Autobiography of Mrs. Louise Carnegie

THE LIFE OF MRS.
ANDREW CARNEGIE
By
BURTON J. HENDRICK
and
DANIEL HENDERSON
',' "', ...
"Or walk with king's'-'-1wr lose (lie common touch . . ."

-Rudyard K:l'ling
HASTINGS HOUSE
Publishers New York 22
COPYRIGHT, 1950, BY HASTINGS HOUSE, PUBUSHERS, INC.
All rights reserved. No part of this

work may be reproduced without the
written permission of the publisher.
436493
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CONTENTS
Page
FOREWORD ix
I. A CHILD OF OLD CHELSEA I
2. GIRLHOOD IN THE SEVENTIES 19
3· A TROUBLED CoURTSHIP 47
4· CRISIS 71
5· WEDDING TRIP ABROAD: BONCHURCH AND KILGRASTON 85
6. SUMMERS AT CLUNY CASTLE 109
7· MOTHERHOOD 135
8. THE LADY OF SKIBO 151
9· No.2 EAST NINETY-FIRST STREET 185

10. SHADOWBROOK, 1919 207
II. THE COURAGE TO Go ON 21 9
12. THE PLEASANTNESS OF SEVENTY 237
13· CARNEGIE CENTENARy-ITS LIVING SYMBOL 259
14· THE OTHER ROOM 279
"
ILLUSTRATIONS
Louise Whitfield Carnegie Frontispiece

FACING PAGE
Louise Whitfield at the age of six 34

Fifth Avenue, looking south from 47th Street with the Windsor

Louise Whitfield just before her marriage 50

The Carnegies on their honeymoon, Isle of Wight, 1887 51
Mr. and Mrs. King and the Carnegies at Cluny about 1889 130
A coaching party at Cluny 131
Skibo Castle, 1901, showing the new wing built by the Carnegies 146
Mrs. Carnegie with her daughter Margaret, 1904 147
On the terrace at Skibo about 1910 178
No.2 East Ninety-first Street 179
Mrs. Carnegie's sitting-room 194
Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie in New York about 1909 195
Louise Whitfield Carnegie and her four grandchildren, 1932 242
Skibo in June 243
V1t
This story of Louise Whitfield Carnegie and the times in
which she lived began in her sitting room at No.2 East Ninety.
first Street, New York, on a sunny winter morning in 1943.
Mother was kept from her usual busy morning routine by a
slight cold, but was well on the way to recovery. Sitting before
the fire dressed in her lavender wool frock, she was happily
crocheting a blanket for her newest great-grandchild. "I am hav·
ing a holiday this morning," she said.
In this mood she enjoyed talking about her early days as a
girl in New York and, when it was suggested, readily agreed that
these recollections should be jotted down. "Tales of a Grand-
mother," she laughingly called them. Several pleasant mornings
were spent in this way. Then her cold disappeared and she was
again in the full swing of her active life.
Her own reminiscences were never resumed. But so many
diaries and letters were found among her papers that the advice
of Burton J. Hendrick, who knew her well and had written the
biography of her husband, Andrew Carnegie, was sought. Im-
pressed with Mrs. Carnegie's individuality and many-sidedness,
and with her background on two related continents, he was
zx
FOREWORD
glad to continue her life story. He was in mid-passage with the
work when his death occurred in March, 1949.
He spared himself in no way in the preparation of this story
of my mother, and I am grateful to him for his patient research
and for the skill he dedicated to writing these informal memoirs.
Not long before he died he told me that when the book was
finished it would be like parting with an old friend.
Fortunately there was available to carryon the biography-
with the same understanding spirit-Daniel Henderson, well
known for his work as a poet, and for informal biographies of
persons who in their times had made some impress on life. As
long-time Secretary of the Authors Club of New York, Mr.
Henderson knew Mr. Hendrick; they had much in common,
including a deep interest in the Carnegie family.
In taking up the work, Mr. Henderson was especially guided
by a remark made by a woman friend about my mother after
her marriage:
" ... To be the wife of a man who is not only rich in this
world's goods, but whom God endowed with a powerful brain,
a restless and untiring energy, and a sympathetic heart-why,
that is a sphere of life wherein most would fail." His search led
him to agree with Mr. Hendrick's conclusion, that Louise
Whitfield Carnegie did not fail; simply, graciously, high-
mindedly-her work controlled by fine executive ability-she
succeeded.
It is an intimate story you will read in the following pages,
because any true picture of my mother, Louise Whitfield Car-
negie, must show her as the center of her family. In both the
land of her birth and during her summers in Scotland she was
the true homemaker, and her human relationships-whether as
x
FOREWORD
daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, or friend-came first
with her always.
The book has been written for her grandchildren and great-
grandchildren, for her large circle of friends and, of course, for
any reader wishing to know what it meant to be the wife of
Andrew Carnegie. She shared to the utmost his ideals and pur-
poses, yet lived a life of individuality and independence, and
never ceased to make their home a place of warmth and kind-
ness where spiritual rather than material values were put first.
Xt
·/ .
=' CkiU ff5 Ou CkelJea
Louise Whitfield Carnegie was born three days after James
Buchanan became President of the United States; her life from
March 7,1857, to June 24,1946, covered a span of almost ninety
years. It was a time of progressive movements and expanding
horizons, and in her quiet, womanly way she had a part in
them.
She saw the beginning and the triumph of the crusade to
give women the vote and grant them freedom to engage in
almost every class of endeavor.
Her growing interest in world affairs coincided with advance
in travel and communications. Concerned with human welfare
and international relations, as her life drew to a close she
pated with joy the meeting of the fifty nations at San Francisco
to form the charter for the United Nations Conference. This
convention and its prospects seemed to her to seal the ideal of
her husband for a harmonious union of all nations.
But now for the child that was mother to the woman:
It seems fitting that Louise Whitfield, one of whose
nant traits was a love of children, should have been born in
New York City's Chelsea, within a few hundred feet of the
spot where Clement Moore wrote his merry little poem:
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring-not even a mouse; ...
1
LOUISE WHITFIELD CARNEGIE
On Christmas Day, 1822, seeking to amuse his children and
put them in good spirits for the festival. Clement Clarke
Moore exercised his gift for light verse by scribbling the
universal classic of American childhood. A Visit from St.
Nicholas is more than a jingle; before its appearance, St. NichQ..
las had been a rather stodgy figure, who made his methodical
rounds with about as much imagination as a postman deliver-
ing mail; the lively laughing Santa Claus, whirling through
the air in a reindeer sleigh, entering the house via the chimney,
and stuffing the children's stockings with gifts, is the achieve-
ment of Clement Moore.
Significantly, among the treasures the child piously pre-
served is a copy of this poem, gaily illustrated in color, inscribed
on the flyleaf to "Louise Whitfield, teacher's reward." She was
then seven years old and the book was perhaps the first of that
long list of school prizes she was to obtain. She loved the little
poem and knew it by heart.
The Clement Moore house was located about where the
present Twenty-third Street meets Ninth Avenue. The Whit-
field dwelling was on Twenty-second Street, just east of Ninth
Avenue.
Louise Whitfield, the child, was growing into an attractive,
intelligent little girl with nut-brown hair and large blue, ani-
mated eyes. She gave promise of the distinctive features of ma-
turity-the long oval face, the determined mouth, the firmly
prominent chin. There is a striking resemblance, indeed, between
the childhood photograph and those taken many years after-
ward; the little girl of eight displays the same dignity and un-
ruffled poise that characterized the woman.
In this early time, she was quiet, almost demure, a little in-
2
A CHILD OF OLD CHELSEA
dined to keep herself apart, but she had her lively moments,
and found a zestful delight in children's games-a heritage from
youth that would long afterward send her into Schwarz's to
buy games for her daughter and later for her grandchildren.
Naturally, there was behind this happy child a pleasant home
and a fond mother and father. She was the daughter of John
William Whitfield, a progressive wholesale merchant, and
Fannie Davis Whitfield.
No family fitted better into the American
lation of Chelsea than Mr. Whitfield. His stock was thoroughly
"American" in the Colonial and Revolutionary sense of the
word. Making no pretence to exalted social status, still less to
wealth, it had those solid virtues of industry, public spirit, and
reverent living which laid the foundations of the nation. Louise
Whitfield, though she lived extensively on two continents, min-
gled on intimate terms with the great men and women in both,
and learned to love Scotland as her second home, was never at
base anything but an American; in fact, her fundamental alb
giance was even more restricted, for her first love was bestowed
on New York.
Her progenitors on her father's side were born on Manhattan
Island. Her mother, a native of Bridgeport, Connecticut, came
from a long line of New England ancestry; all of them had
played their part in Manhattan's development.
The birthplace of her paternal grandfather, George Buck-
master Whitfield, was on Cherry Street, close to the East River
-the same Cherry Street on which was George Washington's
Presidential "mansion" when New York was the Federal capi-
tal. Her Thomas Whitfield, is the first of the
American line of whom there is authentic knowledge. He was
3
born in England, emigrated to America, and settled in New
York before the Revolution.
Thomas Whitfield, in the family record, figures as a "loyal-
ist," and, as such, found it comfortable to spend the period
of hostilities in Nova Scotia. When the war ended, Thomas
returned to New York and, a well-esteemed citizen, resumed
his prosperous career of shipbuilder.
Another branch of the American Whitfields, the celebrated
Henry, was in r639 one of the six founders of Guilford, Con-
necticut. The stone house which this evangelical pioneer built
is still standing, one of the three or so oldest'in the United
States; it is today preserved as a museum by the State of Con-
necticut.
The family did not lack Revolutionary antecedents, and
antecedents that admitted them to the order of the Cincinnati.
There was a generous French strain in Mrs. Carnegie, of which
she was extremely proud. It was a double strain, running back
to the Huguenot settlers of New Rochelle in the seventeenth
century and to that body of Frenchmen who came over in
r776 to fight side by side with the American patriots. From
both these ancestors the descent is direct. There is no more
authentic Huguenot name than that of Guion. The first of this
name in the family tree was Angelique, who was baptized in
the Episcopal Church in New Rochelle March 3r, r755.
This lady's son, John Stevens, born in New Rochelle-r783
-married Catherine Pariset, the daughter of a follower of
Lafayette. It was, indeed, at the invitation of Lafayette that
the girl's father, Nicholas Pariset, crossed the sea and joined
the American Army. He became a general, taking part in the
Maryland and Virginia campaigns; then he fell in love with
4
the daughter of an American purchased a
plantation at the head of Elk River, Maryland, and reared a
family of four girls. One of these, Catherine, married the
going John Stevens, and her daughter, in turn, Elizabeth Guion
Stevens, married Louise Whitfield's grandfather, George
master Whitfield. Here was plenty of ancestry, French, martial,
adventurous, to add a touch of fire to the more stolid English
stock.
Around the corner from the Whitfield home was Chelsea
Square, the great block set aside for the Seminary. Its gray,
walls, mullioned windows, crenelated roofs and towers,
and its students in cap and gown, walking leisurely to lectures,
reminded one of an English university town. It was a fitting
first environment for a little girl who was one day to be capped
by New York University near by, and by St. Andrews
versity in Scotland.
Before long her family decided to move further uptown.

The Whitfields had an inclination to the most picturesque
part of New York City, and, in selecting the Gramercy Park
district, they again displayed this talent. The Gramercy Park
section had begun its existence at almost the same period as
old Chelsea and now, for about thirty years, had engaged in
a kindly rivalry as the favorite residential headquarters of New
Yorkers of substance and character. Like Chelsea, it had a
famous sponsor-Samuel B. Ruggles of New Milford,
necticut. This Yale graduate, who attained distinction in several
fields-law, business, public life, education (he was for fifty
years the guiding trustee of Columbia College)-developed for
residential purposes the old Bowery or Bouwerie, the farm
5
that had been the country seat of James Duane, first mayor
of New York. Part of this farm estate became Gramercy Park.
In 1831, Mr. Ruggles-a real estate promoter with a de-
votion to beautiful city planning-gave to the families buying
property around it the land extending from Twenty to Twenty-
first Street, and for about two blocks east and west, in all sixty
city lots, under a deed stipulating that it should always be
preserved as a park, planted with shrubs, trees, flowers, and
privet hedges. The park was inclosed with a widely-spaced iron
railing. The park having been set aside exclusively for the
abutting owners, each of these families was given one key to it.
"Buildings, towers, palaces may moulder and crumble be-
neath the touch of time," said the philosophic Samuel Ruggles,
"but space-free, glorious open space-will remain to bless the
city forever."
"Yes," replied a friend, "man makes buildings but God
makes space."
Soon Gramercy Park and the neighboring streets became
one of the most sought for residential preserves of New York.
George Buckmaster Whitfield, Louise's grandfather, had, in a
small way, John Jacob Astor's genius for real property. He
had been a pioneer in the Bronx, where he had purchased lots
for $200 which he had subsequently sold for $50,000. For years
he had conducted a wholesale and retail business on Water
Street, dealing in a miscellaneous assortment of hardware.
By 1853, having become a trustee in three leading New York
banks, he retired and built a fine stone house on East Seven-
teenth, around the corner of Union Square, or Union Park,
as it was then called. He had bought a number of lots in the
Ruggles district, and when he died an obituary notice said
6
LOUISE WHITFIELD CARNEGIE A CHILD OF OLD CHELSEA
that had been the country seat of James Duane, first mayor that he was one of its chief promoters. It is, therefore, not sur-
of New York. Part of this farm estate became Gramercy Park. prising that his son, John William, father of Louise, should
In 1831, Mr. Ruggles-a real estate promoter with a de- wish to settle in the neighborhood.
votion to city planning-gave to the families buying In 1862 the family moved into the three-story brick dwelling
property around It the land extending from Twenty to Twenty- at Number n6, later 149, East Eighteenth Street, between
Street, and for about two blocks east and west, in all sixty Irving Place and Third Avenue. This house and the Gramercy
CIty lots, under a deed stipulating that it should always be Park hinterland form the back drop of Mrs. Carnegie's early
preserved as a park, planted with shrubs, trees, flowers, and life; here her childhood and girlhood were spent, from her
privet hedges. The park was inclosed with a widely-spaced iron fifth to the eighteenth year. It was a happy time.
railing. The park having been set aside exclusively for the Her favorite playground, and that of her youthful friends,
abutting owners, each of these families was given one key to it. was Gramercy Park. As the Whitfield home did not directly
"Buildings, towers, palaces may moulder and crumble be- front on this exclusive soil, her family did not possess the
neath the touch of time," said the philosophic Samuel Ruggles coveted key, but that proved no deterrent. One who is almost
"b ut space-f ree, glorious open space-will remain to bless the' her only surviving playmate relates that, when the caretaker
city forever." was otherwise employed, "Lou" a.nd she used to slip through
"Yes," replied a friend, "man makes buildings but God the gate or climb the fence and thus achieve the fairyland of
makes space." flowers and darkling trees; if the fence was the one that is
Soon Gramercy Park and the neighboring streets became standing there today, that was something of a feat.
one of the most sought for residential preserves of New York. The favorite objective of the little tomboys was the fountain,
George Buckmaster Whitfield, Louise's grandfather, had, in a presided over by a Grecian nymph-a young lady of marble
small way, John Jacob Astor's genius for real property. He who is still doing service in the park, though she was removed
had been a pioneer in the Bronx, where he had purchased lots to a more obscure corner some years ago to make room for the
for $200 which he had subsequently sold for $50,000. For years statue of Edwin Booth. The girls loved to wade in the adjacent
he had conducted a wholesale and retail business on Water pool, and they also used to spend many agreeable hours playing
Street, dealing in a miscellaneous assortment of hardware. marbles, not hesitating, at times, to take on the boys-not al-
By 1853, having become a trustee in three leading New York ways unsuccessfully. Gramercy Park and its secluded attrac-
banks, he retired and built a fine stone house on East Seven- tions stayed on in Lou Whitfield's mind.
teenth, around the corner of Union Square, or Union Park, The dearest companion of Louise's childhood and girlhood
as it was then called. He had bought a number of lots in the was her young mother. The youth of Mrs. Whitfield made the
Ruggles district, and when he died an obituary notice said friendship between the devoted parent and girl almost that
6 7
of an older and younger sister. Louise delighted in playing
child mother to little brother George, but always the sight of
her mother would attract her away from playmates, and,
arms linked, they would go to the playground or to the
East River to watch the boats and barges going by, the gulls
flying, or the boys swimming.
Mrs. Carnegie liked to recall the Saturday mornings when
she and her small friends were loaded on the horse car and
transported to Central Park, where they would spend a good
part of the day in games, lunching on some attractive hillock.
"My life was a simple one," she said. "My mother was the
youngest daughter, and, soon after her marriage, her mother,
Mary Ann Davis, who was a widow, came to live with us.
Grandmother Davis was still active and a great help to my
mother, who was only twenty when she married. We kept one
maid in the kitchen and one upstairs, but Grandmother cooked
most of the fancy dishes, and, of course, the washing of the
best china was always done by the family.
"I well recollect drying the fine teacups which my Grandfather
Davis, a captain on one of the clipper ships, had brought home
to us from Liverpool. My father used to take us on holidays to
High Bridge, New York State, and one recollection is very clear
in my mind. I ventured too near a flock of turkeys roaming
about up there and my little brother, George Buckmaster, who
was two and a half years younger, became my champion. Pick-
ing up a branch, he ran after the turkeys crying, 'I'll 'hip 'em,
Lulie!' Soon after that, the first sorrow came into my life.
My little brother playmate sickened and died. I remember the
weary weeks in which I missed his companionship keenly.
"Not very long after George died, a baby sister [Estelle] ar-
8
rived. She was very delicate and I remember many, many anxious
days. She lived, however, well into middle life. After Estelle
came, Grandmother Davis took me into her room. I recall sit-
ting up in bed in the morning looking at the woodcuts in the
large Dutch Bible which she gave me to amuse myself with
while she was dressing. My best days were always when my
mother took me shopping with her and I learned many do-
mestic habits in this very delightful way.
"My father was a partner in the firm of Baker, Dowd &
Whitfield, though he afterward became its head when it was
reorganized as Whitfield, Powers & Co. They were a retail
and wholesale house, dealing in Yankee notions and a great
variety of fancy dress materials. They were also importers of
white goods from England and France.
"Once or twice during the winter on Saturday mornings my
father would take me down with him to the warehouse, and
this was a great treat as there were all kinds of fascinating
things to be inspected. My special delight was small china dolls
and the rows on rows of boxes of these enchanted me. Father,
of course, was not too keen to break into these boxes which
were to be sold wholesale, but I usually came away with one
of the dolls on which I had set my heart. Afterwards we would
go to Delmonico's for lunch and then walk up to Eighteenth
Street in the afternoon. What happy excursions these were I"
The Gramercy Park neighborhood was full of persons and

associations that were to figure in the girl's later life. Four
blocks away, on Irving Place and Fourteenth, stood the
New York Academy of Music, which was hospitable to Signor
Angelo's Italian Opera.
9
Walt Whitman, when a Brooklyn journalist, reported the
opening of the Academy:
This edifice is one of the largest audience buildings in America
... it is of elegant architectural appearance outside, especially at
night-adorned with its plentiful, round, moon-like lights. Here we
are in front. What a gay show. The visitors are now in full tide. The
lookers on-the crowd of pedestrians, the numerous private carriages
dashing up to the great porch-the splendid and shiny horses-the
footman jumping down and opening the carriage doors-the beauti-
ful and richly dressed women alighting, and passing up the steps
under the full blaze of lights . . . I
Seated in the red velvet arm-chairs of the parquette, and on the

sofas of the dress-circle, are groups of gentlemen, and of the most
superbly dressed women, some of them with that high bred air and
self-possession, obtained by mixing much with the best society.
In contrast, the residents of Gramercy Park went to hear
Patti, Sembrich, and Nilsson unostentatiously. Their section,
conveniently located as to the Metropolitan and the Academy
of Music, and as to the Steinway and Chickering Concert
Halls, was the locale of the New York Philharmonic orchestra,
with such well known directors as Leopold Damrosch, Theo-
dore Thomas, Anton Seidl, Emil Paur, and Walter Damrosch.
A small boy destined to a great career, who was born a year
after Louise Whitfield and was to become her friend, lived a
stone's throwaway. Teddy Roosevelt was surely one of the
playmates against whom she used to match her skill at marbles.
His sister, Corinne Roosevelt, Lou's playmate then, became a
friend through life.
At No. I Lexington Avenue, facing the Park, lived Peter
10
Cooper, whose famous Cooper Union was aided generously
by Andrew Carnegie. The Cooper house was subsequently
cupied by Abram Hewitt, afterward fellow steel-maker with
Carnegie, and later first president of the Carnegie Institute of
Pittsburgh. His lasting regret was to be that he had declined
the offer to become a partner, for a modest investment of cash,
of Carnegie, whom he declared to be "the greatest
turer who ever lived."
John Bigelow, another close friend of the Carnegies in after
years, lived at No. 21; he was joint owner with William Cullen
Bryant of the Evening Post. Robert G. Ingersoll had his
ing near by. Other men who gave distinction to the region
were Cyrus Field, who laid the Atlantic cable, James Harper,
of the publishing house, and Samuel J. Tilden, like Carnegie
a library founder, who became presidential candidate in an
exciting contest.
Other associations gave the neighborhood character it has
never lost. Within a few steps of the Whitfield domicile stood
the house, at the corner of Seventeenth Street and Irving Place,
where Washington Irving once lived-it is now a museum
dedicated to his memory. Near at hand was the demure
Friends' Meeting House, whose adherents, in Louise
field's childhood, were familiar sights passing silently to their
place of worship, gray-bonneted and gray-coated. At No. 16
was the house ultimately to become the home of Edwin Booth
-it is now The Players. And at the corner of Twentieth Street
and Fourth Avenue stood that famous Unitarian Church,
sided over by the great pulpit orator Dr. Bellows-a structure
which, though modelled after the Basilica of San Giovanni in
II
Monza, Italy, was popularly known, from its alternate layers
of terra cotta and white Caen marble, as the "Beef-Steak"
church.
Next door to this ornate structure stood the spacious "man-
sion" over which Miss Henrietta B. Haines, educator, held
gentle but emphatic sway for a generation. Residence in the
Gramercy Park region solved the problem of a school. For
twelve years, from her sixth to her eighteenth birthday, Louise
Whitfield, at the earlier time in company with her cousin
Lizzie, walked each morning two short blocks from Eighteenth
Street to No. IO Gramercy Park, which a brass plate on the
door proclaimed as "Miss Haines' School."
We can easily form a picture of the two little girls, books
in hand, doubtless proud of being members of so famed a seat
of learning, trudging sturdily to school. They might well stand
in awe of this new dignity, for Miss Haines had long been a
New York institution, not only for the quality of her instruc-
tion, but for her character and social eminence.
Miss Haines' very appearance was an education in good
manners. Surviving photographs show her tall, spare, and wil-
lowy, dressed invariably in black, with the mere suggestion
of a train, the head crowned with a black lace cap, ornamented
with little white flowers, the neck bound by long white bows.
On the face is the faintest suggestion of a smile; it is a figure
that spells high breeding, dignity, restraint, force, and, at the
same time, a kind of distant friendliness. Her everyday be-
havior accorded perfectly with this exterior. She was subdued
but definite and determined; she moved unobtrusively among
her flock, not on familiar terms, but with an air of proprietor-
ship, and a benignity that invited confidence.
12
From childhood Henrietta Haines had been profoundly re-
ligious, and, as a young girl, her one desire was to become a
missionary. She enrolled in a group about to sail for the Far
East. All her preparations had been made, the time of depar-
ture had arrived, when one apparently insuperable difficulty
blocked the way. She was unmarried, and the promoters de-
clined to accept a youthful novice, unguarded by a husband.
A young unattached man in the crusading party offered to
remove the disability. Inspired by religious fervor, Henrietta
consented, and paid bitterly for the indiscretion. The husband
proved a cruel helpmeet.
Within a year the disillusioned girl returned to her native
land, obtained a divorce, resumed her maiden name, and
opened a girls' school on Warren Street. A divorcee had a much
more difficult time of it in 1847 than in these more tolerant
days, but Henrietta Haines' personality and character soon tri-
umphed over the handicap. In a few years "Miss Haines'
School" had become the leading place of its kind in New York.
One of the most famous of the early pupils was that Kate
Chase, who, as daughter of Lincoln's Secretary of the Treasury,
became, next to the President's wife, the leading hostess of the
Lincoln Cabinet.
The tragedy of Miss Haines' early life clung to her like a
kind of aura-a secret topic among the students. Certain de-
tails heightened the suppressed excitement. The discarded hus-
band-so it was whispered-broken in health and fortune, had
returned to his old home. Occasionally at night, after "lights
out" was the order in the dormitories, a black-clad figure
would quietly emerge from "No. 10," take a waiting cab to
the Jersey ferry and cross the river, returning in time for school
13
prayers next day. This was Miss Haines, who was regularly
visiting and providing for the wants of her dying husband.
Soon after setting up her school, Miss Henrietta showed a
kindly understanding for a fugitive from France, Henriette
Des Portes, who in 1849 had become involved in the notorious
Praslin murder case and had sought refuge in New York. Miss
Haines came to the relief of this prisoner of the Conciergerie,
believing, as all the world does now, but did not then, in her
complete innocence. She enrolled her as a teacher of French in
her school, a brave and generous act which has been turned
to entertaining literary account in Rachel Field"s very popular
novel, All This and Heaven Too.
The Mlle. de Janon who figures in most recollections of the
school was Miss Haines' partner and head of the French de-
partment. She appears over and over again in the record of
Mrs. Carnegie's mature life-in fact she became a most valued
friend. "How I remember hed" Mrs. Carnegie would say.
"Always dressed with exquisite taste. I can see her now with
her lace cap and her beautifully shaped fingers. The perfect
French lady!"
There were courses in English composition, the teacher being
no less a person than Susan Walker, author of the American-
Victorian classics, Queechy and the Wide,Wide World, while
Ik Marvel, the bachelor of the Reveries, was a favorite evening
guest and entertainer. "Elocutionists" frequently performed,
reading whole plays of Shakespeare· and extracts from novels
such as Rob Roy and Waverley, while the girls were tempted
by the prospect of prizes to commit to memory approved selec-
tions from the English poets. Louise memorized the first canto
of Scott's The Lady of the Lake-a better preparation for her
14
later life than she realized at the time. The school itself con-
tained a library of several thousand volumes, which the girls
were encouraged to use.
There was no greater teacher of chemistry in the United
States than Miss Henrietta's own nephew, Robert Ogden
Doremus. Scarcely any man, in geology and physical geogra-
phy and its kindred branches, ranked in the same class with
her nephew by marriage, Arnold Henry Guyot. The recollec-
tions of Louise Whitfield and her classmates testify to the ro-
mantic interest these teachers inspired, for both instructors
were attractive.
After each lecture the pupils of Professor Doremus were re-
quired to write out an abstract of what they had heard. Prizes,
usually books, were awarded for the best. Many of these neatly
written digests exist among Mrs. Carnegie's papers today.
Professor Guyot's subject was the earth and everything per-
taining to it, and how he did love to impart his knowledge!
One of his subjects-and this was a remarkable innovation
in a girls' school in the sixties and seventies-was biology.
Louise Whitfield remembered vividly all her life Professor
Guyot's discourses on the life processes, especially how he
would draw, on the blackboard, with colored crayons, pictures
of the egg, and trace the development of the chick into adult
life.
At the dinner table, in the periods between classes, on the
daily walks, Mlle. de Janon-or one of her assistants-was al-
ways vigilantly at hand to make sure that there was no lapse
into English. At the end of the day's session, each girl was
called upon to report whether she had scrupulously observed
this rule. For a perfect record they received a mark of "five,"
15
and each pupil was placed on her honor to render a truthful
account. 1£ she had spoken nothing except French between
classes, she answered "Cinq"; if she had committed the sin of
once using her mother tongue, a meek "trois" was exacted.
Louise Whitfield, after twelve years of this daily exercise, ac-
quired a colloquial fluency in French that made her always
at home in the wanderings on the Continent that became her
yearly routine in later life.
There was Monsieur Julien in French history and literature.
"I can hear his beautiful French voice now," Mrs. Carnegie
would remark, "as he read page after page of Moliere." Mlle.
Le Claire taught French Bible; the French translations of the
Old and New Testament which she used are carefully pre-
served among Mrs. Carnegie's effects.
New York was a stirring place for impressionable girls dur-

ing these school days. It was the time of Tweed rings and of
gangs and roughs. The child watched the pathos and violence
of the Civil War. Mrs. Carnegie held vividly in mind the
memory of herself, a child of four, standing with her mother
at the curb and watching the gallant Seventh Regiment march
off to battle.
The funeral procession of President Lincoln was an indelible
recollection. The New York obsequies took place two or three·
blocks from her home; at Union Square the procession stopped,
while George Bancroft delivered his funeral eulogy and Wil-
liam Cullen Bryant recited his poem. Newspaper accounts,
with heavy black borders, preserved among Mrs. Carnegie's
memorabilia, describe the huge crowds that filled the Square
and all the neighboring streets.
16
Another less reverential demonstration, the draft riots of
1863, came too close to her home for comfort. The disorderly
multitudes of the city showed their hostility to this enforced
levy of troops by burning the Negro orphan asylum and string-
ing up helpless colored men on lamp posts. Third A venue and
Nineteenth Street, only a block or two from the Whitfield
house, was the chief scene of these hostilities. For two or three
days Third Avenue, from this corner up to Forty-second Street,
was one howling drunken mob. Gramercy Park itself became
a military post for the militia, hastily summoned to cope with
the situation; two cannon were posted at its northeast corner,
pointed at the seat of disorder. Naturally, children were kept
in the innermost recesses of their homes until the storm sub-
sided.
More pleasant war memories were associated with the Church
of the Divine Paternity, at Bleecker Street and Broadway, which
the Whitfield family attended. Every Sunday little Louise
heard its minister, the famous Universalist divine, Edwin H.
Chapin, stimulate the citizenry to patriotic action.
Neither war, however, nor other distractions could divert at-
tention from the main purpose of life at this time, which was
centered at No. IO Gramercy Park. Louise Whitfield was a
studious and serious young girl. She worked steadily at her
lessons, both in school and at home, and was most ambitious
to succeed. For the result we are not dependent on tradition;
dozens of her monthly reports, attested in the dainty hand-
writing of "H. B. Haines" and "C. de Janon," have been pre-
served. They disclose an almost perfect record, in attendance,
deportment and recitations. At the bottom a separate line is
reserved for "Rank in class," and almost invariably this is fol-
17
lowed by the impressive digit, "I". The high marks went on
regularly for twelve years-which must have come near to
establishing a record at the school.
In June, 1875, aged eighteen, Louise Whitfield was regarded
as "finished." There was no particular ceremony-no "gradu-
ation exercises" to mark this milestone. Miss Haines gave her
a parting present, a book in which she wrote a few words of
affectionate remembrance of the "twelve long years" Louise
had been her pupil.
One morning early in 1873, while Miss Louise, then six-
teen, was walking home from church with her father and
mother, she rather wistfully remarked that one of her friends
was sailing for Europe.
"When is she sailing?" the father asked. "We may be going
on the same ship."
The girl looked at him with amazed and eager eyes. What
did that "we" mean.
"Yes," Mr. Whitfield continued, "Mother and I are sailing
on the thirteenth of April and we would like to take you with
us."
He frequently made trips to Europe to purchase stock for
his emporium, and this time was extending his expedition
into a sight-seeing European tour. For school girls to visit
Europe is not unusual today but in the eighteen seventies it
was a great event. Louise was still at school when this delight-
ful interlude was offered, but Miss Haines warmly fell in with
the plan; though it meant an interruption of school in mid-
year, it would have educational advantages not obtainable in
the study room.
The evening before departure Miss Haines and Mademoiselle
de Janon formally called at the Whitfield home to bid Louise
19
bon voyage and to give her a few hints on how to get educa-
tionally the most out of the trip.
The young woman, when she returned home, was asked so
constantly to tell her experiences that they remained fixed in
her mind. A few years before she died, Mrs. Carnegie dictated
her recollections of the tour, so the story of luxury travel in
the early seventies can be told in her own words:
"We sailed on the Cuba} one of the best ships of the Cunard
Line, 2,800 tons. It was a steamship with a single propeller, but
sails were still used to make speed and also to keep her steady.
We were ten days in crossing. It was a very rough trip and I
proved to be an exceedingly poor sailor. The voyage seemed
interminable. We carried our own steamer chairs but would
not bother to look them up when we got on board and most
of the passengers wrapped themselves in their rugs and lay on
the deck. I remember lying there and seeing the huge waves
of a following sea towering above, threatening to break on the
deck and engulf us.
"The dining saloon was the only place we had to sit in when
it was raining. Seats extended around the sides of the room
where the passengers wrapped in shawls slept most of the
time. The only diversion was when the stewards came to set
the tables. This they did with great system. Racks were sus-
pended over the long tables on which the glasses and carafes,
salts and peppers were hung. When people were seated, the
stewards ranged themselves in line from the galley to the door
of the saloon and the different dishes were handed up and
placed one on each of the tables. The passenger sitting at the
head of the table did the carving and the vegetables were
handed from one passenger to the one next him. This was
20
GIRLHOOD IN THE SEVENTIES
usually too much for me, so I found my way to a little bench
near the door leading out to the deck where I could get fresh
air.
"From this door the dirty dishes, when they were removed
from the tables, were received in large crates lined with zinc
on wheels-knives, forks, and plates all jumbled in together
and wheeled along the deck to be washed. I used to count up
how many such meals I would have to endure and in a copy of
Kenilworth, which I was reading, I made a mark for each
meal. It gave me great delight to cross off three of them each
day. The marks still remain in the book.
"We landed in Liverpool on the tenth of May. The voyage
was forgotten and I was in the seventh heaven of bliss. Every-
thing was so strange. I was greatly impressed with the uni-
forms worn by the policemen. In the afternoon we took a
train to Chester with its quaint streets and its delightful English
hotel and charming garden. Here I first saw the beauty of
the English wallflower. We drove out to Eton Hall and
admired its beautiful greenhouses filled with plants all new
to me. Our trip was to be a short one, only three months. Father
was combining business with pleasure, so we could not linger
at anyone place. We had to stop in Birmingham and visited
Warwick, Kenilworth, and Coventry on the way up to London.
London impressed me as cold and gray and I was not very
interested in it. But when we crossed the Channel to Paris we
found sunshine and gaiety and I was very proud to air my
knowledge of French.
"The beautiful opera house, opposite the H8tei Athenee,
where we stayed, was just being built and we were taken
through it. The Franco-Prussian War had ended two years be-
21
fore and there were marks of the conflict on the walls of the
Tuileries. The Hotel des Invalides, the Arc de Triomphe, and
the Bois de Boulogne all greatly delighted us. Father had been
in Paris in the reign of Napoleon III and went to the Exposi_
tion in 186J when Paris was full of gaiety. He told us that now,
in 1873, it was a much more sober city. One day as we were
sitting in the salon of the hotel, to my great surprise and de-
light I saw my French teacher, Mlle. Le Claire. Catching sight
of me, she came forward with arms outstretched, exclaiming
'Ma chere Louise!' and we had a most happy reunion.
"From Paris we went to Belgium, Antwerp, land Dusseldorf,
then to Cologne down the Rhine and finally reached Vienna,
where we had the great delight of hearing Johann Strauss con-
duct his orchestra and play his beautiful Blue Danube waltz.
As he played on the violin, leading the orchestra at the same
time, he danced the steps of the waltz. We sat in the beer gar-
dens drinking light Pilsener beer, which I greatly enjoyed.
Russian leather was the outstanding souvenir to buy in Vienna
at that time and we made many purchases.
"The two countries I most wanted to visit were Scotland and
Switzerland. Scotland was to be left until the last, but the
Continental trip consumed more time than we had expected
and Scotland had to be left out altogether, a keen disappoint-
ment at the time. But looking back I realize that it was destined
I should never visit Scotland as a foreigner. For me it was
reserved to enter that beloved land as the wife of a Scotsman,
which meant that I came to the country as an adopted daugh~
ter. I believe that this has been a large factor in my always
having regarded Scotland as my second home.
"From Vienna we turned westward and made for Switzer-
22
land. We entered from the northwest and visited all the lakes
in succession-Zurich, Zug, Lucerne, Geneva, and Interlaken.
I was enchanted with every stop. We went to the Grindelwald
glacier and I gathered a bunch of forget-me-nots growing
on the edge of the ice, which I carried with me all the rest
of the trip. We had only time for another day or two in Paris,
a week in London, and then went down to Liverpool to sail
home on the Russia, July thirteenth. This was the crack ship
of the Cunard Line.
"We had another very rough trip. The smokestacks were
encrusted with salt from the waves all the way over. The
steamer chairs had to be lashed and waves washed over the
decks. A gentleman came to ask me if the last wave had
drenched me, and I was so thoroughly miserable that I replied,
'I don't care. I wish it had washed me overboard.'
"It was on this trip that I declared vehemently that 'if ever
I live to reach dry land nothing will ever induce me to set foot
on a ship.' Could I have foreseen that it would be my fate to
cross eighty-nine times after this it would have been a pretty
staggering prospect!"
Note the girl's vivid description of the rough passage. She
was beginning her habit of observing the weather and of re-
porting it keenly.
There are a few passages in Mother Whitfield's letters that
indicate the variableness of the girl of sixteen:
Louise is deserving of praise for behaving so well under the most
depressing circumstances, but she thinks she had better do all she
possibly can on this trip as she doesn't think there is money enough
in all Europe to tempt her to cross again ... Louise is enjoying
herself here [Switzerland] very much. She likes the wild and natural
23
beauties of the country much better than all she sees in cities. Her
ambition is to see a glacier [perhaps recalling Professor Guyot's lec-
tures] and I hope she may be gratified.
The all-important event in a young lady's life-her "coming
out"-took place in 1875, just two years after the Whit-
fields had returned from Europe. Louise was eighteen. Her
recollections of the occasion centered chiefly on her mother.
In Paris, the preceding summer, a celebrated dressmaker had
fashioned for Mrs. Whitfield "the loveliest pale blue evening
dress trimmed with little bows. The whole effect was one that
only a French dressmaker could achieve. My mother wore it
at my coming-out party the following December. I remember
I also wore blue but she looked far prettier and more attractive
than the debutante."
Her coming-out party was in December, when life was gay-
est, and most sociable. Her parents did not subscribe to the
earlier teachings of Miss Hale in Godey's: "Stimulate the sensi-
bilities of your boys, and blunt those of your girls." This ad-
vice had been written to persuade young ladies of the preceding
generation to cultivate domesticity and shun careers, but the
Whitfields believed in giving their daughter the benefits of
opera, drama, literature and travel, while training her to be
gracious in the parlor and efficient in housekeeping. And now
the daughter was to become a part of the larger social life to
which her family belonged.
The informal affair which introduced Louise was unher-
alded in the society columns, and there were no fashionable
photographers making pictures of her to send to the society
editors. The stage was the quiet elegance of the Whitfield
parlor, simply decorated for the Yuletide. Her introduction to
24
the world of manners merely meant a coming to know the
friends and events and enjoyments of the Whitfield circle,
cially among the younger set.
The little boys who had played marbles with her in and
around Gramercy Park were now polite youths coming home
for the holidays from the campuses and classrooms of famous
schools. Love of life was strong in them too, and they were
curious to theet the onetime playmate who their mothers and
sisters said had grown up into a gracious girl with whom it
might be dangerous to match wits.
Soon after this party, ominous changes made the house on
East Eighteenth Street less desirable as a residing place. A new
metropolitan horror, the Elevated Railroad, with belching
smoke, piercing whistles, rumbling engines, and ugly iron
viaduct-a good deal of it, incidentally, manufactured by the
rising young Carnegie firm of Pittsburgh-began invading
New York City. It was driving entire residential groups into
new locations; it was threatening also the cleanness and calm
of the Whitfield home. Moreover, the improving family
peets seemed to justify a more commodious domicile.
JohnW. Whitfield was forging ahead in business; he was
now chief owner of the firm which he had entered as junior
partner a few years before, and faced a future which promised
an even more comfortable establishment for his family.
New York City was expanding in all directions, especially
to the northward. The same process that, in an earlier time,
had given rise to Chelsea and Gramercy Park was opening up
new areas, and· enticing to their purlieus the same type of
servative New Yorker that had peopled the old favored
25
tions. It was one of these that, in the year 1875, attracted the
Whitfield family.
For the better part of the century Columbia College had
been the disgruntled owner of the large tract extending from
Fifth to Sixth Avenues and from Forty-seventh to Fifty-first
Streets. Dr. David Hosack, a native of Scotland, had, in the
early part of the century, acquired an old farm in this place
that was one of the natural beauty spots of the island. He had
transformed it into the Elgin Botanical Garden, named in
honor of his birthplace in Scotland. Planted with flowers,
shrubs, and exotic trees, it served both as an experimental drug
laboratory and a pleasure ground for the masses, but the in-
vestment brought the philanthropic founder close to bank-
ruptcy.
The good doctor was finally compelled, in I8u, to sell his
colorful garden to the State of New York for a trifling sum,
and the State, in turn, finally "unloaded" its supposed white
elephant on Columbia College, in payment of a financial claim
the institution held against it. At least, that is the way the
Columbia trustees looked upon the transaction. What possible
use could they make of the land? The suggestion of moving
the college from Murray Street to the new site was ridiculous;
it would lose a large number of students if it settled so far out
of town!
These protesting educators would have been astonished had
they known that the day would come when Dr. Hosack's farm
would pour into their treasury $3,000,000 a year in liquid cash;
or that the old Middle Road, a favorite Sunday drive for ro-
mantic couples, would some time develop into Fifth Avenue,
the world's richest shopping thoroughfare. Still less did they
26
dream of that modern phenomenon known as Rockefeller
Center, the conglomeration of huge skyscrapers, theatres, inter-
national buildings, and other structures, which now occupies
all the space once devoted to Dr. Hosack's floral preserve.
One reminder of Dr. Hosack happily survives in Rockefeller
Center, for the plazas and streets between the mighty fortresses
of steel and masonry are again blooming, at appropriate sea-
sons, with the flowers and plants that so delighted his heart.
In the most conspicuous areaway, the thoughtful proprietors
have deposited a tablet to the memory of Dr. Hosack.
Louise Whitfield, as she passed the brownstone fronts of this
proud new neighborhood, could have no vision that this great
change would come, and that, in the latter part of her life, she
would visit in the spring and autumn the breath-taking indoor
and outdoor gardens of Rockefeller Center.
Columbia now let out plots on long-time leases, the holders
acquiring the right to build their own houses and pay an an-
nual ground rent. It was one of these leaseholds which the
Whitfield family purchased in 1875. Theirs was the usual four-
story house, with the distinction that its front was of red sand-
stone instead of brownstone. It was an inspiring neighborhood
in natural beauty and architecture for a girl whose mind and
heart were open to such influences.
"I remember so well," Mrs. Carnegie said, "the winter before
we left Eighteenth Street, going up on Sunday afternoons to
see the new house my father had bought and which we were
to occupy. At that time, the Church of St. Nicholas stood on
the northwest corner of Forty-eighth Street ... but opposite
grew a large catalpa tree, whose purple blossoms I so well re-
member finding on the sidewalk in early summer. St. Patrick's
27
Cathedral dominated the neighborhood of Fifty-first Street and
Fifth A venue. From Fifty-first to Fifty-second, on the west
side, where afterwards the Vanderbilt houses were to be built,
there were huge, high boulders.
"On the top of these were small wooden shanties, reached
by wooden steps going up the side of the rocks. In one of these
lived Brophy, the Irish dressmaker, considered the smart place
for the young ladies of the neighborhood to have their dresses
made. It was a great event when I went to her to have a gown
made instead of having the seamstress come in as usual to
make it at home."
Her girlhood was thus passed in that period of New York
history which Mrs. Wharton has called the "Age of Inno.
cence." This is only one of the many condescending and mock-
ing terms applied to the unimaginative seventies and eighties.
If we wish to understand their tempo and outward manifes-
tations we need not go to these modern historians; no better
guide could be asked for than Mrs. Carnegie herself.
In the diaries which she kept so scrupulously for most of
sixty years-the first entries that survive are for the year I878,
the last for almost the day of her death in I946-she has left
an instructive, brief chronicle of her time in naive recordings
of her everyday existence. The personal record is concerned
with life in a city that, in its physical aspect as in its manners
and thinking, is far removed from the present.
Consider only one fact-a fact which had as great an effect
upon the city's spiritual existence as upon its mechanical rou-
tine. New York in the seventies was a city in which practically
every family-outside of the slums-lived in its own house. In
I875 there were only two or three apartment houses, or "Pa-
28
risian Rats," as they were contemptuously called, on Manhattan
Island; the city was a monotonous panorama of three and four
story dwellings pressed tightly together, each one an almost
identical duplicate of its neighbor.
New York at that time was a city without telephones, radios,
motor cars, subways, airplanes, moving pictures, penthouses,
cabarets, night clubs, lipsticks, slacks, bobby-socks, abbreviated
skirts, cigarettes, cocktails-the latter two at least not in uni-
versal profusion-and a thousand other conveniences and diver-
sions that make up its present life. But the differences went
deeper than this. It was a city in which the folkways of the
old "native American stock" still ruled supreme in manners
and social standards. Reticence in language and behavior was
still regarded as a virtue. Flagrant violation of a long-estab-
lished moral code was generally frowned upon. But if the lives
of the people followed a stereotyped pattern, beyond which it
was fatal to transgress, that same pattern, after all is said, was
not hypocrisy, but made, on the whole, for orderly, seemly
living.
The east side of Fifth Avenue from Forty-fifth to Forty-

