of
Messrs. Sabin, Sprague, Barnes, and Powers, elaborate
floral decorations and a roomy and handsome mansion
entirely at the disposal of the company, but little more
can be required.
"Among the floral contributions was a large rosette with
a border of white lilies and heliotropes with a center of
tuberoses and "Welcome" in small blue everlasting flowers.
It was the gift of the employees of the Custom House.
Mrs. Henry Durand presented an American flag skillfully
wrought in flowers.
"Mrs. Hayes was most becomingly attired in a gray silk
skirt with brocaded overdress, relieved in blue and shell
trimmings. "Mrs. William Henry Smith wore a heavy black gros-
grain with point -lace trimmings. Miss Abbie Smith blushed
in pink brocaded silk, relieved with black velvet, and Mrs.
J. N. Jewett wore an ecru silk and velvet mixed."

EARLY LAKE FOREST 253
I am conscious that my recollections of those days must
be those of a child, but I have found some articles published
in various newspapers that describe them at short range.
The following is from a Chicago paper, June, 1878, under
Suburban News : —
"Lake Forest —
" 'The past week has been one grand whirl of dissipation,'
remarked a Lake Forest belle to a companion, ' and it seems
really as if this pleasant village were determined to equal
Newport.' "
An elaborate description follows of private theatricals at
Miss Johnston's; impromptu charade party at Mrs. Smith's,
under the supervision of Effie Neef; Tuesday, a concert at
the Seminary, and Wednesday evening the graduating exer
cises; Thursday, a party at Miss Williams', then a recep
tion for Mrs. Sabin in the Academy; the next day, graduat
ing exercises of the Academy and University; then a lawn
f6te given by Miss Nellie Warren and a "German" by Miss
Johnston the same evening.
From a later newspaper account of May, 1880: —
"Lake Forest has put on her Spring beauty, and her
woods and ravines are lovely indeed. The weather has been
such as to suggest picnics and lawn parties, but though we
have had none of these as yet, still, other social events have
not been entirely wanting. That they have been few we will
admit, in face of the fact that the only entertainment that
could be offered a young lady visitor during a stay of a
week and a half, was four prayer-meetings, three mission-

254 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
ary meetings and two church services. Let no one call Lake
Forest gay.
" However, the affair of the season was the elegant party
given by Mr. and Mrs. E. S. Warner on the evening of
April 15. Their beautiful house, which has recently been en
tirely rebuilt, was thrown open, and the handsome, well-
arranged rooms were the source of much admiration and
comment. The supper was furnished by Kinsley and the
music by a superior orchestra. Over a hundred invitations
were extended and were generally accepted, niany being
present from Chicago, notably Mr. Walter Neef and bride. '
"The company was given as a farewell to Mrs. Neef, who
sails for England next month to be present at the wedding
of her daughter, Miss Effie Neef, to an English naval officer.
"To this young lady is due in great measure the credit
of raising the subscription by means of which our church
bell was obtained and put in position; and we understand
the bell will be rung long and merrily on her wedding-day,
and could its tones be heard in England, they would doubt
less convey to her the hearty good-wishes of her many
friends here."
From the Lake Forest Reporter of August 1, 1872: —
" 'Beautiful for situation on the sides of the North,' was
the comprehensive language of the prophet in describing
the position of his beloved and holy city. Our readers must
pardon us if we find ourselves uttering these words, 'beau
tiful for situation,' as we walk around about our city of
Lake Forest, on the sides of our glorious North.
] Miss Annie Douglas, a daughter of John M. Douglas, a prominent
Chicago lawyer.

EARLY LAKE FOREST 255
"Elevated more than a hundred feet above water-level,
with a bold, clean shore, where no miasma can find a lurk
ing place; crossed in many directions by deep, wooded ra
vines which wind their way to the lake and perfectly
drain the whole territory, while they outline the lots and
give direction to the streets ; covered with an original forest
of oak, hickory, and other deciduous trees, now reduced in
many places to cultivated parks, while enough remains to
remind us of the country which God made; laid out in
generous lots, so that every man's home is ample, fresh and
airy, while as a rule the dwellings themselves correspond in
style to the place which they occupy; — we know of noth
ing which our city lacks to deserve the encomium so often
bestowed upon it, as 'by far the most beautiful of all the
suburbs of Chicago.'"
What I have perhaps not quite expressed, was the real
intimacy that existed among all the families in Lake Forest;
they were much more like one family than it would be pos
sible to describe. There was only one church, and no one
ever spoke of wanting any other.
When Charlie and George Holt went around the world,
the letters they wrote were passed about from house to
house. When Mr. Warner found that they had an extra crop
of raspberries or currants, he would mention it at the sta
tion in the morning, and any Lake Forester could go and
pick all he or she wanted.
There were no diversities of interest; there was no social
climbing, perhaps because, as one old settler says, all
the original settlers were confident that Lake Forest was
far superior to Highland Park or Evanston, or any of the

256 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
other towns along the road. It is hard for the original Lake
Forester not to be prejudiced even now. Perhaps the opinion
was even universal, for Mr. Benedict told us that he asked
a friend who lived in Highland Park why he did not move
to Lake Forest, and he replied, "Not for me, it is too d — n
pious and too d — n aristocratic!"
When a cousin of mine, last summer, heard that the
streets were being renamed, she said with intense indigna
tion, "How absurd that new-comers like this should have
anything to do with such a thing!" The chairman of the
name-changing committee, poor dear, had only lived in
Lake Forest twenty -two years !
A later resident told me that she knew that Lake Forest
only began to be fashionable at about the time she went
there to live, when the Onwentsia Club was started. How
little she knew that we who had grown up there felt per
fectly sure that the knell of dear, delightful, distinguished,
exclusive Lake Forest was at that moment sounded !

XVI
FROM FIRE TO FAIR
By Various People
A flaming wall between one epoch and its successor, a
barrier without its equal in any other community, was the
great Chicago Fire of October, 1871. A city chiefly built of
wood was lost in that holocaust; a city of brick and stone
rose from the ashes. A simple-hearted, church-going, pro
vincial people fled before the flames. There was something
in the fiery ordeal that tempered the metal of their souls so
that they came out of it more ambitious, self-reliant, and
optimistic than ever. The Sunday after the Fire, the Rever
end Robert Collyer, the celebrated Unitarian preacher, held
service in the still smoking ruins of Unity Church on the
corner of Dearborn Avenue and Walton Place, when plans
for rebuilding the church immediately were formed. I think it
was the late William D. Kerfoot who, on the site of his down
town office, the day after the Fire, set up a sign reading: —
"All is lost save wife, children, and credit."
With such a spirit the new Chicago rose swiftly from the
smoking debris of the old Chicago. When a catastrophe like
the Fire hits so many thousands it ceases to be an unbearable
affliction to the individual. It even becomes a matter for
jesting and a stimulus to better effort. Help poured in from
all over the world. Thomas Hughes, of England, collected a
library of 300 volumes for Chicago, to which Queen Victoria
contributed many books, and which was the nucleus for

258 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
our present Public Library, an institution that, to-day, is
said to serve a larger public than any other similar enter
prise, except the British Museum.
Vast quantities of clothing and food from all over the
country were sent here and distributed. As cheerfully as
coral insects in the South Seas start anew after a storm, the
inhabitants of the ruined city began rebuilding homes and
business quarters before the ashes had cooled.
The Fire had put Chicago on the map, and the new metro
polis no longer suggested the large, sprawling, over-grown
village that had, before October 9, 1871, earned itself the
sobriquet, "Garden City." Brick and stone took the place
of wood in the rebuilding of homes; nor was this second crop
of residences set in big gardens as before.
About this time there crept a hitherto unknown factor in
interior furnishings, — a terrible something called "Art."
The Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia, in 1876, gave
this a fatal impetus. "Eastlake," with its ebonized, flimsy
furniture, its fragile gilt chairs, became the fad. A little la
ter William Morris darkened and blighted our homes by
inspiring brown and green wall-papers, adorned with geo
metric figures, and put on in fearsome, longitudinal sections
called respectively dadoes, picture-screens, and friezes. Also
there were such diseased moments in the search for the new
and original when gilt milking-stools and chopping-bowls
adorned drawing-rooms; when bunches of dried cat-tails
stood in up-ended sewer-tilings in the most elegant houses;
when chair-legs were gartered with big ribbon bows; when
cheese-cloth was considered chic stuff for drawing-room
curtains; when not to have a spinning-wheel by the fire
place was to proclaim yourself a parvenu.

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 259
At the same time, however, society was really taking
form and shape. Ladies' luncheons, and formal dinner par
ties (at which the hour was set as late as seven o'clock) be
came popular forms of entertainment. The "hired girl"
became "the maid." She was induced to wear long white
aprons, white collars and cuffs, and to permit a frilled cap
to be perched upon her head. A few people even had butlers,
though I think these were usually drawn from the colored
race. I remember, however, that Mrs. W. W. K. Nixon,
then living at No. 156 Rush Street, had a white butler,
one Edward, who was the pride of the neighborhood.
Immediately after the Fire, the north-side young men of
that time started a dancing-class, appropriately called, "The
Cinders," which was for ten or fifteen years the chief social
event of the north-side young and gay set. Prominent in it
were the Messrs. Cyrus Adams, George Rumsey, Milton
Leightner, Bryan Lathrop, James Kelly, Clarence Burley,
Joseph Adams, Mahlon Ogden Jones, E. B. Sheldon, Wal
ter and Edward Wyman, John T. Noyes, Samuel Wheeler,
Robert H. McCormick, Arthur Ryerson, and James Nor
ton. Among the young women who waltzed and polka'd with
these gay young beaux were the Misses Rumsey, the Misses
Kelly, the Misses Badger, Miss Fay Calhoun, Miss Lillie
Winston, Miss Annie Douglas, and Miss Florence Arnold.
The affairs were, gotten up and entirely financed by the
young men. Coffee, lemonade, cake and sandwiches were
the only refreshments at first. Later, sherbet and salad were
added. They were held at Martine's Dance Academy on
East Chicago Avenue, and were friendly, informal, simple
affairs, though there were folks at that time who looked
askance at them. The daughter of one of Chicago's oldest,

260 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
most eminent families was taken to a Cinder dance one even
ing and, when asked what she thought of it, said: "There
seemed a lack of home influence there."
That expression, "a lack of home influence," became a
household phrase in a family closely connected with the
writer. It's a most useful phrase to describe almost any kind
of debauch.
In the twenty years that intervened between Chicago's
two great events, the Fire and the Fair, society emerged,
or undertook to do so, from the strict puritanic influences
of the old conservative leaders here. It acquired some of the
manners and customs of the great capitals of the world and
learned to look beyond its local borders for inspiration and
guidance. The coming of Oscar Wilde in 1882 caused a
terrific flutter. Everyone then — educated largely by Gil
bert and Sullivan's famous opera, Patience — became ex
tremely "esthetic." Many found great bodily refreshment
in simply sniffing a rose or a lily. Sunflowers were, for some
mysterious reason, the rage, though the high priest of the
new cult on one occasion somewhat wilted the popularity
of this blossom. At a "ladies' luncheon" where he was the
central figure, when he was asked as to what flower a lady
should wear, he sighed : —
"She should wear a lily; she may wear a rose; but never,
oh never, a sunflower."
A well-known young debutante present, who wore a
bunch of sunflowers as a corsage bouquet, hastily smothered
and concealed it under her napkin and maneuvered it to the
floor at her feet. Such a trouble it had been, too, to procure
those sunflowers!
Even before Oscar Wilde cast his unwholesome spell over

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 261
this community, another exotic from a more alien peo
ple had appeared for a brief while to shock the pious and
give a certain fearful joy to the lighter-minded, irked by the
orthodox. This was Sarah Bernhardt, at that time fairly
reeking with unwholesome notoriety. With bated breath
people spoke of her then, of her unfathered child, — the
rumor grew to children; — of her many amours; of her pro
pensity to sleep in a coffin; of her tendency to caress a pet
skull she carried about with her; above all, of her unpar
alleled emaciation. There was the favorite quip of the day:
"An empty cab drove up and Sarah Bernhardt got out."
She came to Chicago and played some of her great roles
here, and the question every one asked his or her neighbor
was: "Are you going to hear her?" One well-known Chi-
cagoan is reported to have said, —
"I do not consider that anyone who would go to see
Sarah Bernhardt play would be a fit guest at my dinner-
table." In spite of this, many did go, though little good did it
do most of them, as few then could speak or understand
French. One wit said he loved to go to a Bernhardt per
formance just to watch Mrs.  (a prominent social
leader) smile whenever Sarah said, "oui."
Mme. Bernhardt was then an artist as well as an actress,
and held an exhibit of her paintings and sculpture at O'Bri
en's Art Gallery. She sent out hundreds of invitations to
the opening reception and, swathed in a black, clinging,
utterly un-American gown, stood in the middle of the gal
lery, ready to receive and converse with any and all. Crowds
came, but they circled around the extreme edge of the
room, leaving her in the center of a vast solitude. She looked,

