A Tribute to W. W. Corcoran, of Washington City

Front matter

W. W. CORCORAN.

A TRIBUTE

to

Chapter I

Chapter I.

IF the history of American statesmen is a pleasing study, and will interest the minds of thousands of people throughout the breadth of our land, we may not be wrong in believing that a biography of the noblest philanthropist of our National Capital, will also find its way to the sincere appreciation of very many hearts. If the deeds of great men who have electrified Senates and ruled the nation, are emblazoned in characters of gold, so should continued acts of philanthropy forever dwell in letters of living fire. Heroes acting in behalf of the common good of our country, gain the proudest plaudits of earth, but the humanitarian, sowing the seed of charity, gathers in even a richer harvest, because his generosity is in imitation of the blessed example of God, Who showereth unstintedly His gifts upon mankind. In this age, when, oftentimes, principle, reputation, and honor are sacrificed on the altar of Mammon, it is commonly agreed that the goods of this world become a primary consideration, and that to guard them jealously is an imperative duty. When this selfish rule is departed from, and a man looks in upon his treasury of wealth, saying, "This I resign for the good of my fellow creatures," he has but walked out of the broad beaten path of avarice and penuriousness, to seek the narrow way that leadeth to righteousness; and such a man, whilst sadly contemplating the weeds and wretched tares that perplex his neighbor, can yet gladly feel that instead of thorns and thistles there have sprung up for himself, violets of love and gratitude.

The subject of our sketch, William Wilson Corcoran, was born on the 27th of December, 1798, in Georgetown, D.C. His father, Thomas Corcoran, a native of Ireland, moving to this country in early youth, first resided in Baltimore, and afterwards settled in Georgetown. By his worthiness and integrity he won the respect and admiration of the community, and held important offices of trust up to the time of his death. For thirty-nine years Wm. Wilson Corcoran continued to reside in his native town, giving his attention, the larger portion of that time, to mercantile affairs. From 1828 to 1836 he had the management of the real estate of the Bank of the United States, in Washington City, and the Bank of Columbia, in Georgetown, and afterwards was engaged in the Exchange business in Penn avenue, up to 1839, when he removed to the building of the old Bank of the Metropolis, F street. Mr. George W. Riggs having become his partner, they purchased, in 1844, the old Bank of the United States, and on the 4th of July of that year (propitious day for a bright destiny), they established themselves, soon making it a bulwark of strength and goodly reputation, and crowning their names with emolument and honor.

In the midst of the grave and momentous trials brought about by the Mexican war, this firm took up the heavy loans made by the government, and with discretion and ability passed through the storm, the anchorage of the national credit being fast and sure under their wise guidance. This was a bold and hazardous undertaking, but what better proof of energy, zeal and generous patriotism? It was but the beginning of that high principle in Mr. Corcoran of doing good and proffering help where necessity and emergency were involved.

In 1835 Mr. Corcoran married Louise Morris, the daughter of Commodore Morris. She was a most estimable woman, possessed of beauty and accomplishments, but this happy union was soon broken by death, the fragile flower fading away at the expiration of five years. She left a son, who died shortly after her decease, and a daughter Louise, whose euology, now that she has also passed to the eternal world, is best told in the beautiful memories that cluster around her name. The life of this only child, reared in the lap of affluence, was like a placid dream, and she drew so much of her inspiration from the lovely things of earth, that the fairest beauty mirrored in her countenance, and in her latter days especially, gave a "saintly meaning to her face."

In 1859 she was married to Hon. Geo. Eustis, a representative in Congress from the State of Louisiana. They resided several years in Paris, whither Mr. Corcoran, with loving solicitude, frequently repaired, to share in the sweet social amenities for which her home was noted. Three interesting children added to her many joys and blessings, yet athwart the glad sunshine came the dark cloud of sickness and threatening dissolution, and in December, 1867, at Cannes, she exchanged the fleeting delights and riches of earth for the priceless inheritance of heaven. It was truly a sorrowful day for the fond father when so dear a link was severed and so bright a jewel taken away to add to the radiance above, but he who had surrendered many worldly possessions in acts of Christian charity, laid this best and fondest treasure, with becoming submission, at the feet of Him who shapeth the lily and coloreth the violet, and plucketh them from earth to shed fragrance in the fair garden of His keeping.