sixth, was occupied by the luxurious Windsor Hotel, where
lived an already well-known gentleman whose name, Andrew
Carnegie, meant nothing to Miss Whitfield in 1875. Here the
young iron-master, Reeing the uncongenial grime of Pitts-
burgh, had taken up his residence several years before, making
a home for the Scottish mother whose training had contributed
largely to his success and to whom he was extremely devoted.
The whole atmosphere of Fifth Avenue and adjoining streets
was then one of quiet. Instead of the present continuous stream
29
of automobiles, crowding almost front to end, an occasional
victoria or landau would amble by, the horses' hoofs clinking
against the cobblestones, or that only form of public transit, a
horse-drawn bus, with the driver perched on a lofty seat, would
come along. Instead of a jam of excited shoppers, there were
easy-going gentlemen strolling with canes, wearing glistening
top-hats, frock coats, and striped trousers, and womenfolk who
suggested ships under full sail with their plumed bonnets, man-
tles, overskirts and bustles; sometimes the ladies rode in car-
riages behind high-spirited horses, and stepped down, card
cases firmly gripped, to pay the calls that took up so much of
their time.
No bustling crowds filled the sidewalks except, perhaps,
when upper-class New York filed into the churches to sit under
the great preachers of whom the city was so proud. Ordinarily
the calm was disturbed only by the far-away tinkle of the
horse-cars on Sixth or Madison Avenue-in winter varied by
the more resonant jingle of the sleighs-or the rumble any day
of the new elevated road, or the cry of the vendor on side
streets.
One respect in which life contrasted picturesquely with the
present day was its neighborliness. Those solid rows of brown-
stone fronts joined in friendly familiarity and brought their
occupants into frequent contact. It was not bad form to
know one's next door neighbor. Louise Whitfield's daily com-
panions were, for the most part, young girls whose families,
like her own, had moved into the Columbia enclave.
The same names-Lizzie Vanderbilt, Anna Brown, Gussie
Brush, Emilie Pyle, Grace Vorhiis, Nellie Strickland-most of
whom lived on the same or a nearby street-are mentioned
30
over and over, and it tells much for the genuine bond uniting
these girls, some of whom afterward led prosperous, happy
lives and others of whom did not, that they remained Miss
Whitfield's good friends to the end of their days. They main-
tained free and easy terms with each other's houses and, on
warm summer evenings, liked to gather on some spacious front
"stoop" with their young men, passing the time in converse
and gossip, occasionally joining in a song. Now and then they
would adjourn to a Sixth Avenue drug store for innocuous
liquid refreshment, or one of the boys would depart for the near-
est confectioner and return with a generous stock of ice cream.
One feature of the evening's entertainment, Mrs. Carnegie
liked to recall, was the inevitable appearance of Huyler's cart,
selling molasses candy from door to door-such was the hum-
ble beginning of a business which afterward became almost
as nation wide as the making of steel. "This sticky mess would
stop our chatter for some time," she would say, still relishing,
even in old age, the savory recollection.
There were, of course, more pretentious diversions. Selected
spirits of the region organized themselves into a body called
the HM. & B.c."-mystic initials signifying the "Maid and
Bachelor Club." Its objects were social recreation and mental
improvement-a kind of precursor of the Chautauqua and
Browning fraternities that soon became the popular rage. They
met regularly for reading-both of the classics and of evanes-
cent literature, convocations that are duly recorded in the
diaries. On February 2, 1878, Miss Louise reports that she had
a delightful time at the Literary Club where she was the chief
performer, reading Alice Cary's poem An Order for a Picture;
a few days afterward she puts down, with understandable
31
pride, Miss Vanderhoef's compliment on the excellence of her
rendition. Several spoke of it, she said.
The poet who wrote An Order for a Picture had been a
neighbor of the Whitfields in the Gramercy Park section. Her
sister Phoebe and she had been introduced into New York lit-
erary society by the brilliant hostess Anne Lynch, who after-
wards, as wife of Prof. Vincenzo Botta, entertained Louise
Whitfield as bride of Andrew Carnegie. This special poem had
been highly praised by Poe; it was especially appealing be-
cause it pictured nostalgically the life of the Ohio pioneers,
thus describing their home in the hills near Cincinnati:
Low and little, and black and old,
With children many as it could hold,
All at the windows, open wide,
Heads and shoulders clear outside,
And fair young faces an ablush:
Perhaps you may have seen some day
Roses crowding the self-same way,
Out of a wilding, wayside bush.
Charades and private theatricals filled a good part of the
time, and there were many visits to picture exhibitions at the .
budding Metropolitan Museum, the National Academy, and
the Union League Club. Lectures at Chickering Hall, some-
times on serious subjects, such as Professor Franciani on the
"Ruins of Rome" and John Fiske on "Herbert Spencer" and
"Evolution. "
A good deal of time was naturally devoted to more frivolous
occupations. The games with which these young persons
amused themselves probably mean nothing to their successors.
As there were no cabarets or night clubs they had to resort to
32
less garish entertainment. There were afternoon tea parties in
which tea-no cocktails-was really served; in the evening
bean bag tournaments-for which the girls would dress up-
represented the limit of the decorous, and occasionally, for a
particular lark, they would visit the roller-skating rinks that
were then so popular, or the bowling alley. "Pound parties,"
"candy pulls," "commerce parties"-whatever these may have
been-logomachy, a kind of game with words, dumb crambo
-matching one line unseen with another that rhymed with
it-whiled away many an evening. Card games-old-fashioned
whist, progressive euchre and bezique, better known to later
times as pinochle, were other favorite diversions.
Singing, or playing the piano and organ, charmed many a
young man caller. Miss Whitfield herself had an acceptable
soprano voice, and sang occasionally in these private gather-
ings, while with the piano and organ she was always on fa-
miliar terms. The extent to which the church blended into
social activities is worthy of notice. To invite a favored cavalier
to sit in the family pew and share the hymn book was a com-
pliment highly esteemed, and, after evening devotions, couples
usually paired for the walk home-a leisurely promenade that
was frequently extended to the Park.
And there were more formal entertainments. To Anna's din-
ner party; wore blue dress and pink roses-entries like this are
frequent. The german (a dance consisting of involved figures
intermingled with waltzes) was then in full swing. The diarist
likes to record the large number of favors that came her way.
There were balls, sometimes at one of the girls' homes, some·
times at Delmonico's or Dodsworth's. This latter was the great
dancing academy of the day; instead of the present contortions
33
these more sedate belles and beaux enjoyed the waltz a la
Strauss, while square dances-the quadrille and lancers-were
still the vogue, and other evolutions which have entirely passed
out of use; the schottische, polka, and the Virginia reel, were
parts of a well-filled programme.
Much of Louise Whitfield's lighter existence in these seven-
ties and eighties could serve as background to the prints of Mr.
Currier and Mr. I ves. Practically all the diversions celebrated
in their famous lithographs occupied her days and nights.
Sleighing in Central Park and on the Harlem Speedway-and
the buffalo robes, the sealskin sacques, the spirited horses, only
too eager to pit their mettle against presuming rivals, the red
cheeks of the girls-all were part of the healthful winter rou-
tine. Somehow there always seemed to be plenty of snow sev-
enty years ago! And ice, too; when the red ball went up on the
tower in Central Park, indicating that the ice on. the lake was
good for skating, the boys and girls of the West Forties were
always promptly on hand.
She early developed a love of horses. "We,"-that is, the
"Maid and Bachelor Club"-"took up riding and went to
DickIes Riding Academy to learn. Our home dressmaker made
me a good black riding habit and I felt very smart." This pic-
ture has been preserved, for an artist friend, Sarah MacKnight,
painted a portrait of her "dear Louise" in this equestrian guise
and gave it to her as a wedding present.
The imposing figure, sitting sidesaddle, riding crop in hand,
clad in long black habit, the head crowned with a lofty mqn-
nish silk hat, in itself recreates a vanished chapter in history.
Certain modern critics may ridicule the horse and buggy era,
but the young people of that time found Old Dobbin and his
34
carriage highly diverting. The Whitfield family possessed a
phaeton and long jauntings into Long Island and Westchester,
either alone or with friends, gave a zest to the sport which
lllodern speed devils could hardly understand.
Croquet was probably the favorite outdoors sport; archery
was still popular; and tennis played in long skirts and with
ladylike action-overhead shots were not good manners-had
begun its prosperous career. The vast amount of walking that
generation engaged in is a reproach to people of today. Sub-
ways and motor cars were unknown, but there were little
horse-cars, painted red, blue, orange-each avenue and impor-
tant crosstown street had its own color. The cars were kept
warm in winter by straw strewn on the floor. The new elevated
railroads, with little asthmatic locomotives puffing bravely
along, and the easy-going stage also offered transportation, but
walking remained popular.
In her constant dutiful visits to Grandfather Whitfield, Miss
Louise thought nothing of walking from Forty-eighth Street
to Seventeenth, a distance of almost two miles; shopping trips
"down town," that is to Fourteenth Street and lower Broad-
way, were usually on foot, and advantage was always taken of
moonlight nights, when girls and swains would saunter up
Fifth A venue.
The diaries reflect the immense importance attached to calls,
both of a social and a sentimental nature. It almost seems, in
reading this account, that a good part of one's time in those
days was spent either in calling on friends, or in being called
upon by them. The number of calls made and received is noted
with pride; almost, one would think, an attempt was being
made to establish a record.
35
Took a coupe in the afternoon and made sixteen calls reads
one proud boast. In no respect does the lack of telephones ap-
pear so appalling as in this form of social intercourse. Many
of the services now performed via the electric wire were then
matters of personal approach. While for the most important
functions engraved invitations were the thing, less formal cour-
tesies had to be delivered by word of mouth. A young man
aspiring to take his friend to Sunday evening church usually
called Sunday morning and extended the invitation. You could
not spontaneously summon to luncheon by taking down the
telephone transmitter; you had to call, or if you were rich
enough to possess one, send "your man." One does not realize,
until glancing over these little books, the extent to which the
telephone has lubricated social life.
The great importance attached to evening calls of young
men-especially Sunday evening calls-is also in the record.
The number received, and usually the names, are religiously
noted, and when an unusual evening passes and no one came,
that fact is recorded with a touch of melancholy resignation.
If the visit is unwelcome and the young man slightly boring
this too is set down. Snubbed him horribly, the diarist records
of one of this latter class.
There was an etiquette regulating these visits which contrasts
with the more free and easy present. It was bad manners to
stay too late. Ten o'clock was the suitable time to leave or,
at the extreme, ten-thirty. Miss Louise.occasionally notes in her
diary, apparently in reproof, instances in which this dead line
had been exceeded. Mr. Brush-and he was a particularly fa-
vored friend-stayed till eleven o'clock. On November 20, I878:
Mr. Douglas called and stayed until 10:30. So mad! She writes
36
with satisfaction of a conscientious gentleman who had in-
fringed this ten-thirty rule and who, next day, wrote a note
apologizing for his bad manners. The almost invariable use of
"Mr." in referring to these friends should be observed. No fact
is more eloquent of the genteel formality of the time. Almost
never are men, even those who stood on the most friendly foot-
ing, called by their first names. The freedom with which today
even casual acquaintances are "Jimmed" and "Bobbed" and
"Charlied" would have been looked upon then as unforgivable
impudence. With the "Mr. Brush" mentioned above, for ex-
ample, Miss Whitfield had a half serious affair of sentiment,
with exchange of letters when either was out of town. Yet she
never refers to him as "Bill," his first name, but always as "Mr."
The man she married appears on almost every page for
the first year or two as "Mr. Carnegie." Only after three years
of close friendship does he become "A. C." and not until their
troth had been definitely pledged does she call him "Andrew."
And never, either in personal intercourse or in her letters, did
she use that "Andy" that was so popular with his friends.
There were other, more substantial forms of entertainment
for the young lady of Forty-eighth Street. The period was a
great one in the annals of the New York theatre, although in
display-dazzling lighting effects, ostentatious decor, expensive
costuming-the stage of the seventies and eighties would seem
rather drab compared with these more gorgeous electric light
days. Could a theatre addict of the modern Broadway be trans-
ported to the orchestra seat of the seventies and eighties he
would probably be startled and amused by the naive simplicity
of the offerings. He would give a regretful sigh also as he
glanced at the prices of admission. The best orchestra seats
37
could be procured for a dollar and fifty cents, the whole dress
circle for half a dollar, and the least desirable (in the "peanut"
gallery, the popular designation of the third upper tier) for
twenty-five cents. Nor did the ticket broker stand constantly
between the eager patron and his quest. Many of the presenta-
tions too-the ever-present Uncle Tom's Cabin, East Lynne,
Kit, the Arkansaw Traveler, Josh Whitcomb, David Crockett
-might even entertain the modern theatre goer by their appeal
to the surface emotions. Miss Whitfield, who never lacked in-
vitations to the theatre, witnessed all these simple productions
and enjoyed them as keenly as most of her contemporaries.
Perfectly splendid!!! is her comment on Jefferson's Rip Van
Winkle, and the other hardy perennials usually evoked similar
exclamations of delight. But there was more than this in
the theatre of her early days. It was the day of Edwin Booth,
Lawrence Barrett, Dion· Boucicault, Mary Anderson, Clara
Morris, Fanny Davenport, Agnes Ethel, Helena Modjeska,
Rose Coghlan, Georgia Cayvan, Ada Rehan, and many more
whose names still rank high. There were notable visitants from
England-Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, the Kendalls, and many
more to whom the present generation does obeisance. There
were such great stock companies as Wallack's, Daly's, Booth's
and Palmer's offering a steady fare of the classic drama. Booth
in Hamlet and Richelieu; Wallack in The School for Scandal;
Mary Anderson in lone and Pygmalion and Galatea; Irving
and Terry in The Merchant of Venice; Modjeska in Twelfth
Night-all these performances are among those recorded.
It was the day of engaging light opera, not yet popularly
known as "musical comedy." To list these simple and tuneful
plays that so delighted Miss Whitfield and her contemporaries
38
-La Mascotte, Olivette, The Chimes of Normandy, Bohemian
Girl, Fatinitza, Billee Taylor-will signify little to those who
have not reached at least three-score-and-ten. Today they sur-
vive only in certain still occasionally played popular airs such
as "I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls," but another crop of
musical plays of the same era seem destined to immortality.
Louise Whitfield's young womanhood was the age of Gilbert
and Sullivan and the American premieres of such delights as
Pinafore, The Pirates of Penzance, Iolanthe, and The Mikado.
How she did enjoy them!
Above all there was the enjoyment of grand opera. Undoubt-
edly, music in all its forms-opera, symphony, oratorio, choral
-was throughout life her main aesthetic pleasure. In this en-
thusiasm Louise's sister Stella was an eager companion. The
extent to which music made part of the two sisters' lives is ap-
parent in three volumes of press clippings, kept by Stella, which
completely cover the musical annals of the late seventies and
early eighties. Anyone writing the musical history of this era
would find the volumes valuable material. The composers and or-
chestras and artists of the time, the operas presented and their
stars, the great opening nights, the reviews by famous critics-
these are preserved with a neatness that makes them fascinating
memorabilia.
The period was an historic one also in American opera. For
a long time the old Academy of Music at Fourteenth Street
and Irving Place, splendid in its red and gold ornamentation,
had been the headquarters of this great art. Here Colonel
Mapleson had ruled with suave tyranny, offering each season
a brilliant succession of Faust, Aida, It Trovatore, the Barber
of Seville, Don Giovanni, and other classic masterpieces, chiefly
39
of the French and Italian schools. In those days, indeed, the
Latin race held almost exclusive possession of the stage. Miss ,
Whitfield, in this early time, was a regular attendant at the
Academy. In the late seventies and early eighties, however, the
Germans began to clamor for attention. Leopold Damrosch,
intimate associate of Liszt and Wagner, had organized his
Oratorio Society and of this Miss Whitfield became a life mem-
ber. Andrew Carnegie was subsequently, for many years, its
president and liberal supporter. At the conductor's still mem-
orable presentations of The Messiah, Elijah, and other oratorios
Miss Whitfield was always a rapt listener.
But in the eighteen seventies, Wagner was almost an un-
known composer in New York. Of course he had his followers,
but the attitude of the general public was perhaps illustrated
by the remark of a recently arrived conductor from the Vater-
land, who, when told that New Yorkers did not enjoy Wagner,
replied, "Den dey vill haf to hear him till dey do."
It was somewhat in the spirit of this retort that a group of
millionaires began, in 1882, the construction of what Colonel
Mapleson derisively called "the great yellow brewery on Broad-
way"-a building now internationally renowned as The Met-
ropolitan Opera House. The chief purpose was probably to
give hitherto-excluded German opera a fitting auditorium in
America's leading city. Leopold Damrosch, conductor, brought
over a glorious group of Wagnerian singers-Lilli Lehman,
Marianne Brandt, Madame Materna, Madame Fursch-Madi,
Albert Niemann and Adolf Robinson-the battle of the Wag-
ner Ring began, and soon The Valkyrie, Siegfried, the Meister-
singer, Tannhauser and the rest divided the city into two
40
warring camps. Those were days of brilliant music criticism;
with Finck of the Evening Post and Krehbiel of the Tribune,
neither side lacked able champions.
Miss Whitfield became a Wagnerian; she did not entirely
desert the Acadamy of Music, but was a regular and appreci-
ative attendant at the Metropolitan from the beginning. This
passion for opera, along with other forms of music, was to be-
come one of the strongest of the links binding her and Andrew
Carnegie, also a great music lover.
She was not a profound student of books but, despite these
many occupations, did a considerable amount of reading. On
the days when "no one came," the usual notation follows:
Spent the whole evening reading. The Whitfield family was
accustomed, for several years, to pass the summer 011 a farm in
Oyster Bay, as guests of Mr. and Mrs. Gilson Landon, uncle
and aunt. The farm was a rather scraggly one, remote from
urban centers, and Miss Louise always found farm life rather
unpleasant, despite the human aspect and the many delightful
drives. She realized in after life, however, that what at the
time were regarded as hardships had their compensation; for
she found relief from loneliness in books. She thus covered the
accepted classics of the day-Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, Char-
lotte Bronte, Cooper and the rest. The mention, in her daily
jottings, of other favorite volumes also brings reminders of a
vanished time. What young lady of today reads that sugary epic
over which the girls in the seventies and eighties shed so many
tears: Owen Meredith's Lucile? The great hold that the same
author's father, Bulwer-Lytton, held over the same generation
is interesting to students of literary history. Pilgrims of the
41
Rhone, The Caxtons, The Last Days of Pompeii, What Will
He Do With It? and many of the others charmed Miss Louise
as they did most readers of the day.
Another vastly popular writer who seems to have fallen into
neglect was that master architect of plots, Wilkie Collins; Miss
Whitfield not only revelled in The Moonstone, The Woman
in White, The New Magdalen, but could enjoy most of them
dramatized on the stage. A writer whom she especially liked-
not only for her novels but for her poetry-was George Eliot,
England's great lady of the seventies; and occasionally a French
novel of more decorous type-Le Roman d'un Jeunne Homme
Pauvre-kept her French in practice. The diary notes a liking
for Endymion-whether Keats or Disraeli is not specified. Oc-
casionally a non-fiction note is sounded. Spent all the afternoon
reading history- in the evening, ((Martin Chuzzlewit." A more
serious interest appears in the commonplace book which she
kept in the early eighties, copying, in her already beautifully
formed handwriting: Thoughts that have impressed me. From
this it is apparent that she was a reader of Wordsworth, Rus-
kin, Emerson, Harriet Martineau, and Mrs. Hemans, as well
as Whittier, Howells, and other standard authors. Could one
ask a more balanced ration, or one more characteristic of the
seventies?
Of a family of five Louise Whitfield was the only member
with marked physical endurance. Nature had endowed her
with an alert, independent mind and a strong constitution.
All her youthful activities are mirrored in the entries which
Miss Whitfield set down, every evening for years, in her diaries.
The diurnal picture they give is that of a girl living comfort-
ably but indulging in no extravagant pleasures and, at the
42
same time, well mannered and aware of responsibilities. The
large part of the day spent in affairs of the home is significant,
not only of the customs of the time, but of the diarist's own
nature.
It was a day when the household head did not disdain ordi·
nary household duties. She could intelligently supervise her
menage because she was able to perform all the routine duties
herself. She did not hesitate on occasion to cook, dust rooms,
make beds, polish silver, do the family darning, join the visit·
ing dressmaker in fashioning clothes and trimming hats, or
perform any essential household task. The little diaries are
sprinkled with family details of this kind. Went to market and
then helped Marie in the kitchen . . . dusted parlors . . .
helped mother make mince pies . .. arranged the curtain!
... cleaned the closets . .. prepared front room for cleaning.
We get a picture of the daughter of the house visiting, al·
most every day, meat markets and grocery stores, making her
personal selections, negotiating prices and making sure she ob·
tained what she was paying for. There was then no telephone
to transact such business in more superficial and expensive
fashion. March 17, 1878-and plenty of other like entries could
be cited-seemed to be a particularly active day:
Went to market, came home, made cake, dusted parlours,
took Harry [her four.year.old brother] to have his hair cut,
and took walk in the Park. The amount of time spent in sew·
ing, crocheting, and embroidering is also suggestive. Miss
Louise never seemed to be without a needle of some kind in
hand. When not working on her own wardrobe she was, mak·
ing doilies, table covers, screens, or "lambrequins"-mantel
draperies very popular in Victorian days; sewing, indeed, was
43
a part not only of home life but of the more familiar social life.
Ladies of the neighborhood were constantly dropping in,
"bringing their sewing" and spending in useful employment
a chatty afternoon. Even callers in the evening did not have
the exclusive attention of their friends, for the clicking of knit-
ting needles frequently accompanied their most entertaining
conversation. The day by day progress on some elaborate piece
of homemade art is recorded in the diary, and when the mas-
terpiece is finally completed, there is a note of triumph which
the present generation can hardly understand. It was the day
also when dabbling in water colors, painting china and deco-
rating jars were regarded as part of everyone's education in
the arts.
From childhood Louise had been strong-minded, even self-
willed, in a subdued but determined fashion. "I am afraid,"
Mrs. Carnegie would say, referring to her youth, "that they
sometimes found me a little difficult; I had a mind of my
own." But one who did so much for the household was surely
entitled to some measure of independence. She liked respon-
sibility and command, and her mother's house became the
training-ground for the exercise of these qualities in her larger
life afterward; to attend to details gave her pleasure, and the
direction of anything pertaining to herself and her surround-
ings was congenial employment.
In those days of inadequate medical knowledge and a less
healthy mental outlook, sickness troubled the Whitfields. The
mother, though there were vigorous strains in her ancestry, be-
came an invalid when Louise was eighteen. The girl then
quietly assumed most of the household duties. The control of
servants, the care of the frai11ittle brother and sister, the hum-
44
drum but essential minutiae of the home-in these she found
early opportunity for the exercise of the directive ability she
afterwards used so well in a broader field. The family ailments
tended to foster the affection and consideration which, through-
out life, formed the foundation of her character.
Along with the pleasant things, she was learning how to
bring comfort to the sickroom, and to endure bereavement. In
a way it was well that her responsibilities kept her so busy,
because as sorrows increased, she might otherwise have become
morbid. Not only was her mother in ill health, but also the
father she loved with great devotion died, April 26, r878. The
notations in the diary about his illness and death are heart-
rending. Night after night the girl of twenty sat at her father's
bedside, doing her all to make his last days happy and free
from pain. Characteristicall y, she nourished no false hopes; in
spite of the occasionally cheerful word of physicians, she con-
fided in the nightly entries her belief that "poor papa" could
not long survive.
Easter Sunday: Very bright and pleasant outside but oh! how
dark inside! ... Monday, April 22: Papa gave me such a sweet
kiss today; I suppose it will be the last he will ever give me of
his own free will. April 24: Papa is passing away very rapidly,·
the doctor says he may live I2 hours or it may be 24. Dr. Chapin
came in the afternoon and he talked and prayed with us all. It
has really come to the last now. April 26: Papa died last night
on the stroke of I2 o'clock. He was conscious up to an hour
before, bade us all goodbye and passed away quietly and hap-
pily. Mr. Whitfield was only forty-six years old.
Another custom of the times-that of abandoning all live-
liness of costume and putting on the most sombre of garments
45
on the death of a near relative-is brought to mind by another
entry a week later.
Folded away all my colored dresses and party dresses. I won-
der where we will all be when they are taken out again. There
were to be no more social diversions for the rest of that year
and for some time afterward. Her melancholy address, eight
months later, to the departing year shows her religious turn
of mind:
Let the old year go, she wrote on New Year's Eve, or th~
New Year come, it makes no difference to me. This terrible
year that we shall always look back to with so Imuch dread is
going. It indicates that we are one year nearer that Home where
there will be no vacant places, no desolate families. With this
year passed away myoid glad life. Henceforth whatever hap-
piness I may have will be so deeply tinged with care and sorrow
that I do not intend to keep any account of it. I have no dear
Papa to bring me a new book as he has done for years back so
I think it a fitting time to close this volume of my life and the
new one of care and trial and perplexity that has opened for
me shall be known alone to myself. God hath grievously af-
flicted us but He will not always chide and I can always trust
my father in Heaven for, {{Is not the Life more than meat, and
the body ~ore than raiment?"
.3·
='- )'c(fut/el C(fudJhif

