Fannie De C. Miller.

Snap notes of an eastern trip, from diary of Fannie de C. Miller online

. (page 6 of 8)
Online LibraryFannie De C. MillerSnap notes of an eastern trip, from diary of Fannie de C. Miller → online text (page 6 of 8)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook

edged with blooming rose trees.

Here I met friends whose names are familiar
words, Will Myer, for instance, of whom I had
heard for years from Mary Foley, and to whom
she was afterwards married. I judge him to be



a man of thorough integrity, modest in man
ner, talented, and kind. The young ladies of
the household appeared bright and jolly, and
fond of society.

After a pleasant day we turned homeward,
passing Mt. Hope Retreat, where I have a sick
friend, whom I shall call upon ere leaving

Monday, September 14-

Mr. Foley called this morning about eleven
o clock, before we had breakfasted, and re
mained with us almost continuously. He
chartered a boat and took us down the river
beyond Fort McHenry, accompanied by his son
and Mr. Shriver, to view the city from the
riverside, and we could ask no greater enjoy
ment than was afforded in this sail. A brisk,
freshening breeze was blowing, and Mr. Foley s
hat was swept from his head into the water.
The skipper turned his boat and secured the
hat with a dipping net. We landlubbers were
pleased to place foot on terra jirma after the
unique little voyage.

We next ascended the stairways to the dome
of the courthouse, whence we were assured an
excellent vista awaited us. We were presented

to Mayor Me , who, like a new college

graduate, seems to feel his weight of honors,


and looks perfectly conscious of his new title
and position.

We visited the art gallery of Myer, and
Hadien s store, then took our lunch, and pre
pared for a visit to " Enniscorthy," Mr. Foley s
country place.

We, as Mr. F. s guests, took the B. & 0.
train at Camden Station, reaching Ellicott City
in half an hour, and Enniscorthy," six miles
further, in another thirty minutes. The views
along the route are truly beautiful; the stone
bridges are perfect pictures to me, and the loca
tion at Ilchester of the house of the Redemp-
torist Order is romantic and grand.

We met Mr. Frank Murphy on the train, a
delicate-looking, refined young man, connected
with the publishing house bearing his familiar
name. He is summering at Ilchester.

At " Enniscorthy " we were received by Misses
Lillie and Nannie Foley, and their aunt, Miss
Sanders, who very cordially greeted us, and
hospitably welcomed our coming. Miss Lillie
is somewhat tall, with brown eyes and Titian
bronze hair, is clever of speech, intellectually
bright, with an independent air, and ever a
kindly Christian spirit. Miss Nannie is of
medium height, fair-haired, with "eyes of most
unholy blue," a faultless complexion, sweet in
disposition, and the Martha of the household.


Miss Sanders, their gentle aunt, is one of the
sweetest characters I ever met, and completes,
with "little Josephine," the home circle of

Dinner was announced at six o clock, and
thereafter the evening was most pleasantly
beguiled with cards and music. I was charm
ingly entertained by Miss Lillie with an ac
count of her travels abroad and visit to Ober-
ammergau during the Passion Play. I found
her an exceedingly interesting, congenial com
panion, what Englishmen call "fetching" in
appearance, but not particularly pretty one
whom I think to know is to learn from. We
felt perfectly at home with these almost new
friends, their geniality of manner superinduc
ing that effect.

"Enniscorthy" is in Howard County, and was
originally part of the Carroll demense, but
purchased some years ago by Mr. Foley as a
country summer home for his family, which
they called in honor of his birthplace in Wex-
ford, Ireland. The employes are all colored
people, excepting the farmer and his family
who have charge of the place. The household
servants, colored, models of neatness, are sys
tematic in their manner of waiting at table,
and graceful as fawns.

As I now prepare to retire, about midnight,


I try to conjecture "what dreams may come,"
as I am told they may be realized when
dreamed under a strange roof.

Tuesday, September 15.

Awakened by the bell, we rise at eight o clock,
breakfast, and walk around the farm. During
the outing I find many varieties of fern unlike
our native Californians, which I would like to
transplant to Miller Hall.