262 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
they said, like a leopardess at bay. The only one who had
the courage and good manners to go up to speak to her was
Miss Amy Fay, the musician, whose life abroad in France
and Germany, — she was a pupil of Liszt, — gave her a
great advantage in cosmopolitan savoirfaire over her fellow-
citizens in Chicago.
The two decades we are considering were a transitional
period which developed many striking personalities. Every
movement toward emancipation is started by leaders, oft
en solitary, unconscious figures, who strike out from the
herd and, by so doing, frequently endure criticism, even
obloquy. Such a pioneer, free lance, or social rebel, accord
ing as you look at the matter, was Mrs. Herbert Ayer, bet
ter known later as Harriet Hubbard Ayer. If I cite her here,
it is not because she was in any way typical of the Chicago
of her time, but because she was so utterly the contrary. In
a strait-laced, conventional community she ventured to be
and do what she wanted. As I look back on her, she seems
like some rare, tropical bird of gorgeous plumage strayed
into a simple country hen-yard. Mrs. Ayer loved every
thing that was gay and pretty, and especially everything
that was French. She was the first to fill her house with
bric-a-brac, to read French novels and, worse than all, to
act French plays. She became a devotee of amateur the
atricals and in a north-side club, the Anonymous Club,
which flourished in the seventies, she was prime mover in
many dramatic entertainments in which the club delighted.
Some of these were given in private houses and some in the
parlors of Unity Church. Some were great successes, and
some were quite the contrary. There was one performance
in the basement of Unity Church that was a series of dis-

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 263
asters, which began when the curtain, rising, caught the
fringe of a table-cloth on a table at the front edge of the
stage, and dragged it up, showering the floor, as it rose,
with fragile and precious objets d'art. Everyone in the course
of the play forgot his or her part. The final catastrophe oc
curred when Mrs. Ayer, the heroine, was supposed to con
clude the piece by either fainting or dying on the stage,
and, in so doing, dropped too near the front of the plat
form and had to draw in her feet and knees to avoid the
descending curtain. It is reported that Mr. Ayer was found
upstairs in the dark, empty church, lying on the cushions of
a pew, his handkerchief stuffed in his mouth to keep in the
peals of unholy laughter which threatened the peace of
the evening.
Mrs. Ayer distressed the high principles of the com
munity by giving Sunday breakfasts — real French dejeu
ners a, lafourchette — at which she served omelettes aux fines
herbes, chicken livers en brochette, cafe noir, and alas! vins
Graves, Sauternes, or Chablis; and to which she invited well-
known stage celebrities, among whom were Edwin Booth,
Lawrence Barrett, and John McCulloch — all of which was
not done at that time in Chicago, and was therefore
anathema. So it was really but a just fate which overtook the Ayers
when Mr. Ayer's firm suffered in a panic; he failed and had
to go out of business. He had for some time been estranged
from his wife. Mrs. Ayer gave up her luxuries and under
took to support her two daughters and herself by the man
ufacture and sale of a cream known as the "Recamier"
cream, and other cosmetics, some of which to this day
are on the market under her name. Later, she retired from

264 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
the undertaking and became the head of a department in
the New York World where she made much newspaper
fame for herself.
Whether she was rich or in restricted circumstances, she
was always generous in sympathy and money to those with
whom she came in contact. An evidence of this large-
hearted tenderness was her return to her divorced husband,
after years of absence, when she heard that he was alone,
poor, mind gone, and body sick unto death at the Palmer
House in Chicago. She took care of him, paid all the many
expenses of his last illness, and held his hand as he died.
She loved life and especially its beautiful, luxurious, amus
ing side, yet when reverses came to her she faced and con
quered them with a gay courage which, in time, I think,
disarmed some of the critics who had watched her earlier
career with disapprobation.
What would those critics have thought had they looked
on at life to-day when some women smoke cigarettes,
drink cocktails, play cards for money, tint their cheeks and
lips, and yet are not ostracized, or even looked at askance
by many? Times and customs change, but not the relative
positions of the conservative and the pleasure-loving un
orthodox. One of the gayest, wittiest of the young married couples
in Chicago were the Alfred Masons. Mr. Mason was a son
of Roswell B. Mason, a fine type of early Chicagoan who
was mayor of Chicago from 1869 to 1871. Mrs. Mason, who
was a Miss Minnie Murdock, of New Haven, was a clever
actress, and also had a desire to achieve fame and fortune
as a writer. She wrote a little novel called, May Madden.
Its success may be estimated by the bon mot of one of her

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 265
friends who remarked: "May Maddern must madden." She,
herself, said that she wrote it to furnish her parlor, but
that it barely sufficed to furnish her vestibule.
One of the famous houses of the day was the Perry H.
Smith mansion on the northwestern corner of Huron and
what was then Pine Street, now North Michigan Avenue.
It was a large, white marble edifice, with a dark, slate-
covered mansard roof, and impressive stone steps leading
up to an imposing, pillared front entrance. It was so built
that to the childish mind of the day it suggested a big
frosted cake with a large slice cut out of it — if that con
veys anything to your mind. It was very stately inside,
having on either hand suites of drawing-rooms whose spa
ciousness was enhanced by high ceilings and handsomely
carved, black-walnut woodwork. A very smart little theater,
with a rising semicircle of seats, was a feature of the house.
Another striking adornment was some large mirrors that
could be drawn across the tall windows at night and which,
as handsome crimson velvet curtains hung on either side,
frequently caused much confusion to guests who, thinking
that they were walking through a doorway into another
room, would bump into themselves. This was apt to cause
great joy to onlookers.
At the great "house warming" which Mr. and Mrs.
Smith gave to show their new home to their friends, Mr.
Smith took some of his guests into the butler's pantry
where three faucets bent gracefully over the "sink." One
was for hot water, one was for cold water; while the middle
one, when turned on, let down sparkling champagne. There
was something of the splendor and decadence of ancient
Rome in so audacious a device.

266 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
The eldest son of the family, Perry H. Smith, Jr., took a
dip into politics sometime about 1880. With him in the ex
perience were the late John Noyes and Alfred Mason. It
was much rarer then than now for scions of well-to-do and
prominent families, to dedicate themselves to their coun
try's welfare. He offered himself as a candidate for some
office, I forget what. That he was not successful is attested
by the following lines, which for some strange reason lodged
in a childish mind that omitted to retain worthier verse : —
Go bury young Perry
Far out in the woods,
Where politics never are heard;
Where his neat little legs
Can be folded to rest,
To the song of the wild mountain bird.
And when winter comes,
And the snow and the ice
Have covered his dear little bed,
His partner, Alf Mason,
Can go out with John
And visit the place with his sled.
What simple, rather "high -brow" social gatherings en
tertained the folk of that time! There was the Anonymous
Club, already referred to, whose membership included many
well-known people of that era, among whom were: Mr. and
Mrs. Alfred Mason, Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Ayer, Mr. and
Mrs. F. H. Winston, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Kirkland, Major
and Mrs. Henry Huntington, Mr. and Mrs. Edward D.
Hosmer, the Misses Mary and Annie Kelly, Mr. James
Kelly, Mr. and Mrs. R. Hall McCormick, Mr. and Mrs.
Frank Eastman, Mr. and Mrs. Gregory, Mr. William Mc
Millan and Mr. Frank Wheeler.

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 267
This organization had no by-laws or committees, though
it had presidents. It met at different houses and its pro
grams varied from grave to gay. There were short literary
essays "writ and read" by members. There were musical
evenings. One was of a classic character when a band of
members played on all sorts of childish instruments, penny
whistles, little trumpets, and drums, combs, and their ilk.
There were humorous performances of well-known poems.
On one occasion, Lord Ullen's daughter escaped her irate
father by embarking with her lover in a wash-tub, only to
be engulfed in the raging billows of a green travelling-rug,
while from the side-scenes someone intoned the lines of
the ballad in hollow voice.
On another occasion, at a meeting of the Club at the
residence of Mr. F. H. Winston, an erudite lady member
read a long paper on some none too interesting subject.
The host was found pacing restlessly up and down the hall
outside the drawing-room.
"What do you think of the paper?" he was asked.
"Fine, fine!" he said, "so spun out, you know."
What would people of to-day think of such a way of
spending an evening?
Those were days, moreover, when men's clubs really
were in their prime. The Union Club on the North Side had
its first home in the Mahlon D. Ogden house, the old, gray,
wooden structure which, in its encircling grove of trees,
was the only building for miles around to weather the Fire.
The members used to give summer garden-parties in the
pleasant grounds.
Later they built a handsome, brownstone club-house across
the square, on the corner of Dearborn Avenue and Delaware

268 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Place. Here the pace grew swifter for many of the members.
It became the fashion for a certain set to gather in a card-
room and play cards and drink — well, I don't know what
the favorite tipple of the day was, it was before the cock
tail flourished. These carousals went on nightly and lasted
long, much to the distress of the wives waiting alone at
home. At length one determined woman, a well-known and
charming young Russian, set out to get her husband. She
pushed by the protesting door-man, went upstairs, opened
the door of the card -room and said : —
"Bob, you come right home with me!" He did.
There is nothing more gratifying to orthodox and pious
critics than the inevitable disintegration of any group of
unwisely jovial mortals. The very nature of their commun
ion makes such companionship short-lived. So the gay days
of the Union Club passed into limbo. The succeeding ha
bitues were bachelors or widowers, some of whom eventually
married, leaving too small a number to maintain the club.
The building is now a most excellent home for working-
girls and run by the Salvation Army.
In the same way the Calumet Club, on the South Side,
passed through its various phases of birth, youth, full growth,
and decline.
The old Exposition building on the lake front, — of the
vintage and style of London's Crystal Palace, — was a
well-known landmark and will be remembered by many a
Chicagoan as being the temple of various civic festivals in
the two decades between the Fire and the Fair. Every
autumn it was the setting of a general exposition of the agri
cultural and industrial products of this part of the country,
which drew thousands of visitors from the surrounding dis-

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 269
tricts to the city. Machinery, manufactured goods, and
farm produce all jostled each other in a cheerful, ut
terly tasteless fashion, entirely characteristic of the cheer
ful, utterly tasteless age in which they flourished. But off
in one corner of the building there was a noteworthy ad
junct to this annual affair. This was an exhibition of paint
ings, occupying three or four rooms, which, under the direc
tion of Miss May Hallowell, became a real event in Chicago's
fast-budding life of culture. It was the direct ancestor
of our present Art Institute. It is one more proof of the
adage that "art is long and time is fleeting," for, while the
pavilions built of ears of golden corn, the roaring, champ
ing machinery, the collections of household implements, and
the ugly, sturdy, old structure itself, have all vanished from
the lake front, pictures — lineal descendants of those early
exhibits — are still domiciled there in a fine marble palace.
Thus does civilization work its way out from darkness and
materialism to light and the life of the spirit !
The Exposition building housed many pleasant under
takings. For several winters there was a good-sized skating
rink in one end of it, whose great, black glare of ice was a
favorite rendezvous for skaters and onlookers.
During many summer seasons Theodore Thomas gave
the first of his famous orchestral concerts there and held
several Wagnerian festivals under the iron girders of this
primitive birthplace of music and art. He introduced his
public gently to music, as, behind the rows of seats that
immediately fronted the stage, there were set many tables,
backed by evergreen trees in boxes. Here good Milwaukee
brews were served the thirsty music-lover.
What has become of the thick clouds of "sisco flies," as

270 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
they were then called, which used to be blown to us from
across the lake, to darken the air, hang in festoons from the
street-lamps, collect in slimy, fish-smelling drifts underfoot,
and last, but by no means least, settle all over the Thomas
Orchestra men? The bald cellist of that day had to make a
cap of his red bandanna handkerchief to protect his head.
The performer on the wide-mouthed cornet frequently was
obliged to shake an accumulation of flies from his instru
ment. The long-bearded drummer could be seen combing
them out of his whiskers. These restless, frail, poor-spirited
insects were a pest that seems to have been abashed and
abolished by our more complex civilization, which likewise
did away with the old Exposition building, New Year's
Day calling, square-dances, big bustles, the hired man, the
family soup-tureen, and various other once familiar insti
tutions. There flourished here in the two penultimate decades of
the nineteenth century a group of men of rare wit and
mellow wisdom such as seldom grows and flourishes in so
young and, in many ways, crude a community. They did
not seek either fame or fortune, so little is left of them to
day but their fast-fading names. But neither before nor
since has their like or their equal been known here. Major
Henry Huntington (commonly called "the Major"), Dr.
Clinton Locke (who said of himself that his sense of humor
stood between him and a bishopric), Edward G. Mason,
Professor David Swing, James Norton, and Joseph Kirkland
formed the nucleus of a group whose forum was the Chicago
Literary Club. Their brilliant papers, their trenchant, pithy
wit — now satirical, now more genial in humor — have
never been equalled since. Alas, that no record was kept of