One important occasion of the seventies must not be over-
looked: New Year's day, when gentlemen in top hats, frock
coats and fashionable trousers called to pay respects or leave
their cards in a receptacle hung upon the front door knob.
Louise Whitfield had reason to remember these great social
functions, for one of them marked the turning point in her
life.
"Among my family's friends in New York," she would re-
late, "were a Scotch gentleman, a Mr. Alexander King, and his
beloved wife Aggie. He was in the thread business. Father and
Mr. King were warm friends and the Kings never failed to call
on New Year's day. This, of course, was the great visiting day
and I can remember the excitement and thrill of preparing
the lemonade and sandwiches, and then of standing behind the
parlor curtains watching the guests arrive.
"Even before I was old enough to be present I knew many of
the visitors and, as I had a good memory for names, I could
help mother in remembering them. One New Year's day Mr.
King brought a friend of his, Mr. Andrew Carnegie, with him.
. . . I do not remember anything out of the usual about that
afternoon. Mr. Carnegie was greatly taken by my pretty, gentle
mother, and returned every year to wish us a happy New Year."
47
The steel man was, of course, aware that there was a bright
schoolgirl in the Whitfield home, but she was mostly behind
the scenes when he called. It was not until he returned in the
middle seventies from a trip around the world that he had dis-
covered how gracious and comely Louise had become.
"Having learned to ride," Mrs. Carnegie went on, "I was
delighted when Mr. King asked me to ride with him in Cen-
tral Park and thoroughly enjoyed going whenever he invited
me. Mr. Carnegie was also fond of riding and took several of
his young lady friends out with him. Mr. King told him how
much I liked to ride and suggested that he take me; so, after ,
getting mother's permission, he often invited me. This is how
our friendship began."
The meeting between Louise Whitfield and Andrew Carnegie,
in which he observed her for the first time as an attractive,
self-possessed young woman, occurred at one of those Whit-
field "at homes" on New Year's Day, 1880. She was nearly
twenty-three and he was forty-four. She had already been im-
pressed by his career, and by what she had heard of his
aspirations. He was already one of the best-known figures in
American life. Born in Dunfermline, the ancient seat of Scot-
tish kings, descended from humble Scottish weavers, he had
come to the United States in boyhood and had found his op-
portunity in western Pennsylvania, where he was to become a
leader in transforming that region into the great industrial
capital of the United States. A soaring ambition, a quickness
in perceiving and grasping opportunity, and a steadiness in
pursuing an objective were joined to a buoyancy of tempera-
ment, and a profound belief in individualism and in America.
Starting as a bobbin boy in a Pittsburgh cotton mill at $1.25
48
A TROUBLED COURTSHIP
a week, and becoming in succession a telegraph messenger,
telegraph operator, assistant manager and then manager of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, he early began investing in outside en-
terprises-oil, iron, sleeping cars, and other businesses. By the
time he was thirty years old, he had become one of the most con-
spicuous young men of the Pittsburgh area. All these occupa-
tions, however, were merely preludes to the great opportunity
that came about I870.
Two separate events converged at that time, the meaning
of which Carnegie was apparently the only man to under-
stand. The first was the ending of the Civil War which had
freed the energies of the American people, unloosed a huge
migration to the western plains, and started the industrializa-
tion of the country; the period of railroad building which was
to create more railroads in the United States than in all the
rest of the world, had begun. The second of these events was
the invention and development of the Bessemer converter,
which ushered in the age of steel.
It is hard for the present generation, which looks upon a
country made almost exclusively of this material, to realize
that, in I870, steel was virtually one of the precious metals-
useful for the finer qualities of cutlery, for the mainsprings of
watches and other delicate mechanisms of the kind, but alto-
gether too expensive to be considered for commonplace uses.
It was Andrew Carnegie who had brought together industrial
expansion and the use of steel. Mter signing the papers for
the sale of Carnegie's properties to the United States Steel Cor-
poration in I90I, J. P. Morgan turned to Carnegie and said, "I
wish to congratulate you, Mr. Carnegie, on being the richest
man in the world."
49
But these achievements give only a narrow view of Carnegie
the man. It was as a person, indeed, that he was more signifi_
cant than as a steel master.
"There is not one Andrew Carnegie, there are really half a
dozen," was the way a friend once described him; and of all
the ideas associated with his name, perhaps the most original
was that concerning the responsibilities of wealth. Up to Car-
negie's time rich men had had no particular theory on this
subject. The money a man had heaped together was his own,
to be used in ways that seemed wise to its possessor-thinking
on this matter had not advanced much beyond this simple
statement of the case. But Carnegie, even as a young man, had
developed a system of his own. Surplus money-money, that
is, more than necessary to satisfy a man's immediate personal
needs-belonged to the public and should be dispensed in the
public's interest. The individual who happened fQr the moment
to possess it, was merely a trustee-a temporary holder whose
business it was to dispose of his fortune in ways that would
best promote the public good.
He carefully reasoned that continuous giving should be his
life work. In a paper, written as early as December, I868, at
the St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, and' now preserved among
his effects, he had partially described this system. Though only
thirty-three years old, he had already had an annual income of
more than $50,ooo-a princely sum in those days-and was
evidently disturbed over the disposition of it. He wrote:
Thirty-three, and an income of $50,000 per annum! By this time
two years I can arrange all business to secure at least $50,000 per an-
num. Beyond this never earn-make no effort to increase fortune,
but spend the surplus each year for benevolent purposes. Cast aside
50
business forever, except for others. Settle in Oxford and get a thor-
ough education, making the acquaintance of literary men-this will
take three years of active work-pay special attention to speaking in
public.
This program of self-education had an omission any young
woman might note with curiosity; girls seemed to have no
place in his scheme for acquiring knowledge.
Foreseeing himself as a person who would become im-
mensely rich, Andrew Carnegie made plans to distribute his
earnings where they would do the most good. In the same year
he wrote:
The amassing of wealth is one of the worst specimens of idolatry-
no idol more debasing than the worship of money. Whatever I en-
gage in I must push inordinately, therefore I should be careful to
choose that life which will be the most elevating in character. To
continue much longer overwhelmed by business cares and with most
of my thoughts wholly upon the way to make more money in the
shortest time, must degrade me beyond hope of permanent recovery.
I will resign business at thirty-five, but during the ensuing two years
I wish to spend the afternoons in receiving instruction and in read-
ing systematically.
This program was one reason why young women had been
crowded out of Andrew Carnegie's life, except for casual social
affairs and horseback rides with Jhi,,< Gr, . charmer of the
moment. In the main he carried out ,:he plo.nJaj(l down in the
document; he did not go to Oxford or any other university as
a student, but he did time reading and study
and in association with litt:rary men., ,. " ",,'
That a man so .md so wealthy was a:yery de-
sirable match needs little emph;:.sif); very of bis long
51
bachelorhood aroused the curious interest of the young women
of his circle. Though middle-aged at the beginning of his at-
tentions to the in-no-ways eager Louise Whitfield, he had never
married. The fact was even more remarkable because of the
man's very human temperament. That he liked the society of
women, and had many friends among them, was no secret.
That he had the capacity to enjoy, beyond most men, the de-
lights of family life, was also only too evident. Of the reasons
for his abstention Carnegie never spoke; the most articulate
of men maintained a baffling silence on this phase of his career.
The matter, however, was no great mystery.
Carnegie, all his life, had shown the utmost devotion to his
mother. His relation to her was indeed almost mystical. No
other woman seemed quite the same in his eyes. He regarded
her as something set apart. She was, in a way, the cause of his
success, for it was her constant urging, against the more cau-
tious conservatism of her husband, that had led to the migra-
tion of 1848.
Carnegie could never forget the time when, as a little child,
he used to sit at his mother's side, threading the needles with
which she was binding shoes for her brother Thomas Morrison
-from the sale of which the family of four was saved from
starvation in the terrible Scottish winter of 1847-48. The
strength of chawcte{ ,Margaxet Carnegie had displayed on that
occasion had:'~~~~ th6 i,rl.ilUknce that had held the family to-
gether in the early dark days in Pit~sburgh. Andrew's father,
William Carnegie" c\id not'r~ng, ~~;vive the trans-Atlantic voy-
age; he.: ~Y~s,:';i.. ~r·e~my, Swe&'ribo!gj,;n soul, whose mind was
always: iJi the clouds, giving h!(~t5py little chance of coping
with the (flffitulties of·the distfng' world.
52
Margaret Carnegie was in her remote ancestry a Highlander,
with all the alertness that dominates the Highland character;
even further back she was of Viking origin, and thus came
honestly by that instinct for adventure that had led the little
group to the western world. To her Andrew always attributed
his practical genius. "Here's where Tom and I got our brains,"
he would say, pressing his forefinger on his mother's forehead;
and his spirit-its audacity, its willingness to gamble, its fore-
sight-also came from the same source.
It is not strange, under these circumstances, that Carnegie's
entire career had centered upon his mother. He had promised
her, as a boy, that in due course she should wear silk, live in her
own house, and ride in her own carriage; when he had moved
to New York, he had brought his mother with him, installing
her in a suite of an expensive hotel, his own apartment closely
adjoining, and the two thus lived a contented life. He made
his mother a part of all his diversions. She went with him to
the opera, accompanied him on his foreign excursions, lived
with him in the summer in the home he had established at
Cresson, in the Pennsylvania hills.
Here is the reason that Carnegie had never proposed to any
of the charming young women among whom his lot had been
cast. He had, in fact, definitely promised his mother not to
marry in her Whether she had exacted the promise,
or whether, in his expansive way, he had volunteered the
pledge, is not known, but the pact had indeed existed for sev-
eral years. In r867, his brother Thomas had married Miss Lucy
Coleman, one of the most beautiful girls of Pittsburgh; this
left Andrew to his mother, an arrangement with which both
had long been satisfied.
53
Until his friendship with Miss Whitfield, this singleness had
not been a disturbing force in Carnegie's life. He had enough,
in his business, in his friends, and in working out plans for
using his money, to keep his mind free of thoughts of mar-
riage. But soon after this companionship formed it became
apparent to the friends of both that their minds were dwelling
on what for Carnegie had been forbidden land. That the two
were vastly interested in each other was evident. You had only
to see them riding through the Park to grasp the fact.
These were the equestrian days of Central Park; the ladies,
clad in tall hats and long habits, and riding sidesaddle, were
escorted by attentive male riders in smart togs. Soon one of the
most familiar views was that of Miss Whitfield, young, digni-
fied, attractive, slight of figure-her weight was only about II2
pounds-with brown hair, blue eyes, and fresh and sparkling
complexion, and Andrew Carnegie, seasoned man of the world.
The two at times rode at a rollicking pace, at other times they
engaged in quiet, earnest conversation, completely absorbed
in each other, utterly oblivious of the interest of lookers-on.
The park, not then crowded, was in its glorious heyday;
there were no automobiles, no smell of gasoline, no modern
impediments to a day's happy outing. But Carnegie himself was
more than this little world. There was enough in his conversa-
tion to charm a girl. "After my first ride," Mrs. Carnegie used
to say, "I decided, whatever the future might have in store, that
would remain the great experience of my life."
Her diaries record day by day her delight in these experi-
ences: Went riding with Mr. Carnegi~. Glorious time! ... In
afternoon Mr. Carnegie came and took me horseback riding.
Splendid time!
54
The courtship really began over a book. A writer who was
then creating a big stir in the world was Sir Edwin Arnold,
whose The Light of Asia, first published in 1879, was sweep-
ing the world. It obtained a wider popularity in America than
in its own country. Carnegie was one of the first to read and
praise it. He gave the girl a copy, and together they pored
over the story of Prince Siddartha and his searchings for the
pearl of great price. This book exercised the greatest influence
in bringing the two seriously together. Miss Whitfield, as she
herself said, used to carry it with her wherever she went, and
even took it, after the troubled course of true love, on her wed-
ding trip. Her copy, with her favorite passages marked, is
carefully preserved among her effects. It bears upon the fly-leaf
an inscription by. Andrew Carnegie written on this same wed-
ding trip:
The first gift I ever gave to my wife, then the young lady Louise
Whitfield, was this book. Reading and quoting it at times to her, I
first discovered she had a mind and heart above, and beyond, those
of others of her own age and from that day to this (seven years) I
have kept on discovering new beauties of mind and character in her,
and, day by day, I find the list is yet unexhausted. She seems to have
been made to turn the earth into a heaven for me. Bonchurch, Isle
of Wight. Sunday May 8th 1887. Andrew Carnegie.
Carnegie and Sir Edwin Arnold became intimate personal

friends, so intimate that the poet gave the American the origi-
nal manuscript of The Light of Asia. The manuscript, found
among the Carnegie papers, has been presented by the Car-
negies' daughter, Mrs. Roswell Miller, Jr., to the Library of
Congress. It is this work to which Miss Whitfield refers in the
55
following letter to Carnegie-a letter from the Catskills indi-
cating a disposition to encourage his courtship:
My dear Mr. Carnegie,
Just a few lines tonight before retiring, to tell you how much I re-
joice with you in the possession of your treasure. How much you
must prize it, and yet how much more must you value the friendship
that prompted such a gift from such a man! May I hope to have a
glimpse of it some time in the Fall? I always carry the copy of the
Light of Asia you gave me, around with me every place I go. I love
to pick it up, even if only to read but a few lines, and it always re-
freshes me, and does me good. I wish I had it, as ydu have, at my
tongue's end, but I have committed a few of the loveliest bits to
memory. William Black too, oh dear me! how I envy you! But are
authors really as nice as their books lead one to suppose they are?
I am now reading his Princess of Thule, which I have never read be-
fore and am charmed.
Then she mentioned a woman whose book, John Halifax,

Gentleman, was one of the most admired works of the time:
Have you seen much of Miss Mulock? I just reverence that
woman. Her Sermons Out of Church and A Woman's Thoughts
About Women are almost inspired they are so true.
I am having a very quiet summer; there is very little going on here,
but Mother is well and happy, and she is the first consideration. We
expect to remain until about the 1st of September, and then go to
Oyster Bay on Long Island, as we always do, to stay until the latter
part of the month. By that time I shall be quite ready to return to
New York.
So now, Good night, my friend; won't you be surprised to receive
this! But I hope as well pleased as I was to get yours this morning.
56
Outwardly the courtship was progressing well; the two
were clearly much in love; but how about Carnegie's mother,
then spending her last years in the Windsor Hotel? How did
she regard the prospect of separation from the one human
being who, to her, represented the whole world? How was
she meeting the quiet but significant appearance of Miss Whit-
field?
Margaret Carnegie was then seventy and more; her health
was failing, but she was as determined as ever to keep exclusive
charge of her "Andra," as she called him.
In the early days of the Whitfield romance she called upon
Miss Whitfield and her mother and received calls from them.
Carnegie had long since realized his boyish dream of a car-
riage for his mother, and Mrs. Carnegie was apparently fond
of appearing at the Whitfield home, taking Mrs. Whitfield
driving and, sometimes, the daughter. Mrs. Carnegie seemed
to find particular pleasure in driving with Mrs. Whitfield-
thus leaving the way free for the horseback rides of her son
and Miss Whitfield. A diary entry of February 7, 1881, says,
Nice call. Mrs. Carnegie came and took Mama and Harry and
Stella to drive and Mr. C. came for me to ride. Splendid time!
The diary contains many entries in similar strain.
Mrs. Carnegie was also frequently a member of the box
parties her son gave at the theatre and opera. In evening, Miss
Whitfield notes for February 10, 1881, Mr. C. came for us.
Mrs. C. went too. Went to Booth's to see Salvini in {{Macbeth,"
Had a splendid time. Mrs. Carnegie introduced to Miss Whit-
field her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Thomas Carnegie-thus laying
the basis of an active friendship between the two. One might
have concluded everything was going well.
57
The tentative courtship came to a point when Carnegie was
planning his famous coaching trip for 1881. He had given a
library building to his native town of Dunfermline, Scotland,
and the foundation stone was about to be laid that summer.
He had also been reading his friend William Black's Strange
Adventures of a Phaeton, and was planning to duplicate that
trip, making Dunfermline his objective. He wanted to take
a dozen or more of his intimate friends to Europe, and drive
northward to his destination. Mr. and Mrs. King, Alice French,
and others had accepted invitations and he wished Miss Louise
in the party.
But difficulties arose, which are sufficiently manifest from
Miss Whitfield's diary. That she wished to go, but realized the
impossibility of doing so, is apparent. On April 6 she wrote:
In afternoon went to ride. Had a delightful time-afraid it is
my last. He told me to speak to Mama about trip and she says
I cannot possibly go. So unhappy.
A day or two later she returns to the subject: I cannot be~
come reconciled to my disappointment. Mr. C. has invited me
to go on his drag trip but Mother says it is not proper for me
to go.
The next day, Mr. C. cctrme in the morning and I told him
I could not go on his trip to England. Am afraid that is the
last I shall see of him. He goes to Pittsburgh tomorrow. Stayed
home all afternoon and evening and Mother and I so unhappy.
But Carnegie was similarly disappointed and refused to give
in. There are indications that he contested his mother's iron
will. On April 15, Mrs. Whitfield was informed that Mrs. Car~
negie was waiting to see her in the drawing room. She had
come to extend a formal invitation to Louise to make one of
58
the party, of which she herself was to be the chief ornament.
Neither her manner nor her words, however, were particularly
cordial. Miss Whitfield records her behavior as very nice, but
notes that Mrs. Carnegie did not urge my going. In fact,
Andra's mother pointed out to Mrs. Whitfield, when Louise
was out of hearing, the inconveniences of a single girl of
twenty-three embarking on such an excursion, bluntly con-
cluding, "If she were a daughter of mine she wouldna go."
Mrs. Carnegie's advice did not affect the question of her going,
one way or another; for both mother and daughter had at last
agreed that the idea was out of the question. Yet the disap-
pointment remained.
I am so unhappy about the trip. I want to go so much and
yet I see it is impossible, she wrote on April 16; and two days
afterward: Mr. C. came for me to ride. We went in afternoon
and had a lovely ride. Gave my answer about the trip. It is
a great disappointment but it is for the best. And on May 7:
Mr. C. called to invite me to ride. We had a glorious ride.
Went way to Morrisania. Mr. C. invited me to concert. Refused.
And on May 21 Carnegie came to take her to the Windsor to
dine with the coaching party. There, with Mother Carnegie
presiding at the table, and the talk trending toward the pleas-
ure of the trip, Louise did not enjoy the dinner. Was very
sorry I went but did not know how to get out of it. Yet her
thoughts followed the party as they sailed the next day. I sup-
pose the party all got off this morning. I must learn to be satis-
fied with what I have and not long for any more.
And so, instead of a summer spent rumbling along English
roads on top of a tallyho, stopping to lunch beside some brook,
Miss Whitfield spent her vacation in the Catskills and on the
59
Oyster Bay farm, having a wretched time of it. The bright
days were those that brought a Dunfermline paper-telling of
the laying of the foundation stone, the procession held in
Carnegie's honor, the public banquet-and a letter from Car-
negie. It is the first-at least the first surviving-he addressed
to Miss Whitfield. There was one note in its telegraphic con-
tents that intimated affection:
Reading D. IU.21,S1
Queens Hotel
Reading
Well My Dear Friend,
I have waited until I could tell you whether the "Gay Charioteers"
were a success, or not, and now I can say that no estimate of the pleas-
ure derivable from Coaching which I made was half high enough.
England can only be seen from the top of a four-in-hand. We over-
look the hedges and walls and the eye rests upon a succession of the
prettiest gardens you ever saw.
Our party are so enthusiastic, so happy, so good, that it does seem
almost too much like paradise.
Not one mishap, nor an ache, nor a pain so far.
Our luncheons by the way side are just idealistic. We start in a few
minutes for Oxford where we expect to arrive about S o'clock to-
night, spending two hours on the banks of a pretty rivulet for
luncheon.
It is all I pictured it, and more. Mr. and Mrs. King join us
Saturday night. They decided to make their visit to Paisley first.
We number fifteen and have room fo~ all on top; but Oh My
Friend! would you were with us.
Not one shower of rain so far; a few drops through the nights
to lay the dust is all. Today is perfect also. I was so sorry at reach-
ing the Parlor only a few minutes after you had left; please excuse
60
me. I was detained. Kindest regards to Mamma. May you enjoy
your summer!
Goodbye,
Your friend
A. Carnegie
Please let me hear from you care J. S. Morgan & Co. London.
Louise, in less than a year, would read with mingled

ings about Andrew's tour in his vivacious book An American
Four-in-Hand in Britain.
In inscribing the gift copy of The Light of Asia, Carnegie

stated that his period of courtship was the Biblical seven years.
There were complex reasons for the series of breaks in the
courtship and the long delay before fulfillment, and both
families were involved. Andrew remained firm in his pact
with his mother, and she gave no signs of surrendering him;
on the other hand, Louise Whitfield felt that she had a
sibility to her mother, who in her illness could not be left
alone.
When the time came that Andrew could marry, his wife
would be faced with the problem that his program for the
next few years called for living abroad, and this would separate
her from her mother for an unbearably long time. Carnegie,
then deeply interested in British radicalism, had purchased a
dozen or more English papers, all named Echo, and all radical
in tone. Ardent lover of American democracy, his aim was to
establish in Britain a form of government something like that
established by the Constitution of the United States; to
ceed in his program he must spend much time abroad.
In their rides together, Andrew and Louise discussed these
61 .
things frankly; she told him that to live in England seemed
to her an utter impossibility.
Their bothered courtship came to one of several crises in the
year I883. That year had been much the same as the two pre-
ceding: shadowed for the young woman by illnesses of Mrs.
Whitfield, lightened by the "glorious" rides with Carnegie, and
the many evenings passed with him at the opera and the thea-
tre. Carnegie had left in May for his usual holiday in Scotland.
Miss Whitfield and her mother spent the summer in the
Tremper House in the Catskills.
On July I9th, among the usual notes recording the life at a
summer resort, a strongly hopeful note sounded in Miss Whit-
field's diary: Received lovely long letter from Mr. Carnegie
tram London. She had received letters from him for the two
preceding years, but never anything like this one. Delighted,
she shut herself alone in her room a few days later and an-
swered it:
Tremper House
Phoenicia, N. Y. July 23/83
My dear Mr. Carnegie:
Oh how glad your letter made me! for I was really afraid this
year you would forget all about writing. But you didn't forget
after all, and so made a certain individual very happy. I carried it
off all by myself, to the loveliest little nook in the woods, and had
such a good time reading of all your gay doings. What a delightful
time you must be having in the society of such congenial people,
but I hope you won't get to like them too well. Rumors are con-
stantly reaching us of the stir you are creating-and on this side,
everybody is talking about your book, An American Four-in-Hand
in Britain.
I have cut some very flattering criticisms from the different pa-
pers, which I will some day show you. We are all very proud of
you, and love to think that you are our friend. I don't like to hear,
however, that you have neglected your health. After a winter in
New York, to have a season in London, is more than anyone could
stand. I am afraid you have missed your riding! You must cer-
tainly take a good long rest before coming home, or else you will
not be able to ride as much in the fall, and that would be a dreadful
disappointment to me, especially when I expect to have my new
riding habit, too!
In a deft way, she was letting Carnegie know that the Cats-
kills were not lacking in inspiring scenery:
... it really reminds me of Switzerland, the air is so invigorat-
ing that we are out all the time, either climbing the different moun-
tain peaks, or spending whole mornings by the side of the prettiest
little stream. It reminds me so much of the song, The Burnie, in
your book.
She confessed to experimenting in nature painting:

I have actually tried to paint some of the lovely views . . . they
are sorry attempts, but a great gratification to me....
She could be coquettish when the moment seemed to re-

quire it. Ending her letter, she said:
I almost hope that Scotland may not be quite as kind as usual,
in order that you may hasten your return home.
The exchange of letters, in which any emotion of love is

hard to detect, nevertheless kept the romance warm and cul-
minating. When Carnegie returned he definitely proposed to
Louise Whitfield, and she, blinding herself for the time to the
63
objections that still existed, accepted him. Like many another
diarist, she forgot her daily jottings when matters of great
moment were afoot. For the day she became engaged she wrote
only two words about it: And then-. The two became be-
trothed in the middle of September, 1883. Carnegie by now
was not so insistent on living abroad, and the engagement at
least indicated a weakening of the mother's hold. As for Mrs.
Whitfield, her invalidism could last for decades, and she was
not one to deprive her daughter of normal happiness. She
began to protest against her daughter's sacrificing her romance
for her sake. Mrs. Whitfield had probably neveJ.1 heard of the
"silver cord" psychologists now speak about, but she would
not let her circumstances become a barrier to letting her de-
voted daughter fulfill the one important romance of her
life.
But for these lovers, the clouds cleared only to return again.
With the engagement, the emotions became deeper, the talks
more earnest, and the moods shifted from joy to dolefulness.
Whenever she broke it off with Andrew, Louise Whitfield's
thoughts reverted to her early determination to marry a poor
young man and help him to make his way in life. She knew
her own father and mother had begun married life in moderate
circumstances and had prospered together. With this in mind,
she accepted invitations from other suitors; the worried An-
drew tried to persuade her that to manage a large estate, and
to use one's wealth wisely, was just as fine an enterprise.
The varying emotions of those days are expressed in all
plainness. Had delightful horseback ride with Mr. Carnegi(
was followed a day or two later by a single line: Am so un-
happy, so miserable, and followed still again a week later by
64
another mood: Am so happy tonight; Mr. Carnegie came and
spent afternoon with me. Sunday, December 2: In afternoon
Mr. Carnegie came and read to me.
On December 12: Went shopping in the morning and in
afternoon went riding with Mr. C. Glorious sunset. Rode home
in the gloaming. Happy at last.
Two days later: In the evening Mr. C. came and we had
such a happy time. And the next, the 15th of December: Mr.
C. came and we went to matinee at the opera. It was "Mephi-
stofeles." Very grand and lovely. Red letter day. On Monday,
December 17: Had ride with Mr. Carnegie in the afternoon,
the first snow of the season.
As the Christmas season drew near, the doubts again rose.
On December 24 she wrote: My Christmas task is done. The
tree is dressed, the presents set out in order. a h! is this the last
time I am to perform this loving labor in myoid home? Had
a loving note from Mr. C. which made me very happy, but the
old ties will pull.
In afternoon, Miss Whitfield wrote on December 26, we all
went to oratorio of 'The Messiah." Mr. C. sent me a box and
he came too. We walked home and he bought me lovely
flowers. So happy. And on New Year's eve, she summed up
the whole situation:
And now we come to the last night of the old year again.
What a changed girl it finds me! Life seems so hard. I feel so
old and strange. She was twenty-six. Nothing is certain, she
ran on, nothing is sure. I am striving so hard to do what is
right, but I cannot see the light yet.
In this year of 1884 came the most serious crisis in the ro-
mance; agam it was worry about their mothers that caused
65
the estrangement. The diary shows that the decision came
suddenly:
Very happy time, she writes of Carnegie's visit on January
1, 188+ Let me record it for it is probably the last, and adds,
on January 6: Took nap in the afternoon and then Mr. C.
came. Cessation of hostilities. From this point "A. C." vanishes
from the diary for three months, though there are references
to theatre parties and to Matthew Arnold's lectures which she
attended and enjoyed.
On March 1, 1884: Mother and I went with Mr. Tonnele
to Matthew Arnold's lecture on ((Literature and Science." On
April 1: Mr. C. sent for me to ride-went to painting lesson
and then to ride with A. C. Very nice but so tired-quite used
up in the evening.
But now the illnesses of their mothers had become acute. A
disrupting fate seemed to be toying with them. Miss Whitfield
decided on the one possible way out of the impasse. The day
of decision was April 23, 1884, a few days before Carnegie left
on the Aurania for his Scottish visit.
In the afternoon took the last sad step. Felt it was best.
Mother and I have decided to go to Grant House for the
summer.
The lovers exchanged the many letters they had written to
each other for the preceding two years and declared the en~
gagement at an end. Marriage for the time was impossible.
They would think of each other merely as friends. Resolutions
of this kind, however, are usually writ in water. When two
people are deeply in love, mere verbal agreements of this sort
do not fundamentally affect their relations. Except that in the
letters Carnegie wrote to Miss. Whitfield in the next few
66
months he was at pains to address her-perhaps half mischie-
vously-as "my dear friend" there was little change. From
Scotland he wrote occasionally sending memorabilia of another
coaching party, and seemed overjoyed when she acknowledged
his letters. On June II, 1884, he wrote from Okehampton,
Devon:
Many thanks, my dear friend for your kind notes. Here we are
coaching once more. Have been out from London for about ten
days. Started with William Black, Matthew Arnold, the two charm-
ing Misses Arnold, Mr. Edwin A. Abbey, who illustrates for
Harper's. How delightful it all has been! ... I hope your summer
will be a happy one. I am very sincerely gratified that your picture is
voted good. Keep at work but don't forget that after all literature,
good literature, is the most important possession for old age . . .
Carnegie returned home early that year; he had promised
his mother, who was ill at Cresson, that he would cut short his
visit to Europe; and his next letter, of July 19, was written
from his Pennsylvania retreat. Its most revealing paragraph
describes how, on landing in New York, he had gone up to
Forty-eighth Street, only to find the Whitfield house unoccu-
pied; the entire Whitfield family were in the Catskills. The
lonely man looked up at the darkened windows and returned
to his hotel.
Did you see Miss Arnold is engaged to a New York lawyer?
[This is a reference to the engagement of Lucy, daughter of Mat-
thew Arnold, famous English poet and essayist, to Frederick M.
Whitridge of New York.] Her younger sister is the cleverer, but
she isn't pretty. Too bad clever young ladies are rarely beautiful.
There are exceptions; I think of one. I spent a night at the Windsor,
walked past your house to see it all closed but boasting a span new
67
awning over the door. Not a soul in town I knew, or cared to
know that night, except I did want to find you, and you were gone,
too. Just as well, better no doubt, I said, and walked back to the
hotel.
I have avoided the sad point till the last. Mother is not doing
well. She was better for a few days but this week there seems to be
a relapse. She hasn't been out of bed for two days and I have the
heart taken out of me whenever I fail to keep that subject out of
mind. Your letter this morning gave me a respite and I was bright
and happy for a while. I hope you will write to me now and then.
My love to your dear mother. Am glad she keeps better. To your
sister and brother please remember me. I
And so things continued until the fall of 1884. Carnegie re-

turned to New York in early October and at once sought Miss
Whitfield. He was introducing her to celebrities and she had
been thrilled to meet James G. Blaine, even if he had been de-
feated by Cleveland for President of the United States.
A great English lady now played a part, all unconsciously,
in bringing the pair together again. That was the autumn when
Ellen Terry and Henry Irving were delighting New York
with their Shakespearean performances in the old Star Theatre.
Carnegie knew them both, having met them in London, and,
as an amateur Shakespearean himself, naturally was as much
excited as the rest of New York over their interpretations of
the Bard. When the state of his emotions over Miss Whitfield
were at their peak, he wrote Miss Terry, inviting her to drive,
evidently promising the finest trotters that New York could
offer. The charming response of the actress, then playing Bea-
trice to Irving's Benedick in Much Ado about Nothing, is pre-
served among the Carnegie papers.
68
Ohl Ohl I Ohl!! I could weep, for it has become an intense de-
sire of mine to sit, if but for one hour, behind some fast trotters and
I have never done so as yet. I cannot come! and am sa sorry, but
a bad cold must not be neglected and I must stay in bed all day
for Beatrice's sake and the evening's work. Very many thanks for
your welcome and kind offer of a drive. If you will ask me again
some day I will come. That's rather dreadful to say that, but I
long to go so and there is my excuse. Very truly your Ellen Terry.
Evidently Miss Whitfield heard of this invitation to the
actress and revealed her hurt. Carnegie excused himself:
I only asked her in a desire to get someone out of the ordinary.
You had to be banished somehow. Now will you go with me at half
past two, and let us have a talk. Perhaps this is all wrong, but I do
wish to talk with you.
This note was sent to Miss Whitfield's home, with a pen-
cilled notation, in Carnegie's handwriting: "Get reply."
The answer came back promptly; it was a single line, written
in the middle of the page: "Yes-I will."
There is, of course, no record of what happened on this oc-
casion, but the letters of the next few weeks are sufficiently
explicit. The engagement was renewed. Soon afterward Car-
negie went to Pittsburgh.
Louise Whitfield wrote fervently and beautifully to her "dear
Andrew" in that place:
We have had -rain and snow since you left. You and I enjoyed
the last bright, warm day together. Shall you ever forget that view
of the dark cloud rolling aside, and allowing the sun to burst forth
in all its splendor, and forming a golden pathway across the river?
It seemed to me as typical of our lives-all the clouds gone at last.
I wish I had asked you to write me a few lines. I miss you so much,
69
especially just now, when I have so much to say to you, which I
cannot write, for my love "lieth deep, too deep for swift telling."
Again she wrote, with anxiety about his strenuous life:
My dear A. C.:
Have just received your note; how good of you to think of me
in your hurry. Your flying around the country in this way doesn't
seem quite so dreadful to me, when I know where you are, and
that you have time to give me a thought.
Don't rush around too rapidly. You do enough to kill two or-
dinary men; remember you are mortal, and that you have given me
the right to be interested in the welfare of this mortal.
Twelfth Night was a great success. Have come to the conclusion
I do not like Irving, but am more in love with Ellen Terry than
ever. To add to the pleasure Mr. Blaine was in one of the boxes,
and the audience gave him a hearty welcome. I had a good chance
to feast my eyes on him, and I actually waxed enthusiastic, think
of it!!
In the words that follow Louise Whitfield revealed the form-
ing principles that afterwards made her successful and es-
teemed:
I have made an important discovery: there is nothing like inter-
esting work to drive morbid fears and ghosts out of one's head. I
never was made to be a fine lady, and sit with folded hands and be
waited on. I must work-with head and hands and heart, all three
-in order to be happy-and in you I have a glorious exemplifica-
tion of that fact.
·4·
In his quoting from the poems of Burns and Shakespeare,

Andrew Carnegie had, for consistency, to skip certain passages
that took Louise Whitfield's side in the love controversy that,
mostly under the surface, was going on. He must avoid dwell-
ing on the impetuosity of Burns' love verses, and must pass
over Shakespeare's Sonnet III, with its uncomfortable lines:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments . . .
The years of courtship passed, but the impediment that was

Mother Carnegie stayed, looming so large that every other
difficulty dwindled in comparison. The obstacle came into
open view when Carnegie insisted that, for his mother's sake,
the engagement be kept secret. Louise consented, but the re-
quest, and the practice of it, rankled. Mrs. Whitfield was told,
but the outside world was kept in the dark. Louise's most
intimate friends-Lizzie Vanderbilt, Anna Brown, and the
Alexander Kings-were not informed.
Mrs. Carnegie, now seventy-five years old, was extremely
frail, but the fact that she was living with her son at the
Windsor Hotel, Forty-sixth Street and Fifth Avenue, just two
blocks from the Whitfield house, kept her influence continu-
71
ally felt. Louise well knew that Mrs. Carnegie's COnVICtion,
expressed to Mrs. Whitfield: "There is no woman good enough
to marry my Andra," would remain to the last hour.
If she had learned the secret, and tried to break the match,
there is no doubt that she would have been defeated. Andrew
Carnegie had come to a full realization of his need for the
companionship of Louise Whitfield. She had the advantage,
along with other qualities, of being a home-centered woman;
in this, old Mrs. Carnegie suffered by comparison. The latter
had become accustomed to luxurious hotel life, and to shifting
about. It was a strange habit for a Highland woman to fall
into, especially when she wished to keep her son utterly con-
tented. This trait gave the homeloving, homemaking Louise
a great advantage over her in keeping Andrew devoted; it was
one of the attributes by which the young woman triumphed
over the noted actresses and singers who were her rivals. Her
lover hungered for homelife and greatly enjoyed his visits to
the Whitfield home; he knew too that a hotel dining room,
for all its richness, was a poor place in which to entertain pro-
fessors, editors, and authors. Louise Whitfield was always at
the center of his dreams for achieving his own door and dining
room.
Miss Whitfield's diary went on recording the comings and
goings of Andrew, the theatre and opera parties, the dropping
in at St. Patrick's Cathedral to listen to the music, the long,
long walks in Central Park. There is mention time and again
of the rides and drives they took together, excursions that were
often escapes from depression. Ordinarily Carnegie-in those
telephone-less days-would send invitations in the morning by
"his man," an Irishman named John, and, if Miss Whitfield
72
CRISIS
were free, would appear himself at the appointed hour, with
her favorite horse Roderick. Off the two would go, oblivious
to the world-to everybody except themselves. Rain or snow,
heat or cold, was seldom permitted to interfere with their
exercise. They were just as visible in January and February,
even though the weather were cold and forbidding, with flakes
of snow falling, as in early spring; they were frequently caught
in showers, which seemed only to add to their enjoyment.
Sometimes Carnegie would vary the program, appearing with
buckboard or surrey.
One did not have to go far in those days for open fields.
Broadway, then called the Bloomingdale Road, stretched north
from Fifty-ninth Street to Kingsbridge, an almost uninter-
rupted mass of green, with many of the old colonial mansions
still intact. Kingsbridge itself-the· modern Marble Hill-was a
pretty little village surrounded by open fields. Fort Washing-
ton was then little changed from the scene of Washington's
encampment; High Bridge, favorite site of many a rustic gath-
ering, opened a fairway to the Bronx, into which the ven-
turers plunged. The now densely-populated Bronx was then
a beautiful expanse of country, not much changed from the
time when old Jonas Bronck laid out his estate under royal
charter. Many of the old Dutch and Huguenot homes were
still standing: the Van Cortlandt homestead, the Lydig snuff
mill on the Bronx River, the De Lancey home and mill on
the river, the old Macomb mansion, and the homes of the
Morris family. All these were found deeply hidden in dense
pine groves, for which the Bronx in its natural state was fa-
mous. The river itself, overhung with trees, called to mind
Washington's army, and the Indians who camped at its sides.
73
The couple also rode out to the Poe cottage, and found it
little altered from the days when the poet lived there in dire
necessity. Historic sites, or new adventures among rocky ra-
vines and tangled glades were equally attractive to the riders.
On one of these venturesome rides to Pelham Bay, the guarded
secret was almost exposed. This diary notation shows what a
plight they were in because the betrothal must be kept hidden:
Started at I I o'clock with A.C. and drove to Pelham Bridge
and took dinner. Met two friends of A.C. Furious! It was a
wild thing to do and I shall not do it again!
They ventured, however, to go together to meetings of the
daring Nineteenth Century Club. Courtland Palmer, a for-
ward-looking man of wealth and social influence, had shocked
the conservatives by organizing this body as a meeting-place
for leaders of adventurous thought. Carnegie, who had been
a member since the beginning, first took Miss Whitfield to a
meeting in 1884, in which he himself discussed the "aristocracy
of the dollar." The lecture was a famous one, and had wide
echoes. Miss Whitfield wrote that she felt something like a cat
in a strange garret, but she soon became a confirmed member
of the Nineteenth Century Club and attended all its sessions,
even when Carnegie was out of town. President Eliot of Har-
vard and President McCosh of Princeton she found very inter-
~sting on elective studies, though President Porter, of Yale, on
another occasion, seemed a little prosy. On March 17, "A. C."
spoke again, this time on the somewhat gruesome topic "Cre-
mation."
On July 23rd, 1885, Carnegie sent his fiancee a tantalizing
letter from Scotland:
74
CRISIS
Well, my Dear, here we are in the Whirl. ... Rather lonely some
mornings, at breakfast in my room alone, but I like it some ways.
Bachelordom has its advantages! I miss Mother much in such big
rooms and wish a certain young lady were only here to brighten them
up with her smiles and silvery laugh; but she is having fine hours
with many admirers no doubt.
Such a message could be calculated to annoy the young lady
who received it, whose very last wish would have been to share
the big room with the living presence or even memory of
Carnegie's mother. His reference to Louise's "many admirers"
indicates that she was in turn keeping him from complacency.
Carnegie's teasing letter continued:
I spent last Sunday with the Howards at Clapham Hall and next
I go to the Arnolds. Of course Matthew Arnold and Herbert Spencer
have been with me here to lunch. Today Edwin Arnold comes and
a party of twelve. Mary Anderson couldn't come, unfortunately.
(Maybe you are glad.) She is much prettier and younger than Ellen
Terry ...
Then came the first hint of his dream of spending summers
with his prospective bride in a castle in Scotland. The letter
went on:
Half of Scotland said to be for sale. I am deluged with plans of
estates which I am supposed to be likely to buy. I am going to have
a peep at one or two while North. But truly you should be along to
select; a castle seems grand. Aboyne Castle, Fyfie Castle, Craig Castle
and some other castles are all waiting purchasers. My kindest regards
to your dear sweet good mother, and to your sister and brother, and
for yourself as much of anything as you wish to take. God bless you!
Did no entirely tender and intimate love letters pass between
the pair-letters uninvaded by business, politics, and vanous
75
worldly affairs ? Yes, they did, but they are guarded family
treasures that do not belong in this book.
Louise Whitfield at sixteen had watched art students copy-
ing masterpieces in the galleries of Europe, and now art in-
stincts and influences were working out in her. Pictures she
had made of beautiful scenes in the Catskills and elsewhere
had won favorable comment, and Andrew was especially en-
couraging, often proposing new landscapes for her brush. His
mother and he spent the autumn of 1885 at Cresson, Pennsyl-
vania, and from there he sent her enthusiastic invitations to
come up and paint the glory of the mountains. "Oh what
colors for a painter-that's you!"
The next summer he abandoned his usual summer trip to
Scotland to take his failing mother to Cresson. There he
adroitly arranged that Mrs. Whitfield and her two daughters
should visit the Alexander Kings in their Cresson cottage in
August and September. Both were thrilled by the arrangement,
but meanwhile, another break had come:
Cresson Springs, Pa.
July 22/86
My dear Louise:
That you are coming on the 29th seems to change the scene. I
count the days. The Mountain will seem alive when you are upon
it. I have not written to you because it seems you and I have duties
which must keep us apart. Our parents are better, and I have always
known what you said recently was tru,e. To leave your Mother:
"you could not think of it"-nor could I leave mine.
The vexation Louise Whitfield had exhibited some time be-
fore over the Ellen Terry invitation was matched now by the
constant suitor. He had always relied on younger men for busi-
76
CRISIS
ness, but he had recently become aware that they could also be
zealous in romance. He proceeded:
You seemed interested a little in other suitors, just a little I
thought, and probably some one might arise who would come into
your household and make not only you happy but your mother and
family also.
This would be the ideal way, therefore I have stood away back
as it were, and resolved that it was best to let you alone and free;
but now when I hear the 29th I thrill with gladness and await your
coming, even if I do not see that we can go beyond our present
relations at present. I did not want to write because you were to
be here soon and we would talk over all this and decide upon our
course.
Mother seems really better, it is miraculous. I trust yours is also
better. Everything does hang upon our mothers, with both of us-
our duty is the same, to stick to them to the last. I feel this every
day. How little Doctors know! Come and let us confer with each
other . . . I wish you were here, but you will be the only belle
when you do come and I shall ever be
Your
Andrew Carnegie.
It was a memorable summer at Cresson Springs; all the
friends of the last few years had gathered there. The soirees
and parlors of New York had contributed their intellectuals
to the Pennsylvania resort. The Vincenzo Bottas were there,
and Dr. W. J. Holland, author later of Moth Book and
The Butterfly Book. The diaries tell of joyful happenings:
A.C. walked home with me in the starlight. ... Andrew
brought me home all alone-took long lovely walk. Such won-
derful happiness. The day before she left for the city was the
day of my life.
77
Treasuring these crumbs of romance, Louise Whitfield went
back to Manhattan, expecting another winter season like the
preceding, with erudite lectures by Edmund Gosse, John Fiske,
and Charles Dudley Warner; family celebrations with An-
drew enjoying the fun; the contest in music between the
Italian and Wagnerian schools; strolls with her suitor in the
park, and gifts from him and occasions with him which
brought her joy to high tide: A.C. took me for a drive and
bought some violets; my very pathway is strewn with flowers
and I literally live on an abundance of sweetness and light and
love. I
She could well expect the new season to continue to yield