But to return to the career of Mr. Corcoran, we have but to say that he retired from active life in 1854. The citizens of Washington, the representatives of foreign governments, and strangers from all parts of our country will remember with pleasure his princely hospitality, for many years in a home which was of itself a model of elegance and refinement.

Through all the vain attractions and temptations of the gay Capital, he passed unscathed, preserving his moral dignity and a regard for a consistent and honorable life. An open profession of religious faith was made by him a few years since, in the Church of the Ascension of this city, Rev. Wm. Pinckney, D. D., pastor, the rite of baptism being previously administered. There was always a warm affection between Mr. Corcoran and his pastor, and in the library of his residence, among the family portraits, hangs a likeness of this worthy and eloquent man, now the beloved assistant bishop of Maryland. It may safely be said, however, that no special sect of religion nor bigotry of faith could still or silence that instinctive sentiment of Mr. Corcoran, to give wherever there was need, and thus, every denomination has doubtless felt the goodness of his catholic spirit.

If he has aided the impoverished women of the South, he has also befriended the needy widows of other sections; if he gave five thousand dollars to the starving Irish, when famine stalked throughout their land, he also extended a helping, if not welcoming hand to the band of Hungarian exiles, seeking refuge on our friendly shores. Moreover, he has helped to build up the waste places and homes where war left its desolating trail, giving timely charities, or proffering loans which he meant should never be liquidated. Many persons, once in the hey-day of fortune, finding themselves about to be suddenly engulfed in the dark waters of despair, have seen a beacon light, and an ark of safety and retreat set afloat, wherein they have entered and found peace. Thus have families been kept united, that else would have widely scattered―rescued in mercy from the driving and pitiless storms of life.

Those who have been always poor, meet more in quiet patience their hard and weary lot; but when the roses of life turn to the piercing thorns, there are but few spirits in this world to whom the sudden change does not bring an insupportable woe.

These two conditions have, then, interested the sympathy of our benefactor. If he has lifted in part the burden of the "always poor," making their pathway less rugged, he has saved from the darker fate of sudden and heavy misfortune, the delicate and tenderly reared woman, and the noble, high minded man. Forgetting not the loving entreaty of the Saviour of mankind, he has also suffered little children to come unto him, affording them such happy relief, that when in maturer years they shall rest their heaviest burdens in the bosom of Infinite Love, they will still preserve a tender and precious memory of the "good man."

