Part 7

until her parents and herself were quite certain of an offer. He certainly owed her one. She deserved some compensation for listening to his interminable stories, which were as monotonous as long. So celebrated a narrator was he, that his friends, when endeavoring to give each other an idea of some distance traversed, would say, 'It was one of Shuffleshank's stories,' or two stories. Sometimes unfortunate men could tell of a six-story walk, and these were looked upon as persons of great strength and vast powers of endurance. But the heartless, ungrateful Shuffleshank allowed the mercury to descend in the thermometer of his affections for Miss Liner, and gradually his attentions grew colder and colder, until they sunk below zero and became neglect. But the faithless one did not long survive his treachery. He broke his wind in attempting to finish his tenth story that day, and expired soon after suddenly. He was discovered lying on his back, his toes turned out, and his head resting on a volume of Cotillons _à quatre mains_. His executors found among his papers the first sheet of a pamphlet on his favorite science, waltzing, dated only a few days before his decease.

You will pardon us, friend KNICKERBOCKER, for giving your readers one or two original rules of so great a professor:

'RULE I. The _cavalier_ should endeavor to waltz with women of a suitable size. The relative test is, that the noses of the couple be on a level.

'RULE II. He should put his right arm as far round the lady's waist as possible, and draw her toward him with the other hand, so that the noses before mentioned shall be not more than half an inch apart.

'RULE III. In case the lady should be inclined to jump, he must hold her down to the floor by pressing firmly upon her _tournure_.'

Society has indeed suffered a sad loss by his untimely death. But before we go any farther with our story, we will give a crow-quill _croquis_ of the career of Miss Catherine Liner, down to the period of Shuffleshank's catastrophe.

'Miss Liner was of a good family: her pa, a retired merchant, with some tincture of the humanities, and she herself well educated; that is, she knew enough Italian to say _pesch'e_; enough German for '_es ist warm_;' and enough French for '_Oh, vee_.' Music she loved to distraction. True, she sometimes nodded at a concert, but then it was only to beat the time, and when awakened by a crash, she would shake her head in languid ecstasy, and sigh out a sentimental '_ah!_' Or, if the nature of the air required it, she could shout in a voice sonorous as a cricket's: '_Divine!_' '_magnifique!_' '_grandioso!_' or the hardest word she might remember out of any language. The gentlemen in waiting caught the cue; and men who had not ear enough to keep time when dancing, were unintelligibly scientific in _allegros_ and _andantes_, and made frequent and familiar allusions to Hummel, Meyerbeer, Beethoven, and Weber. We ourselves must plead guilty of claiming an acquaintance where we never had an introduction. How true is that saying of Fuller: 'The best of God's children have a smack of hypocrisy!'

Miss Catherine's papa Silas was rich, and Miss Catherine was fashionable. She came out and offered a book-muslin view of herself to two hundred and fifty warm people. Bouquets, ay, double-bouquets, were sent her by insane beaux, by means of which young gentlemen who only knew two ladies in the room were converted into flower-stands for an hour or two, trying to look easy and at home, by gently rubbing the camelias against their noses from time to time. And when Miss Catherine had given a ball herself, then did she become perfect in manner; then handled she her fan with consummate dexterity, and adopted an expression of intense fashionable agony when a badly-dressed woman passed by, or a clumsy _Unshuffleshankian_ waltzer ran against her. Then sighed she in German to a gentleman from Connecticut, lisped in French to a dandy from Philadelphia, and whispered in Tuscan to her Italian master, if he happened to be within hail. Then waltzed she with young men, warm or cold, dry or moist; she would have taken a turn with a steaming tea-kettle, if tea-kettles wore white vests and _valsed_. Then danced she like a Bacchante, and only left the ball-room just before the lights; while melancholy Silas, pining for his pillow, clasped his hands and sometimes muttered, 'Ultima July;' and sometimes, as if desparing of rest below, '_in coelo quies_.' To have seen Miss Catherine Julia, you would have sworn that she was a descendant of Lord Lanesboro', _si passionné pour la danse,_ who, after the death of Prince George of Denmark, waited upon Queen Anne, and advised her to take a quarter, by way of consolation.

