Historical Characters – Anecdotes of Joseph Bonaparte, McDonald Clarke, Lafayette, Cooper, Putnam, Fulton, Elisha Williams, Van Buren, etc.


"There is an order

Of mortals on the earth, who do become

Old in their youth, and die ere middle age;

Some perishing of pleasure – some of study –

Some worn with toil – some of mere weariness –

Some of disease – and some insanity –

And some of wither’d, or of broken heart."



THE fountains of Saratoga will ever be the resort, in summer, of wealth, intelligence, and fashion. As a political observatory, no place can be more fitly selected. Gentlemen are continually coming from and going to every section of the country; information from all quarters is received daily; and it is the best of all places for politicians to congregate. The great "combination" of opposite parties, and opposing interests, by which General Jackson, Mr. Eaton, and Mr. Van Buren the "Great Magician," were brought into power, and John Quincy Adams turned out, was chiefly formed here; and it was here that the old Clintonians were sold out to "Jackson & Co." Saratoga, too, for a long series of years, was the headquarters of the "Albany Regency," under the leadership of Edwin Croswell and John Cramer, a combination which perhaps has never been equalled in the influence which it exerted over the political destinies of New York State, and through it upon the nation.

But it is not of politicians, as such, that I would now speak. During the three-quarters of a century of its existence, Saratoga has entertained more persons distinguished in letters, human and divine, and identified with the world’s history, than any other place of the kind on the globe.

Time would fail me to mention in detail the reception of Van Buren, who, in the early autumn of 1832, like the hero of a German melodrama, came clothed in a storm; the arrival of Senator Douglas, amid the thundering of cannon, and the graceful speech of welcome by Judge Willard, in the summer of 1860; the flight of the rebel Papineau from Montreal, with a price set upon his head, and his stay while here at the residences of Chancellor Walworth and Judge Cowen; the visit, as the guest of the former distinguished citizen, of Mar Yohanna, the Nestorian bishop, in 1845; the marvellous exhibition of skill between M. Phelan and J.B. Gale, before Major-General Scott, as a spectator; the tributes paid to Madison, De Witt Clinton, Clay, Webster, Calhoun, Tyler, Fillmore, and Seward; the genial and familiar countenance of Washington Irving, who for many seasons occupied a cottage at the "United States"; and lastly, the individual traits of Wayland, Fuller, Murray (Kirwan), Cheever, Kent, Hill, and a host of others equally distinguished in their several walks of life. All I may hope to do is to photograph, and thus put into permanent form, a few characters as they flit across the camera of memory.


Joseph Bonaparte .


In 1825, Joseph Bonaparte, the ex-King of Spain, who, with a numerous retinue, was then stopping at the "United States," was present at a dinner party given in his honor by Mr. Henry Walton. He was accompanied by his sister, Caroline Murat, and two young ladies, his daughters. Though a crowned king, he looked very much like other mortals. His manners, dress, and equipage were wholly unassuming, quiet and unpretentious, as was likewise the case with the ladies of the family. The rank was there, and needed no demonstration. In the course of the dinner, Bonaparte all at once turned deadly pale, and, with the perspiration standing in great beads on his forehead, turned imploringly to Mr. Walton, gasping out, " Un chat! un chat! "

"John," said Mr. Walton to his waiter, "take away the cat; it disturbs this gentleman."

"Cat, sir," echoed John, "I can see no cat!"

The other members of the family now joined in the search; and, at last, sure enough, under the sideboard, crouched away in a dark corner, was discovered a poor little frightened kitten. But it was not until Bonaparte had lain down for some hours that he fully recovered from the nervous prostration into which the presence of the little feline had thrown him.


McDonald Clarke .


The dinner was followed in the evening by a brilliant party. The entertainment was rich and served in excellent style. There was much beauty among the ladies, and the circle of gentlemen embraced learning and intellect. Among other literary gentlemen present, were Theodore S. Fay, Paulding, Irving, Verplanck, and Joseph R. Chandler. McDonald Clarke, the "Mad Poet," was also among the guests. Clarke did not remain long, nor, while present, did he circulate among the company. Most of the time he stood by the door, his pose and style the familiar attitude of the classic Napoleon, with arms folded. His head, however, rested not upon his breast, but looked up to the ceiling; while on one foot was a jack-boot and on the other a large, clumsy shoe. After he had gone, Colonel Stone related to the company the history of the stanza by Clarke that had lately appeared in the Commercial . It seems that Lang, in his New York Gazette , alluded to "McDonald Clarke, that fellow with zigzag brains." The insulted poet rushed into the sanctum of the Commercial , blazing with fury.