Mr. Corcoran has also taken a very great pride in the advancement of science and literature. In opening or paving the way to that inexhaustible mine of learning, whose riches are more enduring and valuable than gold or precious stones, he has said to the student, "I lay before you the inestimable treasure of books, whose pages, well studied and appreciated, will yield more true glory than any worldly fame to which you may aspire." The Washington and Lee University testifies to this special interest; for there, within its classic walls, the youth of our land owe a debt of gratitude to the donor of that choice library of five thousand volumes, from whose invaluable fund they might make the coming years lustrous with the light of knowledge. When the blight of war fell upon that time-honored institution of Virginia, William and Mary College, that same generous hand, so prompt and willing, bestowed the first sum of money towards raising her from her ashes. Donations have also been made to the University of Virginia, and the Virginia Military Institute. The Columbian College of Washington, also gives testimony to a most liberal, endowment of landed property. A fine building or hall, inclusive of the site, is one of the gifts, and is used as the medical department of that institution. Its dedication called forth a most eloquent address on the part of the trustees and faculty. Hospitals and asylums have also come in for a goodly share of benefaction and that true and sacred asylum for "the weary and heavy laden," the Church of God, writes the name of Corcoran upon her tablets. It would be impossible to recall in any order the numerous dispensations or favors benefiting both rich and poor. A gloria and thanksgiving of sweet music might be rendered, all conditions of men uniting in the chorus. But the sweetest of all would be the grateful songs of the orphans of this city, who might hold up a roll of fifty thousand dollars or more, saying, "Thus has he relieved our orphanage, and the Lord shall remember him." This same grateful refrain is also chanted else by other orphans, whom distance has not made him lose sight of or forget. Are not all these bright, sunshiny deeds, like a mirror, revealing to us a picture of goodness and benevolence? And does not the life that has been so long fed and sustained by a happy conscience, remind us of the brilliancy and light of the diamond, that rarest gem of earth, or the purity and beauty of the dew drop, whose immaculateness is of heaven? Turning from the perishing things of the world, he also reflected that there cometh to all men that great and important change―the slumber of the grave―and so from his meditations sprung this thought: "I will choose a spot to be made sacred to the dead. Its beauty will lessen the regret of a farewell to life, and for those who shall rest under its sod, may there be unlocked the glories of the world unknown!" Oak Hill Cemetery was then established and endowed. Every year some new beauty is added through the never failing interest of the donor. Situated on the picturesque heights of Georgetown, it overlooks a beautiful region of country, and affords a charming view of the city and the Potomac. Notwithstanding the sad associations, it is always poetic and beautiful, whether under the fall of winter's snow, or wearing the mantle of spring's brightest green, or when summer's sunshine wakes the flowers and tinges the moss with emerald loveliness. It was meet that this generous spirit should cast aside the thought of earth and its vanities, and, remote from the city's sullying breath, select this loveliest spot of nature, embalmed with fragrance, shadowed o'er with luxuriant foliage, within sound of the singing rill and leaping cascade. And it may be well in God’s wisdom that those dearest in his affections should first be laid to rest within the temple's shrine, that he might wander there to glorify Him "Who giveth and taketh away," and Who promiseth in their name, that he shall meet them again. This "come unto me" throws a shadow upon earth, whilst it brightens the portals of the sky! How tender and sad a feeling is kindled in our breasts as we stand amid the peaceful shades of Oak Hill, where so many that in life were noble and good, fair and beautiful, are "sleeping their last sleep!" There seems to flit before our gaze an angelic band, our mental eye straining to catch the last glimpse of the white robes, ere they vanish forever into the heavenly sphere. We see the sweet and gentle maiden, the loveliest flower of the household, going to prepare the way for the loved ones left behind—"the nursling from its mother's arms," a rose-bud to beautify the garden of our Lord—the matron, whose deeds of love on earth are her passport to the mansions of bliss—the young bride exchanging her wreath of orange blossoms for the coronal of heaven—the brave soldier, whose warfare being ended, puts on the armor of righteousness—the learned scholar, giving up the "lettered page" for the heavenly scroll, and countless others with brows bathed in glorious light, and whose wings bear them on to endless joys! With all this beauteous vision, there floats on the ear the soft, low music that was chanted over the remains of our loved ones, as the autumn leaves were being drifted down the vale, and the sun was setting in solemn beauty. "Rest, spirit, rest!" was mournfully echoed, but the thought of immortality has robbed it of its dirge-like cadence. Blest power of memory! Ye hath left an enduring legacy among the flowery walks of Oak Hill, in the costly memorials of granite and marble in the myrtle and blue-eyed periwinkle, creeping over many a grave, as if in humble love; in the faithful ivy entwining the "broken shaft;" and the rare exotics of other lands, wooed into lending their beauty to this consecrated soil Here are to be found rare specimens of South American and Asiatic plants, Australian ferns, &c., but noblest of all the wealth of verdure, are the native forest oaks that stretch their sheltering branches like the strong arm of Divine Love over frail, perishing humanity. To draw any graphic picture of the variety and beauty of art in this cemetery, would occupy too much space; but when the visitor leaves the Corcoran Temple of pure white marble and Doric architecture, he must seek a contrast in the Van Ness Mausoleum of sombre hue and Grecian architecture. Here also in this lovely spot has Mr. Corcoran reserved a lot for the ladies of the "Louise Home"—an institution to which we shall presently allude. What more touching consideration was ever shown—the twilight of age soothed and sustained, and the darkness of death lighted by this last kind and thoughtful provision!

Chapter II

Chapter II.