such pleasures, but instead it was to be a grave and solemn
autumn, burdened with anxiety. Soon after she returned home
she picked up the daily paper and read of the death of
Andrew's younger brother, Thomas M. Carnegie. His loss was
greatly felt; his wife Lucy and their children were devoted to
him, and in the steel industry he was loved and admired; his
business ability and attention to details had been invaluable to
Andrew.
Sorrowing for Tom Carnegie's family, Louise Whitfield be-
came at the same time deeply anxious about Andrew himself.
Death was going the rounds in the Carnegie family, and
Andrew was menaced. She had met him when he had paid a
flying visit to New York, but then she received news that he
had had a serious chill when he stopped over in Philadelphia
on the way back to Cresson. Returning there, he had found
his seventy-seven-year-old mother critically ill. She had not
been informed of the death of Tom and was not able to be
kept au courant of passing events.
78
CRISIS
Louise thought of how Andrew constantly overtaxed him-
self at the steel company. She recalled his letter of the autumn
before when, in that odd way of his, he had mingled business
and love:
I gave our Rail Mill men fifty thousand dollars Friday, for Li-
brary, etc. Hurrah! That's life. I have not lived before ...
I have been so busy. We have consolidated some of our Works
and Interests into one and this has taken my time and thoughts;
a new firm organized, but I have had quiet moments and always
the hour before sleep your lovely form and voice and oh! such a
lovely rippling smile come dancing in upon me to give me such
exquisite happiness. Then I wish, not that I was in the City, but
that you were on the Glorious Mountain. I want so much to see you
here, knowing how supremely happy you would be, so much at
home with Nature in her finest mood, though all her moods are
fine ...
Well, she had more need to be with him now, but the secrecy
of the engagement prevented any open demonstration of her
affection and anxiety.
Andrew had succeeded in writing two brief notes to her,
in pencil and on scratch paper, before the doctors got him to
bed with typhoid fever. "Don't be alarmed. Nothing serious-
sure," he wrote his fiancee, and two days afterward he sent her
a few more disjointed sentences. "I'll be very careful for a few
days," he said. "Got your letter. Mr. Bridge brought it up-the
only one I have been allowed to get for three days ... Don't
be alarmed." But the situation was so serious that his long-time
friend and physician, Dr. Frederic Dennis, came from New
York and took charge.
Winter was now advancing in the Pennsylvania hills; the
79
country over which Miss Whitfield and Carnegie had ridden
and walked the previous summer was soon covered heavily
in snow. Carnegie and his mother lay in nearby rooms in the
cottage. The summer visitors had long since departed; the
loneliness was depressing, but for six weeks Carnegie lay in a
half-comatose state, unable to see the letters that Miss Whitfield
was constantly writing him.
On November loth the end came to Margaret Carnegie's
long life. Carnegie was too ill to be told of her death, but Miss
Whitfield noted in her diary: He suspects it. All the partners
very anxious about him. Her spirits were kept up by frequent
telegraphic messages from Carnegie's secretary, telling of the
invalid's progress, and, on November 24th, she was delighted
to receive a letter from her dear one himself, telling of his con-
valescence and his plans to come to New York, and, moreover,
suggesting arrangements for the wedding.
"I recovered slowly," he wrote afterwards in his Autobiogra-
phy} "and the future began to occupy my thoughts. There was
only one ray of hope and comfort in it. Towards that my
thoughts always turned." He meant, of course, Louise Whit-
field.
His improvement was steady, but slow. He wrote to/her:
I am doing so well. Walked yesterday round the room three dif-
ferent times supported by Drs. Dennis and Garmany, and twice
today already. No pain and such sweet waking and such sweet
dreaming thoughts of you through the night. You make night itself
bright. I get three meals a day and milk twice during the night, and
the doctors say no patient ever came through more grandly; not
one weak spot in my constitution. Now guard yours, that our lives
together may be long.
80
CRISIS
By December 6th he was dining with the family:
I walked in to dinner last eve. Sunday I fly to you but Dr. Dennis
says it will be Wednesday A. M. before I can rise and see everyone.
The journey must be fatiguing. Three months the doctor says I
shall be better than for years and stronger. After that, Louise, the
soul hunger for your companionship must be satisfied. I'll run back
to you and run away with youl
The death of Margaret Carnegie had, of course, removed all
obstacles to the marriage, but Carnegie was extremely sensitive
about his mother. Any Routing of her memory, or any act that
might be interpreted as careless of her, would be a profanation
in his eyes. The newspaper hullabaloo that would attend any
announcement of his marriage, or intended marriage, would
under ordinary circumstances have caused him no disquiet, but
such publicity, so soon after his mother's death, would be
endurable. He wrote Louise:
There is only one reason why the whole world should not know
of our happiness. It would not seem in good taste to announce it
so soon. Even the Alexander Kings would respect us more were
we to remain reticent till just before the event. Depend upon this.
Don't be deceived, they are just as sure of our relations to each
other as I'm sure Dr. Dennis is, but as long as we don't tell them,
they will respect our reasons and understand them. Therefore I
hope the public will not get hold of it. Tell one, tell all, Louise.
Aggie King could not keep it; besides now she can say she does
not know . . . The quietness that would surround our union, so
appropriate after recent events and the months that would ensue
before our return to New York life, would, as I see it, enable us to
begin life together so much sooner without violating the proprieties
-think all this over, my Love.
8l
Carnegie reached New York on December 12th, so weak
from typhoid that it was deemed wise to take him to the home
of Dr. Dennis, where he lay for five days before he could see
Miss Whitfield. That Christmas, however, was a happy one.
There is such a deep peace in my heart, she wrote in her diary
on the last day of the year, that I cannot be cast down.
The original intention was to send Carnegie to the south of
France for his recuperation; he intended to return about the
middle of June. But for several years Andrew's brother had
had a fine estate on the coast of Georgia. So far as climate and
natural beauty were concerned, the place had alI the advantages
of southern France; moreover, it was more retired, away from
the world and better suited to Carnegie for convalescence. In
mid-January, 1887, Carnegie, with his physician Dr. Garmany,
left for this retreat. Here he spent about two months, in that
slow recuperation which always follows typhoid fever. Early
in April he returned to New York, completely restored to
health.
It seems appropriate to quote from Carnegie's Autobiogr~
phy his tender account of the long-delayed winning of the
woman he was about to marry:
For several years I had known Miss Louise Whitfield. Her
mother permitted her to ride with me in Central Park. We were
both fond of riding. Other young ladies were on my list. I had fine
horses and often rode in the Park and around New York with one
or the other of the circle. In the end the others all faded into ordi-
nary beings . . .
My advances met with indifferent success. She was not without
other and younger admirers. My wealth and future plans were
against me. I was rich and had everything and she felt she could
82
CRISIS
be of little use or benefit to me. Her ideal was to be the real help-
meet of a young struggling man to whom she could and would be
indispensable, as her mother had been to her father. The care of her
own family had largely fallen upon her after her father's death
when she was twenty-one. She was now twenty-eight; her views of
life were formed. At times she seemed more favorable and we cor-
responded. Once, however, she returned my letters saying she felt
she must put aside all thought of accepting me ... I had written
her the first words from Cresson I was able to write. She saw now
that I needed her. I was left alone in the world. Now she could be
in every sense the "helpmeet." Both her heart and head were now
willing and the day was fixed . . .
·5·
/!Uddin! )tir cAbtfJaJ:

If}-o-nchntck and /!..il!ta,do-n
Louise Whitfield and Andrew Carnegie were married at
about eight o'clock in the evening of April 22, 1887, at the
home of the bride, 35 West 48th Street, New York. It was a
quiet wedding.
In the few preceding years most of Miss Whitfield's friends
had been married with elaborate ceremonies-at which she
herself had usually assisted as bridesmaid; but her own cere-
mony had no maid-of-honor or best man or ushers, or any of
the customary trappings. The bride's wedding dress was merely
a gray traveling gown. The procession was informal, consisting
of Carnegie, with Mrs. Whitfield on his arm, Miss Estelle and
Master Harry-twelve years old-and Miss Whitfield, on the
arm of her grandfather, George Buckmaster Whitfield.
The marriage ritual was that prescribed by the Universalist
Church and was performed by Miss Whitfield's pastor and
close personal friend, Dr. Charles H. Eaton. Only the relatives
and most intimate friends of the bride and groom, a total of
about thirty witnesses, were in attendance. By this simplicity,
Carnegie and Miss Whitfield paid a final tribute of respect to
85
his mother and his brother Tom who had died so recently.
Less than an hour after the service, the couple entered their
carriage and were driven to the pier of the North German
Lloyd Line, where they went aboard the steamship Fulda, for
their honeymoon in England and Scotland.
An important event had preceded the ceremony. One must
have been struck, in reading the letters exchanged between
Carnegie and his future bride, by the almost complete absence
of any references to money. We should never guess, so far as
these letters were concerned, that Carnegie was one of the
richest Americans of his day and generally acknowledged to
be the world's greatest iron-master. An inventory of his assets
made in 1890 indicates accumulations of about $15,000,000,
and at the time of his marriage he was already distributing
libraries with a free hand.
His intention of using almost his entire fortune, in his own
lifetime, for public purposes, had already been definitely
formed. That his fiancee completely sympathized with his am-
bitions, and was willing to marry him on this understanding,
circumstances both before the marriage and subsequent to it
abundantly disclose. On the day of their wedding, therefore,
the two signed a marriage settlement. This recited that:
. . . the said Andrew Carnegie is possessed of a very large amount
of property, both real and personal, within the state of Pennsylvania
and elsewhere, and said Louise Whitfield is fully advised as to the
amount and value of said property and of the rights which would
accrue to her under the laws of New York, Pennsylvania and other
states in case she should survive said Andrew Carnegie, all of which
matters have been fully disclosed to her; ... the said Andrew
Carnegie desires and intends to devote the bulk of his estate to char-
86
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
itable and educational purposes and said Louise Whitfield
pathizes and agrees with him in said desire and fully approves of
said intention.
Louise Whitfield renounced all claims to the share of Andrew
Carnegie's estate which would have been hers by "right of
dower or other right whatsoever under the intestate laws or
any other laws of any state or country."
In consideration for this abnegation, Carnegie gave his bride
a mass of stocks and bonds, which would produce an income
of $20,000 a year-a handsome provision in that taxless and
inflationless era. This sum became her absolute property-to
spend in any way she pleased-or to bequeath by will. In
tion to this, Carnegie gave his wife as wedding present the
house, No. 5 West 51st Street, adjoining the Vanderbilt
lishment on Fifth A venue, which he had recently purchased
from Collis P. Huntington for about $200,000. What this
ment really meant was that Louise Whitfield had made herself
a partner with Andrew Carnegie in the use of his "surplus
wealth" for the public good. The tenacity and fidelity with
which she clung to this role will appear as the narrative proceeds.
The voyage on the Fulda, the crack German liner of the
day, proved smooth and easy; Carnegie had had set aside the
captain's and general officers' rooms, and his wife, the memory
still fresh of her rough crossing thirteen years before, turned
out to be a good sailor. Naturally entertained by the interest
which the presence of the Carnegies aroused in the other
sengers, she was pleased to be given the seat of honor at the
captain's table, with her husband at her side; he presided over
the ship's concert with his usual felicity, and the two entered
joyously into the amenities of life on shipboard.
87
The first thing Mrs. Carnegie did on stepping aboard was
to sit down and write her mother, sending off the letter by
the pilot. All through the voyage, she kept a kind of diary
account of her doings, so that, by the time the ship reached
Southampton, she had another bulky letter, which was dis-
patched to "the dear ones at home."
The first destination of the pair was Bonchurch, on the Isle of
Wight. They reached this beautiful resort on the second of May.
Mrs. Carnegie was charmed with the place, with its beautiful
hotel, its walks, its literary and historic associations, above all
with its wild flowers. I
Andrew Carnegie recalled in his Autobiography: "Her de-

light was intense in finding the wild flowers. She had read of
wandering willie, heartsease, forget-me-nots, the primrose,
the wild thyme, and the whole list of homely names that had
been to her only names till now. Everything charmed her."
She wrote her mother the day after reaching the Island:
I must send you the first English wild flowers I have gathered .
. . . We arrived at this delightful spot last evening. You should
see us at our meals in our cosy parlor, with grate fire burning,
bright flowers everywhere and such a glorious view of the sea from
our windows. We can sit at table and look out to sea at the ships
crossing to France. This morning after breakfast we took a lovely
walk, first around the grounds of the hotel, which are beautiful
beyond description, where the first thing which attracted our atten-
tion was the American flag, floating from a high knoll near the
house-of course in our honor, announcing our arrival. It was most
touching, I can assure you.
We visited the little Bonchurch, the smallest in England, with
88
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
its beautiful, peaceful churchyard, where many noted men lie
buried. A most interesting elderly woman in charge gave us most
of the flowers I enclose. The blue flower, which we have always
called myrtle, is really the periwinkle, while the English myrtle is
a shrub-this small fine leaf-and has a white flower. The season
is backward, yet there is the greatest profusion of flowers, every-
where; the primroses and wallflowers growing wild would delight
you beyond everything. This afternoon we took a long drive, visit-
ing another part of the coast, and walking through a most beautiful
glen called Shanklin Chine-Chine means glen or valley. Every-
thing is so delightfully quaint.
While at breakfast yesterday in Southampton we received a lovely
bouquet from a gentleman who crossed with us; it was such a
pretty attention. But such an English bouquet as it wasl-made up
with such precision and trimmed with white lace. We had time
in the morning to drive to old Netley Abbey; it was my first
glimpse of lovely England and you know all I mean by that. We
arrived at Bonchurch at about five o'clock and at the very thresh-
old of the hotel your cable was handed us. "All well and rejoicing."
I had not hoped for it so soon and it made me feel almost as though
I had seen you. It brought you so near to have these words from
you as we entered our first home. Andrew was delighted with the
cable; he said it expressed so much and every now and then he
repeated the words to me, making me so happy .•.
In the midst of writing this letter, the bride was thinking

of her husband's relatives in Dunfermline, whom she had never
met, and who could have had no idea that he intended to
marry. She had seen Andrew send off a cablegram to them
asking them to prepare a Scottish home for his bride and him-
self but naturally she was nervous as to whether they would
89
like her unreservedly. The relatives were the family of George
Lauder, Andrew's uncle, who kept the shop in High Street,
Dunfermline.
The bride's letter to the home folks continued:
We already talk of our Scotch home. Uncle Lauder and his
daughter Maggie are coming next week. We will hear what they
have to say, for they have been looking at houses for us and we
will then decide. We are already counting on the pleasure of select-
ing in London the things we may need for our Scotch home, thus
having many things ready for 51st Street. I have been so amused,
John has just put tags on my trunks as follows: I "Mrs. Andrew
Carnegie, NO.5 W. 51st." I believe John is as delighted as we all
are. Doesn't it seem almost too good to be true? I am convinced
this side of the wa.ter is the best place for Andrew to spend his sum-
mers. He already sleeps and eats as he has not done before in a
year, and the benefit to him is marvelous. It is impossible for me
to make you understand how lovely this place is. You must come
and see for yourself some day. Therefore can you imagine anything
more lovely-summers here and winters not alone in New York
but actually in NO.5 West Fifty-first Street? ...
The heat and turmoil of New York summers would eventu-

ally make the Carnegies regular summer residents in Scotland.
This letter has been written with many interruptions. It is now
May 5. We have been walking and driving and having such a won-
derful time. This morning we sat for a long time on the cliffs,
overlooking the sea; the air so warm arid genial, we seem to drink
in health at every breath. The rest and quiet after the tumult of
the winter sink into my very soul. Heard a lark sing for the first
time yesterday-in fact all the birds seem to be holding high
carnival ...
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
I wish you could look in on us tonight. Weare both writing in
the most serious way, like settled married people. I have donned
my "little home dress" for the second time. It is still cool here and I
find my heavy things comfortable. We have a fire in our parlor.
Give love to Grandma and tell her I see many old ladies who re-
mind me of her driving around in the queerest little donkey car-
riages.
May 12, 1887
. . . It is strange that we both seem in the same dazed way. I
have not awakened from my delightful dream yet; each day is
more entrancing than the last; and yet I have slipped so easily into
this new life there is nothing strange in it. We had a most happy
week together here, and then, as we were anxious to hear about
our Scotch home, we sent for Uncle Lauder and his daughter
Maggie to come down and report. We have several plans under
contemplation and shall decide now in a few days. . . .
. . . U nde Lauder is most cordial and Maggie Lauder is so very
pleasant. They brought me a pretty ecru plaid shawl with a sweet
note from "Aunt Lauder," and I felt at home with them at once.
Maggie felt that I would come between Andrew and them, but
she has told him privately that her fears are at rest now. We have
accepted the Provost of Edinburgh's invitation to visit him while
in Edinburgh, as you will see by the paper sent you today. Andrew
is to lay the cornerstone of the library and be presented with the
freedom of the city. I expect there will be grand timesl
The next note relates to the future unveiling of a statue of
Scott at Stirling-a Carnegie gift.
What do you think of your daughter's presenting the statue of
Sir Walter Scott? Little did I think when I was reciting The Lady
of the Lake years ago that I should ever see this day. When Andrew
suggested it, I was delighted to fall in with it. In a letter received
91
today I am told a special meeting of the Custodians was called and
the proposition was received with acclamation! I expected to be
well known but never thought I should have greatness thrust upon
me quite so soon. I begin to see I must in some measure lead a
more worldly life. MyoId conscientious way of attending to details
must be given up. Numerous letters are coming, all of which take
all my spare time to answer and it is not easy writing to strangers.
May 13, 1887

I began writing last evening after a most happy day's outing. We
started after breakfast, six of us in two carriages, and drove to Ryde,
twelve miles distant, where we lunched and returned in the after-
noon. A more delightful drive could not be imagined, through
avenues of tall elms and hedgerows bright with yellow primroses.
Such clusters would drive you wild! The air is cool and bracing
and we would get out and walk, gathering handfuls of primroses
and wild hyacinths, such as I enclose. En route we visited the site
of an old Roman villa, built in the third century. The mosaic floor-
ing is intact in some places and I managed to secure a small piece
for Harry.
The temptation to remain in this spot was strong, but en-

gagements in other parts of the British Isles were even more
tempting. Chief of the waiting attractions was their new home
in Scotland. With the aid of the Lauder family, they had leased
Kilgraston House, near historic and rarely beautiful Perth, for
their summer residence. It was situated in the Valley of the
Tay, and there they would dwell in a large country house and
enjoy a spacious lawn :md well-kept gardens and shady walks.
And they would always breathe in the winds from the High-
lands.
It was a prospect that made them both impatient to begin
92
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
residing there, but certain pleasurable commitments must be
observed before they could settle down.
London, above all, was an important place in the summer
of 1887. The city was preparing to celebrate the Golden Jubilee
of the reign of Queen Victoria. Carnegie, during the sojourn
in the Isle of Wight, had written a vigorous letter to a com-
mittee in New York which had asked for a subscription to a
fund to observe the great occasion in that city-a letter in which
he trounced the proponents of the American celebration and
emphatically declined to contribute.
"I am an American citizen and a very staunch Republican,"
he wrote ... "I should stultify myself were I to celebrate the
reign of any hereditary ruler. 'I was born as free as Caesar.'''
However, the approaching spectacle promised to be a good
show and Carnegie had engaged advantageous rooms in the
Metropole Hotel from which he and his friends could view
the royal procession. Other friends were calling him to Lon-
don. A letter from Lord Rosebery came asking him to bring
Mrs. Carnegie for a visit to his home Mentmore, at Leighton
Buzzard.
Among the first callers on the Carnegies in London were
Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. Louise Carnegie saw at once why
her husband regarded Gladstone with profound respect and
admiration, and this same occasion unexpectedly brought her
a chance to take the measure, in her woman's way, of Joseph
Chamberlain, whom Andrew considere<:l the coming leader of
Democracy in Britain.
The Carnegies and the Gladstones were getting on swim-
mingly when an incident occurred that, in less diplomatic
hands than Carnegie's, might have proved embarrassing. Joseph
93
Chamberlain was suddenly announced! He had come mainly
to pay his respects to the wife of his old friend of the early
eighties, but Gladstone and. Chamberlain at this time were not
on the most friendly footing; however, they laid aside their
political differences, talked on general and harmless subjects,
and the occasion passed without disturbing incident.
A few days afterward Gladstone sent Carnegie a full state-
ment of Liberal finances, a curious document which is still
preserved in the Carnegie papers. As a result of the departure
of rich contributing Liberals, the party chest was practically
empty and work had been all but suspended: Could not Mr.
Carnegie come to their assistance? He responded at once with
a check for $25,000, a sum in those days quite unprecedented,
which enabled the party to enter the forthcoming election with
good prospects of success.
To her "dear ones at home" Mrs. Carnegie found time to
write hurriedly of the Victorian Jubilee Week and the social
experiences that came to her. On June 10, she wrote:
It is after I I P. M., and I have only time for a few linenonight.
Have had friends to dinner. We have been here a week and are in
a constant whirl. Have met more celebrities than I can count-the
poet Robert Browning, and Edwin Arnold, writer John Morley-
and spent the day with Lord and Lady Rosebery at their place at
Mentmore. Sunday we spent with the novelist William Black.
Am charmed with all I meet, they are all so delightful, but the
constant rush confuses me and I som~times scarcely know whether
I am on my head or my heels. People to lunch and dinner every
day. I like it but my head doesn't stand it. It will though when I
get used to it! Am trying to do a little shopping, which is a great
annoyance. Drove out today in my new bonnet and wrap; very
94
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
dignified and lovely but I shall do my shopping in New York in
future. Took luncheon with Mrs. Moscheles, the artist's wife; wore
my heliotrope suit for first time; they almost turned my head with
their compliments. Had Lord Carnegie, head of the clan, and his
brother and cousin to dinner.
Her husband's amazing energy was disconcerting at times.
She wrote on the same occasion:
Well, Mother Mine, we are in the whirl, nothing but a rush and
a bang all the while. I begin to experience the realities of life now
and oh! how I do long for Mother! I am not a bit homesick but
I begin to realize how much a man wants and how important it is
for a woman not to have any wants or wishes of her own.
We shall be so glad to get to Kilgraston. Have been out looking
at pictures all the morning, have come home so tired. Friends are
waiting for luncheon in other room. I am supposed to be dressing,
so I must finish hurriedly. Andrew and I are both tired out. Lon-
don does not agree with us; This is a grumbly sort of letter but it
has done me good to write it.
Soon after she wrote:
London, S. W., June 21, 1887
Well, Mother Darling, my last word from London goes to you.
We leave in the morning about noon for Wolverhampton where
we are to stay two days and then to Bedford to spend Sunday with
friends and then up to Kilgraston for a good rest before going to
Edinburgh. The festivities there are to be on the 7, 8, and 9 of July.
On the day of the laying of the cornerstone the workmen are to
line the streets from the Lord Provost's house, where we shall stay,
to the library site. The Lord Provost and Lady Clark, who are here
for the Jubilee, say the reception given to Royalty is nothing com-
pared to that which tney will give Andrew-the Scotch are so
enthusiastic. So do think of us at that time!
95
Well, this is the Jubilee day. I am writing while walung for
dinner. With our usual good fortune we had four large windows
in our rooms, commanding one of the finest views of the procession
in London. We invited about forty people who all stayed to lunch
and the consequence is we are literally worn out tonight . . . .
I wish I could write at length of our pleasant afternoon at the
Gladstones' garden party. Mrs. Gladstone is delightful and showed
me so much attention sitting down and having a long chat with
me. Was introduced to the dark Queen of the Sandwich Islands-
she is very ladylike. Mr. and Mrs. Blaine are here and went with
us to garden party. I like them so very much . . .
After the Jubilee, the couple went to Wolverhampton to

visit the Grahams. Louise wrote her mother:
Mr. Graham is manager of a prominent newspaper there which
Andrew largely owns and the employees determined to give him
a dinner and present to him an illuminated address of welcome in
honor of his marriage. I supposed it was a men's affair and never
gave myself any concern about it when what was my surprise on
arriving about 5 :30 to be informed that I was expected to go too.
I was quite delighted. Annie flew around and dressed me in my
maudre (as there were only to be five or six ladies present). The
dinner was held in the large Drill Hall, the largest in town, and
on Mr. Graham's arm I was the first to enter the room where were
seated about 150 employees. Andrew followed with Mrs. Graham
and the men immediately rose and cheered while the brass band
played the Coronation March.
The next visit was to the James Howards, of Clapham Park,

Bedford. They were old friends of Andrew and he knew his
bride would enjoy what the visit gave her-a taste of the
English family life of a representative home. In her enthusiastic
96
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
letter home describing this visit, she referred to the gay days in
London:
The life was perfectly fascinating. We were hand in glove with
Mr. and Mrs. Blaine and their two daughters. Mrs. Blaine was so
pleasant and motherly my heart warmed to her. Mr. Blaine was
politeness itself to me (you know he is noted for his gallantry)
and really I felt sorry to leave them. We went from there direct
to Wolverhampton to visit Mr. and Mrs. Graham.
Before the busy couple could settle down in Kilgraston, im-

portant ceremonies were awaiting them in Edinburgh. Car-
negie's library-giving career had just begun. He had already
presented buildings to Dunfermline, to Allegheny, Pittsburgh,
and Braddock, Pennsylvania, and now Edinburgh was next in
line for a library.
That eminent city had planned an elaborate celebration,
lasting two days, in honor of the laying of the foundation
stone. In his speech accepting the freedom of the city of Edin-
burgh, Carnegie referred to the inspiration of his gift:
One day walking the streets of Edinburgh I saw the return in
which the citizens declared they would not support a free library
in the city. I said to myself, with a little bite of the lip, I will make
this city reverse that vote.
An offer of $250,000 for a library building was the charm

that had caused Edinburgh to change its mind.
In the ceremonies Mrs. Carnegie was a little startled to find
herself a conspicuous figure. In the Council chamber she was
placed in full view on one side of the presiding officer, Car-
negie being on the other. After the freedom of the city had
97
been conferred on Andrew, Lord Rosebery rose and proposed
her health:
I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Carnegie so intimately
as I have Mr. Carnegie; but I know enough of her to feel sure that
she deserves the happy life that she is destined to lead with her
distinguished husband; and I know, moreover, of him that as he
has been the best of sons he is not unlikely to turn out the best of
husbands.
Carnegie amidst frequent applause, replied for his wife, re~

ferring to the enthusiasm she was already rpanifesting for
everything Scottish:
I am glad to be able to say, upon her authority, that, high as her
opinion has always been of Scotland-for Walter Scott has thrown
around the youth of every American woman a halo of romance-
devoted as she has been to Scotland, I am able to tell you that she
finds in Perthshire all that she imagined of this country has been
exceeded ten fold.
I begin to see in her the great danger that exists in all converts
-she is beginning to out-Herod her husband in her love and devo-
tion to Scotland. There is no tartan she sees that she does not want
to wear. She could not find any Carnegie tartan, but Lord Carnegie
told her when in London that there was a draper in Arbroath that
made the Carnegie tartan and today I saw a letter from that draper
thanking Mrs. Carnegie for her large order.
Only today when she was up at the Castle of Edinburgh, she
whispered to me, "Oh, I know we want the pipers at Kilgraston,"
and she has already her eye on the two magnificent specimens
which we saw in the Lord Provost's rooms. She has asked me to
inquire on what terms the larger man of the two could be obtained.
But, ladies and gentlemen, believe me that my wife is as, thoroughly
98
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
Scotch already as I am myself, and I leave it to your imagination
to say what she will become when she lives here as long as I have
had the pleasure of living among you.
In the evening, at the Synod Hall, the working men of Edin-

burgh presented an address to Carnegie; at this meeting the
bride found herself a center of attention. Her on the
arm of the chairman, was the occasion of a prolonged demon-
stration. After the presentation to Carnegie, Mr. Walter Fair-
bairn crossed the stage to Mrs. Carnegie and presented a brooch
of cairngorm and Scotch pebbles set in gold to the approval
of the cheering audience. Next day, at the laying of the
cornerstone, Carnegie proved equal to the occasion: after per-
forming the duty, he deposited the silver trowel in his wife's
lap. That Mrs. Carnegie thoroughly enjoyed these demonstra-
tions her letters show.
Correspondence was frequent between the bride and the
folks in America. Her letters home disclose how strong the tie
was between her mother and herself; she healed her nostalgia
by the confidences and descriptions she sent Mrs. Whitfield.
Kilgraston, July la, 1887
My own dear Mother-
Well the conquering hero is once more at home. Our reception.
exceeded anything I ever experienced (ever saw given to a private
individual) or could ever imagine. It equalled the receptions given
to our Presidents ... It is all right enough for Andrew but im-
agine me, who three months ago was not known, riding in the
carriage with Mr. Blaz'ne, who for once had to take a back seat. I
had to bow right and left in response to the cheers with which we
were greeted from thousands who lined the streets. Every window
was crowded to the fifth and sixth stories and American flags dis·
99
played everywhere. Andrew followed with the Lord Provost alone,
preceded and followed by out-riders. But coming home, I rode by
my own husband's side-a proud woman, I assure you. On OUr
way to the Library our carriage was stopped and a man carrying
a little baby in whose hands was a large bouquet came up and
presented it to me, the crowds cheering all the time. Imagine it if
you can.
Andrew made three speeches in two days and acquitted himself
grandly. I never heard him speak better or appear so much at his
ease before an audience and everything he said brought the cheers,
I can tell you. We left Edinburgh last night at 8 P.M. and arrived
home at 10.30. At every station crowds collected and cheered and
then pressed up to the car window to shake hands with Andrew,
one old man peering into his face and exclaiming, "Are you the
real Andrew Carnegie?"
Our marriage was often alluded to and many were the congratu-
lations and wishes for out happiness we received. We now have
lots of treasures, the working men's address, the trowel, etc. are all
works of art-while the brooch the working men gave me is a
beauty. Imagine me seated on a platform facing 3000 people and
a nice white-haired old man coming up to me and presenting me
with the brooch. I was so excited I do not remember what he said
but he finished by patting me on the back and saying-"And we
are awful glad he has got such a good wife." ...
Then came a garden note:

We have had rain and Kilgraston is looking splendidly. We
visited our garden this afternoon and such quantities of fruit as we
sawl Black, white and red currants, gooseberries-huge ones such
as Scotland is famous for, raspberries-and such strawberriesI They
even rival those of Oyster Bay and with cream from our two r.ows
so thick we cannot pour it but have to use a spoon to dip i~ out-
100
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
we certainly ought to get strong and fat. Lady Clark, the Provost's
wife, said I was looking much better than when in Lol'ldon, so I am
sure Kilgraston will agree with us.
We had our coach out twice last week. It is a beauty-we cele-
brated the Fourth by taking it out for the first time. Uncle Lauder
came and took lunch with us and brought an American and Eng-
lish flag with which we decorated the dining room and we tried
to make the day as patriotic as possible . . .
Tell Harry that Sister thinks of him whenever she sees the trout
darting through the pretty burn which winds through our grounds
almost within stone's throw of the house, and tell Ted I selected
a Scotch brooch for her in Edinburgh. Give lots of love to Grandma,
Aunt Lucy, and everybody and with the largest share for my own
dear Mamma ...
This letter reveals Mrs. Carnegie had to become accustomed

to Andrew's lavish hospitality:
Kilgraston, Sunday, July 17/87
Well, Mother darling, as some of the party have gone to church
and others are in their rooms I have shut myself in my little sitting
room to have a little chat with you. Somehow Sundays I feel more
lonely than any other day of the week. I miss the old sweet routine
and the great change in my life comes over me more then than
at any other time. Andrew is sweet and lovely all the time but he
is so very different from every other human being. There is not the
first particle of pretense about him-he is so thoroughly honest.
Well, our house is now full. Tomorrow we expect to sit seven-
teen at table. The Blaines, Hales, Hays, and Alex King are here
and tomorrow come the Palmers and Iddings. I really have no
actual care but it oppresses me to have so many people around. I
see very little of them except at table and while we are driving
but it all seems so very sudden; there has been no growth, no
101
gradual transition. I seem to be leading two lives-outwardly I am
the mature married woman, while inwardly I am trying to recon-
cile the old and the new life. I get awfully blue sometimes but I
know it is very wrong to indulge in this feeling and above all to
write it to you, but, Mother dear, I feel so much better for it. I
suppose today it is reaction after so much excitement. Mrs. Blaine
I like extremely; every now and then she says a motherly word
to me which sinks way down deep into my heart I can tell you ...
Fortunately, Louise had no servant problem:

Annie is a perfect treasure-helping me in every way. English
l
servants are so strict about their duties but Annie just fills in all
the gaps and does everything and anything and all in such a cheer-
ful way. I get in many tight places, but I wriggle out of them and
the ladies all compliment me on my management.
However strange my outward life may sometimes seem, Andrew
and I are growing more arid more together every day. We snatch
so many happy moments together and he is so much more thought-
ful in little things than he was before we were married. He takes
keen delight in all my pleasures and is so thoughtful of my wel-
fare. You need have no anxiety, Mother; I have a husband who
knows how to take good care of me.
Last week ten of us drove to Dunfermline, about twenty-five
miles. It was a most interesting visit to me, and Andrew showed
me the old Abbey, the place in which he used to sit in church and
all the places associated with his childhood, the Carnegie Library,
Carnegie baths, etc. People congregated wherever we went and
gave us a hearty welcome. We stayed over night at Uncle Lauder's.
They invited all the principal people of the city to meet us in the
evening and the next morning, after visiting two linen factories
and purchasing quantities of beautiful linen, we drove back to
102
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
Kilgraston in the afternoon passing over the wildest moors and
loveliest glens imaginable. . . .
The first gong has sounded for luncheon so I must stop, but I
must tell you of our Piper . We really have him in full Highland
costume. He plays every morning on the lawn to waken us and to
summon us to dinner and during dinner. It is most thrilling, I can
assure you, to hear the Scotch reels, laments, etc. How you would
enjoy it!
I tell people lowe a good deal of my love of Scotland to you.
You used to sing Scotch songs to me when a child. Some people
tried to sing Annie Laurie the other day but I hear a very different
voice in my ears . . . I feel a thousand times better than when I
began to write so you will forgive me pouring out my heart to you.
News-letters like the following one gave her home folks

much to talk of:
On Tuesday we took the coach to Kinghorn thirty miles away
and attended the ceremonies of unveiling a statue of Alexander III,
Czar of Russia, and the opening of a public park. Andrew and Mr.
Blaine spoke and we had a right royal reception. We remained
over night with Mr. Shepherd at Rossend Castle, a lovely old house
covered with ivy. The room Andrew and I occupied was built 800
years ago and Mary Queen of Scots slept in it many times. Many
legends are connected with the room; the place where secret stairs
were originally is shown. . . .
Yesterday we coached fifty miles through the most beautiful
country . We had a nice luncheon put up and stopped on the moors
right among the heather and spread our luncheon in the shadow
of a large rock. Such appetites! and such fun! They told funny
stories, recited poetry and sang Scotch and American songs, while
great frowning cliffs with not a tree in sight looked down upon
103
us and the burnie rushed past while we sang My Country 'Tis at
Thee and ended by singing Auld Lang Syne in the spirited manner
in which you know Andrew can do it.
It was Mrs. Palmer's birthday and we drank her healtli; and
then Mr. Blaine proposed "Our Princess Louise" (meaning me) to
which they all responded most cordially. Andrew recited a piece
of poetry about the burnie in the impressive way he has and thrilled
his audience and altogether it was a most memorable occasion. We
reached home at 8,30 and after a hearty dinner continued our song~
and recitations until midnight. Yet with all this we are not tired,
in fact, feel fresher and better for the fun.
By now, Mrs. Carnegie was getting accustomed to having

many guests:
We now number eighteen at table; funl pouring coffee for so
many I Mrs. Blaine declares she would not do it, but I can't bear
to give it up. We have a delicious table, everything the finest and
best. Our cook is a perfect treasure and with fresh fruit more than
we can use and fresh vegetables, I have already gained eight pounds.
I was III when we arrived at Isle of Wight and now I am II9.
Andrew looks ten years younger, everybody says, and it really
would do your heart good to see his clear complexion and, bright
eyes and the sweet happy look in his face. Mother darling, I be-
lieve he becomes dearer to me every day of our lives. Of course
this big life is not altogether one I would choose. I like my own
ease and comfort too much, but it is the life I need to crush out
my selfishness and as long as Andrew and I are so thoroughly
united I never can be otherwise than the happiest woman alive. No
one, not even you, can begin to imagine the sweetness of that man's
disposition.
We have young Courtlandt Palmer with us, a lad of fifteen-one
of the most superb musicians you ever heard. How Ted would en-
104
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
joy his playing. We have concerts every evening-Wagner, Bee-
thoven, Chopin, etc. I tell you it is a treat.
I wish I could describe this lovely place. Just now roses are in
full bloom around one of my windows with white jessamine around
the next one filling the room with the most delicious perfume. The
beautiful lawn in front where we play tennis and the Scotch game
of bowls, lovely shady walks on one side and in the distance a new
mown field with haycocks. Ohl why aren't you all here to enjoy it
too?
The love of freedom that is the long-rooted, unconquerable

sentiment in Scotland, the spirit of individuality that makes
Scottish and American sympathies as one, was being driven
home to the American woman by the atmosphere she breathed.
Andrew Carnegie was repeating to her what he had said in
his Autobiography: "Wallace, of course, was our hero. Every-
thing heroic centered in him."
Out of Carnegie's first earnings in the United States he had
sent home a contribution to a monument for Sir William Wal-
lace. He recalled his talk with Emperor William of Germany,
and how he had answered the monarch when the latter said
that he liked the Scottish hero, Robert the Bruce: ce •• " But
Bruce was more than a king, Your Majesty, he was the leader
of his people. And not the first ; Wallace the man of the people
comes first."
From girlhood, Louise Whitfield had been familiar with the
heroes of Scotland. She had read about them in Jane Porter's
classic, Scottish Chiefs, and now she was encouraging her
young brother to read the inspiring book: "I hope Harry re-
ceived the Scottish Chiefs. The very hill where Wallace hid
we pass every time we drive to Perth."
105
The management of a large country house did not prove too
exacting. "It's easy to keep house," she sententiously confided
to her mother, "if you have plenty of servants-and plenty of
money."
Her Dunfermline relatives had stocked Kilgraston House
with twenty of the former, with all of whom Mrs. Carnegie
soon established the friendliest relations and several of whom
remained with her, in Scotland and New York, for the rest of
their days. Here she first found Mrs. Nicoll, her housekeeper,
who performed the same service of half upper-servant, half
friend, for the next twenty-five years. With all her love of
music and flowers, Mrs. Carnegie had an extremely practical
side, and the attention she gave to the details of housekeeping,
expressed in the minute instructions as to the furnishing of
her New York home on Fifty-first Street were a matter of end-
less amusement to her husband.
She continued to write Mrs. Whitfield regularly every Sun-
day reassuring her of her happiness as to her husband and
environment.
There was a pleasant reciprocity between the couple -as to

their relatives. The wife sincerely shared Andrew's affection
for kinfolk, and he enjoyed having her family about him.
Pleasant glimpses of Andrew Carnegie in relation to his "in-
laws" appear in the wife's chatty notes:
I am glad Grandma liked her letter. Andrew insisted upon my
telegraphing her on her birthday; I tried to do so but they did not
understand the address, so I folded the telegram as I wrote it and
sent it by post. I think if Grandma and you could just see Andrew
there would be little doubt as to his being happy. Yes, Mother, it is
106
WEDDING TRIP ABROAD
a go; as Andrew says: "Happily married-two words fraught with
the deepest meaning in the world."
You are a dear brave Mother and knowing your tender heart I
also know the effort you make to be cheerful, and, Darling, An-
drew loves you for it as well as I do . . .
Another Sunday letter to her mother gives this description

of an outstanding day during their summer at Kilgraston:
Yesterday took place one of the pleasantest events of our entire
summer. There is a fine orchestra in Perth composed of the men
working in Pullar's Dye Works. They are all great Radicals in poli-
tics and greatly admire Andrew. They sent to ask us if we would
permit them to come to Kilgraston and play for us. We appointed
yesterday afternoon; we sent notes to all our neighbors and the
minister of the parish (a nice old Scotchman, by the way, who is
very friendly to us) went to all the cottagers and invited them to
come listen to the music.
The afternoon was a glorious one, the bright sun shining on the
beautiful green lawn in front of the house, with the children danc-
ing in rings, formed a picture never to be forgotten. The carpenters
put up tables on the lawn and we served tea, bread and butter, and
cake to fully four hundred people. Everyone of our twenty serv-
ants turned out, coachmen and all, to serve the people and a pret-
tier sight you never beheld. Young people and old, men, women
and children came. They came even from Perth by train. . . .
During intermission our piper played, marching up and down
the lawn in the most stately manner and then the band played for
him to dance which he does most gracefully. When the programme
was finished Mr. Wells, the minister, made an excellent speech,
thanking us for the invitation and then all the servants and cot-
tagers danced Scotch reels on the lawn. That finished, the Band-
master stepped up and presented Andrew with a photograph of
107
the band-neatly framed-and Andrew responded with a very neat
and telling speech. By that time it was growing dark and cold and
the people reluctantly dispersed. So ended a most happy afternoon.
The servants entered into it with such zest and were so happy.
Mrs. Nicoll made all the arrangements for extra dishes and every-
thing without any trouble to me. Truly she is an exceptional woman
and manages everything so quietly. She is looking forward to meet-
ing you with so much pleasure; she says she shall feel at home the
minute she sees you. Truly, Mother, my cup runneth over. Andrew,
who has just looked over my shoulder, says to put "our cup run-
neth over," That is indeed it •••
108
·6.
c:£ummet;J at Cfult'j Ca;Jtie
There was happy excitement when the couple returned to