"Do you see, Colonel," said he, "what Johnny Lang says of me? He calls me a fellow with zigzag brains!"

"Well, and so you are," said the Colonel. "I think it is a very happy description of you."

"Oh! that’s very well for you to say," retorted McDonald. "I’ll take a joke from you; but Johnny Lang shall not destroy my well-earned reputation. Zigzag brains, forsooth! Zigzag brains – think of it, Colonel! I must have a chance to reply in your paper."

"How much space would you want?" enquired the Colonel.

"I think I could use him up in a column and a half," said McDonald.

"A column and a half!" said the Colonel. "Stuff! you shall have no such space. I’ll give you just four lines, and if that will answer, fire away; but not a line more."

The poet, thus driven into a narrow corner, sat down, and instantly wrote off the following neat epigram:

"I can tell Johnny Lang, in the way of a laugh,

In reply to his rude and unmannerly scrawl,

That in my humble sense it is better by half

To have brains that are zigzag than no brains at all."

"There, Colonel," said he, "let Johnny Lang put that in his pipe and smoke it." {The remains of poor Clarke were first buried in the Greenwood Cemetery some distance beyond Mount Washington; but the trustees of the property having generously given a resting-place to his mouldering body, with permission to select the spot, it was afterwards exhumed and removed to a lovely little knoll, just on the margin of the Sylvan Lake, and not far from the "stranger’s vault." Here Clarke now lies, in the midst of rural beauty such as would have called forth the most rapturous strains of his distempered muse. The monument, which was erected by a few kind-hearted friends, is simple, chaste, and elegant. It consists of a single block, square, resting upon a slab, and supporting a truncated pyramid – the whole in white marble, and having for its foundation a square platform of granite. On the side of the block which meets the approaching spectator is a profile medallion of "the mad poet," in high relief – not a perfect likeness, but yet a very good one. Beneath it are inscribed the dates of his birth and death – June 18, 1798, and March 5, 1842.

On the next side is this inscription:

(Epitaph written by himself.)


To the Memory



Let silence gaze – but curse not his grave.



On the third side, facing the Sylvan Lake, are four lines selected from his own poetry:

"But what are human plaudits now?

He never deemed them worth his care:

Yet death has twined around his brown

The wreath he was too proud too wear."

On the fourth side are also four lines, written by a friend:

"By friendship’s willing hand erected –

By genius, taste, and skill adorned –

For one too long in life neglected,

But now in death sincerely mourned."}


Lafayette, Colonel Stone, and Thurlow Weed .


In the course of this same summer, 1825, General Lafayette, who, as the guest of the nation, was then making his memorable tour of the country, chanced to make one of a group in the parterre of the "United States Hotel." Mrs. Dr. Rush was also present, as was also Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis, and Madame Jumel, the wife – or, as many supposed, only the mistress – of Aaron Burr. There was a question raised at the time whether Madame Jumel should be admitted to the circle; but as Lafayette had known Burr intimately during the Revolution, and as she claimed to be his wife, it was thought best to waive all scruples and accept her as one of the party. Lafayette was unusually animated, and gave an account of his call upon Red-Jacket, the week previous, in Buffalo. In the course of his visit, Red-Jacket enquired of the General whether he remembered being at the treaty of peace with the Six Nations, at Fort Stanwix, in 1784? Lafayette answered that he had not forgotten that great council, and asked his interrogator if he knew what had become of the young chief who, on that occasion, opposed, with so much eloquence, "the burying of the tomahawk?"

"He is before you," was the instant reply.

"In fact," added Lafayette, "this extraordinary man, although much worn down by time and intemperance, possesses yet, in a surprising degree, the exercise of all his faculties."

By this time the company were about to separate, when Lafayette, shaking hands with Colonel Stone and Mr. Weed (both of whom had accompanied him on his trip through the State), asked if he could be of service to them in return for their service and attention?

"All that Mr. Weed and myself desire," replied the Colonel, "is a lock of you hair."