FROM FIRE TO FAIR 271
their clever banquets, their literary meetings, their sparkling
sallies and quips! They lived before Chicago's intensely
prosperous and material era — an era which developed
rapidly after the World's Fair,
There was, on the South Side in the latter part of the
last century, a group of men and women who, in a
certain worldly sense of the word, added more to the
lustre of Chicago's social life than any other single set
of well-to-do, cultivated, pleasure-loving people we have
had. The Arthur Catons, Augustus Eddys, John M. Clarks,
Frank Gortons, George M. Pullmans, Wirt Dexters, Frank
lin MacVeaghs, J. M. Walkers, W. W. Kimballs, N. K. Fair
banks, Henry Dibblees, Hugh T. Birchs, Norman Williamses,
and Marshall Fields, were all prominent in this set. The
South Side Dancing Class, which later developed into the
fashionable balls of Chicago, was started by Mrs. Dexter
and Mrs. Pullman, whose husbands wanted to learn to dance.
The class was organized with a teacher and met in the
evenings at the different houses, the men wearing business
suits and the women high-necked dresses. The evenings
ended with light "refreshments" — coffee and sandwiches,
or lemonade and cake, according to the season.
There was much hospitality of a simple kind in that
epoch and also good music. Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Birch, Mrs.
Gorton, and Miss May Allport used to give piano recitals,
playing double duets.
It wasn't the custom to fly from Chicago's hot season in
those days — it was before our smoke era — and most
houses in that neighborhood (Prairie, Calumet and Mich
igan avenues from Sixteenth Street south ) used to have wide
verandas, on which gay companies gathered in the warm

272 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
summer evenings. There was much driving out to the Wash
ington Park Club for the races and lively dinners after
wards. To-day, that once cheerful, sociable neighborhood is,
either entirely obliterated by the march of progress — so
called — or quite other tenants occupy the big, friendly
houses, whose former owners are scattered, some to the
North Side, some to other cities, and still others to that
country from whose bourne no traveller returns. To go back
there is to tread alone a banquet-hall deserted.
There is no other city whose inhabitants have such a ha
bit of emulating the chambered nautilus and building them
more stately mansions. Chicagoans even go beyond the
nautilus and forsake entirely the locality to which they
have given character and prestige. At present the trend of
residents, — those who can pick and choose, — is, as it
has been for many years — northward. This is partly due
to the encroachments of business on the West and South
sides, and even on the lower part of the North Side; but
the main force behind this movement is the desire to live
on or near the beautiful lake shore, a shore unobstructed
by railways or shipping.

XVII
THE YESTERDAY OF THE HORSE
By Hobart C. Chatfield-Taylor
Should a discerning historian write the story of Chicago in
years to come, I feel confident that he will select the age
just preceding the World's Fair, as the most engrossing
period of our history; and since the horse was its distin
guishing feature, he will, I venture to say, dub it the
"Hippie Age."
Though the glories of the World's Columbian Exposition
were conceived at that time by the genius of John Wellborn
Root, and a taste for music was instilled in our reluctant
hearts by Theodore Thomas, it is not our artistic achieve
ment so much as our metropolitanization which distin
guishes that period from all others in our history. Shedding
our small-town ways, we became, by leaps and bounds, a
city of cosmopolitan mien, — a metamorphosis largely due,
I believe, to the appearance of the horse as a social factor.
Trotting horses with flowing manes and tails having been
seen in our shady streets, and the "fast young men" who
drove them to sulkies and side-bar buggies having shocked
our more sanctimonious citizens long before "Charlie"
Schwartz first "tooled" his drag down Michigan Avenue,
it is perhaps more historically exact to attribute the ele
gance of this age to the horse's tail — or rather to his lack
of one — than to that animal himself; since not until his
tail had been docked did he become a civilizing influence.

274 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
Perhaps the credit for the startling changes which took
place in Chicago in those days before the World's Fair
should be given to the man behind the tail, it being the Eng
lish coachman, after all, who refined our uncouth manners.
Indeed, no sooner did he sit clean-shaven and erect upon
the box, where formerly a mustachioed Scandinavian, or
colored man, had slouched, than the owner within the car
riage began to realize that a genteel era had dawned which
made the mending of his provincial ways a duty both to his
family, himself, and his community.
To merit the approval of one's English coachman became
an obsession in those days, for, oh, what a deal of scorn lay
in the curl of that supercilious fellow's lip, if one chanced to
call a "trap" by the uncouth name of "rig," or to speak of
a pair of horses as "a team!" Indeed, one had need to un
learn all that had been taught by the "hired man" of one's
youth, it being no longer permissible to seize a rein in each
hand and shout "git ap!" to the horses, or to drive them
with the whip stuck democratically in the socket. Further
more, it became unseemly to jerk one's reins so that a sud
den slap of their slack on the backs of one's nags might
induce the said nags to increase their speed; while to sit
comfortably, with legs apart and feet against the dash
board, was to outrage the proprieties.
Many a recalcitrant millionaire, it is true, refused to mend
his primeval ways, even while courting Dame Fashion with
a mail-phaeton or a stanhope of the latest build. The tails
of such a one's horses were still undocked and the reins
with which he drove them were held at arm's length, but
whenever he chirped to them to hasten their steps, some
passing coachman, in boots and breeches, was sure to mur-

THE YESTERDAY OF THE HORSE 275
mur sotto voce to the carriage groom beside him: "I say,
Bill, 'e must 'ave a cage of canaries under 'is seat."
Ah, how superior we younger men, who had learned to
keep our knees together and our feet well under us, felt to
those lubberly millionaires, as, with reins held correctly in
the left hand and whip poised deftly in the right, we sped
toward the park! Indeed, we knowing ones saw at a glance
the defects of every turnout on the road, and read its ow
ner's character. Clanking chains, for instance, in lieu of
modest pole-straps, or a harness mounted as ornately as
that of a royal coach, bespoke the parvenu; while an un
shaven coachman in ill-fitting coat and unbrushed hat, told
beyond the shadow of a doubt that his master was a care
worn man, made pale and stoop-shouldered by the weight
of business.
From the old-time codger in a buggy, with a linen duster
on his back and fly-net on that of his horse, to the flashy
young man of the hour, with a brazen coryphee from Rice's
Evangeline troupe beside him on the seat of his Whitechapel
cart, all classes of society paraded on the Avenue in those
days. Milady drove in a C-spring victoria, her pretty daugh
ter fared forth in a phaeton, attended by a groom in boots
and breeches, or if she was particularly horsey, in a tilbury,
or even a tandem cart. Meanwhile, the wife of the butcher,
or the baker, clucked to a long-tailed horse in the shafts of
a canopy-topped surrey, all sorts of women, as well as of
men, being on the Avenue, in those halcyon days.
But the time to view the passing show was Derby Day
when all Chicago was on parade and lines of moving ve
hicles of every description known to the coach-builders' craft
stretched from the Hotel Richelieu to Washington Park.

276 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
To those of the present generation a sight as splendid as
that which met the eye on this day of days is quite unknown.
Alas, the white macadam of Michigan Avenue has been
oiled a dingy brown, and the chugging motor-car, which
has supplanted the horse-drawn vehicle, bears the same rela
tion in beauty to a well-appointed drag that an ocean
tramp-steamer does to a clipper ship with a "bone in her
teeth." A drag, it may be said for the benefit of the uninitiated,
is a private coach, or "tally-ho," as it was perversely
called, because the first public coach put on the road in
this country by Colonel Delancy Kane, was named the
"Tally-ho." It might as readily have been the "Tantivy,"
in which case all members of the genus coach — which in
cludes the road-coach, the drag, and the brake — would
have been known throughout the length and breadth of the
land as "Tantivies." Indeed, in those days mankind might
have been classified as those who called coaches "tally-hos,"
and those who didn't, those who did being Philistines in
the hippie world.
While the majority of the Chicagoans who sped toward
Washington Park on Derby Day belonged to this class with
out a saving grace, to your true horseman's way of think
ing, even they went forth in holiday spirit to see the great
American Derby won or lost by the horse on which their
dollars had been staked, Chicago being then an unreformed
city, where the personal right to dissipate was still un
curbed. But I am wandering afield, the Washington Park Club
and its sophisticated display of horseflesh and humanity,
rather than public morals, being the topic I have in mind.

THE YESTERDAY OF THE HORSE 277
To stand on the broad veranda of the Club-house on the first
day of the annual season of horse-racing, and watch the
arrival of the members, was to witness a display, such as
the Chicago of to-day cannot rival, there being now no
opportunity for society to foregather in such style as the
Washington Park Club afforded a quarter of a century ago.
Looking backward to that period, I find it difficult, I
confess, to recall the faces and names of all who were prom
inent in the hippie age, the glories of which I am endeavor
ing to recount. But a few come distinctly to mind, partic
ularly among the coaching men. Of these, the pioneer,
as I have already noted, was Charlie Schwartz, whose
Brewster drag and team of bays created a veritable sen
sation when it appeared in Michigan Avenue for the first
time. For a season or two, Charlie Schwartz had the road to
himself; then Valentine Dickey appeared to rival him with
a coach equipped in western fashion with whiffle-trees, and
soon Hall McCormick was driving a team of roans to a Lon
don-built drag. Then Potter Palmer, not to be outdone,
turned out both a coach and a French char-a-banc, with
marvellous leopard skins spread over the seats of both
vehicles, which created a sensation, I acknowledge, but
did not win the approval of the stickler for good form.
The fifth coach to appear in Michigan Avenue was my
own yellow-wheeled Kimball drag, drawn by a team of
golden chestnuts; and I confess that I took particular pride
in the fact that both coach and harness were made in
Chicago. At a later day, Arthur Caton took to the road with
a Brewster drag and a team of bays ; but Charlie Schwartz
had already ceased to "sit his bench," as they used to say

278 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
in the old coaching days of England; therefore five was the
greatest number of coaches to be driven in Chicago at any
one time. General Torrence, to be sure, drove a drag during
the World's Fair days, but somehow the rest of us never
quite accepted him as one of the coaching set, and my recol
lection is that before he appeared in Michigan Avenue both
Charlie Schwartz and Valentine Dickey had taken their
last drive.
Among the drivers of tandems, Frank Whitehouse 2 was
easily foremost. Being a skilled whip, his leader was never
known to turn and face him. The same cannot be said, I
fear, of Ben Lamb, or Norman Fay, or even Jamie Walker,
tandem driving being an art in which only those excel who
have "hands," as well as an intimate acquaintance with the
use of the whip-thong.
Among those who drove to the Derby in less spectacular
vehicles than drags and tandem carts, the names of but few
stand forth in my memory; yet in those days everyone who
was anyone was on the road in some sort of trap or other.
I recall, however, Columbus R. Cummings and William B.
Howard as men whose turnouts were spick and span, and
likewise striking. And I remember Marshall Field in a high
ly respectable stanhope-phaeton with long-tailed horses;
but I confess that my memory of the great parade on Derby
Day is rather a panoramic picture, than a "close up" of
any individual.
Toward the distant city, stretches a long line of smart
vehicles, the mountings of their harnesses glistening in the
June sunlight. At the gate of the Club grounds, a stone's
1 The late Francis Meredith Whitehouse, of Chicago and New York, a
son of Bishop Whitehouse.