New York in the autumn. They drove at once to Mrs. Whit-
field's house on Forty-eighth Street, and dined with the as-
sembled family. Long into the night they sat there, telling
fascinating tales of their travels.
Mrs. Nicoll, who had preceded them from Scotland, prepared
the house on West Fifty-first Street for their reception. They
entered a hall bright and fragrant with flowers. Adequate and
comfortable for their life then, they began a fifteen-year resi-
dence there.
The Carnegie house was notable for its bookish atmosphere.
The library was the most spacious room in the residence, and
was furnished with rich and harmonizing refinement.
It occupied the entire front of the second story of the house,
or, more properly, three rooms thrown together to house the
collection of books, journals, and literary trophies. Here at his
desk, a secretary handy, Carnegie wrote magazine articles for
Century Magazine, The North American Review, The Forum,
The Youth's Companion, and other periodicals.
Ever since Carnegie in 1867 left Pittsburgh for New York,
he had had no home of his own; after twenty years of hotel
life, he at last had a home. His devotion to it-and to the joy-
109
ous woman who was creating it-became marked. In the early
years of his marriage he was forced to spend a good deal of
time in Pittsburgh, but he wrote or telegraphed her every day.
Sometimes, in the midst of board meetings, he would scribble
on scratch paper; his fellows would think that he was taking
notes, but in reality he was writing to his wife. The theme was
always the same: his loneliness, his desire to get home:
Oh, Lou, you don't know how happy I am, thinking of you be-
. tween the chinks as it were. It's all so different since I have a real
home to return to. I am the most fortunate man iIl' the world-but
they all tell me that!
Carnegie's connections in America and Scotland had become

devoted admirers of his wife. Lucy Coleman Carnegie, widow
of Carnegie's brother Tom, became her lifetime friend, and all
Lucy's nine children dearly loved their new Aunt Louise.
When Lucy Coleman married Tom Carnegie she was petite,
sparkling, and spirited in conversation-just the right com-
panion for her quiet, thoughtful husband. When prosperity
came, Tom purchased the estate "Dungeness on Cumberland
Island, off the Georgia coast-an historic spot, the burial-place
of Light-Horse Harry Lee and other celebrities. In 1887
Andrew had spent his convalescence here; and every year,
usually in early winter, the Andrew Carnegies spent several
weeks at Dungeness, while Mrs. Tom and her brood were
always favored guests at Cluny. Lucy and Andrew were quite
a pair. Though fond of each other, their disputations would
almost rock the house; she was one of the persons who could
meet Carnegie on fairly equal terms. She was always confiding
110
SUMMERS AT CLUNY CASTLE
in her "sister," as she called Mrs. Andrew, admiring the
younger woman's good sense and poise.
And in Dunfermline, Scotland, there was the dan Lauder
-the tenderest tie attaching Carnegie to his native Scotland.
When Andrew was· a small boy in Dunfermline, it was Unde
Lauder who inspired him with Scottish history, and implanted
in the lad the love of Burns, Bruce, and Wallace. Andrew and
Uncle Lauder's son George were playmates; from childhood
George called Andrew "Naig" and Andrew called his cousin
"Dod"; these nicknames remained until the end of their days.
Uncle Lauder conducted a grocer's shop in the High Street,
and in a back room Naig and Dod acted familiar episodes of
Scottish history. Carnegie maintained his attachment to Uncle
Lauder and Dod, and Uncle Lauder, even after Naig's amaz-
ing career in the United States, was still regarded as his com-
panion and teacher.
There had been considerable alarm in the Lauder household
over Naig's marriage. What effect would it have upon their
relations with their American cousin? A worldly American
wife might come between them, might. destroy the intimate
friendship that had lasted for so many years. As we have seen,
Carnegie, on his honeymoon visit to the Isle of Wight, had
summoned Uncle Lauder to come and have a look at his bride.
A few minutes had banished all fears. She had at once become,
not Mrs. Carnegie, not even Cousin Louise, but "Mrs. Naig."
"Glad Louise is so fond of Glendevon House [the Lauder
home] and those that dwell therein," Uncle Lauder wrote
Carnegie. "We will give her a family welcome not because
she is Naig's wife but because she is a lovable lady ." "Your
dear wife," he wrote Carnegie about a year after that first meet-
III
ing, "is a jewel in your crown. I have taken her to my heart
as a member of the family and everyone of us has done the
same."
The old Scot, whose loves were flowers, Burns, and Scottish his-
tory, had taken a keepsake from that first meeting on the Isle of
Wight; this was a clematis vine. He nurtured the shrub as a liv-
ing testimonial to his growing affection for Andrew's wife. "I
have been carefully tending my clematis vine which I call Lou-
ise," he wrote her after it had been planted for two years. "It
has grown up this year in six branches, their length being from
four to seven feet. We think that wonderful. I Next year we
expect to see it covered with white blossoms." Still later he
wrote: "I examine your tree half a dozen times every day. I
counted fourteen white buds. I expect to see them burst every
morning. Soon half the tree will be a mass of white blooms
the same as the one on the Isle of Wight where you spent your
honeymoon."
"I look out this moment at a beautiful garden," he wrote
years afterward. "I never saw it in better order. It is looked
at by everyone that passes. Your vine was up and trimmed
yesterday. It reaches over the flat roof of the bathroom window
and next year it will be up at the top. If anything can be drawn
from this surely it is this. Success up to this time and success
after this! For assuredly the tree that I call Louise will go on
and prosper as it takes its way without pretense or ceremony.
It is like you. I saw you for the first time seven years ago as
a young lass without pretension. You are now a millionaire's
wife without ceremony."
Uncle Lauder's misspelling was cleared up, but later, as a
sample, a letter will be given as he wrote it. He watched the
112
vine grow year by year and the affection between him and
Carnegie's wife also grew closer. Despite his humble start in
life, he was really a fine figure of a man and an ornament to
any group in which he might be found. He was over seventy
when Carnegie brought his wife to Scotland, tall and straight
as one of his own Scottish trees, with a glowing face and a
long white beard. With Carnegie's distinguished friends, such
as John Morley and Sir Edwin Arnold, Uncle Lauder was al-
ways a favorite; they regarded him as an ideal specimen of old
Scotland. So did Carnegie himself; he gave him a seat of honor
at his Gladstone dinner in 1889.
The old man's philosophy of life appears in the sadly jum-
bled and misspelled letters written to Mrs. Carnegie:
I think the most important thing a man has got to· do is to keep
his wife's temper as sweet as posable [possible] and let the world
go to the divil if it likes to.
He was a devout Swedenborgian, but his faith did not re-
strict his theological views.
With overflowing love and respect our wish is we may again be
united in this world and the next and be happy to all eternity,
either in Swedenborg's plan or your own if you like that best.
. . . If I was able to come to New York, I would be made also
at home with Mr. and Mrs. Naig. Who would have thought, who
would have imagined that when I was making fun with these two
lads in my back room that I would be so highly prized by them?
Louise, this makes me feel quite soft, and then there is yourself
added. Every fine man in this worald requires a ballance wheel.
You are Naig's ballance long may you live and happy is my wish.
Of fresh, distinct biographical value is the story Uncle Lauder
put into a letter to Mrs. Carnegie after a three weeks' visit to
II3
the Carnegies' New York home. He had helped to finance the
going to America of the boy Andrew and his parents, and now
he recalled the emotions of the parting. The point of departure
from Scotland was Broomielaw, Glasgow.
I will tell you a story I have never put in writing before. I felt
inclined to be the last to take farewell of that lad [Andrew] and
took a position behind him at the stern. I told him that where he
was going there was room to rise and that I felt sure that he would
fIse.
While I sat beside him in the stern the captain of the steamer
stood on the top of the paddle wheel box. I put l a sovereign into
his hand and said, "Now Naig go." He took a leep of two or three
seats and then turned hastily back, threw his arms around my neck,
he said, "Oh Unckel I canna leave you!" The passengers were look-
ing over the side of the steamer, as the captain cried we cannot
wait longer. I unloosed his arms and said, "Now Naig go!"
Then the narrator concluded:
Throw your bread upon the waters, and it will return to you in
many ways, is a quotation I think from Scripture, but it has as-
suredly returned to me in many ways since that time. The time I
spent with Naig and my own son Dod was well spent time for
me and for them. I made myself a boy to make them feel and act
like men and they are both at one now in making me feel satisfied
now that I am eighty years old.
The name of a new and devoted friend, Mrs. Yates Thomp-
son, now appeared in Mrs. Carnegie's correspondence. Andrew
and she had been exchanging favorable opinions concerning
the gracious Englishwoman. "You are right," Andrew's wife
said to him, "Mrs. Thompson is not cold. You cannot imagine
the beauty of her letters. She calls me her dearest friend. It is an
114
honor to be even a friend of such a woman, but to be her dearest
friend almost turns my head."
The letters to which she refers still exist-a huge packet, the
earliest dated 1887, the latest 1940, not long before Mrs. Thomp~
son's death. The period covered by this correspondence, more
than fifty years, is in itself testimony enough to a splendid
friendship.
It was Mrs. Yates Thompson who first brought Matthew
Arnold and Carnegie together; they met at a dinner party
given by her in I88!. The world of literature had been her
own since her earliest days, for she was the daughter of George
Smith, the publisher and friend of Charlotte Bronte, Thackeray,
and other great authors of the nineteenth century. He had
also published that vast classic, the Dictionary of National
Biography. Her husband, perhaps the greatest collector of il~
luminated manuscripts in his time, was the proprietor of the
Pall Mall Gazette when John Morley was its editor and when
Carnegie was the radical owner of a string of Liberal news~
papers.
Her personal graces and social charm had made Mrs. Thomp~
son, when Carnegie arrived with his bride in 1887, one· of the
leading hostesses of London. The two took to each other im~
mediately. They had many things in common: Mrs. Thompson,
like Mrs. Carnegie, had married a man very much older than
herself, at their first meeting she had recently turned her thir-
tieth year, and she was tall, handsome, straight and lithe, a
. real Diana. Like Mrs. Carnegie, she loved horses; indeed, she
never gave them up, nor used a motor car. She made her
visits, as late as the nineteen~thirties, in a carriage and pair.
1I5
Though English to the inmost fibre, she had a particular fond_
ness for Americans.
"I am beginning to feel as if I must be a rather bad English_
woman," she wrote Mrs. Carnegie, "for I am more often drawn
strongly to your country women than to my own!" She was
certainly drawn to Andrew's competent wife. "I think you know
that I am never so happy and contented as when I am with
you," Mrs. Thompson wrote her friend.
Among Mrs. Thompson's few ornaments was a gold chain
composed of little enameled beads; she was childless herself,
but on each bead was inscribed the name of some boy or girl
to whom she was godmother. The time was to come when the
name of Margaret, Mrs. Carnegie's daughter, would be added
to those links.
While on her honeymoon at Kilgraston, the bride of Car-

negie had listened eagerly as he proposed to the visiting James
G. Blaines that they revive the next year his favorite habit of
driving a four-in-hand through Britain. She knew her husband
was thinking back to the years of their courtship, when she had
wished most earnestly to accept his invitation to a coaching
trip. Her mother had thought it improper for a single girl,
however carefully chaperoned, to travel thus from inn to inn,
but now that Andrew and she were married, she thrilled to
think that, after all, she would have the experience and be
part of a brilliant, merry company of Carnegie pilgrims.
To travel with the Blaines and their attractive daughters
Margaret and Harriet would be dramatic, for Blaine had vexed
the British press and people by frequently "twisting the British
lion's tail."
II6
Carnegie's promise of a coaching trip was in due time £Ul·
tilled. The start was made in London, at the Hotel Metropole.
There in the curious crowd were British and American news·
paper correspondents, waiting to interview and report. Their
tenacity in pursuit of their calling disturbed Mrs. Carnegie,
who by feeling and training was all for privacy. And yet there
was good reason for reporters to be there. Blaine's movements
were of international interest, and his association with the
dynamic Andrew Carnegie caused curiosity too.
The wife had learned from Andrew what the excitement
was about. Giving her lessons in inside politics, he told her
that r888 promised to be a particularly tense year in American
politics, and that Blaine, dubbed the "Plumed Knight," wanted
to get away from the hurly-burly. In r884 Cleveland had de-
feated him for the Presidency, and the world wanted to know
whether he would run again in the face of Cleveland's prob-
able candidacy.
Did he really mean he would not run? One school of jour-
nalists, led by Edward L. Godkin, editor of the Evening Post
of New York and American correspondent of the London
Daily News, insisted that Blaine was secretly scheming for the
nomination. It was said that, while coaching with the Car-
negies, he would be in constant touch with his managers in
the Chicago convention, the latter part of June.
It was believed, in most newspaper offices, that at a critical
moment the negative Blaine would change his mind and ap-
pear as a candidate and they wished to have their own men
on the scene when the great moment came. In this newspaper
group were the rising journalists Arthur Brisbane and Stephen
BonsaI. "We were annoyed by their constant presence," one of
\
II7
the charioteers remarked afterwards, "but, when they left us,
felt a little lonesome and neglected."
All this excitement amused the Carnegies. The wife was
getting an insight into the relations of politics to the press.
Well, here was Blaine with his family, and along with them
had come Miss Mary A. Dodge, the talented woman whose
pen-name was Gail Hamilton. And there was Henry Phipps,
with his lady. Phipps was Andrew's lifelong friend and partner.
Walter Damrosch, now an established friend of the Carnegie
couple, had a place on the coach; he was only twenty-six, but
had already taken his father's place as a conductor of Wag-
nerian opera at the Metropolitan. There was also Dr. Charles
H. Eaton, the minister who had joined the Carnegies in mar-
riage. Lord Rosebery accompanied the party.
The coach in itself was a brilliant affair. It was a wedding
present from Mrs. Thomas Carnegie, who had instructed the
English coachmakers to spare no expense in details. On the
doors were painted the entwined American and British flags,
and the Carnegie tartan was spread over the seats. All in the
party were attired in approved coaching costume, none of them
forgetting the high white hat-though, judging from photo-
graphs taken on the way, they discarded these after leaving
London. One British reporter wrote:
Mr. Blaine, a gentleman of some sixty years, with whitey grey
hair and sallow face, wearing a white hat and blue coat, jumped
up to his seat by the whip with the alertness of youth.
"The Iron Queen" [in such words did this scribe refer to Mrs.
Carnegie] in a blue serge travelling costume, carrying a detective
camera and a lovely bouquet of Marechal Neils, was assisted to her
place at the back by Lord Rosebery, who, with his close shaven
IIB
face and spruce attire, his bell shaped hat and the humorous smile
which plays about his mouth, is the very ideal of a prosperous
comedian.
Carnegie looked the picture of health and happiness, and as chirpy
as a cricket, with a little serge suit, a white hat fixed well on his
head, a red rose in his buttonhole. Up he climbed to his seat by the
side of his charmingly pretty wife, who, like all American ladies,
was not in the least ashamed of showing her keen enjoyment of
the lively scene.
"Ready?" shouted Carnegie.
"Aye, ready, sir," replied the coachman.
"Then off you go!" responded the host. There was a blast on the
horn, the four fine-looking horses sprang forward, there was a cheer
from the large crowd, and the party was off on its seven hundred
mile drive.
They "coached for June weeks through the Cathedral towns
of eastern England," Gail Hamilton wrote afterward in
her biography of Blaine, "and Scotland to Cluny, tracking
the Roman roads, sleeping in the rooms of Tudor kings, lunch~
ing under yew trees that might have been the ones that
bothered Caesar, under the oaks of Burleigh House by Stam~
ford town, on the hills of the Great White Horse or of the
Lammermoors, in battlefields of York and Lancaster, on the
banks of the Tweed or a little coldly in the damp of Dal-
naspidal."
Though outwardly the atmosphere was one of gaiety and
abandon, everything had been carefully arranged. The host
had engaged rooms in selected inns and hotels all along the
route. At these places lunch hampers, containing all the delica~
cies of the season, were prepared; as the noon hour approached,
II9
the travelers had a picnic lunch beside a running brook or in
some "bosky dell." The outdoor meal was sometimes enlivened
with a sing, always with lively conversation, occasionally with
high jinks. In Mrs. Carnegie's letters, written during this coach~
ing trip, we find now and then little vignettes of the English
and Scottish country side; as usual, she was attracted by its
beauty, its rose hedges, its churches, its quiet.
Meanwhile, the coaching party's interest in the Chicago con~
vention grew more intense. Blaine's adherents, especially those
from the West, were noisily demanding his nomination, de~
spite his flat refusal.
Blaine! Blaine! James G. Blaine!
We've had him once. We want him again!
This familiar cry filled the convention hall; and pictures of

"Blaine of Maine" were everywhere. But "the Convention was
assembling," Gail Hamilton wrote afterward, "while Mr.
Blaine was examining the gold chair of St. Cuthbert in Dur~
ham."
In the early balloting well down on the list appeared the
rather inconspicuous name of Benjamin Harrison, of Indiana.
One morning Mrs. Carnegie saw Blaine show her husband
a message just received from his representative on the con~
vention floor, Senator Elkins, containing only two words: "Use
cipher."
At Blaine's request Carnegie sent a reply in cipher, which,
being translated, said, "Blaine immovable. Take Harrison and
Phelps."
Next day the coaching party reached Linlithgow Castle,
birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots and scene of many of her
120
misfortunes. The whole town turned out in honor of the visi-
tors; the castle was decorated with American flags. After the
ceremonies were finished, one of the American reporters
handed Blaine a cablegram. It read simply: "Harrison and
Morton nominated."
But Cluny Castle was waiting ahead, and soon the com-
posed Blaine was on top of the coach, pointing in its direction.
He had not gained the nomination himself, but he had named
the candidate, the winning one, and now, from political tur-
moil, he was headed toward serenity.
Cluny Castle was indeed a place to thrill new possessors or
to solace a statesman. The home of the Macphersons, it was
one of the most celebrated houses of Scotland. Situated on a
hill overlooking the Valley of the Spey, with snowcapped or
heather-covered mountains in the rear, Cluny was at the seat
of Scottish history. The coaching party, wrapped in furs and
rugs up to their ears, drove over the hills-at one place I,500
feet above the sea, and presently through a gorge caught sight
of a fertile spot many miles away. After they had crossed the
river and begun the approach they blew the horn to announce
their arrival, and were answered by a salute of guns. From
the chimney of the castle, the blue smoke of the peat was
curling. The cottagers they passed waved a welcome to them,
and when they had passed through the lodge gates, the servants
assembled in the front, waving handkerchiefs, and Macpherson
with his pipes played them a greeting.
Ben Alder and Benvoirlich dominated the view to the south-
west, and the adjacent country was a glistening expanse of
lochs, waterfalls and burns, most of them full of mountain
trout and a constant temptation to Carnegie's guests with a
121
hankering for rod and reel. The castle itself was of turreted
white granite, surrounded by larches, fir, and birch. The focal
point of eleven thousand acres, it stood silent,· mildly defiant,
blent in a general atmosphere of seclusion and quiet.
The estate was all valley, mountain and moorland, with
water courses everywhere-little burns that came dashing
down from adjacent mountains, and encircled the house in
friendly fashion, and, a larger prospect, the River Spey wind-
ing in and out of the hills. The foliage was so darkling that
at times the castle, approached through deeply shadowing trees,
was almost invisible.
For walking in the woods, for little tea parties in the sum-
mer house, for trout fishing in the lochs and brooks-Cluny was
ideal.
Interior decorations, however, suggested the aggressive past.
On the wall by the stairway could be seen the targe carried
by Prince Charles Edward at the Battle of Culloden, and clay-
mores, guns, dirks, and other formidable weapons constantly
recalled the gallant role of Macpherson in that contest. It was
this Ewen Macpherson of Cluny who secreted the Pretender
in a cave protected by a thicket on the side of Ben Alder until
arrangements could be made for his escape to France. Cluny
himself for nine years succeeded in hiding in the same section,
despite a thousand-pound reward for his capture and a large
body of searching troops. Clansman James Macpherson, the
translator-more probably the author~f the poems of Ossian,
succeeded in having the Cluny estate restored to Duncan, son
of Ewen Macpherson, on the ground of good and loyal be-
havior; and it was Duncan's grandson who had leased it to the
Carnegies.
122
Perhaps it was Louise's deep and abiding love for her mother
and her relatives that made her letters home so vibrant and
colorful. If her folks could not be with her to enjoy this Cluny
scene, stroll, drive or picnic, her pen must make them see it
and feel it.
My own dear Mother:
A whole week has passed in this delightful place and I never
passed a happier one. We are all in love with Cluny already. Such
walks, such drives, such romantic little nooks! Imagine the most
beautiful mountain brooks, one each side of the Park, with rustic
bridges, beautiful waterfalls, plenty of shade trees and shrubs and
all surrounded by high rocky mountains with not a tree on them-
nothing but rocks and heather-and you have some idea of it all.
It looks in places just like the scenery in Die Walkiire and we are
constantly pointing out where Brunhild is lying on the rocky sum-
mit surrounded by fire, or by the side of some beautiful brook the
place where Siegfried comes upon the Rhine maidens, and then
Walter Damrosch bursts out into song and sings passage after pas-
sage of the operas.
In a gay letter to her mother, Andrew's wife told how the
great American day, the Fourth of July, came to the Highlands.
She refers to the Stars and Stripes sent to her by her mother, who
may herself have needlessly feared that love of Scotland would
lessen her daughter's fondness for the United States.
At eight o'clock A.M. the flag you sent was raised and ten guns
fired while Macpherson played the bagpipe.... At seven o'clock
we had full dress dinner, Alex and Aggie King of course being
here, and we walked in to dinner with Macpherson playing Yankee
Doodle on the bagpipe-Damrosch had taught him to play it dur-
123
ing the day! The table was decorated with British and American
flags and appropriate toasts were drunk.
In the eve we received a present from Capt. Fitzroy, Cluny Mac-
pherson's son-in-law, in the shape of an American flag which he
had sent from London for the occasion. We were all very much
touched by the graceful courtesy and of course it was immediately
hoisted in position; but Aggie King whispered to me (she is ever
sweet and thoughtful), "Aren't you glad it didn't come until eve-
ning so that your Mother's could be the first hoisted?" Andrew
says he felt just that way too.
As soon as it was dark enough (which it never is in this country)
we had fireworks set off. We sent to Perth for th~m and they ar-
rived in time. All went well until a chance spark fell into the box
and set them all off at once, but it was just as much fun and no
harm was done. Macpherson danced the Sword Dance for us; ice
cream was passed around and thus ended our Scots-American
Fourth ...
The family loved the unique flag always flying over the cas-
tle, symbolic, they believed, of a great historic fact. The Stars
and Stripes and. the Union Jack, sewed back to back, proclaim-
ing the mutual interests of the two nations, have acquired a
confirmation in modern times they had not completely won in
Carnegie's day, but in this, as in most other things, he was
merely a far-seeing prophet. The friendly feeling between the
tenants and the Carnegies was especially manifest each Fourth
of July, when all gathered at the castle to commemorate, with
music, song, and fireworks, Highland sports and good food,
the anniversary of American Independence.
There were always enough visitors from the United States
124
to keep that country and its traditions vigorously alive at Cluny,
and every other Scottish abode of the Andrew Carnegies': the
Alexander Kings, for instance. These old friends had brought
their children for a summer in Scotland, and were finding that
their offspring liked their home town of East Orange more than
acclaimed towns of the old country. Mrs. Carnegie wrote to
her mother:
Aggie's children seem happy; they say they like it better than
Paisley, but not so well as East Orange! They were all down to the
river the other day, when the sun was shining brightly and it was
rather warm. "Well," said Jessie, "if you don't like this place, you
will just have to go to heaven."
As for herself, while it was splendid to have the Sword
Dance and the Highland Fling on the lawn, she felt it just as
well to balance them with the Virginia reel. Also, having at the
same time as Walter Damrosch discovered the charm of Scottish
ballads, she was taking singing lessons from him, to please An-
drew and support group singing.
Walter Damrosch discoursed on Wagner at the piano in the
evening. John Morley proved one of the most interested at-
tendants at these recitals; he had never heard the Nibelungen
Trilogy until Damrosch played and explained the text on these
occasions. Incidentally, these evening talks about Siegfried or
Die Walkure were the first of the Damrosch lecture-recitals
that became famous all over the United States.
Damrosch himself rounded out his musical education at
Cluny, for it was from the Carnegies' singing of the ballads
of Scotland that he was introduced to this field: "To me these
I25
folk songs were a revelation, and I still think they have a
variety and charm beyond those of any other race," he re-
marks in his autobiography, My Musical Life.
All unknown to the guests, a heart affair was developing
among them. For Walter Damrosch, its hero, there had been
more than Wagner and Scottish songs of interest in Cluny that
summer. He was much impressed by the liveliness of Miss Mar-
garet Blaine. The fondness in time revealed itself-the two
became engaged, and, in 1890, were married. Damrosch said:
Mr. Carnegie was absolutely unconscious of my aspirations re-
garding Margaret Blaine, and the following suma{er he suggested
a visit to Bar Harbor, where Mr. Blaine had built a summer home.
I accepted with an alacrity which he mistook as springing only
from the same source as his desire to see again the friends who had
contributed so much to the delights of the coaching trip and Cluny
Castle. When I afterward told him of my hopes and that they had
received some encouragement during our Bar Harbor visit, he was
very much put out and vowed that if he had ever suspected any-
thing of the kind he would never have taken me with him.
This feeling was only temporary, for the Carnegies and the
Damrosches were intimate friends ever after.
The main attraction of Cluny was the surrounding people.
At the future Skibo, sometimes fifteen hundred guests would
assemble for the children's fetes that were given every year,
but at Cluny not more than forty or fifty were commonly
entertained. Mrs. Carnegie, in her constant walks, liked to
drop in on her neighbors, to talk local gossip and discuss local
matters, not so much as Cluny's lady but as an intimate friend.
A man so vital as Carnegie necessarily had his rough edges,
which his wife sought to smooth. The Laird of Cluny was
[26
earnest and emphatic in conversation, and not always too
respectful of the opinions of his guests. Mrs. Carnegie was
vigilant and tactful in averting or softening little social crises.
The old monkey and parrot story was popular at Cluny. The
much suffering monkey, after patiently enduring the insults of
Polly, finally turns on the bird and gives it a devastating drub-
bing. The disconsolate parrot, crawling back to her perch, and
attempting to rearrange her feathers, remarks: "The trouble
with me is, I talk too damned much!"
Occasionally Carnegie, at the height of one of his most en-
thusiastic outbursts, would catch a glimpse of his wife, preen-
ing the front of her dress. "Oh!" he would exclaim, "Lou
thinks I'm talking too much," and quiet down. Another signal
was the scarcely perceptible switch of her skirt-which Car-
negie, however, would see and understand.
Just how Mrs. Carnegie managed to squeeze in the many
guests was a marvel. Occasionally she would protest to her
husband over his invitations. "We haven't the slightest room
for them," she would say. "Oh, you can put them in my dress-
ing-room," was his invariable reply, until the capacities of his
dressing room became a family joke.
A watchful old man was Uncle Lauder; one thing at Cluny
disturbed him and that was the apparently endless stream of
visitors. He wrote in protest to Mrs. Carnegie on this subject
August 18, 1895:
Now pay great attention to what I am going to say. Your dear
husband Naig is drawing a large bill on futurity and I think you
are a partner in that Bill, which no one will be able to pay but
yourselves. So stop in time, you are both making work that would
be sufficient for another strong couple, entertaining a relay of visi-
127
tors the year through. And not ordinary men but all men of talent
and ladies of accomplishment is no ordinary work. You cannot
stand it, no man or woman can stand it. Excuse me for intruding
my opinion in your domestic affairs and believe me it is because
I wish you a long life of happiness in this world and a happy meet-
ing in the next.
This protest produced little change in the Cluny routine,
but on one point Uncle Lauder was right: the character of
the Cluny guests. They represented the highest levels in British
and American life. Carnegie had early announced his desire
"to make the acquaintance of literary men," and Mrs. Carnegie,
while still Miss Whitfield, had written her future husband:
"Earnest people, those who are bending their energies to some
great and good work-those are the people to be with, is it not
so? Thank God you are such an earnest soul."
The horseback riding that had led to the Andrew Carnegie-
Louise Whitfield romance in Central Park bridle paths had
been resumed:
We have had our. first horseback ride this last week. Andrew
and I have both had new saddles made for us in Edinburgh, which
are very comfortable and fine and I wore my new habit for the
first time. We rode twelve miles and greatly enjoyed it; we both
find the old love for it coming back. We took a groom with us to
attend to us if we want stirrups altered, etc., which is a great
comfort.
In the same month she sent a letter home that, while it was
too early in her married life to be an actual plan, was yet a
strong indication that someday in New York City, for the
mother and for other people to enjoy, there would be a Car~
negie garden as beautiful as horticultural art could make it.
128
My own dear Mother-
... While this is a much finer place than Kilgraston, it is much
more homelike and I just revel in it. From my little sitting room,
steps lead right to the lawn, and Andrew's business room opens
from my sitting room; so we slip from each other's rooms and out
to the lawn with the greatest ease. Just now as I sit by the window
writing, I saw a rabbit peep from under a clump of rhododen-
dron~, jump around a little and run back. The lawn is like velvet
and the flowers bloom continually. They have no end of gardeners
about the place, and they keep it in beautiful order.
The garden is a gem, filled with old-fashioned flowers. I told
Andrew yesterday when we were walking there that there would
be tears of delight in your eyes all the time if you equId only be
here. We mean to have a garden just like this when we get our
place near N. Y. We shall have a Scotch gardener and have it as
much like this as possible and then won't you be happy ? You can
invite friends to visit you and the more you have and get used to,
the more you will like to have them . . .
The family at home could almost breathe the air of the hills
Louise was climbing when they read such bits as this:
. We learned there was a very fine view to be obtained by ascend-
ing a glen, so off we started. We drove fourteen miles to Loch
Laggan and then started on foot to follow the burn to its source-
a lonely lake twelve hundred feet above the sea. The distance was
about three and a half miles. We all started, but gradually one by
one dropped out until Dr. Dennis, Mr. Jenkins, Aggie, Andrew
and I were all that was left, with Macpherson's father carrying
luncheon, waterproofs, etc. It was a very rough walk, over peat
bogs and crossing innumerable streams of water. I put on my light
sateen dress, and left off my flannels for the first time, so I was
thoroughly prepared for the walk and greatly enjoyed it. On, on
129
we went until the clouds began to gather, and just as we reached
the lake the thunder shower broke in all its fury. The lake is SUr-
rounded by cliffs of rock running up eight hundred feet high, with
snow in the crevices of the rock. Had it not rained, we could have
reached the snow with but little difficulty, but as it was we had
to turn back. The rain had swollen all the streams, so it was im-
possible to pick our steps, we just had to wade through the~.
Aggie and I turned up our dresses but our skirts were wet to
above our knees, and in this condition we made our way along the
three and a half miles back to the farm house where we started.
There we bought knitted stockings of the farmer's wife. I took off
I
my wet skirt and drove home the fourteen miles with my shoes
and feet rolled up in rugs. Strange to say, not one of us took cold,
and I never took a walk with less fatigue. . . .
The Loch Laggan that has been mentioned belonged to Mr.