Returning to the house, the carriages await
us, and we are driven to Woodstock College,
the novitiate of the Jesuits, a most enchanting
woodland home, where kind Fr. Sabbetti takes
great pride in piloting us through labyrinthian
pathways and flower-girt avenues, to inspect
gardens and other interesting scenes surround
ing the lovely site. Fr. Sabbetti is generous
with his floral beauties, and we leave at mid
day rich with nature s dainty treasures thor
oughly pleased with the drive, and Woodstock

Reaching "Enniscorthy," we are met by
Nannie, whose sweet face, en wreathed in smiles,
cheers our way to luncheon, after which lawn
tennis and pitch ette are indulged in. Lillie
invites me for a drive; I accept, and in her
cart we speed away to St. Charles Seminary,
through which she unceremoniously initiates


me, introducing me to Fr. Griffin, then around
the grounds, giving snatches of its history as
she proceeds. The Sulpicians here and Jesuits
at Woodstock evince taste beyond praise in the
elegance of their landscape gardening and
neatly-arranged pathways and hedges.

From St. Charles we drive to Doughregan
Manor, the summer home of the Carroll family,
who are now in Europe. The house is in colo
nial style of architecture, painted white, a ver
itable home of comfort and beauty.

Handing over our equipage to the care of an
aged negro, w T hom I understand to have been
an attache to the- servants staff of the famous
Signer, we wander around to see the conserva
tory and spacious, neatly-kept lawns, the fine
old trees, beautifully-modeled flower plots, and,
not least, the handsome chapel, where I note a
slab of marble mosaicked into the wall, on the
gospel side of the altar inscribed:

Charles Carroll of Carrollton,
Born Sep. 20th, 1737.
Died Nov. 14th, 1832.

On religious occasions in the slave days the
body of this chapel was filled with representa
tives of the dark race owned by the Carrolls,
the pews on each side of the altar being re
served for the family and their friends.

It was a novel sensation to me to kneel and



pray before the altar upon which had been laid
the petitions of the brave hero who erected this
shrine and was equally faithful to his country
and his God.

The shades of gloaming warn us of the neces
sity of returning. We find the party at "En-
niscorthy " engaged in a game of croquet, which
occupies the moments " tween the gloamin
and the murk," until dinner, after which we
enjoy the calm evening on the porch, and
cards in the drawing room. Miss Lillie grouped
us for a picture and kodaked us by flash light.

We retire with the memory of a very de
lightful day to soothe our eyes to slumber.



Wednesday, September 16.

left the lovely scenes of "Enniscorthy "
this morning to take train for Baltimore,
to keep an engagement with two friends. Driv
ing with Messrs. Foley, Jr., and Shriver to
Ellicott City, heartily imbibing the fresh air,
enjoying the hush of the morning stillness, we
reached our station in time, but the train was
late. We arrived in Baltimore at 10:30. While
awaiting my friends, I occupied the interim
writing to the dear ones at home an account of
my stay at Mr. Foley s.

I lunched with friends and enjoyed the fish
menu very much. My cousins joined me later.
We then went for a drive over Crimea Hill, a
sequestered, picturesque driveway, resembling
our Marin County mountain roads, through an
almost primeval forest, where I secured some
ferns to send home. After dinner several
friends came to spend the evening with us,
whose society we enjoyed. Retire late, very



Thursday, September 17.

Accompanying a friend, and armed with a
letter of introduction to Sr. Catherine, Superior
at Mt. Hope, from Mr. Foley, I start for the Re
treat, on the train. In twenty-five minutes we
whirl into the station, at the hospital, where we
have an invalid friend, whom I am desirous of
seeing ere leaving Baltimore, and have taken
occasion to call to-day. After spending a
couple of hours within the solitudes of this
saddening place, we returned, reaching the
Rennert at midday.

After lunch we prepare for a trip, tendered
us by Mr. Shriver, and at 3:30 leave for Gettys
burg ma the Western Maryland Railroad, arriv
ing in the famous battle burg at 7:30. Here
we are lodged at the City Hotel, the best the
place affords, conducted by a man as capacious
of build and size as John L. Sullivan. His
voice is as sonorous as the western wind, and
he glibly assigns the ladies to two rooms, which
boast four couches, with the assurance to Evie
that if she rolls out of the window her fall will
be broken by a roof several feet below very
comfortable sensations to sleep on.

Mrs. Murphy, Maud, and Mr. Tom Foley
have just returned from up town, where our
chaperon laid in her usual supply of souvenir


cucharas. She presented me with a lovely
orange spoon. I note its characteristics, kiss
the donor, and place it with my beauteous col
lection, the gift of the same generous soul.

Friday, September 18.