Let us pause a while to take breath.

FORGET-ME-NOT: 'MYOSOTIS AVENSIS.'

FROM THE GERMAN: BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.

I.

THERE is a flower, a lovely flower, Tinged deep with Faith's unchanging hue; Pure as the ether in its hour Of loveliest and serenest blue. The streamlet's gentle side it seeks, The silent fount, the shaded grot, And sweetly to the heart it speaks, Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.

II.

Mild as the azure of thine eyes, Soft as the halo-beam above, In tender whispers still it sighs, Forget me not, my life, my love! There where thy last steps turned away, Wet eyes shall watch the sacred spot, And this sweet flower be heard to say, Forget! ah, no! forget-me-not!

III.

Yet deep its azure leaves within Is seen the blighting hue of care; And what that secret grief hath been, The drooping stem may well declare. The dew-drops on its leaves are tears, That ask, 'Am I so soon forgot?' Repeating still, amidst their fears, My life, my love! forget-me-not!

OUR PUBLIC MEN.

NUMBER ONE.

PERSONAL TRAITS OF PRESIDENT TYLER AND HIS FAMILY.

THE interest which is felt in the personal history of a distinguished man is materially increased in the person of Mr. TYLER, for and against whom so much has been said and written. And as I am no politician, but have had the opportunity of seeing a great deal of our Chief Magistrate, personally and in private, I propose to give to the readers of the KNICKERBOCKER a few personal characteristics of the President, drawn from my own knowledge and observation. They are not in themselves of any deep interest, being such as arise in the every-day occurrences of life; but they therefore the better portray _the man_, and are of much interest on that account.

I remember one evening that a plain countryman from the interior of Pennsylvania called upon the President, and seemed to eye him with keen scrutiny. He was evidently a person well-to-do in the world; who owned the acres that he tilled, and had a good many broad ones; a holder of his own plough, from habits of industry rather than from necessity; and one who, evidently, had always spoken his mind without fear or favor. His plain but clean attire, and his honest, open countenance and proper bearing, struck me very forcibly, and reminded me of a remark which I once heard General Harrison make of Tecumseh, the celebrated Indian warrior, who has been called the 'Napoleon of the West.' General Harrison observed that the Indian was one of the most gentlemanly men he had ever seen. I asked him how that could be?

'Why,' he replied, 'he had self-possession and self-respect.'

This old farmer had these manly qualities. After a long chat with the President, he observed:

'Well, Mr. Tyler, you are a very different man from what I took you to be.'

'How so?' asked the President, laughing.

'Why I thought you were a large, red-faced, haughty man, with your hair combed back and tied in an old-fashioned cue, and that you were as proud as Lucifer. Why, you are as plain as a pikestaff, and as free-spoken as if you had no secrets in the world. I am glad I came to see you, Sir; I have been much deceived.' And so has every man been much deceived who has taken upon hearsay personal prejudices against the President. His personal appearance is very prepossessing. He is above the middle height, and slim, with long arms, and a quick, active gait. His forehead is prominent and very intellectual, with the perceptive faculties, according to phrenology, strongly developed. His hair is light and thin, and mixed with gray. His eye is a light blue, quick and penetrating; at the same time it is frank and open, with a quiet humor lurking in the corner. His nose is remarkably prominent, cheeks thin, and mouth compressed. The whole face is full of character, and the features are remarkably plastic and expressive; changing with every shade of thought that passes through his mind. He is said to bear a strong resemblance to the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, but his features have none of that rigidity which marks those of the Duke. His conversational talents are of the first order, and he tells a tale with great unction and glee, and with remarkable effect.