"You shall have it, gentlemen," replied the General; "but as I have made a vow that man shall never cut my hair more, I surrender myself, dear madam, into your hands."

As he said this, he took the scissors from Mr. Weed and gracefully tendered them to Mrs. Rush.

He then raised his wig; and Mrs. Rush, cutting off three locks of the snowy white hair, kept one herself, and handed the other two to Mr. Stone and Mr. Weed. The scene made a lasting impression on all who witnessed it. {The lock of hair thus given to my father I still have, and I treasure it as a most precious heirloom.}

After Lafayette had left, the conversation of those who remained naturally turned upon him. There was a gentleman present who gave the company an account of some incidents connected with the General’s coming to the United States, and especially about his landing at New York, not generally known.

From what the gentleman said, it appeared that Lafayette had no idea, nor even a suspicion, of the cordial welcome that awaited him on this side of the Atlantic. He had left France, after nearly half a century’s absence from this country, without any intimation that he was to have any public reception in America. The gentleman, who gave the relation to the company, chanced to be a fellow-passenger on the voyage, which was made on a Havre packet-ship. While crossing the Atlantic, this gentleman had many opportunities of conversing with the French Marquis and his son Washington, who accompanied him. All on board knew that our old ally, though a nobleman, was not rich; and in his conversations with his fellow-passengers he showed himself very solicitous as to his pecuniary means, making many enquiries about the prices of living and travelling in America, and seemed very anxious, on this account, as if fearful that his purse might not be sufficient for a very extended tour of travel through the United States. Indeed, the Americans who were aboard the packet, having been long absent from their country, had themselves no idea of the grand honors in store for their distinguished fellow-passenger. The gentleman who gave the narration, a rich Boston merchant, admitted that he himself had no conception of what was to happen and did occur on this side. Feeling an interest in Lafayette, he had invited him and his son, in the event of their visiting Boston, to make his house their home.

In due time the French packet came in sight of the American coast, and lay-to off Sandy Hook, waiting for a favorable wind to enter the bay of New York. Near the Narrows, she was boarded by a rowboat, in which were two gentlemen, in plain civilian dress; who, after holding a private conference with the captain, again re-entered their boat, and put off. No one aboard the packet, except the captain himself, knew what the conference was about.

After passing through the Narrows, and coming alongside Staten Island, the French ship came to anchor. This was a surprise to the passengers, who supposed they were going on up to the city. It was also some chagrin to them, to be thus delayed after their long sea-voyage, and many were heard to murmur at it. While in this mood they observed a long line of vessels coming down the bay. There were steam-boats and sailing craft of all kinds, forming a considerable fleet. They were following one another, with manned yards and flags flying, and bands of music, as if on some gala procession. The passengers on board the French packet were surprised – Lafayette not the least so.

"What does it mean?" asked the Marquis.

No one could make answer.

"Some grand anniversary of your Republic, Messieurs ," was the conjecture of Lafayette.

Gradually the gaily-bedecked vessels approached; and it was seen that they were all making for the French ship, around which they soon clustered. Then one of the steamboats came close alongside, and a number of gentlemen, dressed in official costume, steeped aboard of her. Among them was the Governor of the State of New York, the Mayor of the City, and a staff of lesser dignitaries. Not until they had been some time on the deck of the packet, and the captain introduced them to the General Marquis de Lafayette, did the modest old soldier know that all this grand ceremonial had been gotten up for himself. The tears fell fast from his eyes as he received their congratulations; and, on shaking hands with his fellow-passenger, he said: " Monsieur , I shall love New York so well I may never be able to get away from it to pay you a visit in Boston. Par dieu ! dis grand république – von great people!" {In connection with Lafayette’s arrival in America, it seems peculiarly appropriate to give the circumstances of his departure , which we take from the Boston American Traveller , September 13, 1825. I am indebted for a copy of this old paper to Mr. Walter S. Weed, of Auburn, N.Y.:

" Departure of the Nation’s Guest . – The brave and worthy General, our distinguished and beloved guest, the good Lafayette, left Washington on Wednesday last [September 7], to embark on board the frigate Brandywine for his native country. The last, the parting scene at the President’s House, was truly touching, and will doubtless long be remembered by the feeling and sympathetic hearts present.