THE YESTERDAY OF THE HORSE 279
throw away, there was a turn in the road and from it to
the Club-house steps was a rise of ground, up which the
horses of the drags were wont to rush at a gallop. "Spring
ing 'em" is the horsey way of describing this spirited dash.
When a team had been brought up all standing, and a nim
ble groom had sprung to the leaders' heads, the more portly
coachman placed a folding ladder against the coach. While
pretty women in modish finery, and men in top-hats, with
field-glasses slung across their shoulders, descended from
their proud seats to the ground, a flutter of excitement
spread along the Club-house veranda, a coaching party
being the cynosure, in those days, of all fashionable eyes.
The occupants of the box-seat were, of course, the ob
served of all observers, it being a seat akin to a throne. Even
the less favored ones on the "gammon" or "backgammon,"
as in coaching parlance the other seats were called, felt
themselves as superior to those who viewed them from the
ground, as ladies-in-waiting undoubtedly must feel towards
all others of their sex at a Queen's drawing-room, an invita
tion to drive to the Derby on a drag being the acme of
social achievement.
To figure this distinction mathematically, there were but
five coaches in a city of a million people. Moreover, even if
the number of persons upon the seats exceeded the limit of
coaching correctness to that of the seating capacity of the
vehicles themselves, only fifty people all told could drive
to the races in the finest of style, and only five women, or
one to each 200,000 mortals in the city, could occupy box-
seats. But, if there were but five bona fide coaches in the town,
there were several four-horse brakes, and at least a score of

280 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
tandem carts to add their share of sportive zest to the Derby
Day parade. I am bound to confess, however, that the girls
who went to the races in the ticklish vehicles last mentioned
were courageous to a degree, in those days, when social
aspirants were in the habit of hastily taking up tandem
driving, just to be in the swim. Moreover, if I am to chron
icle the entire truth, I must add that more than one of our
proud drivers of a four-in-hand was ignorant of the art of
"pointing" his leaders when turning a corner, as well as of
that of "folding" a whip-thong neatly, after performing the
difficult feat of flicking a leader, many a Chicagoan who
owned highsteppers being a parvenu in horsemanship.
Once more, however, I am wandering afield, the art of
driving being a topic apart from Chicago's hippie age, for
while there were but five coaches and a score of tandem
carts in our Derby Day parade, there were dog-carts, til-
burys, gigs, and stanhopes, galore, and a goodly sprinkling
of smart victorias, with pretty rosettes on the head-stalls of
their sleek-coated horses, and pretty women within them
conscious that the eyes of friend and enemy alike were upon
their newest gowns. Even the husbands beside them were, if
they happened to be wearing white spats for the first time
in their lives, pitifully conscious too, I fear, of the scornful
glances of their business associates, the Derby being an
occasion of ordeal rather than of joy for many a citizen of
our budding metropolis.
Nevertheless, it was a notable event in the life of the city,
and the Club-house lawn with its display of well-dressed
women and men was a sight to vie in elegance with the
Ascot enclosure and the lawn at Goodwood in their palm
iest days. In recalling its glories, I cannot refrain from la-

THE YESTERDAY OF THE HORSE 281
menting, Puritan though I am by nature and inheritance,
that the "Sport of Kings" has been banished from our
midst. I lament in other ways, too, the passing of the horse
— the cutter racing in winter, for instance, over the glisten
ing snows of the boulevards, and the horse-shows in the old
Exposition building on the lake front, where the winning of
a blue ribbon used to fill one's cup of happiness to overflow
ing. Unlike their successors in the Coliseum, these horse-
shows of which I speak were truly amateur affairs, where the
contestants were all citizens of the town, and their entries,
the horses and traps of every-day use.
To show a four-in-hand or tandem in that tan-bark ring,
while the band played, and the crowd shouted, and the
pretty women in the boxes clapped their little gloved hands,
was as thrilling an experience, I believe, as one can have
in this world, short of war in the front-line trenches. The
competition was keen and sportsmanlike, and to maneuver
a four-in-hand in the midst of that clamor without breaking
one's own neck, or that of some guileless spectator, required
considerable skill, particularly if you were called upon to
cut figure-eights, or drive unscathed between a series of
posts, with a leeway of only a few inches between your hub
and the obstacles. But the most pleasing memory which
comes to me from those glorious days of the horse is that
of driving a coach through the parks and boulevards at
night. The clicking of the hoofs upon the hard macadam, the
rhythmical creaking of the harness, the merry rattle of the
lead-bars are delectable sounds, I recall, as I sit before an
autumn fire dreaming of those days long gone. I seem to see
my old team of chestnuts before me, and feel the weight of

282 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
their reins upon my forearm. Sniffing their stable from
afar, they spring into their collars with a will, while the
coach-lamps shed their glimmering rays upon the white
roadway ahead. Pricking up their trim little ears, the leaders
shy at a shadow; a wheel-horse starts to break, and as I
speak a soothing word, the familiar notes of Who'll Buy a
Broom? sound sweet and clear upon the night air.
Awakened from my reverie by the snorting of an auto
mobile muffler, opened in defiance of the law, I lament the
degenerate age in which I am forced to end my days. No
machine, alas, howsoever speedy or noisy it may be, can
ever take the place the horse used to hold in my affection
during Chicago's palmiest days.
For though the sound of the horn is dead,
And the guards are turned to clay,
There are those who remember "the yard of tin"
And the coach of the olden day.

XVIII
THE WORLD'S FAIR
By Mrs. William J. Calhoun
A radiance hangs over the summer of the World's Fair
and makes it, to all that part of Chicago that holds it in the
memory, a thing apart. The vanished city that rose out of
the mists of the marshes by the shore of the blue lake had
in it a quality that never will come again. Only those who
have wandered through the Court of Honor, from the flash
ing waters of the MacMonnies fountain to the Peristyle and
the great lake, and have seen the white buildings and their
gay pennants reflected in still lagoons can believe in a beauty
so poignant that it was almost pain. Only those who have
floated in gondolas at dusk around the Wooded Island and
have come out upon the splendid Court, gay with its thous
ands of lights doubled in flickering water, the rising sprays of
the fountains rainbow-colored, can know the infinite leisure
that makes for dreams in the memory. And perhaps too,
only those who rode down the Midway in a wheeled chair,
guided by a bright young student from some western uni
versity, can recognize the enchantment that hung over
the life of that street and the villages from far-away worlds
that lined it. The tragedy of gayety as of beauty lies in its
evanescence and in the powerlessness of words to present
it to the imagination.
But to Chicago, the World's Fair was something more
than a fascinating festival, a city of dreams. It represented

284 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
a struggle, a mighty effort, a notable victory. Beyond giving
her the opportunity and official backing, the nation did
very little to aid the vast undertaking. It was the will of
the city working against heavy odds that brought success.
It was the sacrifice and devotion of the men who had built
the West, laborer and capitalist, that made the White City
out of a dream.
The Board of Directors1 was composed of big men, men who
had arrived and had done their part to make the city arrive.
The first president of the Board was Lyman J. Gage, the
second William T. Baker, and the third and last, who bore
the brunt of the battle, Harlow N. Higinbotham. From its
first meeting to its last, it was animated by no mean spirit.
It saw things large, with imagination, vision and idealism.
1 At the first meeting of stockholders, April 10, 1890, the following directors
were elected : —
Owen F. Aldis Cyrus H. McCormick
Samuel W. Allerton Andrew McNally
William T. Baker Joseph Medill
Thomas B. Bryan Adolph Nathan
Edward B. Butler Robert Nelson
William H. Colvin John J. P. Odell
Mark L. Crawford Potter Palmer
DeWitt C. Cregier J. C. Peasley
George R. Davis Ferdinand W. Peck
James W. Ellsworth Erskine M. Phelps
John V. Farwell, Jr. Eugene S. Pike
Stuyvesant Fish Martin A. Ryerson
Edward T. Jeffrey Anthony F. Seeberger
Lyman J. Gage Charles H. Schwab
Harlow N. Higinbotham William E. Strong
Elbridge G. Keith Charles H. Wacker
Rollin A. Keyes Robert A. Waller
Herman H. Kohlsaat John R. Walsh
Marshall M. Kirkman Charles C. Wheeler
Edward F. Lawrence Frederick S. Winston
Thies J. Lefens Charles T. Yerkes
Otto Young

THE WORLD'S FAIR 285
The qualities that had made the success of big business in
the West made the success of the Fair and proved once again
that captains of industry are potential artists and poets,
that the scope of imagination in the one is as powerful as
in the other. With a fine spirit of sacrifice, the directors put
aside their immediate concerns and their personal interests
to give of their time and energy whole-heartedly to a great
cause. Opposition only stimulated them, difficulties became
their stepping-stones to achievement.
The triumphal note was sounded at the very beginning
when the architects and landscape architects whom they
had appointed to design the Fair, — Burnham and Root
on the one hand, and Olmsted and Company on the other,
— after making the ground-plan which proved to be its firm
foundation, asked permission to select, without competition,
the greatest designers of the country and invite them to
plan and construct the buildings.1 The directors responded
instantly to the superb generosity of this appeal, and from
that moment the noble spirit of the Fair was assured. In a
measure it disarmed the hostility of the East, to whom no
good could come out of Nazareth, and it opened the path-
1 The plans submitted by these architects were adopted by the Board of
Directors on November 21, 1890. A Construction Department was then formed
with Daniel H. Burnham as Chief of Construction, John W. Root as architect,
Abram Gottlieb as engineer, and Olmsted & Company as landscape architects.
At the first session of the Board of Architects selected by these men, in
January, 1891, the buildings were assigned as follows; —
Administration, Richard M. Hunt Horticulture, Jenney & Mundie
Agriculture, McKim, Mead & White Fisheries, Henry Ives Cobb
Machinery, Peabody & Stearns Venetian Village, Burling & Whitehouse
Manufactures, George B. Post (abandoned later)
Electricity, Van Brunt & Howe Mines, Solon S. Beman
Transportation, Adler & Sullivan
At a later date, the Art Building was assigned to Charles B. Atwood.

286 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
way for an enterprise that was not sectional but national,
not for a day but for all time. The architects thus honored
assembled in Chicago in January, 1891, and inspected the
cold and dreary waste which they were to transform into
fairyland. But if the aspect of the marshes of Jackson Park
was discouraging, there was enough vitality and imagination
in the great ground-plan to inspire their highest efforts.
They were skeptics when they arrived in Chicago, but they
left firm in the faith which animated the men they were
consulting. Even the sudden death of the consulting archi
tect, John W. Root, who had put all his ardent vitality
into the labor of preparation, could not then discourage
them, and the work went on without him along the lines
and in the spirit that he and his partner had marked out.
Innumerable difficulties faced the builders and the gallant
body of directors as time went on, but they met them like
an army with banners and conquered all along the front,
until the mirage they had seen over the waters of the lake
became the White City.
With this mighty effort, the city reached its maturity
and made its debut among the cities of the world. The same
energy and the same faith went into it that rebuilt Chicago
after the Fire, and the idealism that always dominates in
America when she faces a great opportunity or a great peril.
Contemporary records bear eloquent testimony to the
magnitude of the task and give glimpses of manners and
customs now changed or outgrown. The long contest on
the subject of Sunday closing, which dragged its slow way
through the courts, seems as archaic as the persecution of
witches in Salem. In this, as in other things, the Chicago
directors proved themselves in advance of the times, while

THE WORLD'S FAIR 287
the national commission was overhung with prejudice.
The directors finally won the privilege of opening the
grounds on Sunday, but the exhibits which were under the
control of the Government remained firmly closed to
inspection. Banquets and breakfasts were numerous during the ex
position season, and official entertainments were not with
out their amusing side. They began long before the Fair
was opened, and this preliminary hospitality culminated in
the dedication of the buildings on October 21, 1892, four
hundred years to a day, by the revised calendar, after the
little caravels of Columbus sighted the new world. The
change from October 12th was made out of courtesy to
New York and its naval celebration, and it was then dis
covered that the difference from the old reckoning made the
21st the true anniversary.
The ceremony, preceded by a military parade which was
largely an escort to the Vice-President of the United States,
Levi P. Morton, took place in the huge unfinished building
for Manufactures and Liberal Arts. More than 100,000
people were massed on the floor and in the galleries. At the
far end, the chorus of 5,500 singers led by William L. Tom-
lins, and the orchestra conducted by Theodore Thomas,
made a fluttering picture when their waving handkerchiefs
flew up hke birds. The ceremony was imposing. It began
with the Columbian March composed by J. K. Paine; con
tinued with a prayer; an address by Director-General
George R. Davis; a speech of welcome by Mayor Hemp
stead Washburne; selections from the "Columbian Ode,"
written by Harriet Monroe, some of them read by Sarah C.
Le Moyne, others set to music by George W. Chadwick and