I remember the first time I saw the President, I was invited to dine at the White House by his son; and it so happened that after dinner I fell into conversation with the Chief Magistrate upon Mr. JEFFERSON, of whom he spoke in terms of great enthusiasm. I have since seen a letter from an old friend of the President's, reminding him that he had often expressed the wish before the decease of Mr. Jefferson, an event which, from his advanced age was long expected, that he might deliver his eulogy. It so turned out that the President was appointed; and any one who will read the different eulogies pronounced upon Jefferson, will be struck with the republican appreciation of his character and virtues which Mr. Tyler has set forth with such earnest and vivid eloquence.

I remember well seeing the President the day after the first veto. Great excitement prevailed in all parties throughout the day. The avenue was alive with groups of people in earnest talk, and many visiters, particularly, members of the Democratic party, repaired to the White House at night to tender their thanks to the President for the course he had pursued.

In the dead of the night the inhabitants of the President's square were aroused by the shouts of a drunken mob, who, with discordant fife and old tin-pans for drums, proceeded to the executive mansion and yelled, in consequence of the veto, those insults in the ears of the President and his family, among whom was the wife of the President, then in extremely delicate health. The day after all this, I met Mr. Robert Tyler in the street, as I was proceeding to my dinner, who invited me to dine with him, observing that there was nobody at the house but the family. We entered the White House at the southern front, and found the President seated with his son Tazwell by his side, a lad of fourteen, whom the President was teaching his lesson. It instantly struck me that there was a moral energy in the President of which his enemies little dreamed.

'Peace has her victories, As well as war;'

says Milton, in his splendid lines to Cromwell, and this is one of them. For months every persuasion to which eloquence could give power, had been exerted on the President, to obtain his veto on the one hand, and his signature on the other. The Whig party, in the plenitude of its power, personified in the person of their bold leader, the 'lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,' and standing on the grave of General Harrison, hallowed by his death, and full of the dictation of success, felt themselves like Olympian Jove with thunderbolt in hand ready to strike down to endless political perdition the 'Acting President' if he dared to veto. The threat was made in tones of thunder, by their great champion. But, lo! the veto came, and calm amidst the breaking of the storm, the President was teaching his little son his lesson. It was a Roman one. In the battle-field a moment often decides the victory. A moment of decisive action which requires no wear and tear of spirit for days, weeks, and months--amidst imprecations and execrations--but an energy which springs to life on the instant, such as Napoleon exerted at Lodi, but which exhibits no greater powers of purpose than President Tyler exhibited--for none but those who witnessed it, can have any idea of the many and the powerful influences which were brought to bear, to obtain the President's signature to the Bank Bill--influences exerted not only by the distinguished and the powerful, face to face with the Chief Magistrate, but through the portentous threatenings of anonymous letters, of the most assassin-like and dastardly character.

We all remember the effigy-burning that succeeded the veto, and which, the President said, 'served but to light him in the path of duty.' A little anecdote which occurred at the dinner-table one day between Mr. John Tyler, Jr. and the President, will show how good-humoredly the President bore a jest upon the subject. There were several young gentlemen present at table, guests of the sons of the President. The Chief Magistrate sat among them, enjoying the talk with apparently as much interest as if the magnates of the nation were around him.

The conversation happened to turn upon the question as to which was the greatest man, Napoleon or Cæsar; and during the conversation, Mr. John Tyler, Jr. chanced to observe, that he had seen it stated, that Pompey's statue, at the base of which Cæsar fell, had been discovered in some excavations made in Rome. 'Ah?' said the President; 'well, John, was there any blood upon it?'

'You don't believe it, I suppose, father?' said the son.

'Why, John, I don't doubt that you have read of the excavation, but I doubt very much if it was truly Pompey's statue; for, after the lapse of so many centuries, the authentication of the statue must be very doubtful.'

'Well, Mr. President,' replied his son, very archly, 'I will tell you of one thing, of which there will be little doubt.'