"The corporations of Washington, Georgetown, and Alexandria, with the members of their several Common Councils, and the Mayor of each city, met at the President’s house a little before noon. After a short time the General, the President, the officers of state, and others, joined the company. The President, in the address, spoke in his happiest manner. Every tone, every look, every word, seemed to be the spontaneous expression of an excited and powerful mind, and to come direct from the heart. The General listened with silent emotion, and when it was concluded, threw his arms round Mr. Adams and kissed him. Pausing for a few moments, while all was silence, he retired a few paces, and delivered his reply. The beloved sounds, marked as they were by the strong French accent, fell with electric power upon the ears of all who heard it. Each man whispered to himself, ‘It is the last time I shall hear his voice.’ As the General concluded his reply, he renewed the embrace, which was cordially returned, his face the while streaming with tears. Turning to Mr. Adams, he cried with emphasis, ‘God bless you!’ ‘God bless you!’ said Mr. Adams, and again they fell into each other’s arms. He embraced and kissed him a third time, and then recovering himself, turned to receive the outstretched hands which met him in all directions. The greetings were long and repeated, and continued till every individual man had shared in his last pledge of kindness. What a scene this for a Michael Angelo or a West!"


Cooper .


In August, 1828, Judge Cowen gave a farewell reception to James Fenimore Cooper, who was to sail in a few days for Europe, intending to be gone some years. From the "Diary" of a gentleman who was present on this occasion, I quote the following just reflections brought out by seeing Cooper at this time:

"To Mr. Cooper the loss of his property has probably been of more real advantage than the money ten times over would have been. It has called forth the slumbering energies of his mind, and given vigor and richness to his imagination, by the exertion of which he has acquired a proud name among the distinguished writers of the age, and added to the literary reputation of his country. And yet one cannot read his writings without feeling regret, almost pity, for a man who seems to possess so little sympathy with and respect for his countrymen. His world – to judge from the carping tone apparent through his works – must be a desolate country indeed. He seems to hate everything American, and to be destitute of Cowper’s patriotism when he exclaimed: ‘England! With all thy faults, I love thee still. Thou art my country .’

"Mr. Cooper does not seem to consider that every country may possess excellences peculiar to itself and its institutions, and that things dissimilar may yet have value and beauty. But why should the American nation be brought into comparison with older and richer ones? While it cannot be supposed to have the maturity which age alone gives, still there is much in it to admire and love. I fear its errors and incongruities will not be mended by being presented in so bitter and caustic a spirit.

"Indeed, I almost regret having visited Judge Cowen’s party, since I have returned from it with my estimates of one of my favorite heroes considerably lessened. Can it indeed be true that many characters in our own history, whom we have considered almost godlike, are after all but frail mortals like ourselves? Yet so it appears; and, one by one, those whom we have been accustomed to venerate are knocked from the pedestal on which our fancy had elevated them."


Putnam .


"This time it is General Putnam and Robert Fulton who have fallen.

"The manner in which the subject came up was as follows: Some one present alluded to the picture of Putnam and the wolf , which formerly swing as a sign in front of the Union Hall. A young man from Connecticut thereupon remarked that the adventure had been greatly exaggerated, as the ‘den,’ which he had visited, was not more than three feet in depth.

" ‘And I guess,’ here spoke up General Morgan Lewis, an aged Revolutionary soldier, but whose mind is clear as a bell, ‘that Putnam’s military reputation is equally exaggerated. But, I beg pardon,’ he added, addressing his apology to the proprietor of the Union Hall, whose name is also Putnam.

" ‘Not on my account,’ rejoined Mr. Putnam; ‘ our family are not nearly as deep in relationship with "Old Put" as his wolf’s den, which, according to this gentleman’s story, is not of extraordinary depth.’

" ‘As I was saying,’ resumed General Lewis, ‘not to speak of the suspicions of treason which, in the minds of his brother officers, rest upon Putnam on account of his conduct at Bunker Hill, Long Island, and Peekskill, he seem to have been distinguished chiefly for retreating. Indeed, if you but reflect a moment, you will see that all of "Old Put’s" exploits, which have rendered him so famous, are of this character. His flight down the steep rocks near Norwalk, his escape over the rapids of Fort Miller in a crazy canoe, and his retreat from the Indians at Lake George, are the principal feats on which his reputation rests. Yet he is in a fair way to descend to posterity as one of the bravest of American generals!’