After breakfasting, we wander about until
ten o clock, when the large, convenient carryall
secured by our entertainer is brought up, and
we seat ourselves within its comfortable space
to view the scenes of the bravely-fought battle
that was "to decide the fete of human liberty."
It is a very warm, sunny day, but the ride is
most agreeable, over the ground of the first
day s contest. To our left, on the south side,
as we drive over Chambersburg turnpike, is
seen Cemetery Ridge, and farther still Culp s
Hill, which Longstreet was aiming to possess.
Near at hand, on our right, is a yellow build
ing, the Seminary, from the cupola of which
General Buford took observations of the sur
rounding country. It gives the name Semi
nary Ridge to the elevation upon which it

Taking a northerly direction from the turn
pike to an avenue, on our right is shown the
line of battle, the position of the Federal troops
being commemorated by a row of stately mon
uments, white marble, granite, and other valu
able stone and bronze predominating. Each

i *>* SNAP

handsomely-wrought design signifies where
regiments were stationed They were placed
there either by the State to which the regiments
belonged, or by the surviving comrades, under
the auspices of the "Battlefield Memorial Associ
ation." Over the scene of cruel carnage, thirty
miles square, there are already four hundred of
these majestic memorials, with many more in
course of completion. One Confederate shaft
was permitted to be placed. It was done by
the State of Maryland.

They are too numerous for me to particular
ize, but I may remark the spot where General
Reynolds was killed, whereon, in heavy gray
granite, is told the tale of his fall, supposed to
have been a shot from an ambushed sharp
shooter, which struck him in the eye and passed
out over his left temple. He fell from his horse
and his neck was broken.

We pass along, reading and inspecting mon
uments, until our eyes are weary with the
white glare of sunshine on the marble. We
halt at the spring where General Lee s soldiers
lay sick on the second day s battle, from drink
ing the waters, which were supposed to have
been poisoned. To us it tasted of magnesia
and soda, Little wonder that the poor fellows
became ill, in the scorching heat of July s rag
ing sun, and the added warmth of desperate


Making the circuit, we return to the town
about noon, having pleasantly and instructively
spent a forenoon of intense interest. Wander
ing around, I make inquiries respecting the
place, and am informed that the present site of
Gettysburg was originally the property of Win.
Perm, but about 17SO came into the possession
of a man named Gettys, who divided it into
town lots, and called it after himself, "Gettys
burg." Entering the "Antiquarian Store" we
are shown many curios, most of which have
been picked up on the field, among them a Con
federate and a Federal bullet which .met in the
air and were welded, by the force, into one.

Returning to the hotel we lunch and prepare
for the afternoon s excursion. Mr. Herbert
Shriver, of Union Mills, and Mr. Brown, of
Philadelphia, drive up to spend the day with
us, and after lunch join us in the coach, when,
with a competent guide, Mr. Minnock, we start
off to inspect Cemetery Ridge and the entire
stage whereon was enacted one of the most
bloody dramas of the war. It is a grand ex
cursion, full of revelation, instructive and beau

Attention is directed to the house wherein
Jennie Wade was killed by a shell while mak
ing bread. We soon reach the cemetery. It
is divided in the center by a



120 8NA2 J NOTLS.

On the left, as we approach, are interred the
civilians, the right side being reserved for the
military graves, where lie hundreds of soldiers,
many of them with blank slabs marking the
mound, unknown, but of course not unwept.
A New York State monument calls attention,
being ninety-two feet high and costing $5,000.

The cemetery is designed in a semicircle
running north and south, with the elegant na
tional monument in the center, fashioned after
the Immaculate Conception Monument in
Rome, surmounted by the Goddess of Liberty,
and four handsome figures around the pedes
tal representing Peace (a mechanic), War (a
U. S. soldier), History (a woman sitting with
open scroll in her hand), and Plenty (a woman
with sheaves of wheat).

We drive through the avenue, and alight
from our carriage to walk up Cemetery Hill,
listening as the guide recites the story, in pa
thetic, aye, poetic language, of the cruel strife.
He points out the almshouse, which we had
seen in the morning, and mentions young Wil
kinson, who amputated his own shattered limb
with his sword, dragged himself to the alms-
house, used as a hospital, but died next morn
ing, after a night of insufferable pain.