ONE of the noblest tributes ever paid to woman was the thought that actuated Mr. Corcoran to erect the "Louise Home." His heart, ever filled with the memories of his precious dead, throbbed in sympathy with the bereaved ones of their sex, whose impoverishment and sorrow he bade them forget in the genuine welcome of a friend and almoner. The ladies admitted to this dwelling are educated and accomplished, having basked in the bright sunshine of comfortable means until the dark day came, and the cloud of misfortune burst ruthlessly upon them.

It entered into the religion of Mr. Corcoran to remember the widow as well as the orphan, and a digression in the mention of the latter is admissibly in that the name of Louise Eustis must ever be cherished by many bereaved children. She was like her father in "good deeds;" so say those faithful women wearing the garb of Sisters of Charity and noble ladies of other denominations. At the St. Vincent's Asylum of this city hangs her portrait, and it invokes the tribute of a tear as the little faces gaze up at its sweetness and beauty.

The orphans of the Protestant Asylum remember a sad procession wending its way to Oak Hill, and how

THE LOUISE HOME.

their trembling fingers strewed flowers of love upon her coffin. At this beautiful home, named for herself and mother, there are two representative portraits by Guillaume which will hold the spectator spell-bound by their serene loveliness and innocence. The daughter is the reflex of the mother, whose mild blue eyes beam with the light of goodness and amiability, and in the portrait of Mrs. Eustis the typical appeal of the flower Pensez à moi (that she holds in her hand), surely meets with a prompt and affectionate response from every heart.

The ladies established at this retreat have opportunities of entertainment and diversion, now and then tendered by the host, besides other friends and sources, proving that there is in our midst a never failing liberality that leans to the bereaved. Just here might be mentioned Mrs. Benjamin Ogle Tayloe, whose kind deeds are well known, and whose house has always sustained the reputation of lavish hospitality. This lady has recently presented two chairs to the institution, the very attractive work of the Shakers at Lebanon. A well selected library is also furnished for the inmates, and there are some interesting pictures to adorn the walls, the thoughtful host believing not only in the recreation of the mind, but in the exercise and gratification of the eye. Each lady resident has received a handsome Bible as a gift from Mr. Corcoran, and this is a proof that not only has their material comfort been considered, but also their spiritual welfare.

The edifice itself is one of the most beautiful in Washington. The interior is charming in all of its details, being bright and cheerful, besides showing an air of substantiality. There are five stories, the central portion of the building forming a wide open space, with encircling galleries to each tier, upon which the bed rooms open. Every convenience has been provided, bath rooms, elevators, &c. The supporters are bronzed iron columns, and the woodwork is of black walnut. The rooms are all models of neatness, and display in the little ornaments here and there, the refined taste of gentlewomen. The regulations are very precise, and can compare favorably with any government institution, where "order is the first law." The matron, Miss Lucy Hunter, is admirably chosen for her responsible position. Her sweet, expressive face, like the Evangeline of Longfellow, is certainly an acquisition to the Home, whilst her charm of manner is ever present, winning praise from friends and strangers. The dining saloon is on the ground floor, and all of its appointments correspond with the elegance above. We happened once to see a meal spread out, where was abundance and a choice serving.

Besides the reception rooms and ante-chambers, there are fine grounds outside, the green-sward inviting to a promenade for the aged inmates who do not care to seek exercise in the public thoroughfares. Altogether a spirit of comfort and ease pervades the place, and to those who are so happily installed, we do not doubt that the evening of their life will be lit up with an almost hallowed remembrance of the "good deed" by which they were shielded and provided for; and like Judith, who faithful "to the end, walked with the angels in her widow's weeds," they will patiently await the summons to that "Home," not made with hands, "eternal in the heavens." The gratitude of these ladies is frequently shown by some delicate little attention to Mr. Corcoran, viz.: the gift of a beautiful flower, a note of exquisite pathos, &c., which to his appreciative and sensitive nature, are worth more than gold or rubies; for his life is made rich "with that content the world takes not away." During a severe illness of Mr. Corcoran, some gentle hand that had nurtured at the "Home" a lily, pure and spotless as the snow, and therefore the more emblematic of his goodness, sent the flower to him, trusting that its poetic language might convey the many kindly wishes for his restoration to health. How appropriate such gifts to him who hath caused so many flower to spring up in their pathway!