"At this point the Rev. Mr. Potter {Since Rt. Rev. Bishop Potter, of Pennsylvania.} Episcopal divine, who is married to a daughter of the late Robert R. Livingston, and is consequently a nephew by marriage of General Lewis, joined in the conversation.


Fulton .


" ‘I am not surprised, General, at your remarks,’ said he; ‘my own observation leading me to believe that many descend into history as successful claimants for public honors, who, if the facts were known, would stand in a very different light. Probably no person has received so much praise and deserved it so little as Robert Fulton. A man of no practical ingenuity, of no power of conceiving, much less of executing an original mechanical idea, his friend Colden has succeeded in persuading the public that to him alone is due the successful navigation of our rivers by steam. The facts, however, as I gathered them from my father-in-law, and which I believe to be substantially correct, are as follows: For thirteen years before the first steamboat was placed upon the Collect in New York, John Fitch had run a little steamer on the Delaware with great success. During that period he had experimented with various kinds of propelling power – the screw, the side-wheel, and sweeps or long-oars. The most primitive thing about his vessel was the boiler, which consisted simply of two potash kettles, riveted together. Mr. Livingston, who was greatly interested in the success of Fitch’s experiments, seized the opportunity, when Minister to France, to visit the workshops of Watt & Bolton, in England; where, for the first time, he saw a properly constructed steam-boiler. But how was he to introduce it into the United States, unless (which was then impossible) he went there himself? At this crisis he thought of Robert Fulton, who, originally an artist in Philadelphia, was then exhibiting a panorama in Paris. His panorama, however, failing to pay, was attached, and he himself arrested for debt and thrown into prison. Livingston, falling into the error so common to many, of believing that because an artist can draw cleverly, he must necessarily succeed equally well in mechanical conception and execution, paid off Fulton’s debts, and sent him over to New York with one of Watt’s boilers. Fulton, however, failed to rise to the occasion; and when Livingston returned, a year after, he found his pet project precisely were he had left it several years before. He therefore at once took hold of it himself, and by his energy and perseverance finally brought his idea to a successful issue – Fulton, whom he could not entirely shake off, acting as a kind of general superintendent.’ " {These statements, moreover, are confirmed, not only by the late President William A. Duer, in his New Yorker (Letter 7 th ), but by Mr. Ransom Cook, now (1875) living at Saratoga Springs, N.Y. Mr. Cook informs me that, in the summer of 1837, he was engaged upon his electro-magnetic machinery. Among his workmen were two who had been employed by Livingston and Fulton, while those gentlemen were perfecting their steamboat. They surprised him greatly by stating that Fulton was a capital draughtsman, and that was all. They added that he was so deficient in a knowledge of the laws of mechanics as to furnish daily mirth for the workmen; and that it was a long time before Livingston could convince him that the "starting-bar" of an engine should be made larger at the fulcrum end than at the handle!}


Elisha Williams .


In 1830, Elisha Williams spent the summer at Saratoga, occupying rooms at Congress Hall. Mr. Williams was, perhaps, one of the most remarkable men of the last generation; nor was his reputation unmerited, which, during his lifetime, placed him at the head of American orators. But alas! he afforded one of the many examples of talent which could only benefit his contemporaries. I have often heard my father say, that, when he was publishing the Hudson Whig , and Mr. Williams had requested him to write an article for the paper, he would answer:

"You write it, and I will gladly publish it."

"No," Mr. Williams would reply. "I cannot write an article; it is out of the question; but I can talk one off fast enough."

Indeed, there was something in his tone and articulation that is often observed in public speakers, and which finds its way to the heart, sending an electric thrill through the system. Dr. Nott had it. So, too, Dr. Stoughton of Philadelphia. Robert Newton and J.J. Gurney possessed it; as also Somerfield, Whitefield, Christmas, and Kirk. Is it because they held the key that opens the secret chambers of the soul, and makes us ever hallow the voice that called forth those sacred feelings, and has the power to unseal their fountains?