288 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
sung by the great chorus. Then the Director of Works,
Daniel H. Burnham, tendered the buildings to the Presi
dent of the Board of Directors, Harlow N. Higinbotham,
and presented to him the master artists of construction. He
in turn, after Mrs. Potter Palmer had spoken for the Board
of Lady Managers, offered them to the President of the
World's Columbian Commission, who presented them to the
Vice-President of the United States, for whom was reserved
the honor of dedicating them to "the world's progress in
arts, in science, in agriculture, and in manufacture — to
humanity." Orations by Henry Watterson and Chauncey
M. Depew were inaudible to the vast audience, for whom
only the music and the national salute fired at the end were
eloquent. But they added their part to the dignity of an oc
casion which required oratory, even though it was unheard.
With hospitable foresight, the Directors, considering it
inappropriate to permit the sale of food on the grounds to
their invited guests, had provided a light luncheon in the
galleries of the Manufactures Building, and over 70,000
persons were successfully served, a colossal feat of western
hospitality. Even before this occasion the city had given many evi
dences of her generous instincts. When she was struggling
to wrest the location of the Fair from ardent competitors,
she invited the Congressional committee and the families
of its members to inspect her claims, all the expenses of the
journey to be paid by the city. The invitation was accepted
and the families came, down to the last infant. At Mrs.
Palmer's reception for them, a large crop of noisy babies,
who could not be left at home, was deposited upon her
Egyptian bed. The hospitality of the exposition could not

THE WORLD'S FAIR 289
have been what it was without Mrs. Palmer's grace and
Mr. Higinbotham's urbanity. As President of the Board
of Lady Managers, a title which caused a shiver when
Congress imposed it upon a reluctant democracy, Mrs.
Palmer played her part with distinguished ability. In De
cember, 1892, she threw open her house for the Colum
bian Bazaar of All Nations, organized by the Friday Club
to raise money for the Children's Building at the Fair.
Mrs. James B. Waller was the chairman of the committee
which developed this bazaar, and to her graceful ignoring
of obstacles, her knowledge of women and what they
could do, her gentle persistence, and her ready hospitality
to new ideas, was due its success. It was a forward-look
ing bazaar, in which the Friday Club and all its friends
triumphantly arrived. Very lovely were the booths it
created in Mrs. Palmer's art-gallery and salons, and the
women who had worked for weeks to burst into flower
for a few gay nights. That they were efficient as well
as ornamental was proved when it became known that
the bazaar had raised the then unprecedented sum of
$35,000 for the fund for the Children's Building. It was
all a part of the great outstanding enthusiasm which
animated the people of Chicago and made them for
the time as one.
"They have had a vision," wrote Walter Besant when
he tried later to describe the indescribable and called it,
"the greatest and most poetical dream that we have ever
seen." "The people dream epics," he added, but they
dreamed them gaily, high-heartedly, to the accompaniment
of music and laughter. It was a magical summer and all its
gaieties partook of the glamor of that White City whose

290 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
pennants and lights were always dancing in the waters of
the lagoons.
On the opening day, May 1, 1893, it was not considered
necessary to repeat the formality of the ceremonies of the
previous October. A great crowd assembled in the open
and, when President Cleveland touched the button which
started the machinery, the veils fell from the statue of the
Republic, flags, banners, and gonfalons were broken out, and
the waters of the great fountains rose sparkling in the sud
den sunshine. In the thrill of the moment, the multitude
forgot that the buildings were unfinished and the roads of
the Court of Honor still a sea of mud. After this dubious be
ginning the weather was kind all through the Fair, though
it had been cruel and had delayed construction during the
preceding winter and spring.
The Duke of Veragua, the only living descendant of
Columbus, was present at the opening as the guest of the
nation, and numerous banquets and receptions overpowered
a figure not made for glory nor accustomed to it. He liked
being the guest of the nation better than occupying his
debt-ridden haciendas, so well indeed that he lingered on
many weeks, "feeling," according to the Chicago Times
"that it would not be dignified in a guest of the United
States Government to be in a hurry about taking his de
parture." There were other guests of the nation, also, whom Chi
cago was called upon to entertain. The most important of
them was the Infanta Eulalia, representing the King of
Spain. The city was rather overpowered at the prospect of
receiving her, and like the cities in the East, a bit too ob
sequious in its preparations. The fact that she was "Roy-

THE WORLD'S FAIR 291
alty," as the press of the time put it with a big "R," was
blinding to a modest democracy, until she proved herself
something less than royalty in courtesy and grace. With a
certain respect for its traditions, the city selected rooms at
the Palmer House for the princess.
"Massive and antique is the furniture in the Palmer
apartments to be used by the Spanish princess and her
suite," says the Chicago Tribune of June 6, 1893. "Twenty
years ago Potter Palmer fitted up these rooms, and the
same old-fashioned but imposing-looking beds and chairs
and lounges and tables will serve the royal guest. Every
thing is huge and the apartments do not in the least ap
proach the idea of what would be found in an up-to-date
hotel. From the heavy and rich fabrics of the curtains and
carpets to the mosaic work in the woodwork of the beds, it
is all of the olden time, but it does not show its age. Eulalia's
bedroom is the most imposing of the suite. It adjoins the
Egyptian parlor and is carpeted with a handsome Nile-
green Axminster. The curtains and coverings of chairs and
lounges are of a bronze-green velvet. The bed is a massive
affair of mahogany, with a canopy from which are suspend
ed curtains of heavy gold cloth. The coverlet is of the same
rich fabric, with hand-worked designs. The head- and foot
boards are inlaid with pearl and colored woods and the
pillows are soft as down. On a mantlepiece stands an or
molu clock with gold decorations, that has a chime attached.
The mantel is draped with Spanish colors. Pictures adorn
the walls, and in a corner is a silver water-service, while
vases, all antique, are placed in available niches. The
lounges and chairs hold soft cushions and are placed in
inviting positions in all parts of the room."

292 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
But alas, even the pillows soft as down and the silver
water-service did not create in the princess the suavity
which could accept things as they were offered. Hobart
Chatfield-Taylor, the consul for Spain at Chicago, did his
best for her and gave her refreshing incognito visits to the
lovely Fair, but even with that assistance she could not play
her part in the ceremony. One of the chief functions in the
program was a reception at Mrs. Palmer's house, but, un
fortunately, before it took place the infanta learned that
her host was to be the owner of the hotel where she was
lodged. An innkeeper she thought him, and therefore un
worthy to entertain a princess. She was constrained at last
to put in an appearance, but she arrived an hour late and
she departed outrageously early, making no response mean
while to the greetings of the guests as they were presented.
She sat upon the dais, which, with too much courtesy per
haps, had been prepared for her, in sullen, unsmiling, un
bending silence, while her beautiful hostess, standing at her
side and offering martyred Chicago society at her altar,
tried in vain to thaw the icy atmosphere. Mrs. Palmer did
those things well and in the minds of her guests that night,
it was she who was the princess.
Many other formal functions were given during the Fair,
breakfasts in the beautiful Music Hall, receptions in the
Administration Building, and the Woman's Building, ban
quets in the New York Building, the White Horse Inn and
Old Vienna. The mayor of the city, Carter H. Harrison,
did the official honors with southern graciousness and
northern energy. A picturesque figure, either on horseback
wearing his old slouch hat, or after dinner in the vivid grace
of his old-fashioned oratorical periods, he imposed his hand-

THE WORLD'S FAIR 293
some personality on many a pompous ceremonial. It was a
grief through all the streets of the city, high and low, when
he was shot at his post on October 28 by a fanatic, and the
close of the Fair was shadowed by his death.
In all the official hospitality, the president of the Board
of Directors, Mr. Higinbotham, did the honors with dis
tinguished ability, a gracious personality, sympathetic
understanding, with that simplicity and modesty which are
always a part of dignity. And Mr. Burnham, as Director of
Works, was another citizen of no mean city who played his
hospitable part well. In him was the imagination of a poet
— rich, spacious, far-reaching, seeing things in terms of the
future, grasping possibilities and making them real, mag
netic, persuasive and compelling.
All the world came that summer to Chicago, and all the
world was well entertained. At the beginning, things moved
slowly and the attendance was too small. But gradually the
country awoke to its opportunity, and, as a contemporary
newspaper reports Mrs. Paran Stevens to have said, many
of "the very nicest people in New York paid Chicago the
great compliment" of coming to see the Fair. On the Fourth
of July, the admissions reached 330,542, and from that time
success was assured. On Chicago Day, dramatically fixed
for the 9th of October, the anniversary of the great fire of
1871, a wave of pride and joy swept over the city which
sent 761,942 people through the gates. These figures alone
explain the Fair, testifying to the enthusiasm and single-
minded devotion which made it possible. Even more than
the fact that Chicago itself had raised more than $10,000,000
to meet the Government's grudging $7,500,000, they show
that the energy and idealism that animated capital and

294 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
labor in the great work of construction were an impelling
force in every heart. It was another evidence that the sup
port of an appreciative public always lies back of a no
table achievement in the arts.
But to those who lived in Chicago through that magical
summer, each little by-way was touched with enchantment.
The Midway was a never-ending source of gayety. It
brought all nations to our doors, it gave us the world for
our plaything. After a morning riding a donkey through
the Streets of Cairo, watching the wedding procession, and
buying trinkets of Far-away Moses, one could lunch in the
lovely square at Old Vienna, while the band discoursed ex
cellent music, and stroll afterwards down the Midway, with
its costumes of all nations and its amusing fakirs, to the
Bedouin Camp or Blarney Castle or the theater of the South
Sea Islanders, where the Samoans danced their blithe, bar
baric rounds. There were many other corners to take one
away from the prosaic modern world, — the Dahomey Vil
lage, quite untrammeled by civilized conventions ; the Ferris
Wheel,1 which was the prosaic precursor of the aero
plane; the Hindoo jugglers; the Congress of Beauties;
the startling verities of the danse du ventre in Cairo Street;
the strange postures and gorgeous color of the scenes in
the Chinese theater. Most enchanting of all, perhaps, of
the glorified side-shows on the Midway, was the Java Village,
with its houses and industries straight from the South Seas,
and its exquisite, tiny women, dainty as porcelain, strange
as oriental gods. In their own theater a new kind of charm
1 The Ferris Wheel was afterward transported in sections to Paris for the
exposition of 1900. It still stands in the Champ de Mars near the Eiffel
Tower, and after the armistice was signed in 1918, many American wounded
soldiers looked down on Paris from the windows of its moving cars.

THE WORLD'S FAIR 295
was revealed, a beauty that was partly grotesque, a grace
that was stiff with decorative gesture. And beyond the
confines of the Midway, there were bits from the old world
and the new that were strange to our vision, — the Ceylon
Building and the Swedish, the lovely caravels of Columbus
and the little Viking ship, the Spanish Convent, La Rabida,
where Columbus slept the night before he set sail, the In
dian camp with its totem-poles, the moving sidewalk on
the pier leading out from the Peristyle over the great lake,
and the lovely Japanese houses on the Wooded Island.
Enchantment hung over those evenings at the Fair. A
dinner on the roof of the New York Building, overlooking
the lights of fairyland reflected in its waters, could be fol
lowed by a gondola ride through still lagoons, hints of
song and laughter vaguely breaking the silence, and that
again by a glimpse of the high barbarities of Java on her
dainty stage. Or one could dine at the Cafe de Marine look
ing out upon sunset waters, or at Old Vienna, x with a dip
into the Midway afterwards, or at the White Horse Inn,
where the prices alone would have staggered Mr. Pickwick.
Tea at the Japanese tea-house near the Fisheries Build
ing, was another diversion which interrupted the serious
business of examining the exhibits or spending an hour or
two with the pictures in the beautiful Art Building.
But the special quality of that enchanted summer was
that the business of life was its diversion. Here were all the
countries of the world at our doors — for a moment, for the
1 On one occasion there was a fire in Old Vienna while the tables were
crowded with diners. It was quickly extinguished, but after it was over and
calm re-established, the Turkish fire-brigade trotted in, dressed in the gay
uniforms which they had waited to put on. The band rose to the occasion
and struck up the Turkish Patrol.