The Blue Ridge Mountains, in cerulean tint,
line the western horizon, and the valley of the


Cumberland stretches beyond them. The broad
battle ground, mapped in nature s lines, lies
before us. The charges made and their loca
tion are all carefully rehearsed. The breast
works thrown up are still at our feet, lessened
and rounded by time. Cannons rest here and
there, their brazen mouths closed, their deadly
work done. The dauntless "Louisiana Ti
gers," under Hays, here did splendid work, but,
laboring under great disadvantages, were finally
repulsed. It is recorded that on this spot was
fought one of the most frenzied hand-to-hand
struggles of the three days carnage. Gulp s
Hill stands serenely to the southeast, in wooded
beauty and unforgotten glory.

We reenter the vehicle, and, following the
Emmitsburg Pike, are shown the scene, on our
right, of " Pickett s Charge," the great and mar
velous piece of determined bravery of the war.
Gallantly charging the Union lines across a
field a mile broad, under a hurricane of shot
and shell, the brave column swept grandly on
ward, until mowed down in its advance by the
withering blast of belching musketry concen
trated on its chivalrous front. The repulse
was complete, and but a handful of men who
participated in this fearful attack survived.

Passing by the peach orchard mentioned in
history, which has been twice planted since the


war, we come to grain tields, and finally are
wending our way over the serpentine road of
Gulp s Hill, whence we are soon led into the
" Devil s Den," a wild, tumbled lot of bowlders,
evidently massed by a convulsion of nature,
with a crystalline stream issuing from their
cavernous depths. Dismounting we view the
uncanny spot with curiosity. It was an excel
lent cover for the lurking sharpshooter, and
our guide informs us that among the clump of
rocks fell many wounded soldiers, who lay un
discovered for days. He showed us where the
bones of a Georgia soldier still lie, a kindly
hand having lately covered them with earth.

Barefooted, ragged children emerge from the
broken ddbris with cupfuls of the clear water,
which they offer not in His name but for the
material reward cheerfully granted by the
bevy of visitors, who feel the effects of Septem
ber s ardent sun

Pursuing our way towards the Round Tops,
over a beautifully designed road shaded by oak
and hickory trees, we suddenly appear before
a large Irish cross in granite, with the Irish
wolf lying at its base, in bronze, the monument
of the " 69th Irish Regimen t,"marking the place
where mass was said for the regiment before
the second day s battle, when, as the priest
raised his hand in blessing on the kneeling


Boldiers, the word, "Forward!" came from Gen
eral JCelly, and instantly ranks were formed,
and the men in battle line, ready for action. I
am proud of my Irish and my Faith!

The roadway leads to Spangler s Springs, and
we drink of the water that supplied both armies
with refreshment during the contest. Round
Top reached we again alight, and view the vast,
graveyard-like valley, bristling with shafts of
marble and granite.

Here Mr. Minnock explains the movements
and incidents of the second and third days
battles, interesting to hear, but not readily
understood by one possessed of as limited knowl
edge of warfare as I may claim. The trees
hereabouts, scarred and bullet-wounded, show
the effects of the hot fire poured into their
midst, some lying prone upon the ground, fall
ing to decay, shelled by enemies not their own.
On Little Round Top I note a life-size figure
in bronze of General Warren, who saved the
"Round Tops."

Descending to the flat country we follow the
stone wall road to a spot hallowed by a scroll
of marble, where General Hancock anxiously
kept watch of the day s movements and vicissi
tudes, directing his men, without once losing
patience This is near what is termed "the
bloody angle," when the third day s battle


swept out regiments of the confederacy, every
inch of the air being black with the winged
missiles of death. The battle closed on the 4th
of July, 1863, after three days of mortal strife.
General Lee, than whom no braver soldier held
a sword, disheartened and discouraged, with
drew beyond the distant Blue Ridge, and passed
a wretched night and day in sadness, his men
sick, weary, and footsore.

Now, my diary, there is much that I could
not sufficiently grasp to properly place in your
keeping, and mayhapsl have become wearisome
relating what everybody but myself already
knew. However, as I never saw the "Pano
rama of Gettysburg," and never had entertained
an idea of the magnitude of the battle until
now, I may be excused for jotting down the
items that arrested my interest.

Returning ma Hancock Avenue to Gettys-
berg, we dine at the City Hotel, and Mr. Shriver
provides two carriages for our conveyance to
Emmittsburg, which ancient little city we set
out for at 6:30 P. M. We arrive in Emmitts
burg, ten miles distant, about nine o clock, and
are booked at a hotel sans name, managed on
rather primitive plans. Retiring about ten
o clock, very tired, we gladly welcome balmy



September 19.