"If every word," says the diary of a gentleman who was with Mr. Williams at this time, "were correctly reported, it would be utterly impossible to convey the manner of his delivery, which forms the chief fascinations of his oratory. The play of his intelligent features, so plastic as to assume every variety of expression, which could illustrate or give force to the thought uttered – so grand and imposing in rebuke – so withering in satire, when speaking of the oppressor or the unjust, yet so full of tender sweetness when pleading the cause of the oppressed, and drawing forth pity and compassion toward the innocent and suffering victim; so radiant with brightness, as the scintillations of wit fly forth to dazzle the auditors; so overwhelming in pathos as to sway the variety of minds before him as by one mighty impulse, and give him entire control over every will, and take every heart captive – these are points which the reporter cannot give. In short," adds the writer of this elegant eulogy, "unless these qualities could be transferred, together with the ease, simplicity, and gracefulness of Mr. Williams’ elocution – which might be compared to the graceful motions of infancy – his entire abandon to the cause of his client, producing a corresponding emotion on his hearers; unless all this could be portrayed, it would be impossible for a reporter to afford his readers the elysium of feeling to which this orator introduces his delighted auditory."

In appearance, Mr. Williams was a most perfect specimen of manly beauty. His form was erect, his shoulders square as those of an Indian; while he was over six feet in height, and symmetrically formed, even to the hands and feet. The ladies of Alexander Hamilton’s day would have said, perhaps, that he was rather deficient in calf, and therefore would not appear to good advantage in small-clothes. His head was imposing, and so set on his shoulders as to confer a striking dignity to his bearing. He reminded one of the Olympian Jove. His eyes were dark and sparkling, his forehead high, straight, and smooth, a nose finely chiselled, a florid complexion, and one of the sweetest mouths in the world, from which flowed smoothly all it uttered. So that, with the harmonious cadences of his voice, it was truly said of him that his listeners "hung upon his lips." The play of his features in conversation was singularly beautiful, and at short intervals his face was lighted up by sallies of good-natured wit, which spontaneously emanated from a mind of singular sprightliness. Added to which, his manners were courteous, bland, and gracious, and reminded one of those of some noble lord, or even of royalty itself. "I never," says the diary before quoted, "saw manners so impressive and suggestive of having their development in the genial atmosphere of kindness." {Mr. Williams’ wife was a sister of the distinguished Thomas P. Grosvenor, the eloquent speaker, who at one time produced such a sensation in Congress.}


John Van Buren .


In the summer of 1833, two visitors, in a drunken frolic, broke some windows in the north wing of old "Congress Hall," and pitched a waiter over the balustrade. Fortunately, the waiter saved his life by catching hold of and clinging to the banisters, otherwise the crime of murder might have been added to that of debauch. For this they were brought before Justice Ransom Cook on a warrant for assault and battery. Their defence was conducted by John Van Buren, at that time a young man of twenty-two years of age. He managed the case with much ingenuity, and contrived to clear his clients, who, after the suit, settled with the waiter – thereby tacitly confessing their guilt. Mr. Justice Cook, however, while feeling compelled by the evidence to discharge the culprits, nevertheless administered to them a severe and doubtless well-merited reproof. This occurrence was while the elder Van Buren was Vice-President, during Jackson’s second term, and also before "Prince John," as he was called, had made his famous tour in Europe.


Mrs. De Witt Clinton and Van Buren .


For several years before Gov. Clinton died, Mr. Van Buren was the leader in this State of the party opposed to him. A few months previous to Clinton’s decease, both of these rival chieftains had come out for Jackson as the Presidential successor of Adams, and consequently their long-standing hostility had mellowed into something akin to frigid cordiality. When the news of Gov. Clinton’s sudden death reached Washington, the New York delegation in Congress held a memorial meeting. The leading speech was made by Mr. Van Buren, then a Senator. It was a chaste eulogium of Clinton, and the closing paragraphs were eloquent and touching.

Eleven years later, when Mr. Van Buren was President, and his Administration was severely pressed by the Whigs, he made a tour through this State, during which he visited Saratoga Springs. It was at the very height of the season, and the town was filled with politicians, and ablaze with beauty and fashion, from every part of the Union. Mrs. Clinton, a woman of commanding presence, was the most distinguished lady at the Springs. On the afternoon of his arrival, as Mr. Van Buren was moving through the throng which crowded the drawing-room of the United States hotel, he happened to meet Mrs. Clinton. The urbane President lifted his hat, bowed politely, and advanced to greet her. She turned sharp on her heel, and, with a frown clouding her countenance, gave him the cut direct. Mr. Van Buren took the rebuff with characteristic equanimity. This circumstance made a great noise at the time, affording sensations for newspapers and subjects for caricaturists.



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