'What's that?' asked the President.

'Why, some years from this, when some well-digger, or house-builder, or other person, is excavating in the neighborhood of Nashville Tennessee, Louisville Kentucky, or some other place that might be named, he may light upon a stuffed Paddy some six feet high, the earth half burned, with a rope around its neck: 'Ah, what's this?' some one may inquire. 'Why,' replies another, 'it is the effigy of that John Tyler, who vetoed the Bank Bill!'

'Ah,' said the President, laughing heartily, 'you have me there, John.'

I may here remark of Mr. JOHN TYLER, Jr., who is the private secretary of the President, that he is a very handsome man, with courtly manners; that his partialities are to the study of the sciences, rather than to politics; and that he has written a pamphlet upon electricity, which is said to exhibit much knowledge and originality.

Those who have not witnessed the terror which prevails among the clerks, on a change of parties in power at Washington, or even of a change of the head of a department, who, it is rumored, intends to make removals, can have no idea of it. Some poor clerk, who supports a large family upon one thousand or twelve hundred dollars, may have inadvertently let slip an imprudent expression, which some ready spy retails and makes public, with a thousand exaggerations, and, lo! the report takes wind that he is to be removed. Then comes the distress of his agonized wife and children, while the poor woman hurries to the President, or to the head of the department to which her husband belongs, to intercede for him, and save herself and family from ruin.

When General Harrison came into power, multitudes of such fears prevailed, and with fearful truth for their foundation. The good old General himself had no wish to proscribe, but proscription was the word with too many of his friends. I may mention a circumstance which came under my own knowledge.

The head of a certain department, shortly before General Harrison's death, turned out a clerk of his, who was accused of having busied himself in politics--a poor man, who had a wife and six children. She is a beautiful woman, but twenty-six years of age. Her agony was such as to render her almost insane. The removal left her and her children houseless and homeless, with the husband and father in debt. Fiction has wrung many a heart to tears with a fancied picture not to compare in sorrow to the truth of this. Shortly after this removal, General Harrison died, and was laid in state in the hall of the White House, whither flocked multitudes to gaze upon his lifeless remains, and reflect upon the instability of earthly power, and the vanity of all human greatness. I met the lady of the removed official with, another lady, and but one escort, on their way to look their first and last upon the departed President; and I joined her. General Harrison I had known well, and I spoke of his goodness of heart, and manliness of character, as we proceeded, with an earnest truthfulness, which seemed to impress the wife of the official, by whose side I walked.

'I blame ---- for my trouble,' she said, naming the head of the department, half to herself; 'I believe the old General was good-hearted.'

We entered the White House. In state, just before the entrance, lay the General. His features were placid, and betrayed little or none of the sufferings of the departed spirit. My companion gazed upon him earnestly and long, and then said, with a hysteric start:

'I would to God it was ---- who was lying in that coffin! I'd give a party to-night, poor as I am!'

One may well fancy how deep the agony of heart of a sensitive lady must have been, to wring from her such an expression. In fancy, she heard the voice of her children crying to her for bread; and to her excited mind they appeared before her, dead as the departed President, and of hunger; for so she said, in speaking of her expression afterward.

It was a scene, in those days, to see the department 'let out,' as the boys would say at school. The aspect of those clerks whose political bias was known to be against the party in power, was lugubrious enough. They did not look like gentlemen who, after their official labors were over, were going to their dinners, but as if they were wrapped in sorrow, and wending to a funeral.

One day, shortly after the succession of President Tyler, a certain gentleman turned out fifteen of his officials, in one fell swoop. They got their notices that their services were no more needed by the department, about two o'clock, P. M. The public gardener happened to be in the President's grounds when he heard the news, and seeing the President on the portico, he advanced to him and said:

'Mr. President, only think of it; they're turning all the poor clerks out.'