We are permitted to quote the following beautiful letter from the pen of the distinguished Bishop of Alabama.

New York, September 15, 1873.

W. W. Corcoran,

My Dear Friend:—I went up to Washington a few days ago, for the express purpose of seeing the "Louise Home." I saw a great many public buildings of the city, and many of the works of Art with which the Metropolis abounds; but I saw nothing upon which the stamp of immortality was set save the "Louise Home." God belss you!—and He will bless you—for this labor of love. And when I looked upon the beautiful face of her whose memory must have inspired you, and whose name is given to "The Home," I could not wonder that it was woman whom you wished to bless with your beneficence. When I gazed upon that beautiful face—and I can never forget it—I could well understand that the heart in which such a woman was enshrined, could never find place for another love. How beautiful are they who are prepared for an early Heaven!

But one thing I missed—Will you pardon me for the seeming presumption?—"the oratory"—the conse "House of Prayer." You would not give a denominational character to the Home. That is not necessary. No one is compelled to attend it. Each one is left free to individual choice. But what exception can be justly taken to a real chapel of the church, when all are privileged, but none are required to go to worship? This seemed the only thing lacking, and so beautiful and true a thing should lack nothing.

I feel that, if you agree not with me, you will pardon me for the suggestion. I start in a few days for Mobile. I carry with me no reminiscence so sweet as that of your "Louise Home." Heaven itself must be sweeter to you for being the founder of the "Louise Home."

Most truely, RICHARD H. WILMER.

The control of the "Louise Home" is vested in a board of nine directresses, appointed by Mr. Corcoran, and the following well known names are a sufficient guarantee of their faithful stewardship—Mrs. Benjamin Ogle Tayloe, President; Mrs. James M. Carlisle, Mrs. George W. Riggs (since deceased), Mrs. Richard H. Coolidge, Miss Sarah Coleman, Mrs. Richard T. Merrick, Mrs. John Marbury, Sen.; Mrs. Beverly Kennon, and Mrs. S. P. Hill. The Trustees are Messrs. Carlisle, Riggs, Hall and Hyde. Doctors Busey and Drinkard, have very generously offered their gratuitous services to the institution.

Mr. Corcoran has been the recipient of hundreds of written testimonials of gratitude for the good he has done in various ways, and not only has woman sent the warmest expressions of affection, but there have been acknowledgments from some of the greatest and wisest of men—men who in our national councils stood first in the array of talent and worth. Also the lamented George Peabody, his personal friend and admirer, admitted that in Mr. Corcoran he had found a strong competitor in acts of benevolence. Our country has every right to be proud of two such benefactors, embodying the noblest sentiments and virtues, and who scattered whilst living the fruits of their labors―waiting not for the "convenient season," nor for the time when earth, vanishing from the mortal gaze, makes the riches of a lifetime as dross or chaff, useless and valueless, at least to the possessor. Colton says:―"Posthumous charities are the very essence of selfishness, when bequeathed by those who, when alive, would part with nothing." The true charity is that which waiting not to be weighed, falls like the dew in famishing places, and is not inflated with pride and vanity. There was no truer and fonder tribute paid to Peabody's bier, than when England's poor wept with bitterness. It was far above the honors paid by sovereigns and the nobility, and the requiem of the Atlantic waves, as the convoy bore him sadly back to his native soil!

There is one little sentence of vast meaning contained in the Book of Common Prayer, which strikes upon millions of ears every Sabbath, and yet we venture to assert is but little heeded―"Behold, Lord! the half of my goods I give to the poor." How easily counted are the followers after this, because of the rarity, and how much then does the world owe to the men who have not overlooked it. Apart from the philanthropy that vaunteth itself, craving worldly applause, and independent of the costly edifices, the piled up gold and bonds, are the small charities which have no record, save in the hearts of humble, recipients and in the notice of God. The great ocean, as it sweeps on in its proud defiant course, is so overwhelming a thought in the mind, that the tranquil rivulet, gliding gently on with naught of force or impetus, becomes an insignificant comparison; and yet the influence of one on the other cannot be entirely lost sight of. All the grandeur of the former cannot take away the remembrance of the sparkling stream that slaked our thirst on a weary journey; and so to the poverty-stricken, who have been refreshed in the toiling strife of life, the smallest gifts have been mercies not less dignified, not less valued than the wealth that built the Vatican, or the Escurial. This quiet, unostentatious charity has also belonged to Mr. Corcoran, and after the mighty and limitless sea of his generous impulse, gentle little streams of kindness have flowed here and there to relieve the necessities of the obscure and needy.

About a year ago, a paper of this city recorded the following: "Praying for her benefactor." "There are several poor persons who have been in the habit of calling daily at the office of Mr. W. W. Corcoran, and receiving from him small sums to relieve their necessities. A few days since a feeble old woman entered the office to receive her contribution, but upon learning that Mr. Corcoran was dangerously ill, she showed much feeling, and upon going out fell upon her knees at the street corner by the bank, and prayed fervently for the recovery of her benefactor."

So might we continue to enumerate benefactions, one after another, the list assuming enormous length. But there is one gift not to be named for its value, but rather for the beautiful thought or idea connected with Mr. Corcoran’s love and veneration of the "Father of his Country." Whilst it is the duty and cherished privilege of the Mount Vernon Association to keep in repairs the home of Washington, and beautify the estate, still it occurred to Mr. Corcoran to make a most expressive and emblematical adornment. The slopes of the Potomac where Mount Vernon lies, are planted with evergreens, purchased in Europe. Stone and granite may tell the story of departed worth and excellence, but their crumbling pieces will not convey so eloquently the sad truth of what Death has robbed us, as those waving evergreens, singing a dirge with the fitful breeze.

Chapter III

Chapter III.

A ND now we come to that great and important subject, the Fine Arts, which day by day are becoming more appreciated and find a rapid increase of patrons. It is true that there are some who do not regard Art as an essentiality, and who are even indifferent to it as an ornament. Viewed favorably by the masses, in the latter sense, does it not appeal to the mind and heart, and aid in the general education? A love of it was handed down to us from remote ages, when painting, hieroglyphics and signs were the beginning or the alpha of the interesting work. Then it was the weak infant struggling into being—now it is the giant, clothed with power and strength!

We can even go back to the deluge and the years close following, when sculpture was one of the arts, although perverted in the form of idols and graven images. Hundreds of years after, Phidias, the originator of the ideal style, chiselled statues out of ivory and gold, and still later the names of Praxitiles and Scopas tell of perfection in the art. Note the growing affection that has brought these crudities to the perfect image and the faultless painting, and let us give thanks that the brow of the sculptor has been decked with brightest laurel, and that some of the proudest niches in the world's Temple have been filled by soul-inspired artists!

There are many arguments to be made in favor of Art—that glorious handmaid to nature! Let us enter some fine picture gallery and study the various subjects. With what do we find ourselves busied? Geography, History, Mythology, &c., &c. We see the imitative power of the artist in the truthful scenes of nature, and we descry a likeness to our fellow-creatures in the shapely marble and plaster. Face to face we are brought with men whose features, faithful in resemblance make us for the moment forget that they themselves are crumbling into dust, or that their real substance has vanished from earth. If it be a statesman or warrior, a poet or astrologist, some special renown or exploit, romance or spiritualized intelligence will speak eloquently from the canvas. We are suddenly brought to an association with the great spirits of the past; the human mind is made to travel over an immensity of space, glorified by genius and worth, and the bare contemplation through sympathy, awakens us to a moral and intellectual state. Do we wonder at the hush of silence that frequently pervades galleries ᚮf art, not less in New York than in Europe, for are there not impulses at work "playing an old tune upon the heart," or otherwise pleasurably exercising the thoughts? We have seen a sad, lone woman engrossed or held spell-bound by a picture representing "The Dying Child." The scene is painful for the casual observer, but what is it to her weeping eyes and aching heart? The pale, little form is not the figure of her own beloved child, but the sorrowful reminder of a bitter moment when the Angel of Death hovered over her home.