Armitstead, Member of Parliament, "a nice old gentleman."
Mrs. Carnegie tells of an interesting excursion with him:
He invited all our party to a picnic, and on the way wanted us
to see a waterfall. It is one of the most picturesque we have seen
and the walk to it was beautiful beyond description-all among the
heather. Walking along, laughing and chatting, we suddenly looked
up and there before us was a herd of wild deer, fully fifty in num-
ber with their immense antlers; it was a very unusual sight. They
soon sniffed us and were off like the wind. We saw another herd
later ~tanding on the very top of the mountain-through the glass
we could see them distinctly outlined against the sky.
Returning from our walk we picked up Mr. Armitstead and the
rest of the party and drove about four miles to our camping ground.
There we found Mr. A's cook and butler, fire made and potatoes
boiling and Mr. Armitstead proceeded to broil the beefsteaks over
130
the wood embers. Our walk had given us an appetite and such a
luncheon as we ate! I never tasted such delicious steak •..
Besides picturing the scenery in her letters, Mrs. Carnegie

wished to capture it by the camera. She was taking a great in-
terest in her photography:
One of the gentlemen who left this morning, Mr. Salt, is an
accomplished photographer and he has given me a great many use-
ful hints in regard to my photos. We have had two most delight-
ful excursions this past week and many nice photos. We go out in
the coach very often now with six horses and postillion. It is really
necessary for the hills are so heavy; but we have great fun over
it as only royalty is allowed six horses, except in cases of necessity.
Wouldn't the papers poke fun at Andrew's book Triumphant De-
mocracy if they should get hold of that!
The Alexander Kings sailed for home, knowing that the

Carnegies would soon be in the same land, and would come
to them in East Orange. The Blaines closed their visit, but a
new and firm friehdship had been made. Mrs. Carnegie and
Mrs. Blaine and her daughters would keep it pleasantly alive
by exchanges of letters and visits. It was naturally pleasing to
the hostess at Cluny that the Blaines were delighted with the
castle and its attractions. In a letter to her son, Mrs. Blaine
said:
The walks about the castle are fascinating, wild, running by the
mountain torrents up hill and down, and a loneliness that may be
felt. They remind me of Christopher North's Scottish tales and of
Mrs. Carlyle's Craigenputtock. Then the hospitality is immense,
and I must not forget the long days which reduce candlelight to
the minimum, for we leave the dinner table at nine and lights at ten
13 1
seem an impertinence-only Damrosch, who plays Wagner every
evening, needs candles to make out his operas. So time goes ir-
responsibly . . .
Mrs. Blaine wrote Mrs. Carnegie:
... go now wherever I will, the spirit of Cluny is with. me. I
am haunted on the streets of London by the ghost of its wonderful
water and drives, and the sound of those waterfalls is forever in my
ears, and oh! how we miss the air! We cannot feel buoyant in Lon-
don after the Highlands.
Both the Blaine girls wrote in similar strain. Margaret
I
Blaine
said:
We lead double lives here and are at Cluny, in spirit, from Mac-
pherson's first pipe in the morning to Mr. Damrosch's opening of the
last soda-water bottle at night. . . . Much as we loved the coaching
trip up I think the Cluny part was still lovelier! The very gravel
that I shake out of my shoes before putting them on is a deeply
touching souvenir, because it is Cluny gravel.
Miss Harriet Blaine remarked in her turn:
Knowing that Margaret and Miss Dodge have both written you,
it seems rather selfish in me to overburden the Kingussie post, but
when the latter lady says to me blandly, "I have written Mrs. Car-
negie that you are as gay as a lark," I have to interfere in the in-
terest of truth. Does the lark go about with a dreary, homesick
feeling in his heart, is he very cross to his immediate family, and
does he look at the clock twenty times a day and think what he
would do at Cluny castle at that moment?
Age-long custom in the Highlands required that the Laird
present himself at the village church the first Sunday after his
arrival for summer residence and ~lso on the Sunday in the
132
fall that preceded his departure. Carnegie was conscientious in
observing this custom. Every Sunday evening Mrs. Carnegie
gathered the entire household and guests in the main room for
the singing of hymns. Carnegie always presided over these
ceremonies, himself giving out the hymns and joining in the
song. Many of the old hymns were beautiful, and he always
regarded music as a particularly satisfactory form of ritual.
"Music, sacred tongue of God, I hear thee calling and I corne,"
was a saying he loved to quote.
Cluny season closed when the social and business demands
from the United States became insistent. The wife, announcing
the return to New York, wrote to her mother: "It is such a
comfort that notwithstanding his love for Scotland and his
enjoyment of the summer here, Andrew looks forward with
pleasure to our winter in New York." They belonged, true
enough, to both countries, loving each for its differing yet
related traditions and values; they might cherish and praise
Scotland, but not at the expense of the United States. The
flags of the United States and Great Britain, sewed together
over the castle, were a symbol of their feelings. Carnegie said:
I should not be true to the Celtic blood that flows through my
veins if I were capable of receiving the benefits which the American
Republic has conferred upon me without admiring it and standing
ready to defend it. But this affection for the United States is no
more inconsistent with love of my native land than is the love of
my wife inconsistent with that of love for my mother.
For ten years-I888 to 1898-the Carnegies spent the sum-
mer at Cluny Castle. Mrs. Carnegie said that this decade repre-
sented the golden period of her married life.
133
· 7.
To refer to any human relationship as "perfect" brings a

smile to a generation more sophisticated than that of sixty
years ago, yet this was the word Carnegie invariably used to
describe his marriage with Louise Whitfield. He had the de-
lightful habit of adding, in lead pencil, little postscripts to his
wife's letters to her mother-whom, by the way, he addressed
as "Mama" though there was not much difference in their age.
"Lou captivates all hearts; just perfection" reads one of these
notes in 1889.
How his wife felt is attested by the fact that every scrap of
paper containing her husband's writing is today carefully pre-
served among her papers. Even the cards that accompanied
flowers and other gifts are still intact. Sometimes these latter
are Shakespearean quotations-for Carnegie found much tn his
favorite author that seemed to apply to his wife. "'Tis meet
Carnegie live an upright life," he writes on one occasion,
slightly altering the Bard to suit his purpose, "for he hath such
blessings in his lady. He tastes the joys of heaven here on
earth."
"'Every man of them,' he quotes from Julius Caesar, 'and no
man but favors you.''' He likened her to Miranda, of T h~
Tempest:
135
... But you,
So perfect and so peerless are created,
Of every creature's best.
Many old envelopes treasured by Mrs. Carnegie contained
flowers-still preserved, sadly faded after sixty years-which
Carnegie had gathered with his own hands at Cresson, Pennsyl-
vania, or on the Scottish hills.
The wife, in turn, was as affectionate in her letters after mar-
riage as before, and more and more devoted. She wrote him in
1889, in one of his enforced absences:
Good night, dear. I shall retire early and shut my eyes to this
cheerless desolate house. The sunlight has gone entirely. We are
under an eclipse when you are away, but the sun, my sun, is the
thought on which I live.
Life is nothing but a dreary grind, even if one does live in a pal-
ace, with every luxury, if the supreme center is away. Gratitude
for blessings there may be, but love is the one thing needful. I some-
times feel it is the only thing in all the world, and how husbands
and wives can live away from each other for months at a time sur-
passes my comprehension.
Perhaps one reason for this fine companionship was that
Carnegie and his wife were unlike in many things; no more
eloquent illustration of the law of compensation could be asked
for. Carnegie's notes and letters are jumpy in style-short,
sharp sentences, frequently with connecting words omitted,
yet fairly electric with personality. Sometimes they read like
telegrams-he used to say that his early years, spent at the
telegraph key, had implanted this style, but in this case style
was certainly the man. From his writing one gets the impres-
sion of a nervous, extremely active person, always eager to
I3 6
MOTHERHOOD
translate thoughts into action. Busy man of tremendous
affairs, he would write on the first piece of paper that came
to hand. An undated penciled note of this kind, written on a
scratch-pad, is in Mrs. Carnegie's papers. It belongs to the
period of courtship:
3 45 PM
My dear L. W.
It is too bad but at the last I find so much to do & two men here
of whom I cant get rid-They ought to have come earlier as I
directed but they didnt-
I must say good bye its not pleasant to take leave any way-better
said-
I'll be down Friday night I think-possibly not till Saturday if I
visit the Shakers where my Aunts Brother in law is-He left Scot-
land forty years & more ago & has just turned up-
Wrote me as he had seen my name in papers & wants so much
to have me visit the "Community" I may do so if weather fine
Goodbye
Yours
AC
Comparing the letters, and interpreting character therefrom

to some extent, the wife appeared very different from the
quick impulsive Andrew. In correspondence and in her acts,
she was deliberate and careful; her writing is well formed, and
her thoughts never deal in exaggeration, but flow smoothly
and coherently, giving precise meaning in presenting carefully
thought-out ideas.
Amidst their daily rounds of engagements, the pair found
time to confer often on the philanthropies the husband had in
mind; these first years of marriage were marked by talks with
137
his approving wife concerning the benefactions he would like
to make when his career of earning money ended, and the
spending of his fortune began. Out of these conversations were
to flow, ultimately, public gifts to a total of more than three
hundred and eleven million dollars. Uppermost then was his
library program, to make good reading available to the multi.
tudes. The wife entered into it enthusiastically. Much of her
time was spent in going over architects' plans for library build-
ings, and she rejoiced with him in their completion. Carnegie
wrote Louise on September 26, 1889:
Yesterday I strolled out with Henry Phipps and {."alked over to
see the Library in Allegheny. If ever there was a sight that makes
my eyes glisten it was this gem. A kind of domestic Taj. Its tower
a pretty clock, so musical in tone too, for it kindly welcomed me
as I stood feeling-"Yes, life is worth living when we can call forth
such works as this!" I saw many people standing gazing and prais-
ing and the big words Carnegie Free Library just took me into
the sweetest reverie and I found myself wishing you were at my
side to reap with me the highest reward we can ever receive on
earth, the voice of one's inner self, saying secretly, well done!
The Allegheny Library greatly interested both. This build·
ing, placed in the town where Carnegie had begun his Amer-
ican career, had a peculiarly sentimental appeal. Carnegie had
one lofty ambition for this library: that it should be opened by
the President of the United States, and, in January of 1890, he
writes that this ambition is to be gratified. President Benjamin
Harrison had agreed to come to Allegheny for the ceremony.
"I am greatly pleased," he writes his wife. "You know what
'the President of the United States' means to me. No official
in the world compares with him. You will share my feelings,
138
MOTHERHOOD
I know." One other thing would be necessary to complete his
happiness. His wife must also be present. "Somehow I begin
to picture helpmeet, partner, wife, love, at my side upon the
occasion. If you stood on the platform in Allegheny, I should
feel the ceremony to be complete-otherwise not."
Carnegie writes in this doubtful vein because he himself feels
that this cannot be. At the time Mrs. Carnegie's mother, Mrs.
Whitfield, was on her deathbed.
"I have very little news to send," his wife answered, "only
a heart full of love and a mind full of pleasant thoughts of
you and the act in which you will engage tomorrow. I shall be
on the platform in spirit and you will feel that my whole heart
and soul are with you on this birthday of a noble enterprise."
In I900, Mrs. Carnegie, as a resident of New York, was
proud when her husband gave five million dollars to New
York City for the building of library structures-which led to
expanding the Astor-Lenox-Tilden system into the New York
Free Circulating Library. Her grandchildren, a half-century
later, were to find in the public press acknowledgments of this
gift by library officials and journalists showing that their gen-
eration gratefully remembered the giver and gift.
This public library movement, in which Andrew Carnegie
was so generously enterprising would give enduring satis-
faction to Mrs. Carnegie in later life, and to the Carnegie
descendants. It was something, for instance, to read in Morison
and Com mager's The Growth of the American Republic these
words:
Inspired by a genuine passion for education, persuaded that the
public library was the most democratic of all highways to learning,
and mindful of his own debt to books and his love of them, the
139
Pittsburgh iron master devoted some forty-five million dollars of his
vast fortune to the construction of library buildings throughout the
country ...
Her husband's plans to promote international concord also
had Mrs. Carnegie's warmest support. As a bride, she had heard
Andrew and his friend Blaine discuss the world peace move-
ment. When Cleveland, who could disturb the international
situation, began negotiating treaties for permanent arbitration
of disputes between powers, Carnegie zealously supported him.
The wife lost no chance to encourage Andrew's work for
arbitration and conciliation, for a permanent tribunal to settle
international disputes. Keeping up with current affairs, she
searched the newspapers for items helpful to the cause: "I cut
this from the paper the other evening," she wrote him, inclos-
ing a clipping: "Isn't it marvelous how this idea which orig-
inated with you is gaining adherents? Your fame some day
may rest on this alone. All the other grand things you. are
identified with, it seems to me, lose importance by the side of
this international idea."
June, 1889, saw the publication, in the North American Re-
view, of Andrew's article entitled Wealth, which set forth his
convictions as to the responsibilities of rich men. He said that
the rich man's surplus wealth-and by "surplus" was meant
wealth beyond adequate personal needs-did not, of right, be-
long to the successful millionaire, but to human society. The
existing possessor was not so much the owner as the trustee;
it was his business to distribute much of his fortune for the
public good. Such a revolutionary doctrine naturally produced
a great sensation on two continents.
The result of the publication was one of the most famous
140
MOTHERHOOD
magazine debates in history. Gladstone at once cabled the edi-
tor of the North American Review, asking permission to pub-
lish the article in England. It appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette,
edited by William T. Stead, who changed the title to The Gos-
pel of Wealth, by which it will always be known. It was printed
as a pamphlet and was widely circulated. In the United States,
Cardinal Manning,· Cardinal Gibbons, Chief Rabbi Adler,
Bishop Potter and other influential men discussed it.
In I890 came a long-dreaded sorrow-Mrs. Whitfield died.

The invalid had been spending the summer in East Orange,
and her daughter moved her back to the Whitfield home in
West Forty-eighth Street and for the time made it her own
abode. For four months, until the end, she stayed near her
mother's bedside, while her husband visited the Blaines at
Bar Harbor and went to Pittsburgh and Washington. In Jan-
uary, 1890, he ·received this simple note: "Darling, Mama left
us ten minutes to eight this morning. Lou." Mrs. Whitfield
had been a sufferer for many years. The mother was only
fifty-four when she died. Her going. closed an era in the
daughter's life. Stella and Harry Whitfield, the latter a student
at Andover, came to live with the Carnegies.
In March, 1891, the Carnegies enjoyed together the dedica-
tion of Carnegie Hall in New York. It was an anomaly that
America's largest city, until this hall was opened, had no place
really suitable for concert music. Carnegie came forward in late
1889 with an offer to meet the cost of the enterprise. Mr. Robert
M. Lester, Secretary of Carnegie Corporation of New York,
states in his book Forty Years of Carnegie Giving, that Mr. Car-
negie considered this as an investment, rather than a benefac-
141
tion. He was the principal backer of the company that erected
the building at first named "Music Hall, Founded by Andrew
Carnegie," later known as Carnegie Hall. Finally, his total in-
vestment in the land, building and improvements amounted
to almost two million dollars. On his death, the building be-
came part of his residuary estate, and was sold by the Carnegie
Corporation to a private business enterprise.
As always, Carnegie liked to associate his wife in his public
works. She it was who laid the cornerstone of the Music Hall;
for the ceremony she used a beautiful little silver trowel which
for the rest of her life remained a prized possession.
In early May, I89I, the building was dedicated by a week
of the finest music two continents could provide. Leading
European singers-Andreas Dippel, Italo Companini, Antonia
Mielke, Emil Fischer, Adele aus der Ohe-vied with talented
Americans such as Mrs. Gerrett Smith and Mr. Ericsson Bush-
nell, in compositions by Wagner, Beethoven, Tschaikowsky
and other masters. James G. Blaine came from Washington to
watch his son-in-law, Walter Damrosch, conduct the sym-
phony; boxes were filled by such noted public figures as Wil-
liam C. Whitney, John D. Rockefeller, William J. Sloane, J.
J. McCook, William Steinway, and Thomas Hitchcock.
When Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie entered their box, the audience
stood and gave them an appreciative ovation. But perhaps the
most famous figure of all was Tschaikowsky himself, who had
come to New York as the guest of Carnegie to conduct several
of his compositions-one for the first time.
Tschaikowsky, in his memoirs, described an evening in the
Carnegie home:
MOTHERHOOD
This millionaire really does not live so luxuriously as many other
people do ... This singular man, Carnegie, who rapidly rose from
a telegraph apprentice to be one of the richest men in America,
while still remaining quite simple, inspires me with unusual con-
fidence, perhaps because he shows me so much sympathy. During
the evening he expressed his liking for me in a very marked man-
ner. He took both my hands in his and declared that, although un-
crowned, I was a genuine king of music. He embraced me (without
kissing. Men do not kiss over here), got on tiptoe and stretched
his hands up to indicate my greatness and finally made the whole
company laugh by imitating my conducting. This he did so sol-
emnly, so well, and so like me, that I myself was quite delighted.
His wife is also an extremely simple and charming young lady and
ihowed her interest in me in every possible way.
To the public, the opening of the 57th Street Music Hall,
with its opportunities for musical enjoyment and education,
created a new wave of popular gratitude for the name Car-
negie; on the literary side, his beloved club, The Authors,
could be lodged there. As for the quiet woman in the back-
ground, the dedication identified her as a friend of musi'c.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie had longed for a child. She,
with her maternal spirit and her fine gifts for motherhood,
was starved for one, but it was not until they had been mar-
ried ten years and she was forty that the wish was fulfilled.
The girl baby was born in the New York home on March 30,
1897, and was christened Margaret, after Carnegie's mother.
Andrew Carnegie tells in his Autobiography how the birth
of little Margaret brought a change in their mode of summer
living:
143
On March 30, I 897, there came to us our daughter. As I first
gazed upon her Mrs. Carnegie said, "Her name is Margaret after
your mother. Now one request I have to make."
"What is it, Lou?"
"We must get a summer home since this little one has been
given us. We cannot rent one and be obliged to go in and go out
at a certain date. It should be our home."
"Yes," I agreed.
"I make only one condition."
"What is that?" I asked.
"It must be in the Highlands of Scotland."
"Bless you," was my reply. "That suits me. You k'now I have to
keep out of the sun's rays, and where can we do that so surely as
among the heather? I'll be a committee of one to inquire and
report."
Skibo Castle was the result.
The tenants of Cluny had celebrated the birth of baby Mar-

garet Carnegie in real Gaelic fashion. Nine large bonfires were
lighted on as many mountain peaks surrounding the Castle.
But the family's expectancy of spending more summers at
Cluny was suddenly disturbed. The Carnegies learned that the
summer of 1897 was likely to be the last to be spent in their
beautiful home. Cluny Macpherson was contemplating mar-
riage and in future would require his ancestral estate for him-
self and his bride.
Carnegie wrote from his own sick bed in Greenwich, Con-
necticut, to his wife, then in the New York house:
Every day I find myself better. The trip to New York and ex-
citement of meeting rather upset me and I appeared worse than the
normal condition. Wait till you see me here and you will be happy.
144
MOTHERHOOD
Now since I have seen you and the Little Saint I seem always with
you. Before this all was glamour-like a dream. Now as real as
ever. Margaret a little "uncanny" yet-fresh from heaven and not
yet just earthly like ourselves.
Here is great news, a note from Mr. Macpherson of Cluny en-
gaged to a Miss Hacey; funny name! Marriage not yet fixed. I
think we were not far ahead in deciding to have a Highland castle
of our ain, were we?
Mr. Macpherson says nothing about future plans. Nine bonfires
around Laggan in honor of Margaret; aren't they devoted? We
must remain in that district, but hopes of our getting Cluny seem
faint now, although there's many a slip, etc. Guess I'll not risk an-
other visit. I do so much wish to be well to welcome you. Only six
days more after this. Hurrah! A kiss for Margaret and twenty for
her mother. Ever, darling, your own Andrew.
Soon after he was writing to his wife:
Oh Lou, may this be our last separation. I hope many, many long
years together are to be ours with the little Darling closer and closer
to us. Ever your own, A. C.
For Mrs. Carnegie the birth of her child had given life a
new meaning and had stirred to its depths an always active
sense of responsibility. At this time she wrote to her sister Stella,
who was watching over Mr. Carnegie:
Please tell Andrew the most patriotic duty we can perform to our
country-better than the making of armor plate-is the taking care
of our wee Margaret so that she in turn may grow up a strong
healthy woman and become the mother of men. This duty I cannot
perform by myself, nor can he do it alone. We must do it together;
therefore please urge him to take good care of his health, not only
for our sakes, but for our country.
145
To Mrs. Carnegie, the arrival of a child was indeed an im-
portant family event, to be observed with all due ceremony.
In Oyster Bay, Long Island, for example, lived her grand-
mother Davis, a venerable woman now ninety-four years old,
with whom, all her life, she had been on the most affectionate
terms. Grandmother Davis, who had at times formed part of
the Whitfield household, was spending her final years at the
home of another daughter, Mrs. Gilson Landon.
By the birth of baby Margaret, the old lady had become a
great-grandmother and this new relationship, Mrs. Carnegie
thought, was entitled to its own celebration. Andrew and she,
and Stella and the baby therefore drove in a buckboard trap
to Greenwich, took the Maid of Kent, a steamboat chartered for
the occasion, and crossed to Oyster Bay. Here the baby, only a
few weeks old, was placed in the arms of her great-grandmother
Davis, who held and played with her for a time, delighted with
her new dignity. Her death in a few months made the meeting
of the generations an occasion Mrs. Carnegie long afterward
loved to recall.
Two months later the family was again settled for the last
summer at Cluny. Carnegie had started on another of his
coaching parties. His wife remained at Cluny, not wishing to
leave the baby, then not quite three months old. This trip gave
the husband an opportunity to inspect possible places for his
new home.
Her own last-minute negotiation for the purchase of Cluny
made no progress. A day or two afterward she wrote concern-
ing her husband's search for a new residence:
146
MOTHERHOOD
Am very anxious too for your report by word of mouth . . . We
noW want to take root. We haven't time to make mistakes; as many
playthings and play places as you like and yachts galore, but a home
first please, where we can have the greatest measure of health ...
But enough-we can talk this over better when we get together,
and understand, darling, I want your good first and I'll try to be
happy wherever you settle. We shall gang far ere we find anything
muckle better than Cluny for baby. Her cheeks are as brown and as
fat as possible. She almost talked to me as I was undressing her this
evening.
The next winter, the warm climate of the Riviera being
advised for Carnegie after his illness, the three spent at the Villa
Allerton, in Cannes. Their stay was disturbed because of the
disappointment about Cluny, the uncertainty as to whether
Andrew's discovery, Skibo Castle, would be all that the hus-
band predicted it would be.
Mrs. Carnegie wrote to her pastor, the Reverend Charles H.
Eaton:
The giving up of Cluny, with all its tender associations, has af-
fected my sister and me deeply, and we cannot look forward to
Skibo with the delight that Mr. Carnegie does, but when we have
seen it and have lived there no doubt we shall grow to like it, par-
ticularly if it suits Mr. Carnegie and Margaret. We find our home
here all we anticipated and more, and we are most delightfully sit-
uated. The restful out-of.door life has brought new vigor to Mr.
Carnegie and really there is not a trace of his recent illness left. He
climbs the hills with the greatest ease and is in the best of spirits.
If I begin to speak of Margaret I fear I shall never stop. She is
indeed the center of all our interests. She lives in the garden in the
147
sunshine and among the flowers, all the time. She is cutting her
teeth rapidly, but, I am thankful to say, easily; three have made
their appearance since our arrival here, making her the proud pos-
sessor of five in all! This keeps her thin, but she is well and is the
brightest little ray of sunshine that ever came to a home.
This letter makes it plain that Carnegie had secured the
option on the Skibo estate and that Mrs. Carnegie had never seen
it. He had acted with the same rapidity, even the impulsive_
ness, that had governed him in his whole business career. His
chief intermediary in the transaction had been Hew Morrison,
librarian of the institution Carnegie had founded in Edinburgh
ten years before. Morrison was a great student of Scottish his-
tory and folklore. As soon as it became definitely established
that Cluny could not be purchased, Carnegie asked his friend
to look around.
Skibo Castle stands on the northern shore of the Dornoch

Firth, Sutherland, Scotland. Its high elevation is about half
a mile from the tide. On the north, hills shield it from the
sweep of the north winds, and woods provide a windbreak.
From the shore of Dornoch Firth the estate runs inland for
many miles, covering hundreds of acres of heath and wood.
There is good grouse, duck, and pheasant shooting. It is close
to golf links and excellent fishing lochs.· The Firth provided
safe anchorage and there Carnegie could keep his yacht Sea-
breeze.
Skibo was an ancient place, far older than Cluny, and for six
hundred years and more had figured in Scottish history. Previ-
ous to the Reformation it had been a seat of the Bishops of
Caithness. Its story goes back to the Northmen and Vikings,
148
MOTHERHOOD
who liked to pillage the coast of Scotland. Perhaps the most
romantic event concerns the Marquis of Montrose, who slept
in the castle one night in I650 on his melancholy journey to
execution in Edinburgh.
Everything about the place, in I897, was in decay, although
the castle itself had been rebuilt by Sutherland Walker, from
whom Mr. Carnegie bought it, and was in good repair. The
cotters' and crofters' homes were going to ruin, the roads were
unkempt, all the farms were in poor condition. It is perhaps not
strange that Hew Morrison's first suggestion that Carnegie
purchase the place met with a cool reception. He showed Car-
negie the plans, of castle and grounds; they were at once tossed
aside; Carnegie said that he was not interested.
Morrison, a member of the recent exploring party, with some
difficulty persuaded Carnegie to inspect the Skibo estate. The
day was a beautiful one, with plenty of sunshine. The two took
a wagonette at Bonar Bridge-it was before the day of motor
cars-and drove ten miles over an age-old road to Skibo. There
was a sparkling expanse of water on their right, and on the
left they saw a rising hill overgrown with bracken, oak, birch
and larch. The road at places almost bordered the Firth, at
others it shrank away from the water's edge, the intervening
places forming a delightful green meadow, with grazing herds
of cattle. Over the whole landscape hung a brooding quiet.
Carnegie was entranced by the infinite calm of the scene. He
had insisted that his future home must have both land and
sea; that it provide both trout and salmon fishing; that it have
plenty of lochs, and streams, and, above all, at least one water-
fall. This place seemed to furnish all these attractions. It was
this drive, Carnegie always insisted, that fixed his choice on
149
Skibo. He at once instructed Hew Morrison to rent the place
with a one year option to buy. After testing Carnegie's judg_
ment of the place by living there during the summer of 1898,
Skibo was purchased the following year.
150
·8.
)fte JaJ1 (tt c£kib(t

May 3r, r899, was an important date for Skibo and the sur-
rounding country, for that was the day when the Carnegies
arrived to take up residence. All the villages were decorated
with flags and bunting; the bagpipe bands were in full force
and the children, let out of school for the occasion, put on
their best Sunday clothes. The oldest tenant on the estate,
nearly ninety years old, presented the address, to which the
new Laird, Andrew Carnegie, responded:
" 'I am rejoiced, Mr. Carnegie,' " he quoted Gladstone as say-
ing, " 'that there is a likelihood of your becoming proprietor of
Skibo; I know it well and I can never forget the view from
Meikle Ferry, looking eastward and seeing those hills, and es-
pecially because when I left Chester everything was backward
and farmers were complaining, while there I saw the fields
alive with golden grain. It is indeed the garden of Scotland.'''
Then Carnegie told of his wife's love for Scotland, her
adopted country. "Here," he said, pointing to Mrs. Carnegie,
"is an American who loves Scotland, and here"-pointing to
himself-"is a Scotchman who loves America, and here"-indi-
eating his daughter, then fourteen months old-His a little
Scottish-American who is born of both and will love both; she
has come to enter the fairyland of childhood among you."
151
The mother's letter to Dr. Eaton after reaching Skibo for
the first time gives an excellent description and reveals her
happiness:
Weare all very pleased with our new home. The surroundings
are more of the English type than Scotch. The sweet pastoral scenery
is perfect of its kind. A beautiful undulating park with cattle graz-
ing, a stately avenue of fine old beeches, glimpses of the Dornoch
Firth, about a mile away, all seen through the picturesque cluster
of lime and beech trees. All make such a peaceful picture that al-
ready a restful home feeling has come. The Highland features to
which our hearts turn longingly are not wanting'l but are more
distant.
To show you the unique range of attractions, yesterday Mr. Car-
negie was trout fishing on a wild moorland loch surrounded by
heather while I took Margaret to the sea and she had her first ex-
perience of rolling upon the soft white sand and digging her little
hands in it to her heart's content, while the blue waters of the ocean
came rolling in at her feet and the salt sea breeze brought the roses
to her cheeks. She is strong and hearty and so full of mischief-a
perfect little sunbeam. With all our fullness of life before we have
never really lived till now ...
In this setting of beauty, there must, of course, be organ

tones. Mrs. Carnegie here tells how the continual program
started:
This year, when I heard we had an orgarl in the hall, I arranged,
as a surprise to Mr. Carnegie, to have an organist here, who greeted
us as we stepped on the threshold of our new home with Beetho-
ven's Fifth Symphony. The organist has now become a permanent
institution. Every morning we come down to breakfast greeted by
swelling tones, beginning with a hymn or chorale, and swelEng into
152
THE LADY OF SKIBO
selections from the oratorios, etc. In the evening our musician plays
for us on our fine Bechstein piano, which we now are really en-
joying for the first time. We are all delighted with our musical
atmosphere.
The narrative will soon show Mrs. Carnegie as a competent
supervisor of architecture and landscaping in New York City,
but it is appropriate to point out here that she received her
training for success in that field in the reconstruction of Skibo
Castle. The sites for both Skibo and the New York house had
been purchased about the same year-r898. This wife, mother,
chatelaine, and hostess had in addition to supervise construc-
tion in both Scotland and the United States. How she came
out of the next few years of multitudinous duties with health
and poise is a mystery of personality. What kept her going
was Andrew's admiration for her ability as a manager, his
respect for her decisions in his private affairs and public
benevolences.
In the remodeling of Skibo Castle, it was she who planned
and directed the work. Carnegie gladly left to his wife the
labor involved in planning and equipping Skibo. The wife had
a deft way of dealing with artists and contractors. Everyone felt
her quiet touch of efficiency, and her unobtrusive insistence on
details. The exterior, with its walks and its flowers, was her es-
pecial pride. Probably few persons ever lived who had a mme
intense love of beautiful growing things.
The inadequacy of the original building had been seen at
once. It was too small for the new Carnegie wish for ex-
panded hospitality, and was lacking in modern comforts. The
Laird's part was to engage a firm of Inverness architects to
start rebuilding, with additions. Hundreds of Scottish workers
153
found employment in restoring Skibo, and toiled with zest.
In the landscaping of Skibo, provision was made for a nine-
hole golf course. The ancient game, so much a part of Scottish
tradition, had a special appeal for Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie. A
Scot who was expert in fairways and putting greens laid out
an appropriate nine-hole course, and John Sutherland, the pra-
fessional at Dornoch, nearby, instructed the couple in the tan-
talizing, exasperating use of driver, mashie, niblick, and putter.
Mrs. Carnegie made good progress, despite her early despair,
and managed to hold her own with women guests. She espe-
cially prided herself on her approach shots and I putts.
As Mrs. Carnegie's quoted letters to her husband have indi-

cated, she emphatic~lly decided, in the life at Skibo, that for
all his plans for lordly entertaining, there should be time and
room to enjoy her baby. The place was indeed. "a fairyland
of childhood," and she intended that little Margaret should
have her full share of its delights. The daily care of the child
was intrusted to the wise and capable Scottish nurse, Nana; but
whenever Mrs. Carnegie could, she strolled and drove with Mar-
garet, or in her own room read to her, played games, and started
the lifelong series of chats and confidences-an unusually affec-
tionate and loyal relationship.
The first occasion to introduce little Margaret to the tenants
and neighbors was the ceremony of laying the foundation
stone of the new part of the building. Since the central motive
for the home was the rearing of the child, she was starred in the
dedication scene, with Uncle Lauder as supporting character,
and with her mother aiding her tiny fingers to manipulate the
silver trowel. After the base was in place, Margaret was given
154
THE LADY OF SKIBO
the mallet, and with Uncle Lauder's help hit the stone, while
the proud old man said the ritual: "I declare this stone well and
truly laid in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
The solemn service ended with the singing of the Twenty~third
Psalm in the metrical version of the Scottish Psalm Book.
An inscription imbedded in the top of the cornerstone pre~
serves the occasion: "Margaret Carnegie laid me. A.C.~L.W.,
23rd June, r899, A.D." All this was another demonstration of
Carnegie's desire to share with his wife and child every thought
and enterprise.
The home motif, which appears in the letters of Andrew
Carnegie's early married days, reappears now. In one of his
wife's brief absences from the castle he wrote:
Good morning, dear one. Entrancing is the only word for it up
here. Such days! Cool, bright-so bright! Yesterday I thought the
links never were so fine. How grateful for being here at homel
Baba has just had her bite with me at breakfast and jelly on it!
When you are away I find myself going to her as the connecting
link, as indeed she is, part of both which makes us more truly one!
At another time he said:
If the greenhouses give you pleasure, that is a wise move, a pur-
chase of satisfaction. I believe we shall find them a great satisfac-
tion; and Baba will, that's certain, and they must foster in her tastes
which will remain all her life. Organ, flowers-I tell you we are
showing what Horne means.
In the annual moving to Scotland, it was Mrs. Carnegie who
made the arrangements, overseeing, with the aid of her personal
secretary, all details. With an understanding of the constant
demands made on her husband's strength and time, she thus
155
assumed the task of moving her household twice a year across
the Atlantic. All this was, of course, exhausting, and after she
had sailed with her family and servants for the English POrt,
she was glad for a rest period in London before she went north
to the castle. It became a custom with her to spend two weeks
in London after she had landed.
During this fortnight, she was gay and carefree. Her rooms
at the favorite Connaught Hotel were brightened by flowers
sent by friends. Her husband and she went out to the home of
the Yates Thompsons at Aylesbury, and enjoyed the sight of
a profusion of tulips, and of wall-flowers climbing out of a
blue mist of forget-me-nots, and the taste of the first straw-
berries from the Thompson garden.
The Carnegies enjoyed the London stage, preferring serious
drama, and performances by distinguished actors and actresses.
Sir Beerbohm Tree was then playing Shakespearean parts in
splendid style, and the couple derived pleasure from his acting
in The Merchant of Venice, Henry VIn and Macbeth. The
tragedy set amidst Scottish atmosphere, was particularly en-
joyed, despite its gruesomeness. The mornings Mrs. Carnegie
spent in shopping, and often Mrs. Thompson went with her.
The lady of Skibo unfailingly visited the Irish linen stores to re-
plenish the castle's supplies. Shopping, wherever she went, was
one of Mrs. Carnegie's keen pleasures.
This London fortnight she called a "spree," with just the
happiness of meeting dear friends and of enjoying plays, con-
certs, art exhibitions, and visiting historic sites. Leaving London
and going north, she usually made stop-overs in Dunfermline
and Edinburgh, relishing their tang. In her recreations in Scot-
tish towns she was a good deal like the engaging young woman
156
THE LADY OF SKIBO
of Kate Douglas Wiggin's Penelope's Experiences in Scotland,
a popular book in the Carnegie circle.
New in motherhood, and desperately wishing to be the best
of mothers, she came to the life in Skibo vastly burdened with
other duties. Andrew wished the castle to be a stage for friend-
ships which would be helpful to his philanthropies. Then
there were relatives and friends of both families whom they
warmly desired to entertain. Skibo must be rebuilt on a mas-
sive scale, with a staggering number of rooms. She must make
of its massiveness and formality an intimate home. Its bigness
must contain graciousness, ease and simplicity, and· the persons
invited to it must be earnest, democratic, satisfied with a quiet
environment. She said to a friend, "If anything in my life can
be made a plea for the simple life, I will be content."
June and most of July at Skibo were periods of rest; there
were usually no guests. Now Mrs. Carnegie unpacked and
sorted out personally all the booty she had collected in New
York and London. She put each article in a special cupboard
or drawer, to be produced "on the spur of the moment" when
the proper moment came. There was always at hand a large
supply of genuine Scottish horn spoons-to be given to each
guest leaving Skibo.
During this quiet period all the families on the "policies"-
that is, the grounds about the castle-received a visit. Mrs.
Carnegie particularly enjoyed calling at the cosy homes, sit-
ting sometimes in the parlor, or "ben the hoose"-in the
kitchen.
There were four schools on the Skibo estate-in the pleasant
villages of Clashmore, Invershin, Larachan, and Bonar Bridge,
and the Carnegies, father, mother, and daughter, were at home
157
in their atmosphere. Andrew, the son of the weaver, and Louise
Whitfield, the girl of friendly Manhattan neighborhoods, had
human qualities that made them welcome guests in the homes
and schools around Skibo. The simplicity of the Carnegies iden-
tified them with folk of quiet tastes. This was illustrated by
a remark the Laird himself made: "The average American
wouldn't like our life at Skibo. There aren't enough of 'other
people' to go around-no casinos, nor dancing, and all that.
But we love it." To Mrs. Carnegie especially, the summer
meant much more than entertaining noted guests; she found
just as much pleasure in driving down to the village with her
little daughter and chatting with housewives and shopkeepers.
Great occasions were the closing days at the four schools.
Then the Castle folk sallied forth to take part in the ceremo-
nies, carrying prizes and boxes of sweets. Small boys and girls,
dressed in their best, gave recitations ranging from Young
Lochinvar, recited in broad Scots and in complete monotone,
to amusing verses rendered by a fat little boy in blue velvet suit
and white lace collar, who solemnly assured the visitors that-
"They pick the pieces off the wall
When Father carves the duck."
Group singing followed the recitations; they sang such songs

as Wi' a Hundred Pipers and a' and a', or Sound the Pibroch.
There was one that Carnegie especially liked-The Boatie
Rows. The poet Burns had liked it too, for its note of family
affection mingled with the occupations of life. Its aim was to
encourage school children, after they had completed their
schooling ("lear' "), to help speed the boat and fill the heavy
creel that clothed the family and bought the porridg<:.:
158
THE LADY OF SKIBO
When Jeanie, Jock, and Janetie
Are up, and gotten lear',
They'll help to gar the boatie row,
And lichten a' oor care.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows fu' wee!;
And lightsome be her heart that bears
The murlain and the creel!
Then an address by the Laird was requested, and Carnegie,
in his practical way, praised the reciters, and if he admonished
one or two, he illustrated by tone or gesture how to put more
expression into the renderings, especially if the selection had
been some poem by Burns which he knew by heart. His wife,
charming in a: smart tweed suit, lacy blouse, and wearing a
lovely pin at her throat, then presented the prizes, shaking
hands with each child, with her graciousness winning a smile
from the bashful little faces. Concluding, the Reverend Mr.
Ritchie prayed, all sang God Save the King, and the folks from
the Castle went to take tea with the .schoolmaster and his
wife.
When the party returned home, Mrs. Carnegie, in a high-
jinks mood, would recall her own schoolgirl recitations. She
delighted the small group around her with her own overem-
phasized renditions of dramatic poems like Thomas Campbell's
Lord Ullin's Daughter:
"Come back! Come back!" he cried in grief
Across the stormy water;
"And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! 0 my daughter!"
159
What Mrs. Carnegie called "high jinks" were a regular part
of Skibo entertainment, especially before the guests came. The
term was highly flexible, describing almost anything unusual.
For the evening hours there were games old or new. Back-
gammon always, and sometimes they played Pit, a lively card
game; into this Carnegie and Mr. Ritchie entered with thor-
ough enjoyment. Mrs. Carnegie enjoyed beating them; her
eyes would sparkle when she could shout first "Corner on
Wheat," the highest winning cards!
She liked to don a large white apron and boil molasses candy,
such as she used to make when a girl; or tol play "puff bil-
liards," with a large group of neighbors asked in for the
purpose-a boisterous game that left everybody limp with ex-
citement and laughter. Pleasant diversions were trips after
breakfast with her friends on the yacht Seabreeze, with a land-
ing on the rocks at Tarbatness for a picnic. Then she would
start singing, and inspire her companions to join in; there was
something in the country of the clans that evoked music. Any-
one could make darling Prince Charlie the symbol of her own
dreams; and so it was with the Castle's mistress as she sang this
favorite ballad:
"Follow thee! follow thee! Wha wadna follow thee?
Lang hast thou lo'ed and trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,
King 0' oar Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!"
She knew many Scottish songs. Her guests considered it a
rare treat to hear her sing Speed, Bonnie Boat, or Come Under
My Plaidie (about the lass who rejected an old dotard for a
handsome young lover). Reminiscent of one of the wistful
songs we hear today, Songs My Mother Taught Me, is the
160
THE LADY OF SKIBO
daughter's recollection of the one that follows-"one of those
Mother sang most often."
NORTH COUNTRIE MAID
A north countrie maid up to London had strayed,

Altho' with her nature it did not agree,
For she wept and she sighed and she bitterly cried,
"0 I wish once again in the North I could be.
"For it's home, dearest home, an' it's home I'd like to be,
Home, dearest home in the North Countrie,
Where the oak, and the ash, and the bonnie rowan tree
Are all growing green in the North Countrie.
"No doubt did I please I could marry with ease