RISING with the break of dawn, and break
fasting early, we are free to stroll about
and see the peculiarities of the town. It is an
old-fashioned, quiet place. The people are
lazy-looking, and the streets are dirty and much
in need of sidewalks. The stores are like the
little country shops of suburban towns in Cali
fornia. The houses look old, many of them
dilapidated, and the hotel fare is miserable.

Mr. Shriver s sister-in-law, with her son and
daughter, call to see us, and conduct us to the
Convent of St. Euphemia, near the parish
church, to see some of its inmates who are
Californians. They are delighted to see us, and
truly royal in their earnest welcome to pilgrims
from the West. They accompanied us to Mt.
St. Joseph s, founded in 1815 by Mother Seton,
and the entire building was thrown open for
our inspection.



Our admiration of the elegant convent, a
retreat of repose, embowered by majestic trees,
in the heart of a broad green lawn, is indeed
beyond expression. Its health-giving resources,
large, excellently ventilated rooms, spacious
grounds, beautiful gardens, with perfect clean
liness and order throughout, are attractions to
which we yield unbounded homage. The
chapel is exquisite in its finish and furnishings.
A beautiful shrine in the garden marks the
resting place of Mother Seton, and beside her
have been placed the remains of the late Arch
bishop Bailey, her kinsman. Near by is the
house she erected, where she lived, taught, led
others to life everlasting, and died. Mr. Shriv-
er s mother, now aged eighty-three, is one of the
original fifteen pupils taught in this small
schoolhouse, by Mother Seton, in 1815.

Bidding adieu to our gentle friends, we are
taken by our host to Mt. St. Mary s Seminary
and College, where Fr. Allen is pastor and
Superior. The drive hither is pleasant and the
approach to the college beautiful. It is the
institution which has reared the most gigan
tic minds in American church history, and I
am happy to be privileged to inspect it. The
paintings are ancient and elegant, the college of
a superior standard of learning, and its situation
romantic and isolated, on a hillside covered


with evergreen shrubbery and beautiful trees.
Registering in the President s Visitors Book,
after a tour through the halls and grounds of
the old college, we take our course towards
" Haylands," the home of Mr. Wm. Shriver.

A short distance from Mt. St. Mary s, I note
"Clearlands," the old home of the Shorb family.
The house, constructed of gray stone, low in
stature, homelike in appearance, stands upon a
knoll in bold command of a complete view of
"Emmittsburg" and the surrounding country.
Weed-grown and neglected, the old home and
birthplace of chivalrous Dr. Shorb, one of Cal
ifornia s favorite adopted sons, rests firmly on
its foundations. Its once- honored inmates
have passed away; old associations have van
ished; the music of their joy is hushed forever,
yet the staunch, enduring stone remaineth.

At "Haylands" we lunch, spend a pleasant
hour, then hasten to the train for Westminster,
en route for "Union Mills." Traveling through
part of Pennsylvania, the trip is enjoyable and
the route pretty. Quaintly-attired Quakers
board the cars, carrying baskets of flowers and

With evening s lengthening shadows we
reach Westminster, and from the depot are
conveyed in carriages to " Union Mills," six
miles distant. On the train from Baltimore


Mr. Herbert Shriver was accompanied by Rev.
Fr. Grannan, professor of philosophy at the
Catholic University of Washington, who is
coming to "the Mills" for the purpose of con
ducting religious service in the private chapel
of the Shriver family.

About dusk we arrive in sight of the old
homestead, and I mark the air of restful com
fort which invites one to repose and peace
within the sweet precincts of hospitality s arms,
spread open over scenes as fresh and fair as
morning s face. At the gate we are greeted by
the Misses Shriver and their venerable lady
mother, who has the soft, low voice that poets
love. Gently inviting us to remove our hats
and wraps, we are led to rooms that repeat the
atmosphere of ease everywhere breathed in this
charming home.

Dinner is soon announced, and the dining
hall fills with guests, ready to enjoy a most
generous and delicious menu, and each other s
genial society. The meal concluded we are
accompanied across the turnpike to the mill
race, and treated to a most romantic and en
joyable boat sail. Stepping into the little
shallop from a picturesque, rustic bridge, span
ning the stream neath the umbrageous
branches of a weeping willow, we are rowed
by master hands in the art, up the winding


rivulet, cheered by voices in sweet song. It is
a beautiful evening, and as we glide along,

1 2 3 4 6 8

Online LibraryFannie De C. MillerSnap notes of an eastern trip, from diary of Fannie de C. Miller → online text (page 6 of 8)