296 CHICAGO YESTERDAYS
space of a breath. It was for us to see and understand and
enjoy. To float over the lagoons, piloted by Antonio, the
Apache, in a birch-bark canoe, to dream away an evening
near Columbia on her throne in the midst of rainbow-col
ored waters, to sleep in the log cabin on the Wooded Island
and see the Court of Honor under the light of the moon
alone, to watch through the Peristyle the sun rise over the
lake — all this was to drink in refreshment for a lifetime.
Gaiety and humor were mixed in with it all, and even
the most serious functions were sometimes touched with
laughter. We were a bit self-conscious at times in our new
cosmopolitan clothes, and too susceptible to criticism. But
we had grown to maturity in a night and won our place
among the cities of the world.
Perhaps we took ourselves most seriously in the World's
Congress Auxiliary, a series of conferences held on the lake
front in the building which is now the Art Institute. Or
ganized to discuss the problems of the world by an idealist
who was something of a fanatic, C. C. Bonney, it was
considered a visionary and impossible project. But it, too,
made good and brought many men of light and learning to
Chicago. If they gained more than they taught, we were all
the richer for their impressions. We listened to them and
applauded them and then, our duty done, took our gay
way out to the radiant Fair, where they rapturously fol
lowed. But though these congresses had many moments of
humor and many of success, they had also in the Parlia
ment of Religions a notable triumph. It achieved the im
possible by uniting on a single platform representatives of
all nations and all creeds. In variety of costumes and physi
ognomy it could not have been more picturesque, and its

THE WORLD'S FAIR 297
emotional and intellectual appeal was powerful. The Hin
doo monks made a sensation which lasted and grew into
a cult. For a long time the image of Swami Vivekananda
in his orange-colored robes uttering his impassioned' periods
was a thing to conjure with. And if the Parliament of
Religions did not succeed in uniting the people of the world
in one belief, it, at least, broadened our outlook and gave
us new standards of judgment.
In every way, that summer was the beginning to the city
of a larger life. It ended the period of adolescence with an
achievement so vast as to be exhausting, so brilliant that it
surpassed any possible new endeavor. It was inevitable that
a time of inertia should follow, but a city acquires myste
riously its character, like an individual, and keeps it in
spite of variations and weaknesses. If the building of a
permanent Chicago has gone on haltingly, if it has not risen
to the standard set by its own energy in 1893, it is certain
that the qualities which made that success are still here
and will achieve many another. Every agitation that makes
for progress rises to the surface here, every disaster has its
turn on our stage, every difficulty and struggle, every fail
ure and high endeavor play their parts here in the making
of men. And behind and beyond it all lie the force that
redeemed the wilderness, the vision that created the Court
of Honor, the faith that makes all things possible.

THE END

INDEX

INDEX

Ackerman, William K., 185, 190.
Ackerman, Mrs. Wm. K, 185.
Adams, Cyrus, 259.
Adams, Joseph, 259.
Adams, MacGfegor, 244.
Adams, Mary, 137.
Adler & Sullivan, 285.
Adsit, J. M., 12.
Aldis, Arthur, 247.
Alois, Owen F., 284.
Allerton, Samuel W., 284.
Allport, May, 271.
Angell, Charles, 165, 174.
Angell, Mrs. Charles, 165, 174.
Armour, George, 57.
Arnold, Alice, 198.
Arnold, Arthur, 199.
Arnold, Florence, 259.
Arnold, Isaac N., 12, 69, 78-80, 125,
126, 128, 130, 135, 138, 146, 155, 194,
198, 199.
Arnold, Mrs. I. N., 198.
Arnold, Katherine, 130, 199.
Arnot, Miss, 69.
Atwood, Charles B., 285.
Ayer, Benjamin F., 180, 188, 202, 214.
Ayer, Mrs. B. F., v, 179-192.
Ayer, Herbert, 263, 264, 266.
Ayer, Mrs. Herbert, 69, 262-264, 266.
Ayer, John V., 202.
Badger, A. C, 140, 165, 244.
Badger, Belle, 165, 174.
Badger, Eva, 165, 174.
Badger, Octavius, 202.
Badger, the Misses, 259.
Baird, General, 208.
Baker, Miss, 137, 147, 148.
Baker, William T., 284.
Balatka, Hans, 100, 133.
Balestier, Caroline, 13.
Balestier, Joseph N., 13.

Balestier, Mrs. Joseph N., IS.
Balestier, Wolcott, 13.
Barnes,  , 252.
Barnes, Charles J., 202.
Barney, W. J., 201, 202.
Barnum, E. S., 239.
Barrell, Finley, 251.
Barter, T. O., 202.
Bascomb, Rev. L. F., 62.
Beale, William G., 186.
Beaubien, Mark, 6, 11, 117.
Beaubien, M6dard, 10.
Beckwith, Judge William, 138, 207.
Beecher, Mrs. Jerome, 78.
Beman, Solon S., 285.
Benedict, Amzi, 239.
Benedict, Carrie, 243.
Bentley, Cyrus, 45, 46, 122.
Bentley, Thomas, 12, 83.
Berteau, Monsieur, 137.
Big Thunder, 4, 236.
Bigelow, Emma, 97.
Bigelow, Lt. Col., 107.
Bigot, Mme. Charles, v, 143-161.
Birch, Hugh T., 271.
Birch, Minnie, 148.
Bishop, Henry W., 202, 212.
Bishop, Mr., 25.
Blackstone, T. B., 207, 213.
Blackwell, R. S., 138.
Blackwells, the, 122.
Blair, Edward, iv, 201-215, 249.
Blair, Mrs. Edward T., 196.
Blair, William, 249, 250.
Blair, Mrs. William, iv, 29, 73-87.
Blake, Capt., 10.
Blaney, Dr., 137.
Blatchford, E. W., 86.
Blatchford, Mrs. E. W., 86.
Blodgett, Henry W., 12, 240.
Boal, Charles T., 202.
Bonney, C. C. 296.

302

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

Boone, Dr. Levi, 30, 46, 69.
Boone, Mrs. Levi, 69.
Bostwick, George, 222.
Bostwick, Mrs., 133.
Botsford, James K., 4, 12.
Bowen, Chauncey Keep, 188.
Bowen, James, 122.
Bowen, Jennie, 122.
Brackett, E. C, 11.
Bradley, Carl, 239, 246.
Bradley, David M., 91-93.
Bradley, Mrs. David M., 91.
Bradley, W. H., 125.
Bradner, Lester, 180.
Brainard, Dr., see Brainerd.
Brainerd, Dr. Dan'l, 12, 130, 131, 136,
137, 155.
Brainerd, Julia, 131, 155.
Bristol & Porter, 57.
Bross, William, 12, 122.
Brown, Andrew, 70, 202.
Brown, Mrs. Andrew, 70.
Brown, Mr. and Mrs. W. H., 86, 87.
Brown, William Liston, 98.
Bryan, Thomas B., 125, 151, 284.
Bryan, Mrs. Thomas B., 151.
Bryan, W. S., 136, 169, 176.
Buchers, the, 46.
Burch, I. H., 46, 83.
Burch, Minnie, 148.
Burley, Arthur H., 12, 15, 202, 206.
Burley, Augustus H., iv, 12, 15-34.
Burley, Mrs. Augustus H., iv, 15-34.
Burley, Charles, 15, 34, 60.
Burley, Clarence, 15, 259.
Burnham, Daniel H., 98, 285, 288, 293.
Burnham, Mrs. 182.
Burns family, 245.
Burton, Mrs. Stiles, 77, 78.
Butler, Lady Arthur, 214.
Butler, Charles, 216, 232, 233, 235, 236.
Butler, Mrs. Charles, 216, 232, 233,
234.
Butler, Edward B., 284.
Butterfield, Ada, 67.
Butterfield, Justin, 12, 67.
Calhoun, Fay, 259.
Calhoun, John B., 187.

Calhoun, Mrs. William J., v, 283-297.
Campbell, B. H., 202.
Campbell, Mrs. William Norman, 70.
Canda, Eugene, 25, 70, 132.
Canda sisters, 70, 71, 132.
Carl, Tom, 84.
Carpenter, Benjamin, 139.
Carpenter, Judge George A., 139.
Carpenter, George B., 124.
Carpenter, Mrs. George B., 139, 221.
Carpenter, Hubbard, 139.
Carpenter, John A., 139.
Carrey, Edmond, 203, 206.
Carter, James, 71.
Carter, T. B., 12, 76, 88, 122.
Case family, 43, 151.
Castle and Campbells, 84.
Caton, Arthur, 189, 244, 271, 277.
Caton, John Dean, 8, 77.
Caton, Mrs. John Dean, 8.
Chadwick, George W., 287.
Chapin, John P., 58, 122.
Chase, Rev. Dudley, 64.
Chatfield, Wayne, 245.
Chatfield-Taylor, Hobart C, v. 273-
282, 292.
Chesbrough, H. F., 135.
Church, Thomas, 4, 5.
Church, Mrs. Thomas, 5.
Clapp, Miss, 67.
Clark, Mrs. Edwin, 135.
Clark, John M., 122, 214, 271.
Clark, Louise, 219.
Clarks, the, 83, 100, 122.
Clarke, George C, 211,214.
Clarkson, Dr. Robert H., 124 ,136,138.
Clarkson, Mrs. R. H., 141.
Cleaver, Charles, 3, 189.
Clow, Kent, 245.
Cobb, Henry Ives, 285.
Cobb, Silas B., 11, 12, 46, 78.
Cobb, Walter F., 203.
Collamer,  , 60.
Collyer, Rev. Robert, 63, 109, 257.
Colvin, William H., 284.
Connell, C. J., 203.
Cook, Isaac, 11, 41, 59.
Coolbaugh, W. F., 203.
Cooley, F. B., 61.

INDEX

303

Cornell, Paul, 187, 188, 189.
Corse, General, 209.
Corwith, Nathan, 203.
Couch, James, 48.
Couch, Ira, 12, 48.
Countiss, R. H., 89, 90.
Cramer, Ambrose, Jr., 79.
Cramer, Mrs. Ambrose, 79.
Crawford, Mark L., 284.
Cregier, De Witt C, 284.
Crerar, John, 203, 213.
Crosby, Colonel Schuyler, 208, 209.
Crosby, Uranus H., 158, 202, 203, 206.
Cummings, Columbus R., 278.
Curzon, Lady, 214.
Daniels, Mrs., 27.
Davis, George R., 284, 287.
Davis, Dr. Nathan Smith, 136, 137.
Davis, S. N., 12.
Deering, Mrs. Charles, 208.
de Koven, John, 203, 213.
de Koven, Mrs. Reginald, 243.
Dent, Samuel, 247.
Dewey, Davis R., 186, 191.
De Wolf, Edward P., 137.
De Wolf, Henry, 127, 128.
De Wolf, William F., 124.
De Wolf, Mrs. William F., 124.
Dexter, Wirt, 191, 203, 207, 271.
Dibblee, Henry, 271.
Dickey, Hugh T., 56, 77, 122, 202, 203,
207.
Dickey, Valentine, 277, 278.
Dickinson, Rev. Mr., 239.
Dickinson, R. B., 239.
Dickinson, Mrs. R. B., 239.
Dodge, Mrs., 125.
Doggett, Mrs. Kate, 137.
Dole, Charles, 243.
Dole, George W., 12, 55, 128.
Dole, Mrs. George W., 124, 128.
Dorman,  , 63.
Dorsey, Mrs., 121.
Douglas, Annie, 254, 259.
Douglas, John M., 254.
Douglas, Stephen A.. 59, 86, 93, 102.
Douglas, Mrs. Stephen A., 130.
Dow,  , 182.
Drake, John B., 203.

Drummond, Thomas, 117, 118, 120,
146, 155.
Drummond, Mrs. Thomas, 127, 146.
Drummond, Mary, v, 117-142.
Dunham, J. H., 81.
Dunlap, George L., 203, 207.
Durand, Mrs. Henry, 252.
Durand, Joseph, 250.
Dye,  , 98.
Dyer, Dr. Charles, 6, 93, 96, 99, 125.
Dyer, Louis, 222.
Eastman, Frank, 266.
Eddy, Augustus, 244, 271.
Eddy, Rev. Dr. T. M., 108, 109.
Eldredge, Dr., 206.
Egan, Dr. W. B., 100, 179, 180.
Ellsworth, Col. E. E., 46, 101, 136.
Ellsworth, James W., 284.
Erskine, Mrs., 123.
Evans, Governor, 93.
Fabian, Robert I., 239.
Fabian, Will, 248.
Fairbank, N. K., 203, 210, 212, 213,
271.
Fairman, Frank, 183.
Farnam, Mrs. Henry, 121, 122.
Farnham, Sarah, 148.
Farnum,  , 83.
Farrar, Col. Henry W., 202, 203, 206.
Farwell, Anna, 243, 244.
Farwell, Charles B., 83, 202, 203, 214,
237, 240, 245.
Farwell, Mrs. Charles B., 244, 246.
Farwell, Fannie, 241.
Farwell, John V., Jr., 284.
Farwell, John V., 214, 239, 240, 246
248.
Farwell, Mrs. Walter, 130.
Fay, Amy, 262.
Fay, Norman, 278.
Ferry, Mrs. A. F., 248.
Ferry, W. H., 239, 243.
Field, Leiter & Company, 88, 115.
Field, Marshall, 43, 212, 213, 271, 278.
Fish, Stuyvesant, 284.
Fisher brothers, 206.
Fisher, Archie, 244.
Fisher, George, 250.
Fisher, J. K., 202, 203, 209.

304

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

Fiske, D. B., 203.
Fleetwoods, the, 122.
Follansbee, Charles, 4, 12, 46.
Forrest, Mr., 26.
Forsyth, the Misses, 196.
Forsythe, "Sandy," 208.
Forsythe, "Tony," 208.
Fox, Harry, 203.
Freer, L. C. P., 46.
Freer, Dr. Jos. W., 137.
Fuller, Melville W., 191, 207.
Fuller, S. W. 203.
Gage Bros. & Rice, 202.
Gage, Clara, 135.
Gage, David A., 202, 203, 205, 206.
Gage, George W., 188, 203, 205, 206.
Gage, Lyman J., 207, 284.
Gale, Stephen F., 12, 15, 19, 69, 81,
203.
Garrett, Augustus, 91.
Garrett, Mrs. Augustus, 91.
Gaylord, Mrs., 43.
Gibbs, George A., 57.
Goodrich, Grant, 12, 74, 124.
Goodrich, Kitty, 121.
Goodwin, Louise, 130.
Goodwin, Maj. Daniel, 226, 227.
Goodwin, Stephen A., 130, 138.
Goodwin, Mrs. S. A., 138.
Gordon, Mrs. Nellie Kinzie, 68, 87,
137.
Gorton, Frank, 271.
Gossage, Charles, 187, 203.
Gottlieb, Abram, 285.
Graham, Mrs., 130.
Grant, Frederick Dent, 187, 208.
Grant, Mrs. Frederick Dent, 187.
Grant, Gen. Ulysses S., 86, 105, 107,
158, 160, 187, 211.
Grant, Mrs. Ulysses S., 86, 187, 211.
Greeley, Mrs. Frederick, v, 193-200.
Greeley, Samuel S., 66.
Greeley, Mrs. S., 65.
Greggs, the, 210.
Griffin, E. W., 57.
Grover, Mr., 98.
Gulicson, Ole, 93.
Hadduck, B. F., 46, 210.

Hall, Phillip A., 203.
Hallam, Rev. Isaac W., 63.
Hallowell, May, 269.
Hamill, Mrs. Ralph, 131.
Hamilton, Mrs. R. G., iv, 38.
Hand, Johnny, 177.
Harmon, Isaac N, 12.
Harrington, Mrs., 60.
Harrington, Rev. Mr., 60, 62.
Harrison, Carter H., Jr., iv, 103, 162-
178.
Harrison, Carter H., Sr., 140, 162, 165,
166, 167, 168, 175, 176, 177, 292.
Harvey, Turlington W., 174, 244.
Harvey, Mrs. Turlington, 165, 174.
Hathaway, Mr., 124.
Havens, the, 83.
Hay, John, 220.
Hayes, President Rutherford B., 210,
249, 251, 252.
Hayes, Mrs. Rutherford B., 210, 252.
Hayes, S. S., 169.
Haynes family, 46.
Healy, Agnes, 152, 153, 154, 158.
Healy, G. P. A., 86, 128, 143, 144,
145, 153, 157, 158, 160.
Healy, Mrs. G. P. A., 86, 146, 151, 234.
Heights, Mrs., 23.
Henry, Robert L., 244.
Henry, Mrs. Robert L., 165.
Herrick, Dr., 137.
Hibbard, Homer, 187.
Higgins Bros., 134.
Higgins, Judge Van H., 136, 138, 180,
185.
Higginson, George, 151.
High family, 122.
Higinbotham, Harlow N, 284, 288,
289, 293.
Hill, Mattie, 159.
Hitchcock, Charles, 185.
Hitchcock, Mrs. Charles, 185, 186.
Hoag, Mrs., 141.
Hoard, Samuel, 136.
Hoge, A. H., 63.
Hoge, Mrs. A. H., 85.
Holbrook, John, 11.
Holt, Charlie, 255.
Holt, D. R., 238, 240, 243, 245.

INDEX

305

Holt, George, 248, 255.
Honor6, Adrian, 174.
Honor6, Bertha, 174.
Honor6, Harry, 174.
Honore, Henry H., 140, 164, 165, 166,
168, 174.
HonorS, Mrs. H. H., 187.
Honore, Ida, 187.
Hopkins, George B., 203, 206.
Hosmer, Edward D., 266.
Hotchkiss family, 239.
Houghteling, William D., 136.
Houghteling, Mrs. William D., 141.
Howard, Rev. Dr., 45.
Howard, W. B., 203, 278.
Howe, Francis, 128.
Howe, Mary, 137.
Howe, Mrs., 22.
Howe, Rose, 128.
Hoyne, Thomas, 77.
Hubbard, Gurdon S., 12, 69, 70, 74,
136.
Hubbard, Gurdon S., Jr., 69.
Hubbard, Mrs. Gurdon S., Jr., 76, 77.
Hubbard, Henry, 12, 69.
Hubbard, Mrs. Henry, 69.
Hubbard,  , 69.
Humphreys, David, 26, 71.
Humphreys, Mrs. David, 25, 26, 70,
132.
Humphreys & Winslow, 57.
Hunt, James Anthony, 136.
Hunt, Mrs. James Anthony, 131.
Huntington, Alonzo, 200.
Huntington, Henry, 266, 270.
Ingalls, Rufus, 208.
Isham, Edward S., 203, 204, 212, 238.
Jackson, Huntington, 244.
Jackson, Obediah, 203.
James, Louis, 137.
Jamieson, Judge, 185.
Janes, John, 202, 203, 209.
Jefferson, Joseph, 133.
Jeffrey, Edward T., 284.
Jennings,  , 171.
Jenney & Mundie, 285.
Jerome, Mrs. Eugene N., 127, 128,
218.

Jerome, Eugene N., 127.
Jerome, Larry, 209.
Jewett, Mrs. J. N., 252.
Jewett, John N., 130.
Jewett, Mrs. Samuel, 196.
Johnston, Miss, 253.
Johnston, Samuel, 127, 199, 206.
Johnston, William S., 67, 239, 250.
Johnston, Mrs. William S., 67.
Johnston, Mrs. William, 174.
Jones, Mrs. Benjamin, 5.
Jones, Caroline Ogden, 127.
Jones, M. O., 259.
Jones, the Misses, 131.
Jones, S. M., 203.
Judd, Norman B., 12, 77, 83, 85, 184,
250.
Judd, Mrs. Norman B., 85, 86, 250.
Kales, Francis H., 207.
Kattee, Walter, 203.
Kays, William V., 239, 245.
Keith, Edson, 214.
Keith, Elbridge G., 284.
Keith, Samuel L., 203, 206.
Keith, Scott, 244.
Kelly, Charles V., 135.
Kelly, James, 127, 222, 259, 266.
Kelly, the Misses, 259, 266.
Kerfoot, Alice, 125, 126.
Kerfoot, Samuel H., 125, 126.
Kerfoot, William H., 138, 140.
Kerfoot, William D., 257.
Keyes, Rollin A., 284.
Kimball, Granville, 203, 204.
Kimball, W. W., 271.
King family, 27, 244.
King, Henry W., 86, 195, 197, 213.
King, Mrs. Henry, 43, 86, 151.
King, Henry W. & Company, 206.
King, Tuthill, 4, 12.
Kinsley, H. M., 46, 254.
Kinzie, Arthur, 68, 123.
Kinzie, Ellen Marion, 13.
Kinzie. George, 121.
Kinzie, John, 2, 11, 13, 68, 74, 78, 87.
Kinzie, Major John H., 11, 46, 60,
67, 68, 123.
Kinzie, Mrs. John H., 68, 87, 123.

306

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

Kinzie, Nellie, 87.
Kirkland, Caroline, 1.
Kirkland, Joseph, 266, 270.
Kirkman, Marshall M., 284.
Kirkwood, William, 203.
Kohlsaat, Herman H., 284.
La Framboise, Miss, 10.
Lake, David J., 239, 246.
Lamb, Ben, 278.
Lane, Albert G., 135.
Lane, Miss, 137, 147, 148.
Larned, Major Charles H., 56.
Larned, Edwin C, 61, 138.
Larned, Edwin J., 239.
Larrabee, Mrs. Charles, 26.
Lathrop, Bryan, 259.
Lawrence, Edward F., 284.
Ledlie, General, 209.
Lefens, Thies J., 284.
Leightner, Milton, 259.
Leiter, Levi Z., 211, 214.
Lemoyne, John V. 102, 125.
Le Moyne, Sarah C, 287.
Lewis, Anna, 137.
Lewis, Mrs. Hiram, 137.
Lewis, Mary, 137.
Lincoln, Abraham, 6,7,69, 85,86, 103,
105, 106, 110, 111, 135, 136, 158,
160, 167, 183, 184.
Lincoln, Mrs. Abraham, 86.
Lincoln, Robert Todd, 203, 207, 211,
212, 220.
Lind, Sylvester, 238, 245.
Livermore, Mrs. Mary, 85.
Lloyd, Mrs. Henry Demorest, 85.
Lochrane, Judge, 211.
Locke, Dr. Clinton, 270.
Logan, Gen. John A., Ill, 249.
Lombard, Frank, 108, 135.
Lombard, Jules, 46, 108, 135.
Long, Clara, 42.
Long, James, 42.
Loomis, H. G., 206.
Loomis, Col. J. Mason, 182, 203, 220.
Loring, Mrs. Stella Dyer, 222.
Lovejoy, Owen, 93.
Lunt, Orrington, 93, 136.
Lyon, John B., 203, 206.

McCagg, Carrie, 70, 225.
McCagg, Ezra Butler, 46, 61, 70,
131, 138, 146, 156, 203, 204, 211,
221, 223, 225, 228.
McCagg, Mrs. Ezra Butler, 70, 131,
132, 156, 218, 221, 223.
McCagg, Louis, 70, 221.
McCarty, Mrs. Samuel, 92.
McClure, Mrs. J. G., Jr., 79.
McClurg, A. C, 214.
McClurg, Mrs. A. C, 127, 145, 222.
McClurg, Ogden, 127.
McConnell, Mrs. Samuel P., 165.
McCormick, Cyrus Hall, 35, 38, 126,
284.
McCormick, Leander, 35.
McCormick, Mrs. Leander, iv, 35-40.
McCormick, Robert Hall, 35, 36, 37,
196, 259, 266, 277.
McCormick, William, 35, 196, 197.
McCormick, Mrs. William, 196.
McGann, Mrs. Robert Greaves, v,
237-256.
McKay, James R., 203.
McLaury, T. G., 203.
McLennans, the, 245.
McMillan, William, 266.
McNally, Andrew, 284.
McVeagh, Franklin, 207, 211, 214,
271.
McVicker, Mary, 100, 134.
Magee,  , 53.
Magie, H. H., 126.
Maher, Hugh, 171.
Mandel,  , 115.
Martin, Clara, 94.
Mason, Alfred, 264, 266.
Mason, Edward G., 63, 270.
Mason, Roswell B., 264.
Matz, Mrs. Otto, 137.
Maxwell, Mary Ann, 26.
Maynard, P. C, 205.
Medill, Joseph, 244, 284.
Medill, Mrs. Joseph, 84.
Meeker, Alice, 44, 45.
Meeker, Arthur B., 11, 12.
Meeker, Mrs. Arthur B., iv, 41-46.
Meeker, George, 26.
Meeker, George B., 126.

INDEX

307

Miller, Mrs. Henry, 130.
Miller, John, 11, 63.
Minot, Edward J., 203, 206.
Mitchell, Alexander, 71.
Monroe, Harriet, 287.
Moody, Dwight L., 101.
Moore, Miss, 43.
Moore, Judge Samuel M., 165.
Moreau, M., 25.
Morgan, Francis, 202, 203, 206.
Morgan, James, 187.
Morris, Buckner S., 56, 165.
Morris, Mrs. B. S., 165.
Munger, A. A., 203.
Munger, Wesley, 57.
Murray, Mary, 137.
Murray, W. H., 203.
Nathan, Adolph, 284.
Neef, Effie, 248, 253, 254.
Neef, Walter, 83, 248, 251, 254.
Neef, Mrs. Walter, 83, 251, 254.
Nelson, C. B., 60.
Nelson, Robert, 284.
Nevins, Billy, 177.
Newall, Mrs., 137.
Newberry, Mary, 124, 128, 156.
Newberry, Julia, 129, 156.
Newberry, Oliver, 10, 55.
Newberry, Walter L., 10, 11, 12, 67,
124, 128, 129, 130, 155, 156, 195, 197.
Newberry, Mrs. Walter L., 67.
Newberry & Dole, 55.
Nicholas, Rev. Dr., 242.
Nicholson,  , 60.
Nickerson, Samuel M., 203.
Nillson,  , 222.
Nixon, William W. K., 227.
Nixon, Mrs. William W. K., 196, 259.
Norton, Henry, 211.
Norton, James, 259, 270.
Noyes, John T., 259, 266.
Udell, John J. P., 284.
Ogden, Eliza, 21, 216.
Ogden, M. D., 46, 131, 132, 216, 217,
226.
Ogden, Mrs. M. D., 132, 184, 223,
224, 267.

Ogden, Wm. B., 11, 12, 26, 34, 46,
52, 68, 69, 70, 78, 79, 80, 126, 128,
131, 143, 144, 164, 195, 197, 204,
217, 218, 220, 221, 228, 229, 231,
232, 233, 234, 235.
Ogden, Mrs. W. B., 69.
Olmsted & Company, 238, 285.
O'Neill's, 247, 248.
Otis, Philo, 12.
Owen, T. V., 11.
Owsley, Mrs. Heaton, 176.
Owsley, John E., 165, 166, 172.
Page, P. W., 239.
Page, Peter, 104.
Pages, the, 245.
Paine, J. K., 287.
Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 174, 187, 288,
289, 292.
Palmer, Potter, 88, 122, 187, 189, 203,
222, 277, 284, 291.
Parker, J. Mason, 203.
Patterson, Dr. Robert W., 62, 86, 109,
238.
Patterson, Mrs. Robert W., 83, 251.
Payson, Mr., 25.
Payson, Mrs., 25, 26, 70, 132.
Peabody, Mrs. F. B., 141.
Peacock's, 92.
Peck, Ferdinand W., 98, 284.
Peck, James, 41.
Peck, P. F. W., 11, 12, 46.
Peck & Company, 57.
Pelton, William T., 203.
Perkins, Norman, 187.
Phelps, Erskine M., 284.
Pierson, Henry R., 202, 203, 206.
Pike, Eugene S., 244, 284.
Pooles, the, 245.
Post, George B., 285.
Powers,  , 252.
Price, Jeremiah, 12.
Priestley, Howard, 202, 203, 206.
Pritchet, Edward, 243.
Pullman, George M., 203, 212, 213,
271.
Quinlan, Dr. Charles H., 238, 249.
Rauch, John H., 203.

308

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

Ray, Dr. Charles H., 84.
Raymond, B. W., 12.
Raymond, John B., 202, 203, 206.
Reed, John S., 70, 131.
Reid, Simon S., 240.
Reid, Mrs. Simon S., 242.
Revell, Emma, 101.
Reynolds, Mrs., 141.
Ribot, Alexandre, 148.
Ribot, Mme. Alexandre, 148.
Rice, Rev. Dr., 63.
Rice, John B., 64, 203.
Richardson, Rev. Mr., 63.
Rogers, Edward K., 12, 124.
Rogers, George Mills, 165.
Rogers, Harry, 174.
Rogers, Judge John G., 165, 168.
Rogers, Mrs. Joseph M., 165.
Rogers, the, 140.
Root, Frederick, 182.
Root, George, 46, 108, 135, 182, 183.
Root, James A., 187.
Root, John W., 278, 285, 286.
Ross, William M., 203.
Rossiter, Gilbert, 238, 250.
Ross & Gossage, 122.
Rowe, Mrs. Charles, 92.
Rozet, G. II., 203.
Rucker, General, 208.
Rumsey, George, 136, 195, 259.
Rumsey, J. P., 245.
Rumsey, Julian S., 55, 131, 136, 195.
Rumsey, the Misses, 259.
Russell, E. W., 203.
Russell, Jacob, 56.
Russell & Company, 57.
Rutter, Dr. David, 122.
Rutter, Dr. J. O., 58, 81, 86, 203.
Ryder, Rev. W. H., 109.
Ryerson, Ann Catherine, 59.
Ryerson, Arthur, 259.
Ryerson, Edward Larned, 47.
Ryerson, Joseph Turner, iv, 47-72.
Ryerson, Mrs. J. T., 141.
Ryerson, Mariette, 58.
Ryerson, Martin A., 284.

Sabin,

-, 252.
Sabin, Mrs., 253.

Saunders, the Misses, 137.
Sawyer, Nathaniel, 251.
Scammon, J. Y., 12, 85, 122, 128, 138,
180, 184, 185, 188, 203, 204, 218,
219.
Scammon, Mrs. J. Y., 85, 132, 185,
218, 220.
Schneidau, Count von, 56, 127, 128,
218.
Schneidau, Mrs. von, 56, 128.
Schneidau, Pauline von, 127, 128, 218.
Schwartz, "Charlie," 273, 277, 278.
Scudder, M. L., 251.
Scudder, William M., 121, 225.
Scudder, Mrs. William M., 126, 225.
Seeberger, Anthony F., 284.
Sheldon, E. B., 259.
Sheldon, Edwin H., 126, 127, 129,
144, 223, 224, 228, 234.
Sheldon, Mrs. Edwin H, 126, 145, 223.
Sheldon, Ellie, 145.
Sheldon, Fanny, 129, 220.
Sheldon, P. C, 12.
Sheldon, Gen. W. B., 224.
Shepard, Henry O., 187.
Shepard, Mrs. H. O., 187.
Sheridan, Col. M. V., 208.
Sheridan, Gen. Philip Henry, 111, 114,
207-209, 211, 219, 249, 251.
Sherman, Frank, 41, 59, 60.
Sherrill, Laura, 8.
Shreve, T. T., 244.
Shumway, H. G., 238, 239, 250.
Sibley, S., 203.
Simpson, Rev. Matthew, 109.
Simpson, Bishop, 106.
Skinner, Edwin S., 239.
Skinner, Elizabeth, 79, 155.
Skinner, Frederika, 79, 155.
Skinner, Judge Mark, 12, 46, 56, 79,
86, 122, 146, 155, 197, 207, 238.
Skinner, Mrs. Mark, 81, 86.
Small, Dr., 137.
Smith, Abbie, 252.
Smith, Allie, 243.
Smith, Charles Mather, 180.
Smith, Delavan, 249.
Smith, Francis Drexel, 180.
Smith, Frederick Mather, 180.

INDEX

309

Smith, George, 71.
Smith, J. A., 46.
Smith, Judge, 69.
Smith, Lisle, S3.
Smith, Mary Rozet, 185.
Smith, Perry H., 19f>, 203, 207, 265.
Smith, Mrs. Perry H. , 196, 265.
Smith, Perry H., Jr., 266.
Smith, William Henry, 248, 249, 251,
252, 253.
Smith, Mrs. William Henry, 248, 249,
252.
Snow,  , 137.
Snow, George W., 12, 46.
Spalding, J. J., 106.
Spencer, Franklin, 244.
Sprague, A. A., 214.
Sprague, 0. S. A., 214.
Stager, Gen. Anson, 202, 203, 209, 214.
Stanton, D. D., 57.
Stanton, George E., 129.
Steel, George, 57.
Steele, Ashbel, 3, 4.
Stewart, Mrs. Dr., 60.
Stewart, Hart L., 100.
Stockton, Gen. Joseph, 125, 129.
Stone, Horatio O., 12, 187.
Stripe, Ida C, 242.
Stripe, Violet, 242.
Strong, W. E., 127, 228, 284.
Strong, Mrs. W. E., 228.
Stuart, Dr., 25.
Sturges, Solomon, 136.
Sullivan, Mr., 225.
Swett, Leonard, 138.
Swift, R. K., 41.
Swing, David, 64, 270.
Swope, Rev. Dr., 126.
Tallmadge, Mrs., 108.
Tappan, Charles S., 203, 206.
Taylor, James H., 244.
Taylor, William H., 12.
Taylor's, 247.
Thomas, Clara, 44.
Thomas, Theodore, 269, 278, 287.
Thomasson, Col. Nelson, 174.
Thompson, Harvey, 238, 250.
Tiernan, Mrs. M., 129, 130.

Tiffany, Mrs. C. C, 222.
Tiffany, Rev. O. H, 109.
Tilden, Samuel J., 221.
Tilton, Col. Lucius, 203, 204.
Tinkham, Annie, 131.
Tinkham, Edward J., 52, 58, 60, 203,
204.
Tinkham, Edward S., 199.
Tinkham, Edwin, 136.
Tomlins, William L., 287.
Torrence, General, 278.
Towne, Charles, 244.
Tracy, John F., 203.
Tree, Arthur, 126.
Tree, Judge Lambert, 203, 207.
Tree, Mrs. Lambert, 126.
Tree, Ronald, 126.
Trumbull, Lyman J., 183, 184.
Trumbull, Perry, 244.
Tuley, Murray F., 165.
Turner, Volney, 228.
Turner, Mrs. Volney, 228.
Tuttle, Henry, 244.
Tuttle, Mrs. Henry, 241.
Van Northwick, John, 207.
Van Wyck, Frank, 44.
Viles, James, 239.
Voss,  , 177.
Wacker, Charles H., 284.
Wadsworth, James, 12.
Wadsworth, Mary, 137.
Wadsworth, Philip, 63, 202, 203, 204.
Waite, Horatio, 186.
Waite, Mrs. Horatio, 186.
Walker, Charles H., 203.
Walker, Charles, 57.
Walker, Charles M., 167.
Walker, George C, 44, 203.
Walker, Henry H., 174.
Walker, J. M., 271, 278.
Walker, Samuel J., 167.
Walker, Dr. Samuel J., Jr., 167.
Walker, William B., 43, 203.
Waller, Edward C, 169, 174.
Waller, Henry, 169.
Waller, James B., 169, 173, 289.
Waller, Judith, 174.

310

CHICAGO YESTERDAYS

Waller, Robert A., 284.
Waller, William, 169, 173.
Walsh, John R., 284.
Walter, Mrs. Joel, 28.
Ward, Amy, 241.
Ward, Frankie, 241.
Ward, Jasper D., 169.
Ward, Mrs. Joseph Frederick, v, 88-
116.
Ward, Lucy, 241.
Ward, Lilly, 241.
Ward, Samuel Dexter, 238, 241.
Ward, Mrs. Samuel Dexter, 241.
Warner, Ezra, 214, 240, 250, 254.
Warner, Mrs. Ezra, 254.
Warren, Nellie, 248, 251, 253.
Warren, William S., 239, 240, 251.
Warren, Mrs. William S., 251.
Warren sisters, 78.
Washburne, Emory, Jr., 203.
Washburne, Hempstead, 287.
Waubansee, 194.
Webster, General, 251.
Wells,  , 132.
Wentworth, John, 12, 19, 91, 93, 96,
100, 103, 191.
Wentworth, Mrs. John, 103.
West, Mrs. Frederick T., v, 216-
236.
Wheeler, Charles C, 284.
Wheeler, Mrs. C, 145.
Wheeler, Charles W., 203.
Wheeler, Eleanor, 127, 145.
Wheeler, Frank, 266.
Wheeler, G. Henry, 203.
Wheeler, Hiram, 203.
Wheeler, Samuel, 259.
Whipple, General, 208.
Whistler, Colonel, 79.
White, Mr., 67.
White, Alexander, 250.
Whitehead, Capt. Edward, 107.
Whitehead, William H., 107.
Whitehouse, Bishop, 64, 278.
Whitehouse, Francis M., 278.

Whitehouse, William Fitzhugh, 129,
222.
Whitehouse, Mr.i. William Fitzhugh,
129.
Whiting, Mrs., 137.
Whiting, Mary, 137, 197.
Whitman, George R., 203.
Wilder, Nat, 26.
Willard, Miss, 76.
Williams, Annie, 244.
Williams, Clarine, 251.
Williams, General, 130.
Williams, Lawrence, 242.
Williams, Norman, 212, 271.
Williams, Simeon B., 239, 245, 249.
Willing, Henry, 88.
Willing, Mrs. Henry J., 79.
Willing, Mark Skinner, 79.
Willis, Richard Stors, 135.
Willis, Mrs. Richard Stors, 135.
Wilson, Charles L., 203.
Wilson, Judge John M., 81.
Wilson, J. M., 188.
Wilson, John K., 11.
Wilson, Mrs. Milton, 97, 107.
Winchester, Col., 165, 166, 168.
Winston, Frederick, 266, 267, 284.
Winston, Lillie, 259.
Wischmyer, Mrs. Henry, 126.
Wolcott, Alexander, 12, 13.
Wolcott, Mrs. Alexander, 13.
Wolcott, Caroline, 13.
Woodel, Edward, 183.
Woodbridge,  , 63.
Wright, Deacon John, 51.
Wright, Mrs., 132.
Wrights, the, 244.
Wyman, Edward, 259.
Wyman, Walter, 259.
Yates, Governor Richard, 110.
Yerkes, Charles T., 284.
Young, George W., 203, 209.
Young, James R., 203, 209.
Young, Otto, 284.

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