Where maidens are fair many lovers still come
But he that I wed must be north countrie bred,
And carry me back to my ain countrie home."
Her family remembers one particular high jinks performed

in the time when walking abroad at dawn was advocated for
one's health. Having heard from the housekeeper, Mrs. Nicoll,
of the benefits of an early morning walk, Mrs. Carnegie asked
that a thermos jug of hot milk and a plate of biscuits be
brought to her bedroom the night before, creating a delicious
feeling of something unusual to happen the next day, and at
six o'clock in the morning she called all the family to enjoy
the surprise. Then the sleepyheads found themselves led along
a woodland path to the "Little Moor," requiring a good hour's
walk.
There were many home enjoyments shared by just the three
161
of them. Mrs. Carnegie always set aside Sunday afternoon for
little Margaret. The two would go alone for a walk; if the
cherries, strawberries, gooseberries or raspberries were ripe,
they would wander through the garden, picking the fruit.
"Warmed by the sun," the mother would say when she picked
a luscious strawberry, "how much sweeter than when they
come on the tablel"
After tea had been served-while the evening sun was send-
ing long shadows across the green lawn and the brilliant
flower-beds below the house-father, mother, and daughter
would go upstairs to Mrs. Carnegie's boudoir and sing hymns,
with Mrs. Carnegie at the piano. A large house party of famous
persons might be going on below; but this half-hour was sacred
to the family.
The father, imbued with Scottish history and poetry, wished
his little daughter to enjoy the same inheritance. He wrote out
several of his favorite poems and gave them to Nana, with in-
structions that Margaret should learn them by heart. Nursery
rhymes came first:
Wee Willie Winkie
Rins through the town,
Upstairs and doon stairs
In his nicht gown,
Tirlin' at the window,
Cryin' at the lock,
"Are the weans in their bed,
For it's now ten o'clock?"
As Margaret grew older, she in the same way learned to re-
cite a short version of the Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens. She recalls
that a poem of special appeal to her father was The Burnie:
162
THE LADY OF SKIBO
It drapit frae a gray rock upon a mossy stane
And doon amang the green grass it wandered mony a lane
It passed the broomy 'now 1 behind the hunters' hill
It pleased the Miller's bairns and it caw'd 2 their Faither's mill.
But soon anither bed it had where the rocks grew all aboon
And for a time the burnie saw neither sun nor moon
But the licht '0 heaven came again
Its banks grew green and fair
And mony a bonnie fIuer 3 in its season blossomed there.
And ither burnies joined it and its rippling sang was o'er
For the burn became a river e'er it reached the ocean shore
There the wild waves rose to greet it
With their ane eerie croon,
Working their appointed work and never, never done.
Nae heart-burnings at what anither's got

Nae sad repinings at the hardness 0' its lot
The good or ill, the licht or shade
It took as it micht be
Thus onward ran the burnie frae the gray rock to the sea.
1 knoll 2 turned 3 flower
Another familiar rhyme of the North Countree was about

John 0' Groat's, the Land's End of the mainland of Scotland,
off the rugged Caithness coast. The Caithness ports of Thurso
and Wick could be reached by land and water from Skibo, and
by the same token, the lore of the place drifted into the Castle
-and into the little girl's room. When Margaret woke and
heard the rain gusts pelting the windowpane, she was sure to
hear a soft Highland accent making the supplication:
163
Rainy, rainy, rattlestanes,
Don't rain on me,
Rain on John 0' Groat's house,
Far away at sea!
Along with the mother's thought for her own child went
consideration for the other children of the estate. Mrs. Car-
negie's preparations for life at Skibo began in New York, and
there she picked up in favorite shops pretty things that would
sell well at the annual church sales at Bonar Bridge and Dor-
noch, and she also scoured the children's shops for games,
toys and books to take over as presents for Scottish wee ones; or
to be held in reserve for visiting youngsters, to be brought
forth at the right moment as "surprises," or as "something to
take home."
Delighting in gardens, she made the one at Skibo her es-
pecial pride. She liked to walk with some favored friend in her
garden and herself arrange the flowers in the rooms of her
guests.
In early June, as she stepped from the train at Bonar Bridge,
she saw blossoms everywhere, and passed banks of primroses
growing in the mossy oak woods, and masses of yellow broom
waving above the grey stone walls as the road led out of the
little valley of Spinningdale. As she approached the imposing
iron gates of the West Lodge, the air was laden with the heavy
fragrance of the gorse growing in golden profusion on each
side of the road; it reminded her, she would say, of yellow
peaches and cream eaten in girlhood at Oyster Bay.
When she came nearer the house, cultivated blossoms ex-
tended a friendly welcome; here was an avenue lined on one
side by laburnum trees planted so close together that the hang-
164
THE LADY OF SKIBO
ing tassels made a solid row of color-"golden rain" it has been
rightly called. Closer to the castle she could greet the red haw-
thorn trees, the lilacs, and the banks of rhododendron in full
bloom.
The lawn and gardens at Skibo were large, and necessarily
formal about the entrance. Fruit, vegetables, and flowers were
needed in large quantities to meet the requirements of the vast
household, but Mrs. Carnegie succeeded in keeping certain
parts of the garden as her own personal preserve, filling them
with her favorite flowers. Such places were the long border
of lily-of-the-valley below the house, and the beds in the old
garden, snow-white with double and single narcissus. Here the
lady of the castle went the first possible moment after arrival,
returning with baskets full. As long as the spring flowers lasted,
she and her daughter picked large quantities, putting them
into the bathtub for "a good drink" before shipping them to
gladden children in London hospitals.
A note in her diary about this time reads : We went to the
garden to see the Meconopsis-only one blossom left. This
plant, for those unacquainted with garden lore, is a rare blue
poppy from the Himalayas.
In July, the path bordered by the "Cluny" roses became a
delight. Some of the bushes had been brought from Cluny
where she first made friends with the fragrant roses that peeped
out like small pink sea shells from grey-green leaves.
Roses in Scotland are late in comir.g out but bloom all sum-
mer. By August, when the large house parties arrived, the
bushes were in full flower. The gardeners left· the special
blooms of the sweet pink La France Rose} the exquisite Mme.
Abel Chatney} and the deep red Etoile d}Hollande for the mis-
165
tress to gather herself. She and her daughter went every Sunday
afternoon to pick perfect blossoms to lay in the ladies' finger
bowls that night at dinner.
The mistress of Skibo's practical ability and power to com-

mand, veiled by her gentleness, were daily in use during the
social season in the entertainment of guests. An instance of
the importance of the persons the Carnegies received is in the
cablegram that went from Skibo Castle at the time President
Theodore Roosevelt succeeded in making peace between Japan
and Russia. It was signed by the Archbishop 6f Canterbury,
Principal Fairbairn, John Morley, Nicholas Murray Butler, and
two other American educators-President Harland of Forest
View and Principal Dabney of Ohio University. The New York
Times said of this group that surely more than dollars was
needed to bring such guests together. Whoever they were, Mrs.
Carnegie made them feel at home.
Each morning after breakfast the efficient hostess planned
the details of the day with Irvine, the butler; each group of
guests was considered, and vehicles provided. Some of the
guests went with Mr. Carnegie on the Seabreeze; others to the
golf course; others to fish in the Shin River or to watch
the marvelous competitive skill of the collies in the sheep trials;
and others to shop in Dornoch.
The number expected for lunch or dinner was settled by
Mrs. Carnegie with her butler; then the housekeeper appeared
with her large red book containing the cook's suggestions for
meals. The book itself bears evidence of Mrs. Carnegie's ideas;
many of the cook's proposals are canceled and replaced by the
lady's own dishes. Afternoon tea in the drawing room, with
166
THE LADY OF SKIBO
thick cream-or lemon-and scones, oatcakes and shortbread,
was an everyday ceremony. Mrs. Carnegie always sat at the
table, made the tea in the teapot, and poured it.
For the main meals there was a variety of foods from and
around the estate: salmon from the River Shin; herring
brought in from a seacoast village by Curley the fishwife,
who carried it directly to the house in her creel; and brown
trout and sea trout from two lochs within a mile of the house;
there was also mutton and beef, and venison from the estate,
with wild duck, grouse, partridge and pheasant in season. The
homely rabbit and often the wild hare were served.
From the garden came the freshly picked fruits and vege-
tables, and from the bakery-the bun, bannock, scone, and gin-
gerbread. It all sums up in the exclamation recently made by
one of the family: "We ate welll"
The meals attended to, the next matter of the day was that
of accommodating new guests. For the first decade the chate-
laine attended to this personally, but, with her husband in-
sisting, she at last engaged a personal secretary. The choice was
a gentleman named Archibald C. Barrow, well qualified in
intelligence, charm, and industry; he was to serve Mrs. Car-
negie uninterruptedly for forty-six years. He opened all except
Mrs. Carnegie's personal letters: after the weeding out of
crank notes and random scrawls, plenty remained to keep Mrs.
Carnegie busy. She answered many of them in her own clear,
firm script.
A swim in the pool usually preceded lunch; the hostess
would come from her duties in time to join her friends in this
diversion. The lady of Skibo was a good swimmer. After lunch,
for the first time in the day, she had opportunity for relaxa-
167
tion and enjoyment. A favorite pastime was an excursion to
the River Shin to see the salmon jumping at the falls, then
home by way of Lairg. She liked to drive also across the moors,
and have tea at the little inn called Aultnamain-tea served
with home-baked pancakes, oatcakes, and heather honey. The
time from tea until the dinner hour was supposed to be for
resting, but she employed it in writing letters.
When dressed for dinner, she appeared in the nursery where
a little girl was anxiously awaiting her arrival. Here in a fond
few minutes she heard her daughter's prayers and said "Good-
night," followed by Carnegie, in his black evenimg clothes, on a
similar affectionate mission. Then, with her quick, vigorous
step somewhat slowed down by the long train attached to a
beautiful satin or brocade evening dress, cut in a low square or
round neckline and trimmed often with exquisite handmade
lace, together they went down to their waiting house party.
The pipes began, and the guests, who had been paired off by
Mrs. Carnegie with quiet skill in the drawing room, proceeded
into dinner behind the piper. A wide balcony above the hall,
which gave a splendid view of the procession below, was used
by housemaids in black dresses, white aprons and caps, and
other members of the household who could get off for the treat
of seeing the guests go into dinner. Above all, little Margaret
Carnegie enjoyed the scene from this vantage point, and the
lovely and stately lady following her guests into the dining-
room never failed to turn and throw a goodnight kiss.
The pleasantness of domesticity was the prevailing note in
the "Skibo Sundays"-occasions that left lasting impressions
on all who were privileged to be part of them. Mrs. Carnegie
was regardful of the Sabbath, but she became liberal with the
168
THE LADY OF SKIBO
times, and as her daughter grew older, stipulated that there
should be quiet healthful recreation on Sundays as well as on
weekdays. The swimming pool and golf links were always
open on Sunday afternoons. For Sabbath stillness, the daily
pipes, which regularly awakened the family at 7:45 on week-
days, were silent.
Mrs. Carnegie's diary invariably records one procedure that
marked every Sunday: We went the Rounds. This meant that
the whole family, along with familiar guests, visited the sev-
eral places that contributed so much to the comforts of life in
the castle. There was the garage, and, before the coming of the
automobile, the stables, where the horses, eight or ten of them,
scrupulously curried and brushed, were awaiting their Sun-
day lump of sugar. The coachman's family-and ultimately
the chaufteur's-received a call. Mrs. Carnegie never omitted
the dairy, in which she took a special interest, or the poultry
house. The gamekeeper and the kennels always called for an
appreciative visit. The pointers and setters used to point the
grouse on the moors barked a noisy greeting. Next came
the "nursery," where trees were grown for planting all over the
estate; its forester gave them his pleasant morning welcome.
Finally the party reached the greenhouses, where the gar-
dener proudly displayed the ripening peaches, apricots, figs and
grapes, and the flowering plants, such as Canterbury bells, and
the huge tuberous-rooted begonias-red, orange, yellow, pink,
and white.
After this Sunday custom, the group went to church in Dor-
noch Cathedral; then, after the service and luncheon, each went
his own way for the afternoon.
Hymn-singing concluded the Sunday observances. The fam-
169
ily, guests and servants blended voices in the big hall. The guests
were frequently joined by the Reverend Mr. Ritchie and Dr.
Bentinck, minister of Dornoch Cathedral. The singing began
at nine o'clock, always with one of Carnegie's favorites, such
as Lead Kindly Light or God of Bethel. Mrs. Carnegie made
out a list of the ten or twelve hymns to be sung that evening;
these lists still survive among her papers, ranging from the
earliest days at Skibo in I899 to her last stay there in I939.
Friends even now tell the daughter that they never hear certain
hymns, wherever they may be, without thinking of Sunday
nights at Skibo. They still hear Mrs. Carnegie's voice giving
out the number of each selection and see her warm smile as
she rose at the end of the Doxology and said, "Goodnight,
everyone."
The arrival of the motor age was recognized with consider-

able reluctance by the Carnegies. They loved horses and had a
comfortable supply, and the coach, the cherished wedding gift
from Mrs. Thomas Carnegie, did splendid service for many
years. It still stands, a mute witness to departed glory, in the
Skibo stable.
Uncle George Lauder, son of old Uncle Lauder, was the first
to be captivated by the new motor vehicle, and in 1905 this
bold spirit became the possessor of a strange new locomotive
device, vivid red in color, with resplendent brass accessories
and a large bulbed rubber horn. It had two seats in front, and a
door in the rear which, when closed, made room for three
more passengers. One morning he proudly drove the car up
to the Skibo door and invited the family for a drive.
170
THE LADY OF SKIBO
The three Carnegies, in trepidation, ascended the chariot;
the driver, warned not to go too fast, started off at a clip of
twenty miles an hour-it was doubtful if the affair could make
better time. However, everybody enjoyed the experience, for
instead of the brief journey planned, they made a forty-mile
tour and returned home so late that the butler, tall and digni-
fied in long black coat and striped trousers, and the house-
keeper, round and short, dressed in black with white apron
and lace cap, were out on the lawn anxiously scanning the east
drive for a first glimpse of the returning adventurers.
On January I, 1906, Mrs. Carnegie again began keeping the

diaries which had been a girlhood habit. In the next forty
years not a day passed-except for one month when temporary
loss of eyesight made the task impossible-that she did not re-
cord its happenings. .
She liked especially to make note of delightful strolls about
the Skibo estate. The Monk's Walk, a favorite with Mrs. Car-
negie, went back to the time when Skibo was the seat of the
Catholic Bishop. Here she spent many happy hours, revelling
among its magnificent trees. Another vestige of the monkish
era was a beech hedge, the branches intricately intertwined
and the foliage dark and abundant; certain experts pronounced
it the finest in Britain. The yew trees also must have gone back
to the ecclesiastical period, for they were clearly seven or eight
hundred years old.
Then there was the Sunset Walk which the Carnegies had
built for a better view of the setting sun. This walk led to Ospis-
dale, where the Lauders lived, along the slant of a hill, one side
171
all greenery, the other overlooking Loch Ospisdale with glimpses
of Dornoch Firth beyond. In summer, as the Carnegies strolled
there, the splendor of the sunset was almost directly ahead.
All visitors of note and members of the family were invited
to plant trees. Ultimately there were twenty or twenty-five-
oak, maple, and other varieties-and by the side of each was
placed a tablet containing an inscription giving the variety of
the tree, the name of the planter, and the date. The first to
plant appropriately enough were Andrew and Louise Carnegie.
Then came Baby Margaret, Miss Stella Whitfield, Uncle Lau-
der, "Auntie" Thompson, John Morley, and other close friends.
Mrs. Carnegie regarded it as a good omen that of all the trees
set out here not one died.
Many of Mrs. Carnegie's letters contain references to Auchin-
duich-a part of Skibo of which the public seldom heard, of
which few visitors were aware. This was a restored farmhouse
on the moors, about twenty-five miles from Skibo. It was the
"petit Trianon" of which Mrs. Carnegie once spoke in a letter
to Dr. Eaton, a haven far away from the Versailles that was
Skibo. Auchinduich was a place to which the family could re-
tire all by themselves. In those first days it perhaps did more
than anything else in reconciling Mrs. Carnegie to the castle,
for the Auchinduich country, with its hills, bracken, and
heather, seemed really a part of the Cluny country. In this
farmhouse retreat, with sagging floors and leaky roof, the Car-
negies-Andrew without his valet, Mrs. Carnegie without her
maid-rested for the month of July every summer. After a few
years-for the house at Auchinduich was really disreputable-
they built another lodge close by, calling it Aultnagar, a Gaelic
word meaning "rough mountain burn." By this time the Duke
172
THE LADY OF SKIBO
of Sutherland had been persuaded to sell a portion of his prop-
erty west of Bonar Bridge, including the River Shin, the part
of which Laird Carnegie was afterwards most proud.
Margaret Carnegie, now a girl of thirteen, laid the corner-

stone in the approved fashion for the new lodge Aultnagar.
Here the three retired every year as at Auchinduich. Here Car-
negie worked hard on the Autobiography, wrote most of his
magazine articles-scribbling with lead pencil on a pad on his
knee, usually reading the result to wife and daughter, inviting
criticisms and suggestions. In the evening, about the fireplace,
there were readings from Burns.
Roamed all over Aultnagar, Mrs. Carnegie notes on July 30,
19IO. Glorious. Burns in the evening. Daddy read us, she says
at another time, Burns's {(The Cotters Saturday Night" right
after dinner.
The poem just referred to has been described as the "noblest
poem genius ever dedicated to domestic devotion," and the fact
that it was a favorite of the Carnegies is a strong indication of
their respect for lowly life and their reverence for the Scrip-
tures. They in their family worship were in accord with the
Scots patriarch of the poem who took down "the big ha' Bible"
and said to his flock, "Let us worship God."
From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad;
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
Mr. Carnegie's appreciation of these benefits is shown in this

note to his wife:
173
We must manage somehow that you do not have so much energy
in your doings. A slow, quiet-going life is needed. I wish we could
all go to Auchinduich direct and play at homekeeping.
The thing that gave the trio the greatest pleasure was the
walk that ultimately led along the bank of the Shin; a rustic
seat was built by the falls for observation. The site was beauti-
ful amidst silver birches. The falling waters could be viewed
directly face to face. In their little watch-house the family could
see the salmon jumping, sometimes fifteen or twenty feet,
sometimes falling back exhausted, only to renew the attempt
after resting-a mad, determined scramble for the spawning
grounds in the headwaters of the stream.
One episode of Aultnagar days Mrs. Carnegie related with
relish all the rest of her life. She liked men to have what she
called a "well-groomed look." Carnegie was not so careful.
With his mind occupied with the questions of. the day, and
already forming sentences to be expressed in his next speech
or magazine article, he was inclined to neglect certain niceties.
He never noticed whether his golf stockings matched or
whether he had on a tie or not. One of his highly prized
treasures was an old coffee-brown waterproof fishing coat with
cape sleeves, which left his arms free to cast. It was one article
of clothing Mrs. Carnegie dared not touch, but for several sum-
mers she had suggested that a new coat might be substituted.
She met with flat refusal, in which she apparently acquiesced.
One summer, however, fortune seemed willing to help her.
The Laird liked to stroll along the path across the moors in
showery weather wearing his favorite waterproof. At the end
of the walk there was a wooden bench on which he would
meditate. On this occasion the bench had been freshly painted
174
THE LADY OF SKIBO
bright green. Carnegie sat down as usual, adding fresh vivid
green blotches to the coat's dilapidated appearance. Now,
thought Mrs. Carnegie, no argument is necessary; she replaced
it with a new coat of the same design.
But Carnegie did not appreciate her attention; indeed, he
spoke some firm words on the subject. The old fishing coat,
now decorated with a haphazard pattern of paint, was restored
to him. His wife chuckled as she told this story on herself.
In accord with the Laird's interest in the results of his wide-

spread benefactions, the Carnegies entertained at Skibo differ-
ent bodies of trustees connected with the trusts he had founded.
One such group were the twenty-five trustees of the Carnegie
Dunfermline Trust, who came up for a week end each year in
July; they represented several planes of education and social
amenity, but Mrs. Carnegie saw to it that all went well.
In September came Principals' Week. The heads of the four
Scottish universities-Sir James Donaldson, of St. Andrews; Sir
Donald McAllister, of Glasgow; Sir George Adam Smith, of
Aberdeen; Sir William Turner, of Edinburgh-came with
their wives and enlivened the place with conversation and argu-
ments. They were men of terrifying erudition, speaking all
kinds of languages and endowed with abstruse knowledge; but
these talents were not unduly exercised, for they had come to
get better acquainted with one another and to gain vigor for
their approaching duties.
At other times came Ambassadors in plenty-Joseph H.
Choate, Whitelaw Reid, Walter H. Page. I took Mr. Page to
the Fairy Glen tor tea, Mrs. Carnegie wrote in her diary, Sep-
tember I3, I9I3. For tea, Margaret made dropped scones in her
175
new range. There came Statesmen James Bryce, Asquith and
Lloyd George; great scientists, E. Ray Lankester, Sir William
Osler, George Ellery Hale, Simon Newcomb; lofty aristocrats,
Lord Balfour of Burleigh, Secretary of State for Scotland, and
his Lady, and the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland.
Men of letters were often present: Rudyard Kipling, whom
Carnegie established in the Manse of Creich after his almost
fatal illness in New York, and who recuperated sufficiently to
write a good part of Kim as the Carnegies' guest; William Dean
Howells, George W. Cable, Henry van Dyke, Frederic Har.
rison. The Carnegies found Kipling a man of simple manners,
unaffected in his talk. He took a keen interest in all the char-
acters and features of the place. Mrs. Kipling, a New England
woman, had plenty of common sense, and shared her husband's
interest in people and customs. Among the guests were great
musicians, Sir Edward and Lady Elgar, and Mr, and Mrs. Ig-
nace Paderewski. And there were financiers, such as D. C. Mills
and the Rockefellers.
There was even a king among the visitors. One afternoon
in 1903, when both Carnegie and his wife were enjoying an
afternoon nap, a telegram came from the Duke of Sutherland,
saying that King Edward VII was on his way from Dunrobin
Castle to pay a call upon the Carnegies.
King Edward came, and was delightfully informal and
friendly. It happened that just then Buckingham Palace was
being remodeled, and he was intensely interested in viewing
the Carnegie castle's newly installed comforts and conven-
iences. His enthusiasm vastly pleased the chief renovator-Mrs.
Carnegie.
At the appropriate time she gave him tea. For some years
176
THE LADY OF SKIBO
she had been arguing with friends that the American custom
of lemon with one's tea was more desirable than the milk or
cream the English preferred. When His Majesty was asked,
his reply, "Oh, lemon!" gave the Lady of Skibo a quiet
triumph.
Little Margaret Carnegie, then five years old, was on the
lawn picking flowers, and Edward asked Mrs. Carnegie to
have her brought in. She offered him the flowers she had been
gathering. "This one is for you," she said; then, holding up an-
other-"this for the Queen." Only one detail did the child over-
look-she forgot the curtsey. But the one person who apparently
failed to notice it was the King himself; he kissed her.
A special group of intimates known to Carnegie and his wife
as "old shoes" gave the place a peaceful, familiar air. These
were the men and women who came every year and stayed as
long as they wished. Such were John Morley, the Yates Thomp-
sons (who after Margaret's birth became "Uncle" and "Aunt"),
and Lord Armitstead, presider over beefsteak picnics.
The "old shoe" mentioned most frequently in Mrs. Car-
negie's diaries was the Reverend Robert. L. Ritchie, pastor of
the Parish of Creich. Mr. Ritchie was a Gaelic-speaking native
of the Island of Iona, but his English was impeccable. He had
been pastor of the parish for many years and had welcomed
the Carnegies on their first arrival at Skibo. The good man
was to remain a part of the life there until his death in 1933.
"Dropping in" at the castle almost every day, he usually stayed
for lunch or for dinner, and frequently spent the night.
The minister was particularly interesting because he knew
so much of the history and antiquities of the region. He was
constantly unearthing new memorials of Skibo's past and de-
177
tee ted remains of the old moat that had surrounded the castle.
Whenever a skeleton was turned up, he could tell the race and
the period. He held in deepest reverence the spring known as
St. Mary's Well, and always removed his hat when he ap-
proached it, as if a divine presence hallowed it. Every foot of
the country was known to him, and every legend; he called
the attention of the Laird and his Lady to many beautiful but
neglected places, for instance, the Fairy Glen on the estate.
This charming spot evoked stories of "the little people" such
as that of Kilmeny, the child the fairies stole, in the poem by
"The Ettrick Shepherd"-a legend that must have suggested
the theme of Barrie's play Mary Rose.
The erudite and poetical Mr. Ritchie was also full of quaint
humor and made one of the best of table companions; there
was not one of the human "old shoes" of whom the Carnegies
were more fond; Kipling vastly enjoyed his society, as might
be expected of the author of Puck of Pook's Hill.
The family at the Castle had a special affection for Dun-
fermline, Andrew Carnegie's birthplace. If they were ever in-
clined to forget it, Andrew and U nele Lauder would not let
them. Along with all the stories told about the ancient place,
it could be recalled at once by reciting the opening lines of
the immemorial ballad, Sir Patrick Spens:
The King sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine ...
Mrs. Carnegie, content with the r8le, as she expressed it, of

being "the unknown wife of a somewhat well-known man,"
was exalted out of that r8le by an unusual ceremony. She wrote
in her diary in March, 1907: Dunfermline wishes to confer
178
THE LADY OF SKIBO
Freedom on me. Andrew had had the honor before her, and
the prospect thrilled her. On June 3rd the formal investiture
took place. Maggie Lauder, she wrote, gave a delightful re-
ception. Baba received with me.
lt was a grand occasion. The entire population had turned
out; all the municipal officers participated with their Scottish
relish for pomp and ceremony and their rich robes and chains
of office. In its six hundred years of history, no woman had ever
received the Freedom, Dunfermline's highest distinction.
In this lively year the Carnegies accepted invitations from
monarchs and presidents. On Mrs. Goelet's yacht they met Em-
peror Wilhelm; in Paris they dined with Ex-President Loubet;
a few months afterward they were guests of President Taft.
More and more called on for public appearances, the wife was
becoming a graceful public speaker. She spoke the right word
easily-the one best expressing the gratitude she felt, the com-
pliment she wished to pay, or the thought she desired to share.
Peace between the English-speaking peoples was the Carne-

gies' first thought as a means to international concord; the idea
grew to embrace all nations. In 1903, Carnegie endowed the
Palace of Peace at the Hague; in 1907 he founded the Pan-
American Union and made liberal gifts to the American branch
of the Association for International Conciliation, Paris. He held
any sincere effort for world concord worth backing-what
dividends for mankind the outlawing of war would bringl
In 1910 came the gift of $10,000,000. to establish in Wash-
ington, D.C., the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace,
and in 1914 Carnegie money, $2,000,000 of it, created the
Church Peace Union, to rally men of all religious beliefs
179
to supplant war by justice and world brotherhood. The inspirer
of the Church Peace Union was Mrs. Carnegie-it was her way
of working coincidently with her husband. Her pastor, Dr.
Merrill, became its active head.
These peace enterprises seemed effective at the time, and the
hopes built upon them made the World War when it broke all
the more tragic for those two who had dedicated their lives and
wealth to the cause of international goodwill.
One of Carnegie's utterances as to peace was prophetic of
today: "An International Court to Abolish War," was his text.
"The only measure required today for the maintenance of
world peace," he went on, "is an agreement between three or
four of the leading civilized powers (and as many more as
desire to join, the more the better) pledged to cooperate against
disturbers of world peace, should such arise." His wife had oc-
casion afterward to point to this foreshadowing of a UNO.
The hopeful year of I9I3 gave fresh reasons for a conference
with Kaiser Wilhelm. The Carnegie gift, the Palace of Peace
at the Hague, was completed and ready for dedication. Ger-
man y' s cooperation, previously refused, was wanted more than
ever. This year of I9I3, moreover, marked the passage of ap-
proximately a hundred years of peace between the United
States and Great Britain, and it was, as well, the silver jubilee
of the Kaiser's reign. Taking advantage of these celebrations,
Carnegie gladly headed the American delegation to felicitate
the Emperor, meaning to win his support. These events made
many thoughtful persons hail I9I3 as a great peace year in-
stead of a mask for war. The Carnegies really believed that a
blessed era was dawning, and there were millions who shared
their hopes.
180
THE LADY OF SKIBO
When Carnegie presented the address 'to the Kaiser, the mon~
arch lifted a finger: "Remember, Carnegie," he said, "twenty~
five years of peace I If I am Emperor for another twenty~five
years not a shot will be fired in Europe I" These words Carnegie
interpreted as a personal pledge of the Emperor to keep Europe
free of war. They gave a particular zest to this participation
in the opening of the Peace Palace soon afterward. Mrs. Car~
negie's hopes for peace were thus set down in her diary after
the Palace dedication ceremonies:
Thus the great day has passed, perhaps the greatest in An~
drew's life, when he has been permitted to see inaugurated the
permanent building which he has given wherein the great ideal
for peace may be wrought-until Peace and good will may be
realized upon the earth.
The Carnegies went to Brussels, where great honors awaited
them. "What a beautiful country," Carnegie remarked to his
wife as they were crossing it. "And to think that it is so safe I
It can never be attacked. Its neutrality is guaranteed by both
France and Germany and by Great Britain as weIll"
They had a private audience with King Albert-the same
King who, a year afterward, made his heroic stand against the
Germans. The American minister to Belgium was then their
friend Theodore Marburg; he introduced them at Court.
The King is most affable and charming and speaks English
perfectly, Mrs. Carnegie wrote. We then withdrew and joined
the other dinner guests in a large salon. The King entered, and,
after saying a few words to each guest,.the Grand Marshalled
me to the King, who offered me his arm and led me into din~
ner, placing me at his right side. Midway through dinner, the
King rose and, in excellent English, proposed Andrew's toasl
181
in a very charming speech. Andrew made a neat and appro-
priate reply. Dinner ended, His Majesty again offered me his
arm and led me to the salon, where the King withdrew and we
went home overwhelmed with the honors we had received.
The Year of Peace was followed by 1914. Then came, in
pleasant midsummer, the declaration of war. The effect of it
need not be told here; literature has it permanently, poignantly
recorded in John Masefield's poem August, 1914, with its pic-
ture of the home-loving men leaving the towns and fields,
quitting various tasks, the harvest ungathered, for the soaking
trench and frozen rigging.
At the moment of the outbreak of war, Carnegie and his
wife and daughter were at the Aultnagar lodge. Mr. Ritchie,
having learned the news ~nofficially, hurried to Aultnagar and
informed his friend that Britain was at war with Germany-
or would be in a few hours. Carnegie at first refused to believe
it. "All my castles," he said, "have fallen about me!"
The family at once returned to Skibo. It had been planned
to unveil a bust of Carnegie at the Peace Palace that summer
and Lord Bryce had been selected as speaker. Obviously the
ceremony had become impossible.
The next few days Carnegie and Morley spent in an excited
discussion of the war. The former, despite all his work for
peace, believed that the German invasion of Belgium had left
Britain no choice but to fight to an end. The latter believed
that even under these circumstances Britain had no right to
intervene. He had resigned from the Asquith Cabinet when it
passed its fateful vote, and was now a private citizen.
The difference of opinion served only to draw the two friends
closer together; there was need for their nations to stick to-
182
THE LADY OF SKIBO
gether, and they could not be divergent. When the Carnegie
family sailed for home a few weeks afterward, Morley jour-
neyed from London to Liverpool to bid them Godspeed. The
last person the Carnegies saw as the ship left harbor was their
dear friend waving farewell. The two men never saw each
other again.
The parting was a farewell to Skibo Castle in another sense
which neither Carnegie nor his wife foresaw. They could not
imagine that the hostilities would drag out into a four-year
war; still less that the United States would take part.
The idea that Carnegie himself would never see Skibo again
did not enter anyone's thought; but six years were to pass be-
fore Mrs. Carnegie could spend another summer in her High-
land home, and then she must come alone.
·9.
A.2 LaJt
JlJi udlj-iitJt ~tteet
Our story now turns back a little to tell of the start and de-
velopment of the Carnegie family's larger social life in Man-
hattan-in the residence known far and wide as No. 2 East
Ninety-first Street.
In March, 1901, as Mrs. Carnegie busied herself with the
daily household affairs at the West Fifty-first Street home, Mr.
Charles M. Schwab was announced. He was one of Andrew
Carnegie's "young men" in the iron works, and had advanced
to be President of the Carnegie Steel Company. Andrew's wife
and Charlie Schwab were on very good terms; in board meet-
ings he had often watched Andy scribble affectionate notes to
her, and he knew the reliance the boss placed on her good
judgment. She on the other hand was grateful to Charlie for
relieving her wearying husband of much responsibility.
Schwab told her that he had been talking to banker J. Pier-
pont Morgan, who with the lawyer Elbert Gary wanted to or-
ganize the United States Steel Corporation and wished to buy
the Carnegie Steel Company. Discussing with Morgan how
best to approach Andrew Carnegie, Schwab had said that the
[85
wife's voice would settle the matter, and now he had come to
ask her to cooperate.
She was willing; indeed, eager. Andrew was becoming more
and more anxious to retire from business and devote his wealth
and energies to the benefit of mankind. In early life he had
planned to retire at thirty-five, and now he was sixty-six. She
was in constant fear that the iron works would crush the health
out of him.
Schwab was waiting for her decision: smiling, she suggested
that he challenge Andrew to a game of golf and put the matter
before him in the pleasant atmosphere of the ~inks. Assured
that she was on his side, Schwab invited the ironmaster to play
with him the next day and Andrew accepted; there are indi-
cations that he smelt a mouse.
They teed off on the St. Andrew's links in Westchester
County and after a game that left Andrew feeling pleasant they
went for lunch to his stone cottage on the hilltop over the Club.
There they got down to the gigantic piece of business, and the
ironmaster wrote on a slip of paper what he would accept for
his holdings. When shown the scrawled proposition, a colossal
figure, J. P. Morgan said to Schwab: "I accept." And so Car-
negie sold his share in the Carnegie Steel Company for
$250,000,000 in United States Steel five per cent gold bonds.
He minded little that he was being hailed as the richest man
in the world; what was important was that he could practice
to the full his "Gospel of Wealth," and distribute his surplus
riches, hundreds of millions, for education, library buildings,
peace organizations-anything that would help the masses.
This program would mean many conferences with men who
were informed in the new fields of work. He must have a
186
NO.2 EAST NINETY-FIRST STREET
house that could accommodate his plans and his visitors. Louise
and he had much to talk of now. What an ideal wife she was
for sharing this wonderful new phase of his career; she could
conserve when that was needful, but she could also spend gen-
erously and wisely. And as for home life and entertaining,
how easily and pleasingly she assumed all the responsibilities
his broadening life put upon her.
Three years before, when his wealth was $25,000,000, Car-
negie had purchased a large piece of land on Fifth Avenue
from Ninetieth to Ninety-first Street, with adjoining lots to
the east. Even the most farseeing New Yorker could hardly
picture the time when Manhattan's elect would choose that
remote area as a place of residence, but Carnegie foresaw it,
and foresaw also that his wealth would multiply and his social
life expand and that he would require a big residence. The
construction of the house and the planning of the garden were
duties he passed over confidently to his competent wife, who
had just gone through the supervising of the renovations at
Skibo.
In the last month of 1902 came an important day for the
Carnegies-the beginning of their life at No. 2 East Ninety-
first Street. They had hoped to occupy it in October, but Mr.
Carnegie had been taken ill in London, and the return to
the United States was delayed. They arrived in the height of the
social season-December 10th. Reporters very troublesome, the
wife noted in her travel record; the buzzing newspapermen
knew that the arrival marked the opening of a new residential
landmark, and that the house would be, besides a home, a hive
of philanthropy.
Flanked by relatives and attendants, the Carnegies drove
187
through Central Park to the new house. The familiar faces of
the household staff greeted them. As the family passed through
the doorway, organ music welcomed them; someone was play-
ing well Carnegie's favorite composition-Handel's Largo.
Louise eagerly accompanied Andrew from room to room,
pausing too at cupboards and closets and new contrivances.
She kept watching his expression as he gazed out at the de-
veloping garden. The place, from the beginning, was her cre-
ation. She revelled in the architect's plans, builders' contracts,
landscape gardeners' arrangements, to say nothing of consult-
ing with decorators and selecting furnishings. Every day she
could find time she was up at Ninety-first Street, helping to
bring true their dream of home ownership. For the building
of it, Andrew had virtually given her an Aladdin's lamp so
far as funds and opportunity went, but the lamp had required
more than just a touch or a rub to bring the home to fulfill-
ment. A vast correspondence exists among her papers-her
letters to architects suggesting improvements.
For the more ornate aspects of architecture Mrs. Carnegie
cared little; the main requirement was for a place comfortable
for family life and where friends could drop in and feel that
they belonged. The library at the west end, decorated with
appropriate quotations Andrew had selected; the drawing room
and dining room at the south; the great oak-panelled hall with
the organ; the large picture gallery at the east, also useful for
entertainments-all merged tastefully into an atmosphere one
could enjoy. It was a residence suited indeed to a very wealthy,
very busy, and withal hospitable family.
Andrew Carnegie approved of it all. The brightness never
left his face. He was proud of the unofficial architect, furnisher
188
and landscapist-his wife. That night she closed her account of
the great day with this notation: Andrew very pleased with the
house.
When first planning the house and grounds, Mrs. Carnegie
insisted on a feature then most unusual-a garden on Fifth
Avenue. No doubt she was influenced by her early environ-
ment in old Chelsea and the Gramercy Park section. It was of
course necessary to inclose the garden for privacy and against
vandalism and intrusion, but the iron fence was a handsome
and revealing one. Its widely-spaced pickets, and the open
spac.es between the hedging bushes, made her flower beds and
lawns a delight to passers-by. They could see the beautiful
array of flowers-beds of pansies, daffodils, crocuses and hya-
cinths in the springtime, and above and beside them, the flower-
ing lilacs, wisteria, dogwood and rhododendron. Climbing
roses and beds of roses and fragrant-leaved geraniums were
summer glories, followed by autumn flowers that blent in color
with the red and russet of the foliage. It was indeed a calendar
of bloom from the first jonquil to the last chrysanthemum.
Mrs. Carnegie gave the garden the place of honor in her af-
fections; the house itself, with its entrance on Ninety-first
Street, had been almost pushed aside to make room for it.
Here, in late spring and early summer, she frequently enter-
tained her friends at tea; a summer house became in time a
restful retreat for Carnegie.
The land at Ninety-first Street rose slightly-enough to jus-
tify Carnegie's description of it as "The Highlands of New
York." Across the street lay the great open expanse of Central
Park. The Carnegies had a romantic attachment for the park,
189
where their courtship had begun. Almost every day they would
walk around the Reservoir.
But it was, after all, the life in the house that was important.
Andrew Carnegie, at sixty~seven, had plenty of vigor. His wife
was in splendid health. Keeping them young in interest was
their little daughter Margaret, with her schooldays ahead of
her. Mrs. Carnegie, whose life was rooted in New York, kept
up her devoted, lifelong friendship with Lizzie Vanderhoef
and Anna Brown Smith and with her group of matured school~
day friends. Members of the Whitfield family were always
dropping in, always affectionately welcomed. What is com~
monly known as Society did not attract her; entertainment, if
she were to have a part of it, must have some meaning besides
gaiety or diversion. She would go a distance to spend an after-
noon with the Alexander Kings, but she would not go round
the corner to call on someone who did not share her tastes or
interests. She had much in common with her friends Mrs. Cor-
nelius Vanderbilt, Mrs. Hamilton Twombly, Mrs. Henry White,
Mrs. William J. Schieffelin, and other leaders of the quietly fash~
ionable world; and of course the latchstring was always out for
the minister and his wife. As Andrew created his foundations
and became associated with men noted for wisdom, experience,
and public spirit, she shared the friendship of these and their
WIves.
To the public and the press No.2 East Ninety~First Street be~
came symbolic of the reservoir and outflow of $300,000,000 of
"surplus wealth" to be spent for the welfare of mankind.
No wonder Mrs. Carnegie, seeking to bring up her child in
normal privacy, was disturbed by the attention newspaper edi~
tors paid to the house. On the other hand, she was gladly
19°
cooperating in the giving, and watched with sympathetic in·
terest her husband establish during the first year of residence
in Ninety-first Street the Carnegie Institution of Washington,
D. C., for fundamental scientific research. The witnesses to
the deed for the initial grant of $IO,OOO,ooo were Mrs. Carnegie
and her sister Estelle.
There was something in this grant the imagination could
take hold of-something that her daughter Margaret in later
life, and Margaret's husband to be, and their children, could
appreciate. Representative of the work of this institution of
science is the famous Mount Wilson Observatory. Carnegie
himself, with his fondness for yachting, would find it thrilling
to follow the voyages of the ship the Carnegie Institution con·
structed in I909 and dedicated to further the science of ocea-
nography. This was the Carnegie, a sailing vessel with auxiliary
power, fully equipped with a non-magnetic seagoing labora-
tory. Carnegie would not live to mourn the disaster that over·
took the ship in Western Samoa, when she was destroyed by
a gasoline explosion and fire.
The Carnegie grant of all grants was the creation of the
Carnegie Corporation of New York, which has an aggregate
endowment and legacies of $I35,336,867. The first letter of
gift for the Corporation was signed on November 10, I9I1.
To the mistress of No.2 East Ninety-first Street her husband's
decision to establish this particular trust brought great relief.
Andrew, then seventy-six years old, was actually exhausting
himself in giving away his fortune. She, his partner in giving,
faced with him the responsibility of distributing the remainder
of the fortune, as he had publicly pledged. There was $I50,-
000,000 still to be spent. His idea was to make a will providing
191
for a great foundation, but his friend and adviser, Senator Elihu
Root, counseled him to set up a foundation now with the bulk of
his fortune and prepare for others to do the work. This new
foundation would not be limited in purpose, but would be
used with the broad aim of advancing and diffusing knowl-
edge, from generation to generation.
"With this in mind," writes Robert M. Lester, "and with
suitable provision for himself and family, he proceeded during
I9II and I9I2 to divest himself of his remaining surplus for-
tune by setting up the largest single permanent trust ever
recorded, Carnegie Corporation of New Y<!>rk. Strangely
enough, this action attracted relatively little public attention,
and its significance was not recognized for years."
For the first eight years of the Corporation's history, Car-
negie himself was president of the governing board. The times
were formal, and the business meetings of the. officers and
trustees were in accord. The members came in cutaways, and
when they spoke, they rose and addressed the chair with great
deference. When they passed minutes felicitating some worthy
person, the resolutions were engraved on parchment and bound
in morocco. Time has since simplified these proceedings.
Mr. Carnegie, from the first year of his office in the Corpora-
tion, formed the custom of having the annual dinner in his
home, with his wife sharing in the entertainment; after he
died she continued the dinners.
One of the jolliest affairs in the new house was the annual
reunion-usually in November-of the Carnegie Veterans' As-
sociation, held there from I902 to I9I5, a group made up en-
tirely of the hand-picked partners in Andrew Carnegie's steel
business. After the company had been sold, "the boys" formed
192
the Carnegie Veterans' Association, to continue till the last man
died. Carnegie proposed that the yearly dinner should be held at
his home in New York, and the members gladly agreed to travel
any distance to be there. It was one of Mrs. Carnegie's greatest
pleasures in her new home to welcome the Veterans.
Her husband's own words tell best how the Veterans took
her into their association: "... to my infinite delight, her
heart goes out to them as does mine. She it was who chris-
tened our New York home with its first Veteran dinner. 'The
partners first,' was her word. It was no mere idle form when
they elected Mrs. Carnegie the first honorary member, and our
daughter the second . . ."
The most distinguished of the many dinners held at No.
2 East Ninety-first Street were those given to celebrities Car-
negie desired to honor. Sidney Lee, Shakespearean scholar,
Mark Twain, Joseph H. Choate, James Bryce, the Reverend
Robert Collyer, President Eliot of Harvard, Madame Curie,
Mackenzie King, Prime Minister of Canada, Mrs. Lloyd George,
Sir Robert Horne, Elihu Root (on his eightieth birthday), the
Earl of Elgin, Chief Justice Hughes-these were honored by
the Carnegies with special luncheons or dinners.
A sprightly, successful author in his own right, Carnegie
deserved a place in the literary circles of Manhattan, and en-
joyed being host to literary men. He had become a member of
the long-established Authors Club of New York, and when he
gave annual dinners to distinguished men of letters, he sur-
rounded his board with poets, novelists, historians, biographers,
and editors. The poet and editor Richard Watson Gilder be-
came the director of the literary dinners.
"A. C. is truly a 'great' man," Gilder wrote to a friend,
193
" ... a man of enormous faculty and a great imagination. I
don't remember any man who has such a range of poetical
quotation, unless it is Stedman ... His views are truly large
and prophetic ... He is not accidentally the intimate friend
of such high natures as Arnold and Morley."
At times, the host upset Gilder's seating arrangements. At
one dinner John Burroughs and Ernest Thompson Seton were
among the guests. The latter had been accused of "nature fak-
ing," and Burroughs was against him. Knowing this, Gilder
had put the place cards of the pair far apart, but Carnegie
slipped in and arranged it so that the two woufd sit next to
each other. Gilder expected fireworks, but instead the two
writers found common ground and became friends.
Mark Twain grew to be especially fond of the host, and ad-
dressed him, for his benefactions, as "Saint Andrew." Carnegie
gave a dinner in honor of Mark Twain, and, speaking of
Twain's paying his debts after bankruptcy as a publisher, com-
pared him to Walter Scott, both being alike in honor and talent.
Mrs. Carnegie devised her own way of making these dinners
memorable. The guests were requested to write their names,
in large script, on the tablecloth; then the names were em-
broidered, making a permanent record. These tablecloths, still
in existence, preserve the names of many notables of a genera-
tion or two ago. Upon this Irish-linen Who's Who appeared,
with many others, John Burroughs, Theodore Roosevelt, Wil-
liam H. Taft, John Hay, John Bigelow; John Finley, Whitelaw
Reid, Elihu Root, Grover Cleveland, Woodrow Wilson, Henry
James, Walter H. Page.
Henry Holt, in his book Garrulities of an Octogenarian
Editor, pictures one of these brilliant dinners in the Carnegies'
194
house, with the wife enjoying the party as keenly as her hus-
band: ". . . he was a thoughtful man, and loved the society
of thoughtful men, and in the early spring he used to gather
those whom he called 'The Knights of the Cloth.' This name
came from his getting each man to pencil his autograph on
the cloth beside his place. Mrs. Carnegie, who was also present,
later had the autographs embroidered .. ."
This Penelope pursuit of embroidering interesting names
suggests a more humble home duty in which Mrs. Carnegie
entered with zeal. She had been brought up in the tradition
of housekeeping and, though at No.2 East Ninety-first Street
she directed the work of twenty servants, she continued to
make a personal duty of "regulating closets" and "painting
old chairs," or of putting on an apron and "renovating" a medi-
cine chest. In making the place a home, she liked to putter
around it putting things to rights.
Little matters of living, though in sharp contrast to large
events and enterprises, are important for understanding the
complete story of Mrs. Carnegie.
The varied engagements and duties uncovered by old letters
and continuous diaries may usually be classed with the minutia
of life. They come by mail, cable, or telephone. There is little
order to their arrival. And so it seems fitting, in these pages con-
cerned with social affairs, travel, and household attentions, to
choose them variously, and set them forth casually. A system
for them is only apparent in the calm way in which Mrs. Car-
negie took them into her life.
Naturally, among her close friends, there was much com-
ment on her efficiency in directing so successfully the social
and domestic life at both No. 2 East Ninety-first Street and
195
Skibo, with just the relaxation in between of a voyage across
and a fling in London. Some friends said it was because she
was a dominant woman. She recognized in herself this urge
to command, but she had the saving grace of humility. Some-
where in her record of living she said, "I tried not to be domi-
neering."
Her correspondence with Mr. Barrow, her personal secre-
tary, especially discloses the problems that crowded in on her.
Sometimes a trivial whim of her own slipped into the corre-
spondence, as when at Fernandina, Florida, in I906, she became
interested in the new official way of selling pospge stamps in
little packets:
Will you please get me at the Post Office half a dozen little books
of stamps (2 cents) like the enclosed and send to me at Hot
Springs? I have a little silver case to slip them in, and many people
tell me they buy their stamps in no other way. It is certainly a most
convenient form.
Then there were new toys to be stored away for summer