The President immediately despatched a note for the official, who was soon in the President's presence, and ready to recount the political sins of the expelled.

'Reinstate them,' said the President; 'I cannot bear to have their wives and children coming to me with accounts of their sufferings, when I can prevent it.'

The President never thinks of making a display of mere official dignity. He never thinks of the _President_, unless he is fulfilling some presidential duty, or unless some one presumes, from his kindness of manner, to encroach upon his dignity; and then the encroacher instantly discovers how much he has erred. This, more than one senator and representative can tell, who has undertaken the task of dictation to the President.

Dickens, who found so much fault with our institutions, and our people generally, justly remarked of our Chief Magistrate, when he called to pay his respects to him: 'The expression of his face was mild and pleasant, and his manners were remarkably unaffected and agreeable. I thought that in his whole carriage and demeanor he became his station singularly well. And yet, as I have before said, he never seems to think of the display of official dignity.'

A distinguished artist who had been employed by the King of France to copy Stuart's full length likeness of WASHINGTON which hangs in the White House, was invited by the President to be his guest while copying the picture. The President also employed him to take the likeness of himself, Mrs. Robert Tyler, and his youngest daughter, Alice. The artist's manners were distinguished by the profoundest observance of courtly etiquette; and the Jeffersonian ease of the President's manners served to surprise him. I remember one day while the family circle were all seated round the fire after dinner, the artist rose, and with a profound salaam, said: 'Mr. President, with your permission I will retire to my work.'

'My good fellow, do just what you please,' replied the President, good-humoredly smiling, as the artist bowed himself out of the room.

The President has a peculiar power of inspiring confidence in all who approach him. In the summer-time it is the custom for the National Band of the Marine Barracks to play alternately at the Capitol and in the President's grounds. Crowds of citizens, with senators and representatives accompanying the ladies of their families, walk through the grounds while the band is playing, salute their acquaintances and chat with their friends till the music ceases, when they all, as the sun goes down, loiteringly leave. The President and his family always appear on the portico that fronts on the grounds of the White House, to which steps ascend from both sides, and receive their friends and acquaintances, who call on these occasions to pay their respects to the Chief Magistrate and his household. His manners are so very unpretending that, but for the respect that is paid him, you would not distinguish the Chief Magistrate from the group among which he familiarly mingles, unless you were an observer of character, and then you would know him from the absence of all restraint in his person and conversation, and the freedom and entire frankness of his intercourse with those around him.

On one of these Saturday afternoons, two countrymen, who looked like persons who had come to market, approached the portico, evidently with a desire to see the President. One of them asked a gentleman who was ascending the steps, which was the President. The gentleman pointed out the Chief Magistrate, and asked the countryman if he would like to be introduced to him.

'Why,' replied the countryman, 'I am not of his way of thinking, but they say so much about him and against him, that I should like to have a good look at him, any how.'

'Come up; he 'll be glad to see you. Won't your friend come?'

The friend declined; and the gentleman with his new acquaintance beside him, who gave him his name, ascended the steps. The President instantly noticed the countryman, and observed that the visiter felt some diffidence in approaching him. Mr. Tyler accordingly quit the group by which he was surrounded, and advanced to meet him. On his name being mentioned, the President gave him a hearty shake of the hand, and asked him from what State he came?

The countryman replied, from Virginia.

The President entered into conversation with him, and they stood talking together some ten minutes or more, when with a smiling countenance, and a frank offering of his hand, the visiter withdrew.

'There,' said the President, as the visiter left, 'is a man who, consulting the native manliness of his impulses, has a propriety of deportment that is better than any thing that Chesterfield has taught. He is one of Nature's noblemen.'

After hearing this remark, the introducer was anxious to know what impression the President had made upon a political opponent, who had made such an impression upon the President. He accordingly followed him as he walked away with his friend, who had waited below.

He was persuading his friend to go up and be presented to the President, and his introducer overheard him say: