XX.HARRIET LANE.

The name of Harriet Lane is so nearly associated with the latest and most illustrious years of her uncle, James Buchanan, that it is quite impossible to write a life of the one in which the other shall not fill some space. Of all his kindred she was the closest to him. Given to his care when she was scarcely past infancy, she took the place of a child in his lonely heart, and when she reached womanhood she repaid his affection by ministering with rare tact and grace, abroad and at home, in public life and in private, over a household which would otherwise have been the cheerless abode of an old bachelor. The sketch of her history which we propose to give will, therefore, necessarily involve many recollections of the great ex-President, with whom her name is inseparably associated.

Harriet Lane is of Pennsylvania blood, of English ancestry on the side of her father, and Scotch-Irish on that of her mother. Her grandfather, James Buchanan, emigrated to America from the north of Ireland, in the year 1783, and settled near Mercersburg, in Franklin county, Pennsylvania. In the year 1788, he married Elizabeth Speer, the daughter of a substantial farmer, a woman of strong intellect and deep piety. The eldest child of this marriage was James, the late ex-President. He spoke uniformly with the deepest reverence of both his father and mother, and took delight in ascribing to the teaching’s of that good woman all the success that he had won in this world.

Engraved by J. C. Buttre. Harriet Lane Johnston

Jane Buchanan, the next child after James, his playmate in youth, his favorite sister through life, known as the most sprightly and agreeable member of a family all gifted, was married, in the year 1813, to Elliot T. Lane, a merchant largely engaged in the lucrative trade at that time carried on between the East and the West, by the great highway that passed through Franklin county. In this trade James Buchanan the elder had accumulated his fortune, and on the marriage of his daughter with Mr. Lane much of his business passed into the hands of the latter.

Mr. Lane was descended from an old and aristocratic English family, who had settled in Virginia during the Revolution, and he was connected with some of the best names of this land. His business talents were well known and trusted, and all who enjoyed his acquaintance testify to the uncommon amiability of his disposition.

Harriet, the youngest child of Elliot T. Lane and Jane Buchanan, spent the first years of her life in the picturesque village of Mercersburg, in the midst of a society distinguished for its intelligence and refinement. She inherited the vivacity of her mother, was a mischievous child, overflowing with health and good humor. Her Uncle James, then in the prime of life, and already anillustrious man, paid frequent visits to his birth-place, and the impression which his august presence and charming talk made upon little Harriet was deep and lasting. She conceived an affection and reverence for him which knew no abatement till the hour of his death.

Her mother died when she was but seven years old, and her father survived but two years longer. She was left well provided with money, and with a large family connection, but at his solicitation she accepted as a home the house of her Uncle James, and sought his guardianship in preference to that of any of her other relatives.

Although Mr. Buchanan was not particularly fond of children, he was attracted toward this frank and handsome child from her earliest infancy. Her exuberant spirits, love of mischief, and wild pranks called forth from him daily lectures and severe rebukes, but his acquaintances all knew that he was well pleased to have been singled out by the noble and affectionate girl as her guide, philosopher, and friend. No doubt that even at that early age he recognized in her a kindred spirit, and his good angel whispered to him that the boisterous child who sometimes disturbed his studies and mimicked his best friends, would one day be to him a fit adviser in difficulty, a sympathetic companion in sorrow, the light and ornament of his public life, and the comfort, at last, of his lonely hearth.

Mr. Buchanan was reticent in speaking the praises, however well deserved, of his near relatives, but he hasbeen known, especially of late years, to dwell with a delight he could not conceal upon the admirable qualities displayed by Miss Lane in childhood. Said he: “She never told a lie. She had a soul above deceit or fraud. She was too proud for it.”

During the earliest years of Miss Lane’s residence with her uncle, in Lancaster, she attended a day-school there, and though she evinced much more than the usual aptitude for study, she was chiefly distinguished as a fun-loving, trick-playing romp, and a wilful domestic outlaw.

There was one anecdote her uncle liked to tell of her, as an evidence of her independent spirit and her kind heart. When she was about eleven years old, she was well grown and, indeed, mature looking for her age. Unlike most young ladies at that ambitious period of life, she was entirely unconscious of her budding charms, never dreaming that men must pause to wonder at and admire her, and that her actions were no longer unimportant as those of a child. One day Mr. Buchanan was shocked upon beholding from his window Miss Harriet, with flushed cheek and hat awry trundling along, in great haste, a wheelbarrow full of wood. Upon his rushing out to inquire into the cause of such an unseemly and undignified proceeding, she answered in some confusion, that she was just on her way to old black Aunt Tabitha, with a load of wood, because it was so cold.

In administering the reproof that followed, Mr.Buchanan took good care that she should not see the amused and gratified smile with which he turned away from the generous culprit.

About this time, her uncle executed a threat which he had long held suspended over Harriet. This was to place her under the tender care of a couple of elderly maidens of the place—ladies famous for their strict sense of propriety and their mean domestic economy—just such rule as our high-spirited young lady would chafe under. She had never believed her uncle to be in earnest about the matter, and her horror at finding herself duly installed in this pious household, under the surveillance of these old damsels, must have been comical enough to Mr. Buchanan, who was never blind to the funny side of anything. He was in the Senate at the time, and she was in the habit of pouring out her soul to him in childish letters that complained of early hours, brown sugar in tea, restrictions in dress, stiff necks, and cold hearts. The winter passed slowly away, only solaced by the regular arrival of fatherly letters from her uncle, or by an occasional frolic out of doors—to say nothing of pocketsful of crackers and rock-candy, with which the appetite of the young woman was appeased, her simple fare being, if not scanty, unsuited to the tastes of one who had sat at Mr. Buchanan’s table.

The next autumn, when she was twelve years old, she was sent with her sister, a lovely girl but a few years Harriet’s senior, to a school in Charlestown,Va. Here they remained three years. Harriet was not a student, but she knew her lessons because it was no trouble for her to learn them. She was excessively fond of music, and made great progress in it. Her vacations were spent with Mr. Buchanan; but the great event of those three years was a visit with him to Bedford Springs. It was a glorious time, which even now the woman of the world looks back upon with her own bright smile of pleasure.

She was next sent to the convent at Georgetown—a school justly celebrated for the elegant women who have been educated there. Miss Lane went over to Washington every month, and spent Saturday and Sunday with her uncle, then Secretary of State. These visits were, of course, delightful. Without seeing any gay society, she always met at Mr. Buchanan’s house such men as few young girls could appreciate, and listened to such conversation as would improve the taste of any one.

Miss Lane at once became a great favorite with the sisters, who constantly expressed the highest opinion of her talents and her principles.

Before Mr. Buchanan had decided to send her to the convent, he had asked, “Do you think you would become a Roman Catholic?” She was anxious to go, but she answered, “I can’t promise; I don’t know enough about their faith.” “Well,” said he, “if you are a good Catholic, I will be satisfied.”

She did not change her religious opinions, but herintercourse with the good sisters has always made her respect the old church, and has taught her sympathy and charity for all God’s people.

Here she became very proficient in music, an accomplishment which, unfortunately for her friends, she has much neglected, owing to her constant engagements in social life and her disinclination for display in her public position. The nuns were anxious to have her learn to play upon the harp, not only on account of her musical taste, but because of her graceful person and exquisite hand. For some reason, however, she never took lessons upon that beautiful instrument, so well calculated to display the charms of a graceful woman.

Her uncle once asked in a letter what were her favorite studies. She answered, “History, astronomy, and especially mythology.” Mr. Buchanan did not forget this avowed preference, and in after years gratified his natural disposition to quiz those of whom he was fond, by appealing to his niece as authority on mythological questions, in the presence of company before whom she would have preferred to be silent.

Miss Lane was exceedingly quick and bright. She never applied her whole mind to study except the last of the two years she spent at Georgetown. The result of that effort was that she won golden opinions and graduated with great honor. She left the school, loved and regretted by the sisters, with some of whom she has been on terms of close friendship ever since. They always speak of her with pride, and have followed hercareer with an interest they seldom evince in anything outside their sphere of seclusion and quiet.

At this time, Miss Lane’s proportions were of the most perfect womanliness. Tall enough to be commanding, yet not high enough to attract observation—light enough to be graceful, but so full as to indicate the perfect health with which she was blest. Indeed, this appearance of health was the first impression produced by Miss Lane upon the beholder. It made one feel stronger only to watch her firm, quick step and round, elastic form. Her clear, ringing voice spoke of life. The truthful, steady light of her eyes inspired one with confidence in humanity, and the color that came and went in her cheek, set one’s own blood to a more youthful, joyous bound.

Miss Lane was a blonde, her head and features were cast in noble mould, and her form, when at rest, was replete with dignified majesty, and, in motion, was instinct alike with power and grace. Hers was a bright, good face upon which none looked with indifference. Those deep violet eyes, with the strange dark line around them, could glance cold, stern rebuke upon the evil-doer, and they could kindle, too, and pour young scorn upon what was small and mean. Yet of all her features, her mouth was the most peculiarly beautiful. Although in repose it was indicative of firmness, it was capable of expressing infinite humor and perfect sweetness. Her golden hair was arranged with simplicity, and in her dress she always avoided superfluous ornament. In toilet, speech, and manner she was a lady.

Miss Lane was fond of games, and invariably excelled at all she ever attempted. Her uncle secretly prided himself upon her prowess, and, in her absence, frequently spoke of this success of hers: but he liked to laugh at her for being able to “distance everybody else in athletic sports.” He used to tell about her daring some young man to run a race with her, and then leaving him far behind and out of breath. Yet it was known he had, upon this occasion, rebuked her for want of that dignity which, in his heart, he gladly owned she did not lack.

At Wheatland, Miss Lane saw much company from a distance, her uncle constantly entertaining his foreign and political friends. Their conversation and her historic reading, directed by Mr. Buchanan, made her a most congenial companion for him.

She was a good reader, her voice sweet and pure, and her enunciation clear and distinct. She was in the habit of reading aloud the newspapers, and afterward discussing with him the news and the political and literary subjects of the day. She took great interest in the grounds, and it was her taste that suggested many of the improvements made at Wheatland.

The quiet of her life here was interrupted by gay visits to Philadelphia, New York, Pittsburgh, Washington, and Virginia. Wherever she went, she left hosts of friends, and never came home without bringing with her scores of masculine hearts. Indeed, their former owners often followed them and the young lady, in hopes of obtaining her hand in exchange. She remained, however, “fancy free,” until her heart was touched by the love-tale of Mr. Johnston, whom she met at Bedford Springs, during the annual visit made there by herself and Mr. Buchanan.

P. R. B. PIERSON. ENG.WHEATLAND—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT BUCHANAN.

WHEATLAND—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT BUCHANAN.

Mr. Johnston was a young gentleman of Baltimore, fresh from college honors, manly, frank, and kind—full of enthusiasm, and as demonstrative as youth and Southern blood make an earnest man when deeply in love.

Geranium leaves exchanged in those golden days of youth—withered surely in the lapse of time, and, one would fancy, long since cast aside—are worn by Miss Lane and her husband in memory of a dawning affection of which neither could have foreseen the end.

Miss Lane’s brothers lived in Lancaster. One of them married there. Her sister Mary, who had been married to Mr. George W. Baker, also resided in Lancaster, and was much with Harriet until her removal to California. It was during her absence, in 1852, that Mr. Buchanan went as Minister to England, taking Miss Harriet Lane with him.

No more illustrious man than James Buchanan had ever been sent to represent his country at the court of the greatest empire of the world. His fame as a statesman had preceded him. To the public men and educated classes of England his name was familiar, for he had been one of the most conspicuous figures in the United States for the third of the century. No citizenof this country had ever held so many great stations as he. His life had been crowded with the gravest public employments. Apart from his reputation as a statesman, he had won the highest encomiums at the bar. For ten consecutive years he had sat in the lower house of Congress. As Minister to Russia, he had negotiated our first commercial treaty with that empire. In the Senate of the United States he had stood for years in the foremost rank of those mighty men whose statesmanship and eloquence made that body, thirty years ago, the most dignified assembly on earth. When he resigned his seat as a Senator, it was to become Secretary of State, and during that period, when he held that position, he refused a seat on the Supreme Bench of the United States, urged upon him by Mr. Tyler, and afterward by Mr. Polk. His name had, for half his lifetime, been associated with the Presidency. When he went to England, it was at the earnest solicitation of Mr. Pierce, who was unwilling to trust the settlement of the great questions then at issue between the two countries, to any hands less able than his, and it was well believed by many friends that, his work abroad completed, he would return to take possession of the Executive Chair.

In the blaze of this reputation, and led by the protecting hand of one so illustrious, did Harriet Lane make her entrance into English society.

And now she became publicly identified with Mr. Buchanan. At dinners and upon all occasions, she ranked, not as niece, or even daughter, but as his wife.There was, at first, some question on this point, but the Queen, upon whom the blooming beauty had made a deep impression, soon decided that, and our heroine was thenceforward one of the foremost ladies in the diplomatic corps at St. James.

Her first appearance at a Drawing-room was a memorable occasion, not only to the young republican girl herself and her uncle, but to all who witnessed her graceful and dignified bearing at the time. Notwithstanding her youthful appearance, it could scarcely be credited that she, who managed her train so beautifully, appeared so unconscious of the attention she attracted, and diffused her smiles in such sweet and courtly manner, had never before been in the presence of royalty.

That night when she and Mr. Buchanan discussed the events of the day—as they habitually did before retiring—he suddenly turned about, saying, “Well, a person would have supposed you were a great beauty, to have heard the way you were talked of to-day. I was asked if we had many such handsome ladies in America. I answered, ‘Yes, and many much handsomer. She would scarcely be remarked there for her beauty.’”

Upon every occasion Miss Lane was most graciously singled out by the Queen, and it was well known that she was not only an unusual favorite with her majesty, but that she was regarded with favor and admiration by all the royal family. She was so immediately and universally popular, that she was warmly welcomed in every circle, and added much to the social reputationMr. Buchanan’s elegant manners won him everywhere. At her home she was modest and discreet, as well as sprightly and genial, and her countrymen never visited their great representative in England without congratulating themselves upon having there also such a specimen of American womanhood.

The limits of our sketch prevent us from dwelling upon particular characters, political, noble and literary, with whom Miss Lane constantly came in contact. Nor have we time to mention the country houses of lord and gentry where Mr. Buchanan and herself were gladly received. Suffice it to say that her offers of marriage were very numerous, and such as would do honor to any lady of any land—men of great name, of high position and immense fortune, English and American.

She always confided theseaffaires du cœurto her uncle, who gave his advice as freely as it was asked. But he never attempted to influence her affections, although one could not have blamed him for wishing her to remain as she was. She always decided for her uncle, and ended the consideration of each proposal by trusting to the happiness she had already tried.

The years that Miss Lane spent in England were probably the brightest of her life. She loved England, English people, and English habits, and fortunate indeed it was for her that in the days of her early youth, when just entering upon womanhood, she acquired that taste for exercise, early hours, wholesome food, and healthy living, which make the ladies of Great Britain the fairest and most substantial beauties in the world.

One of the incidents of her stay abroad with her uncle was her visit with him to Ostend, at the time of the celebrated conference between the American Ministers to England, France, and Spain. From here she travelled with Mr. Mason and others to Brussels, Aix-la-Chapelle, Coblentz, and Frankfort on the Main, and thence joined Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Soulé at Brussels, where the business of the Conference was completed.

She accompanied Mr. Mason on his return to Paris, and spent two months at his house. It is needless to say that these were happy months, for Mr. Mason’s elegant hospitality, and the agreeable manners, and kind hearts of wife and daughters, made his home a thronged resort of all Americans who visited the gay capital. Miss Lane’s recollections of that noble man are as warm as those of any of the thousands who were familiar with his virtues, and whose feeling regarding him was happily expressed after his death in an obituary written by a near friend, who summed up his faults and his merits in the title taken from the most genial character ever drawn by Bulwer, of “Old Gentleman Waife.”

Among the brilliant circle that nightly assembled in the saloons of Mr. Mason, Miss Lane reigned a pre-eminent belle.

We must also particularly refer to the enthusiasm excited by Miss Lane upon a memorable occasion in England. We mean the day when Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Tennyson received the degree of Doctor of Civil Laws at the University of Oxford. Her appearance wasgreeted with loud cheers by the students, and murmurs of admiration.

She returned to America, leaving Mr. Buchanan in London, waiting for a release from his mission, which he had long urged, but which the State Department at Washington had failed to give him.

During this separation, her uncle wrote her long letters, overflowing with affection and regret that he had suffered her to leave him. Indeed, she would never have consented to absent herself from his side for an hour, had she not been expecting a visit at Wheatland from her sister, Mrs. Baker, whose sweet companionship she had missed in all her pleasures and triumphs. It was soon after her happy arrival at dear old Wheatland, with the welcome of friends still in her ears, and amid hurried and loving preparations for the reception of this beautiful and only sister, that the dreadful tidings of her death on the distant shores of the Pacific, smote on the sad heart of Harriet. In the agony of her first great grief, brooding over the memory of this twin soul, often did she echo in feeling those verses of Tennyson:

“Ah yet, even yet, if this might be,I, falling on thy faithful heart,Would, breathing through thy lips, impartThe life that almost dies in me.“That dies not, but endures with pain,And slowly forms the firmer mind;Treasuring the look it cannot find,The words that are not heard again.”

“Ah yet, even yet, if this might be,I, falling on thy faithful heart,Would, breathing through thy lips, impartThe life that almost dies in me.

“Ah yet, even yet, if this might be,

I, falling on thy faithful heart,

Would, breathing through thy lips, impart

The life that almost dies in me.

“That dies not, but endures with pain,And slowly forms the firmer mind;Treasuring the look it cannot find,The words that are not heard again.”

“That dies not, but endures with pain,

And slowly forms the firmer mind;

Treasuring the look it cannot find,

The words that are not heard again.”

Under these sad circumstances Mr. Buchanan came home, and the news of his nomination for the Presidency soon afterward reached Wheatland. Miss Lane heard it, not with indifference, but with less enthusiasm than she had shown about anything in which her uncle was concerned. She, however, received his friends with a grace which, if sadder than of old, was none the less interesting; and the noble figure clad in mourning, and the modest, tender face beneath her dark English hat, will never be forgotten by those who saw Harriet Lane dispensing the dignified hospitalities of Mr. Buchanan’s table, or calmly strolling over the lawn during the summer of 1856.

Saddened by suffering, but sustained by her warm affection for her uncle, she became the mistress of the White House. Her younger and favorite brother, Eskridge, accompanied Mr. Buchanan and Miss Lane to Washington, and after a few days’ stay there went home to Lancaster, promising his sister, who was loth to bid him good-by, that he would return in about a month. But just a month from that parting, the telegraph bore to Mr. Buchanan the news of his sudden death.

The President loved this youth above all his nephews, and had meant to have him with him at Washington. This was a terrible blow to him, but in his affliction he was mindful of Harriet, and it was with the kindest care he broke to her the intelligence.

The sister, again and so soon smitten, with a crushed heart set out for the scene of death, there to yearn, over the dear clay of that lost brother.

When Miss Lane returned to her uncle, it was not to parade her trouble, but quietly and cheerfully to assist him in his social and domestic life; to keep her grief for her closet, and in the endurance of it, to ask no help but God’s. Yet all who saw her, subdued but dignified, as she received familiar friends during those first months in Washington, were struck with the elegant repose of her manners, her sweet thanks for sympathy, and her kind and gentle interest in everything about her.

The next winter she went to no entertainments, but the usual dinners and receptions at home were not omitted. In her new high sphere she was as much admired as she had always been, and after she began to participate in the gayeties of that gayest administration, her life was made up of a series of honors and pleasures such as have never fallen to the lot of any other young lady in the United States.

On the occasion of a New Year’s reception, when Mr. Buchanan stood up to receive the ambassadors of the world’s kingdoms and empires, his great frame, his massive head, his noble countenance, marked and adorned by the lines of thought, but untouched by the wrinkles of decay, made him a spectacle so impressive and majestic, that it did not require the addition of his courtly manners to elicit a thrill of pride in the breast of every American who beheld him.

It would have been a trying contrast to the beauty and dignity of any one to have stood by his side; yet it was difficult for those who saw Harriet Lane there todecide between the uncle and the niece—to say which looked the proudest and the greatest—the man or the woman, the earlier or the later born.

Miss Lane’s position was more onerous and more crowded with social duties than that of any other person who had filled her place since the days of Martha Washington, because Mr. Buchanan received not merely official visits in the capacity of President, but his wide acquaintance at home and abroad was the cause of his constantly entertaining, as a private gentleman, foreigners and others, who came, not to see Washington and the President, but to visit Mr. Buchanan himself.

Jefferson Davis, who, for reasons creditable to Mr. Buchanan’s course at the outbreak of the secession movement, was not friendly to him, speaking to Dr. Craven at Fortress Monroe, said: “The White House, under the administration of Buchanan, approached more nearly to my idea of a Republican Court than the President’s house had ever done before since the days of Washington.” In this compliment, extorted by truth, of course Miss Lane shared.

In the summer of 1860, Queen Victoria accepted the invitation of the President for the Prince of Wales to extend his Canadian tour to this country. The duty of preparing for the Prince’s reception devolved upon Miss Lane, and so admirably did she order the Executive household, that a party far less amiable than the Prince and the noble gentlemen who accompanied him, could not have failed to find their visit an agreeable one.Apart from the personal qualities of this distinguished guest (and Mr. Buchanan always spoke with enthusiasm of the admirable qualities and excellent disposition of his young friend), his visit was an occurrence of memorable interest, being the first occasion on which an heir apparent to the Crown of Great Britain had stood in the Capital of her lost colonies. Especially did this interest attach, when, standing uncovered by the side of the President, before the gateway of Washington’s tomb, and gazing reverently on the sarcophagus that holds his ashes, the great-grandson of George the Third paid open homage to the memory of the chief who rent his empire—when the last born king of William the Conqueror’s blood bowed his knee before the dust of the greatest rebel of all time.

The modesty of the Prince’s behavior, and his perfectly frank manners attested the excellence of the training given him by his good mother and his high-souled, wise, and pious father. He entered with all the freshness of youth into every innocent amusement planned to beguile the hours of his stay.

It may be well here to mention, as an instance of Mr. Buchanan’s care for the proprieties of his station, that, anxious as it was possible for man to be to gratify the Prince, who, on more than one occasion, proposed dancing, approving of it as a harmless pastime, and fond of it as a spectacle, he yet declined to permit it in the White House, for the reason that that building was not his private home, that it belonged to the nation, and thatthe moral sense of many good people who had assisted to put him there, would be shocked by what they regarded as profane gayety in the saloons of the State.

The visit of the English party lasted five days, and they separated from Mr. Buchanan and Miss Lane leaving behind them most agreeable recollections.

On the Prince’s arrival in England, the Queen acknowledged her sense of the cordiality of his reception by the President, in the following autograph letter, in which the dignity of an official communication is altogether lost in the personal language of a grateful mother thanking a friend for kindness done her firstborn child. It is the Queen’s English employed to express the sentiments of the woman:

“Windsor Castle,Nov. 19th, 1860.

“My Good Friend:—Your letter of the 6th ult. has afforded me the greatest pleasure, containing, as it does, such kind expressions with regard to my son, and assuring me that the character and object of his visit to you and to the United States have been fully appreciated, and that his demeanor and the feelings evinced by him, have secured to him your esteem and the general good-will of your countrymen.

“I purposely delayed the answer to your letter until I should be able to couple with it the announcement of the Prince of Wales’ safe return to his home. Contrary winds and stress of weather have much retarded his arrival, but we have been fully compensated for the anxiety which this long delay has naturally caused us,by finding him in such excellent health and spirits, and so delighted with all he has seen and experienced in his travels.

“He cannot sufficiently praise the great cordiality with which he has been everywhere greeted in your country, and the friendly manner in which you have received him; and whilst, as a mother, I am grateful for the kindness shown him, I feel impelled to express, at the same time, how deeply I have been touched by the many demonstrations of affection personally toward myself which his presence has called forth.

“I fully reciprocate toward your nation the feelings thus made apparent, and look upon them as forming an important link to connect two nations of kindred origin and character, whose mutual esteem and friendship must always have so material an influence upon their respective development and prosperity.

“The interesting and touching scene at the grave of General Washington, to which you allude, may be fitly taken as the type of our present feeling, and, I trust, of our future relations.

“The Prince Consort, who heartily joins in the expressions contained in this letter, wishes to be kindly remembered to you, as we both wish to be to Miss Lane.

“Believe me always“Your good friend,“Victoria R.”

“Believe me always

“Your good friend,

“Victoria R.”

The Prince spoke for himself in the following note:

“Jaffa,March 29th, 1862.

“Dear Mr. Buchanan:—Permit me to request that you will accept the accompanying portrait as a slight mark of my grateful recollection of the hospitable reception and agreeable visit at the White House on the occasion of my tour in the United States.

“Believe me, that the cordial welcome which was then vouchsafed to me by the American people, and by you as their chief, can never be effaced from my memory.

“I venture to ask you at the same time to remember me kindly to Miss Lane, and

“Believe me, dear Mr. Buchanan,

“Yours, very truly,“Albert Edward.”

“Yours, very truly,

“Albert Edward.”

The portrait to which the Prince alludes in the preceding letter was a handsome painting of himself, done by Sir John Watson Gordon, and sent to Mr. Buchanan.

The Prince also presented Miss Lane with a set of engravings of the Royal Family, which are now in her possession. A newspaper correspondent, after Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration, wrote that the appearance of the Mansion was very much changed by the removal of the portraits, which had been presented for the White House.

Mr. Buchanan could not let so grave a charge remainunanswered, and wrote to Lord Lyons, whose letter is for the first time published.

“Washington,Dec. 24th, 1861.

“Sir: I have this morning had the honor to receive your letter of the 19th of this month, requesting me to state the facts connected with a present made by His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, to Miss Lane, of a set of engravings representing Her Majesty, the Queen, and other members of the Royal Family.

“The Prince of Wales told me, when His Royal Highness was at Washington, that he had asked Miss Lane to accept these engravings—he said that he had not them with him there, but that he would send them, through me, from Portland. His Royal Highness accordingly sent them on shore immediately after he embarked at that place.

“They were marked with Miss Lane’s name, in the handwriting of General Bruce.

“In obedience to the commands I had received from the Prince, I presented them in his name, to Miss Lane. I had the honor of placing them myself in her hand.

“I have the honor to be, with the greatest respect, Sir,

“Your most obedient humble servant and friend,

“Lyons.

“The Honorable“James Buchanan, etc., etc., etc.”

“The Honorable

“James Buchanan, etc., etc., etc.”

When the secession movement was inaugurated by South Carolina, immediately after the election of Mr. Lincoln, the position of Mr. Buchanan become one of extreme delicacy and difficulty, and in its great cares as well as in its petty social annoyances, Miss Lane bore a heavy part.

During those last months of his administration, when Mr. Buchanan was harassed on every side, when his patriotism was doubted, when his hands—eager to hold steady the reins of Government—were tied fast by the apathy of Congress and the indifference of the Northern people, his mind was lightened of much of its load of anxiety by the consciousness that his niece faithfully represented him in his drawing-room, and that his patriotism and good sense would never suffer by any conversational lapse of hers. He always spoke with warmth and gratitude of her admirable demeanor at this critical time.

And now we see Miss Lane once more at Wheatland, sharing and enjoying the dignified retirement of her uncle.

The society of that revered man who was preparing for a better world and appealing to a higher judgment than that of a selfish faction, the calm pleasures of country life, the continued attentions of enthusiastic admirers, the many visits of dear tried friends, the consolations of religion, and the devotion of one true heart that had never ceased its homage, was her compensation for many trials.

In 1863, Miss Lane was confirmed in the Episcopal Church, at Oxford, Philadelphia, of which her uncle was the rector, by Bishop Stevens. She would have joined the Presbyterian Church, to which her uncle belonged, had he desired it, because she was as liberal as he is known to have been in his religious views, and they never differed on doctrinal points. But several circumstances had made it convenient for her to attend the Episcopal Church a great deal, and she had early learned to love its beautiful prayer book, and in any other church to miss its significant forms.

About this time occurred the death of James B. Lane, leaving Harriet no brother nor sister, nor indeed any near relations except her two uncles, the Rev. E. Y. Buchanan, and the ex-President, to whom she clung with renewed affection.

However, one morning in January, 1866, when the evergreens before the old house at Wheatland were burdened with snow, and the lawn was white, and the spring was frozen, and icicles hung from the roof, the grounds there were made gay and bright by the assemblage of carriages that brought guests to see the marriage, by the Rev. Edward Y. Buchanan, of Harriet Lane and Henry Elliott Johnston. Indoors, there was nothing in the glow of the fire, the odor of the flowers, the gratified appearance of the host, or the sunny faces of the wedding party, to indicate the struggle just finished between two loves.

Some weeks after the marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Johnstonwent to Cuba, where they spent a month or two most delightfully. From there, Mr. Johnston took his wife to his house in Baltimore, which, with characteristic taste, thoughtfulness, and liberality, he had elegantly and luxuriously fitted up for the lady of his dreams, to whom he forthwith presented it.

It would scarcely be fair to dwell, in print, upon the happiness of this congenial pair, but it would be unpardonable if we did not assure the reader, that Mr. Johnston is all that Miss Lane’s husband ought to be. Even those who naturally disliked to see Miss Lane pass out of the house of her great kinsman into any other home, soon became charmed with Mr. Johnston, and could not but congratulate Miss Lane upon this choice, made from many lovers.

Nor can we consent to close this sketch of Mrs. Johnston’s life without attracting attention to her in her last and most endearing relation. In her most glorious days, she was never more beautiful than as a mother, and the matronly grace with which she cares for her child is sweeter to her husband than the early flush or the queenly prime when he occasionally ventured on presents of fruits and flowers.

Would that we could now drop the curtain upon this fair domestic scene without noticing the cloud that darkened the prosperous life of Mrs. Johnston after her marriage. The death of Mr. Buchanan caused her the greatest grief of her life, and is its permanent bereavement.

Again, she is at Wheatland—now her own summer home—mourning for the good man gone; but comforted by the thought that, though in all his dear familiar haunts she will see him nevermore, he is already understood and appreciated, and that history is even now doing him justice. Comforted also in knowing that her husband ministered to her uncle’s dying days, and that he received his unqualified confidence and affection. Comforted also in the sweet task, the great work of training up her boy to be worthy the name of James Buchanan Johnston....

This son grew to be a noble youth of fourteen, and died on the 25th of March, 1881. His character was affectionate and truthful, and his bearing was distinguished for its grace. His death was a terrible blow to his parents, of whom and of him Judge Jere. S. Black wrote as follows in a letter to a friend:

“I have just returned from the funeral of James Buchanan Johnston, affected by a deeper sense of bereavement than any death outside of my own immediate family has caused me in many years. It is strange that we cannot get hardened to these calamities in the course of time, or at least learn to accept some measure of consolation when our friends are fatally stricken. But human philosophy, how well soever it may be strengthened by trials, is powerless to save our equanimity in cases like this. The overwhelming grief of that beloved mother and the awful break down of the proud father’s spirit cannot even be thought of without strong emotion. Besidesthat I had built much hope of my own upon the future of that bright and beautiful boy. He was gifted with uncommon talents, so well cultivated, and developing so rapidly, that even at the age of fourteen he was intellectually a full-grown man. With moral principles clearly defined and quick perceptions of the right, his sense of justice and his love of truth would have given him a dignity of character not surpassed by that of his illustrious uncle. But these visions of a moment are faded forever, and we can only sigh ‘for the touch of a vanished hand’ and listen in vain ‘for the sound of a voice that is still.’”

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