gifts at the Skibo residence, to which would come young folks
as well as older ones: "The package from Schwarz is a doll's
chiffonier; please have it put in the Day Nursery." Some child
of her acquaintance was to receive a gift of books: "Will you
please order from Scribner's a set of six books called The Little
Colonel series by Annie Fellows Johnston, published by L. C.
Page and Co. Boston, Mass., and keep until I return."
Her favorite gift to the season's brides of her acquaintance
was linen-tea cloths or luncheon sets. When members of the
family were married, she loved to provide their silver tea set.
She had assumed the responsibility of selling for her sister
196
a piece of land, "The Cranberry Bog," that had come down
to the daughters from Grandmother Davis and their mother.
Her secretary was instructed to take any sum the agent might
ofter, and to pay the amount to her sister, who had "paid all
the taxes for years."
Margaret was mounting horses: "Thanks for the riding habit
-it fits as if it were made for her. But alas, as yet, there seems
no opportunity for her to use it here [Hot Springs, Ark.]. The
riding is too reckless-the conditions are so different from
Dungeness, where she was so happy riding."
Big thoughts as well as little appear in her correspondence.
Away from home as well as when domiciled, she kept herself
informed about international affairs: "Between the dates of
March 30 and April 8, I906," she wrote to Mr. Barrow in New
York, "an editorial appeared in either the New York Times or
Evening Post relative to Earl Grey returning the portrait of
Benjamin Franklin to this country. I shall be so much obliged
if you can get the article for me."
Mrs. Carnegie knew what was good or bad in railroad serv-
ice. She reported to her staff that a private car had a "very
bad odor in one of the rooms, which did not come from the
plumbing." Having been trained since girlhood to get her
money's worth, she reported also that a certain train porter,
"while very efficient, charged us with what he called 'Red
Raven,' and said it was bilious medicine for the chef, the other
man, and himself."
She confessed to "nerves," and in a fretful passage written
while she was taking baths at Hot Springs, gave a reason for
them: "Mr. Carnegie is busy and happy but it is anything but
restful for me. Everyone laughs when we say we are here for
197
my benefit, on account of my high color, but what with callers
for Mr. C's registered letters, Doctor's instructions in regard to
the care he needs, etc., it is hopeless for me to try and rest.
Home is a perfect haven of rest in comparison."
Then there was always the matter of keeping the serVants
contented; the business of caring for her helpers of high and
low degree followed her everywhere.
For instance, there was the trouble she took to satisfy a newly
employed chauffeur, who, in those early days of motor cars,
was a rare person who must be pleased. "I have just had an
interview with - - about work going on outlin the garage
... I know it is Mr. Carnegie's wish that I should not be
bothered about it, but the chauffeur talks about the rooms not
being painted ... please see that everything is finished and
in good order before he arrives. He talks of wanting a holiday.
This is all right, if he does not neglect his work." .
There was one person Mrs. Carnegie made no attempt to

control-her husband. He was the lord of the situation no
matter where they were, and she was content to guard the
health and happiness of the man whose life, she believed,
meant so much for the happiness of mankind.
Her life in 1915 came to a point when care of her husband
in his declining strength became her one occupation. She sacri-
ficed everything to help him enjoy the fruits of his work.
As has been seen, however, the outbreak of the World War
was shattering to all his program for world amity that seemed
near to completion. From this time on, No.2 East Ninety-first
Street with its restful garden became the home of an invalid;
a home that, with age against him, he went forth from and
198
returned to in futile search for health. Traveling or at home,
his wife was by his side, sacrificing everything for his welfare.
Now in this time of trouble and worry, Mrs. Carnegie was
thankful for a smooth-running household staff. Margaret, the
schoolgirl, must be left at home during their journeys. Aunt
Stella and other trusted persons would have her in their care,
and fond employees would be more attentive than ever. But to
be caught thus between the tides of age and youth, which
would soon become tides of death and life, was sad indeed for
this home-centered woman who loved both her husband and
her daughter with uncommon devotion.
In 1915 Carnegie was eighty years old. The earliest symptoms
of decline, not particularly marked, appeared that year. By this
time he had been obliged to give up his Sunday letter writing
to Morley; Mrs. Carnegie took up this pleasant duty.
Fortunately, the philanthropist was not now troubled by the
great worry of his life, the dispersal of his wealth. The words
of Elihu Root, who had advised the multimillionaire to create
the Carnegie Corporation, had proved true : "You have had
the best run for your money I have ever known."
As the summer of 1915 was being spent at "Pointe d' Acadie,"
Bar Harbor, Mr. Carnegie wished to have a collie for a com-
panion, and one was purchased in the United States and named
Laddie-the same name as that of the collie at Skibo; but the
dog died suddenly, and one of Mrs. Carnegie's many duties
was to see that the Scotch dog was brought over. She wrote
Mr. Barrow:
Many thanks for your excellent arrangements about Laddie ...
this will give Laddie time to feel at home before we arrive. I re-
member he howled for several nights after he arrived at Skibo &
199
could not be comforted until Hugh took him into his room to
sleep. He is a spoiled doggie & will have to be made cosy and com-
fortable before he will settle down, but I know Giles will make
him his special care and will be good to him. I think he will have
to become an American citizen, for I know the difficulty of taking
him back to Scotland . . .
The series of ordeals had taxed her nerves, and sometimes in
this state she had difficulties with her "help." But how humble
she was in admitting her own "nerves" and how fair-minded
in working for harmony. A letter she wrote to her secretary
from Bar Harbor reveals her problems-and her I meekness:
... Yesterday a fresh difficulty arose.-- [her butler] informed
me that he had sent in his resignation to you a few days ago. He
was very calm and dignified, but I have not liked his attitude this
summer and yesterday I had occasion to speak to him about some-
thing I could not overlook; with the result as stated. He seems
nervously tired, the result of having not enough to do. He was very
frank and said I was so nervous I made everybody in the house
nervous.
I have kept calm, but of course that is pretty hard to bear from
a servant, although I know it is true. The reason he gives for leav-
ing is difficulty with the housekeeper, and he says he made up his
mind to leave last Spring. I have suggested his taking a two-weeks
vacation-we paying for it, and think over the situation ...
Mrs. Carnegie succeeded in smoothing over the situation,
which had really arisen through a dispute as to authority be-
tween the butler and the housekeeper, and the butler stayed on.
The winter of I9I5-I9I6 was spent anchored or roving on the

Everglades, their first houseboat. Mr. Carnegie's business affairs
200
had a way of following him, and now the wife must assist in
such matters, as well as supervise the housekeeping on the
Everglades in Florida waters. And then there was a second
houseboat, the U. S. A., which accommodated members of the
staff-Dr. Neville; Mr. John A. Poynton, Carnegie's private
secretary; Moen, the masseur; Miss Crawford, the nurse; and
Morrison, the valet.
Mr. Carnegie had hoped the houseboat would be more like
a yacht, and wished to put it to the same use. This meant rough
voyaging. It brought from Mrs. Carnegie, after some weeks of
being tossed about on it, this confession: "I am getting very
tired of the life and long for some outlet. We have already had
very severe gales-for four days it was like being in midocean."
This was from the woman who usually went sailing only in
calm, cloudless weather.
Later she repeated: "I am getting very tired of being con-
tinually on the boat, but the good it is doing Mr. Carnegie is
simply marvelous, so I am deeply thankful."
With her usual ability to adjust to what the situation re-
quired she was soon writing her daughter from Miami:
Houseboat Everglades
January 14th, I9I6
My darling Daughter,
We now begin to feel more at home and I can truly say I like
it. While we were at breakfast this morning the Everglades moved
near the shore and anchored off the Club House. This meant that
we could go ashore easily, without a long launch trip-so after
Daddy had his nap, he was willing to take an excursion! I let every-
body go ashore and see the town and the Captain took just Daddy
and me in the launch up the Miami river.
201
We went between shores of tropical growth and we saw the
cocoanuts growing. Yellow water lilies are in bloom and wild
morning glories and a yellow flower that does not seem to be the
jasmine. We went up the river under several bridges to a fruit farm
where they are experimenting on new kinds of fruit. The Captain
went ashore and brought us out a delicious kind of drink made
from the juices of grapefruit, oranges, pineapples, lemons, and kum-
quats-it was very delicious and I let Daddy have a little which
pleased him greatly. We were gone about an hour and a quarter
and Daddy enjoyed every minute of it. He was quite ready for his
massage and had a good nap afterwards....
We are now just starting again after lunch for bur afternoon's
sail. The evenings are our beautiful time, just at sunset-so when
you see the sun setting, although it is nearly an hour later with us,
you may picture us on deck just finishing tea, and the beautiful
soft colors appearing in the sky that I described the other day . We
sit there till dark, six o'clock with us-seven with you-and then
Daddy goes to his massage and I usually go to my writing. You
may know I am always thinking of you at this sunset hour. We
dine at 7:30 and Daddy joins us at the beginning of the meal; he
also comes to luncheon but he is so natural there is very little
restraint. We only avoid things we know would distress him. His
appetite is wonderful and Miss Crawford says he is remarkably
well in every way.
I note the date of your class luncheon February 19th and hope
you will get out your invitations at once. I am glad Miss Spence
approves . . . I am sure you will have a very happy winter and
enjoy all these things which are perfectly right for you to enjoy
with a free and happy mind. It is right for you to get all the enjoy-
ment possible out of your life and right for me to be down here
helping Daddy to get well and incidentally resting and laying up
strength for myself . . .
202
This is an example of scores of letters that formed a pulsating
bridge between mother and daughter. The correspondence
shows with what fond and intimate interest Mrs. Carnegie
followed her daughter's life during that winter, and with what
feeling and understanding the girl entered into the mother's
experiences in houseboat-keeping. The exchange of letters
sustained both during the winter's separation, and kept them
in intimate comprehension as to what was happening.
One of the happiest events of Margaret's winter was a lunch-
eon she gave for the senior class at No.2 East Ninety-first Street.
Mrs. Carnegie took the warmest interest in this event and sug-
gested that the girls write their names on the tablecloth. She
set forth the size and pattern of the cloth, and went on: "Mter
the luncheon, when the names have been written, I want the
cloth put away without washing to await my return, and I will
then see about the names of the classmates being embroidered
on it." The cloth has since been used in many reunions of the
class of 1916.
In February, Margaret gave the anticipated luncheon, and
that evening, sat down and wrote the expectant lady of the
houseboat this account of the occasion:
Sunday, February 20th, 1916
My darling Mother,
... And now I must tell you all about the great party yesterday.
Nana and I and Harris put on the place cards, the conundrum cards,
and the pencil boxes, while the men were putting the final touches
to the decorations, and then Mr. Barrow and I went all around to
make sure all was right.
There were bunches of daffodils in the drawing room, and a big
bunch of forsythia in the high silver vase, tulips in the yellow room,
203
and a vase of red roses in the big dining room. The coat racks were
put in the library, and it looked very well, with the table arranged
with the mirror, etc., and a few daffodils at each side.
I wore my fawn Sunday dress, with the pink on the waist. We
looked at the cerise voile, but it seemed very brilliant, especially with
the yellow table decoration, and I was so afraid of being conspicuous.
My hair went up quite well, and I felt very self-possessed and very
happy. Miss Brinckerhoef came shortly after one, and was just the
nicest person to have seeing I couldn't have you, dear Mother .. ,
The luncheon was a triumph! So hot, and delicious and quickly
served. It could not have been better and I am so appreciative of all
the good planning and hard work which made it g%ff without the
slightest hitch . . .
The daffodils in the soft green vases were too lovely, and I never
saw a prettier table decoration. I have taken a picture of it, but I
hardly think it will come out well enough to give you any idea of
how pretty it was. As you will see, I put Adelaide at the head of one
of the wings, the vice president on my right, and Hart Shields on
my left. The other two officers sat along the top of the table, with
me, so I think the honors were evenly shared. They all seemed to
enjoy it, and talked incessantly. You ought to have heard the clap-
ping when I told them of the plan of writing their names on the
tablecloth! Mother, dear, it was the hit of the party, and they know
what a dear, clever Mother I have to think of such a thing....
Soon afterward, Mrs. Carnegie received another glowing note

about the class luncheon:
Mother dear, I haven't half told you how appreciative the girls
were about the luncheon. They said you "were just too lovely" to
give it, and the number of enthusiastic remarks as they said good-by
quite took my breath away with their forcefulness, and genuineness.
(What a word. Is the spelling right?) And they liked too, the pen-
20 4
cils with their names on them. If only you could have been here to
see and hear it all, for this miserable description will give you but
little idea of how nice it was. I just couldn't let myself think of how
much I missed you. There is no need to say that, is there, for you
must know that to have had my beautiful, spiritual-faced Mother
there would have made it a thousand times happier. And then I
should so have loved you to see our splendid class all together. All
the failings and foibles of each individual girl seem to fade away
and all the good qualities in us as a whole seemed to join together .
. . . It is an experience I shall never forget for there is a deeper
meaning to it than that it was a "class luncheon."
· 10·
c£hal~wbt~~k, 1919
In Europe, the German army was attacking Verdun; the
naval battle of Jutland was being fought, and the British war-
ship Hampshire, with Lord Kitchener aboard, had been sunk
in the Orkneys, in seas the Carnegies knew well; the family
read these violent headlines in an incredibly tranquil place on
Long Island Sound-Brick House, Noroton, Connecticut, a
leased residence charmingly situated.
The autumn season, 1916, was spent cruising on the steam
yacht Surf in northern waters; life aboard the yacht was as
complicated and nerve-racking for Mrs. Carnegie as it had been
a.board the houseboat tossing along the Florida beaches. Re-
turning from a cruise farther north, Mrs. Carnegie said in a
letter postmarked Bar Harbor:
I was very seasick coming from Nova Scotia and do not seem to
recover from it. The constant movement of the yacht, even at
anchor, upsets my digestion ...
Her one constant joy on the trip was that her daughter was
along. It was a pleasure to be planning good times for Mar-
garet. To Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Carnegie wrote: "I am thinking
of letting Margaret and Nana motor to Lenox to join Mrs.
Eaton there for a few days ..." And again she was asking
20 7
the secretary by letter to arrange for a quiet party for Margaret
and her friends, to be given at No. 2 East Ninety-first Street.
The invitations, for a specified hour, would just say:
Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Carnegie
Miss Carnegie
At home
Dancing
The older persons could come early and the younger ones could
keep it up as late as they wished, and Mr. Carnegie could be pres-
ent the early part of the evening. Friday would be? good evening
for the boys could come home from college-about December 8th,
perhaps.
The mistress of No.2 East Ninety-first Street forgot nothing

in projecting the homecoming. She was thinking of Andrew
when she arranged for a putting green to be made in the gar-
den, and when she spoke of taking an opera box for Saturday
matinees-"for Mr. Carnegie to enjoy the music, staying as
long or short a time as he would wish." In this her two objec-
tives joined: "As for Margaret, it would be a good way to
entertain her friends."
On December 8, I9I6, came the party for Margaret which
Mrs. Carnegie had planned in the summer. It was the daugh-
ter's coming-out reception.
Well, wrote Mrs. Carnegie, the party is over and such a
bright and happy party it has been, without a hitch or flaw.
Busy arranging flowers all P.M. Baba had at least a hundred
bouquets and baskets of flowers; a wonderful tribute to our
little girl. She looked very sweet in her white tulle dress with
a few threads of silver and her string of pearls her Daddy and
208
SHADOWBROOK, 1919
I gave her-so very simple and sweet. We had dinner of twenty~
six covers and people began to come at 8.30. About 800 people
here. Baba had nine girls receiving with her; all so lovely. Party
was over at 2 A.M., a very great success. Daddy very happy
greeting guests.
For a summer house for "the duration," Mrs. Carnegie had
been searching through the peaceful atmosphere of the Berk~
shires, and had come upon Shadowbrook, the former home of
Anson Phelps Stokes. Spread on a hillside, adjoining the lake,
this Lenox estate overlooked miles of entrancing scenery, blue
waters blending with green hills. Here is Mrs. Carnegie's ac-
count of it at first sight:
I am charmed with my first glimpse of it which I had in the set-
ting sun last evening. It is a grand mixture of Aultnagar and the
Cottage; the fine trees at the back suggest this; all on the scale of
Skibo. The Patersons' house and furnishings are so Scotch I feel I
have crossed the ocean and am in Scotland itself on a fine estate.
I am now considering the Imman element. There are pros and
cons, but life is a mixture and we must take it as we find it. Our
life here would be an Americanized Skibo, with a fair amount of
social life but not as hectic as Bar Harbor. One can be independent
here; but more when we meet.
"Independent" was the word for the life the Carnegies lived
in the Lenox-Stockbridge colony. Around them were many
magnificent estates, with corresponding social activity, but
Andrew Carnegie was an invalid, and this fact governed their
living. Mrs. Carnegie and Margaret entered moderately into
the social affairs of the neighborhood, and the wife occasionally
entertained friends for lunch or tea, but the main appearances
of Andrew and herself came when they drove along forest
20 9
roads or went on favorite walks. It became a familiar sight in
the colony to see Andrew Carnegie in his wheel chair, pushed
by his friend and valet, the stalwart Morrison, with Mrs. Car-
negie at his side.
Seeing old friends in the new environment was always the
Carnegies' greatest pleasure. Andrew would appear for a brief
time at some of his wife's informal little gatherings, and, while
eighty-five, would revive his memory and quote from the great
authors as of old. About this time Mrs. Carnegie made the
note: Andrew recited {(The Burnie" most beautifully at lunch.
Two years went by-years made sunny by Margaret and her

friends and saddened by the marked decline in Andrew. Mrs.
Carnegie, Dr. Garmany, and Nurse Ferguson were making
the last months of Andrew Carnegie's life as easy as possible.
Friends still called, among them Mackenzie King (Canadian
Prime Minister). The garden of the New York house was more
than ever a blessing now. Margaret was at home, and her active
life was interesting to her father. The wife and mother, de-
voting herself to Andrew and providing that her daughter's
life was not too much clouded by his long invalidism, lived
on gallantly.
Then Margaret met Roswell Miller, Jr., and they fell in love
and became engaged. The young man's father, the late Roswell
Miller, was well-known in railroad circles; in his active years
he was president of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Rail-
road. His son had had training in the Navy in World War I
and was preparing to complete his education as an engineer
at Princeton University.
210
SHADOWBROOK 1919
Remembering Andrew's long courtship, Mrs. Carnegie was
not prepared for the suddenness of the couple ; and she found
it necessary for the happiness of all concerned to make a sharp
adjustment to this new phase of life. She went along, but
undoubtedly there is much of suppressed emotion in the brief
notation she made in her diary of November IS, I9IS:
Roswell and Margaret waiting for me when I came home
to ask my consent to their engagement. Both very happy. Oh
my darling child! God bless her. Three days afterward: Ros-
well came and asked. Andrew's consent. He wept but was dear'
and gave it.
The marriage was planned for April 22, 1919, which was the
thirty-second anniversary of the wedding of Louise Whitfield
and Andrew Carnegie in Forty-eighth Street, in IS87. What
the diary does not say about Margaret going out on her own,
the following letter by Mrs. Carnegie does. Written to the
daughter at Millbrook, where she was spending part of the
Christmas holidays with the family of her fiance, it is full
of maternal concern. She had given her word of consent, but
her heart could not let go:
My darling little girl:

For you are still my little girl even if you have grown up, and
want to fly out of the nest. This is just a line, simply because I
cannot help it. I have been thinking about you all day, wondering
if you would go to church. I know you have been out in this clear
frosty air which I hope has brought roses to your cheeks. I hope
you have all the warm clothing you need, for it is very cold here.
The skating rink [an empty block corner at Ninetieth Street and
Fifth Avenue where the Church of Heavenly Rest now stands] op--
211
posite has been black with people all the afternoon. I was so glad
to get your little note yesterday, for you were beginning to seem
very far away ••.
The ceremony took place in the Carnegies' New York house.
Angus Macpherson, the Carnegie piper of early Skibo days
had been brought over to play the pipes at the wedding. After
the reception the couple went in Mr. Miller's Stutz car to the
first stop in their honeymoon trip-the cottage at St. Andrew's
Golf Course near Chauncey, an hour's ride from New York.
Glorious bright spring day, Mrs. Carnegie wrote in her diary.
Our darling's wedding day and our own 32nd anniversary.
Ceremony at noon at entrance-and part in the conservatory
by Dr. Merrill and Dr. Coffin. Margaret made a very lovely
bride. Decorations of spring flowers were fine. Andrew so well
and alert. He and I gave Baba away and later we walked down
the aisle together. After greeting the bride and groom he went
upstairs and rested. Bridal party were photographed and then
had luncheon at round table. After cutting cake they went up-
stairs and changed and left the house at 3 P.M. by closed
motor . ..
The record of the splendid day ends with the note: Andrew
up in the evening. Backgammon.
In a May Day letter to the bride, she speaks of missing her,
but adds: Visions of your happy face rose before me, and I am
content. This acceptance of fate and consideration for youth is
summed up in the next letter:
May 2nd, 1919.
My darling Baba,-
Your dear postcard came up on my breakfast tray yesterday
morning, and, when I came in from lunching with Mrs. Paterson
212
SHADOWBROOK, 1919
I found your precious letter . You are so dear to let me keep in
touch with you in this way. I am so glad Lakewood was quiet. You
are wonderful managers to lay in your coal and wood now, when
it is cheapest, but I am afraid you had rain for your trip to
Princeton.
This morning your wonderful box of arbutus arrived in perfect
condition. It touched me to see how much care Roswell and you
had taken to pack it; all arranged so it was no trouble to put right
in water. This afternoon I am taking some of it to his mother,
together with some of your Bride's cake to use right away. The
wintergreen berries are wonderful and carry me back to my child-
hood.
New Jersey is a wonderful state for things that flourish best in
sandy soil. To think of you just beginning to know your own
country. It makes me so happy that at last you are to know it inti-
mately and to get to know its wonders. Oh! darling how wonderful
life is, and the marvel of the Fatherly care that watches over each
of His children giving to each what he most needs for his perfect
development and usefulness.
This is a glorious day for your trip to Washington and I dwell
on the thought of you two happy children "a-Maying," revelling in
the beauty and freshness of the early Spring, with its tender leaves
and delicate blossoms.
Daddy does so love to talk about you and hear all I have to tell
him. He has such a beautiful smile on his face whenever you are
mentioned and Roswell too, and said yesterday, "Well, we must
do the best we can, wherever we are." I talked Shadowbrook to him
yesterday and told him all about giving up Skibo this year and he
is quite content; he made no fuss, he fully understands that it was
impossible to go across this year and is looking forward to the
fishing from the Sheila this summer. So the disappointment I
dreaded for Daddy has passed almost without a ripple, and I don't
21 3
have to put the big ocean between you and me even for a few
weeks. "Better hath He been for years than our fears"; bear with
me, Darling, it is such a joy to pour out my heart to you in this
way. Roswell won't mind I feel sure, for I know it makes you
happy to know that I am happy-just as my deepest happiness is
to know of your happiness . . .
One of Mrs. Carnegie's letters to the honeymooners was not
so serene. When earlier she had congratulated Margaret on
taking her place in the world, she was hoping that her daugh-
ter would soon become interested in sharing the Carnegie
plans and dreams for helping all humanity. Ie
was then too
much to expect that the joyous girl with the natural interests
of her years should at once be eager to engage in enterprises
born of the mature lives of her father and mother. Margaret
and her husband would soon set her fears at rest on this score,
but just now something had suddenly come up that put the
matter to a quick test. The couple were in Washington-the
seat of several Carnegie Foundations-and the head of the Pan
American Union, representing twenty-one Central and South
American republics, wished to have Margaret appear at a cele-
bration and receive a testimonial from the Union to its founder,
Andrew Carnegie.
Mrs. Carnegie wrote the bride:
I suppose you are in Washington this afternoon . . . 60 here
this A.M. at half past eight and I know. it is hotter in Washington,
so I think of you sweltering in your hot clothes, but no doubt you
will motor out in Rock Creek Park and keep cool. Mrs. Miller told
me yesterday that John Barrett (President of the Pan American
Union) was on your track. I know how you will feel about this,
but know although you will be firm, you will be polite to him, for
214
SHADOWBROOK,1919
he means well; he is a great friend of Daddy's in carrying out his
work for conciliation in Central and South America; besides now
that you are married you are no longer irresponsible children, but
owe something to the dignity of both your families and I know
you will not fail us . . .
The couple must have considered what a strain the writer
was under, and that the note of authority was spoken because
of a wish to please the feeble Andrew Carnegie who was wist-
ful for this new family to take on where he left off. Their
answer brought great joy to No. 2 East Ninety-first Street.
May 9, 19 19
My own precious Child-
.•. Your first letter received at breakfast gave me great joy.
It makes me so happy to know that you are gaining a true appreci-
ation of Daddy and his wonderful work in the world; and to have
him still with us, so that you can come back to him with this new
attitude in your heart, makes me very happy. Circumstances seem
to have prevented you from ever really knowing your dear Daddy
and now I am so thankful. If you could have seen the heavenly
smile that broke over his face as I rushed up to him after breakfast
and told him about your letter it would have made you very happy.
I am going to show him his gold medal from the twenty-one Re-
publics. You see how much pleasure you are giving Daddy by being
happy and appreciative yourself! ...
i
There came the final crisis in Carnegie's condition. Though
Mrs. Carnegie's letters to the newly married couple at first gave
satisfactory reports, the tone soon changed. Margaret and Ros-
wellleft by their motor at 9.30, she notes in her diary for June 4,
and I am left alone with Andrew, so frail and feeble and so very
weak·
21 5
Over and over again she pays tribute to his patient spirit;
though he suffered a good deal, he never complained. He So
dear, tells me not to worry, but it is heartrending.
Andrew is so weak and weary, she noted on August 5. I
played the little organ for him on the verandah after tea. On
the same date: Letter from Baba. What a wonderful daughter
she is! Never was one like her in tenderness and thoughtfulness.
But Carnegie was now rapidly approaching the end: in addi-
tion to his general debility, bronchial pneumonia had set in.
On August I I everything was over.
I was called at 6 A. M., Mrs. Carnegie writes on that day,
and remained with my darling husband, giving him oxygen
until he gradually fell asleep, at 7.14. I am left alone. Tele-
phoned for Margaret at Millbrook at 6.30' She and Roswell
got here a little before ten. Dr. Paddock was such a comfort.
Everything possible was done. Rested all day. Margaret and
Roswell such comforts, relieving me of details. Telegrams pour-
ing in. I think he knew me but he did not speak.
Slept towards A. M., she records for the next day. Everybody
so kind, but what is life to me now?
On August 13: Dull and gray. East wind. Saw Lizzie Van-
derhoef a short while. Ted [Mrs. Carnegie's sister] came. Dr.
Merrill, Margaret Damrosch, Dr. Garmany arrived.
The mass of telegrams, from all· over the world, were a
consolation. These included messages from President Wilson,
the King and Queen of England, the King and Queen of the
Belgians, the President of France, and other heads of state,
216
SHADOWBROOK, 1919
and from the world's leaders in education, scientific progress,
and business.
There had been considerable discussion in preceding years
between Carnegie and his wife concerning their final burial
place. At one time Carnegie was strongly inclined to Mal-
colm's Tower in Pittencrieff Glen, Dunfermline. This was the
beautiful spot which, as a small boy, he had not been per-
mitted to enter, but which, as a mature man, he had purchased
and given his native town for the enjoyment of all the in-
habitants. As the years went on, however, the idea seemed less
and less desirable or fitting. The Carnegies recognized with
warm loyalty that they were both Americans, and a resting
place on American soil accorded more and more with the
wishes of both. A few years before Carnegie's death, therefore,
his wife purchased, to his entire satisfaction, a beautiful plot
in historic Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, near Tarrytown, New
York. Carnegie's Scottish friends have seen a resemblance be-
tween this spot and Malcolm's Tower in Pittencrieff. There
is a moderate-sized hill, the sides are covered with greenery,
-shrubs, flowers and trees, and a little brook winds at its feet.
A Celtic cross was subsequently erected. The granite was
quarried on the Skibo estate, transported by his tenants to the
railroad station, fashioned into the cross by a Scottish sculptor,
and from Glasgow forwarded to America. Andrew's grave
was a place of visitation for Mrs. Carnegie for the rest of her
life. On almost every birthday she would go up and place
flowers on her husband's burial place.
Wreath at heather arrived tram Skibo, she wro'i:e on Sep-
tember I9, I9I9. Next day she motored to Sleepy Hollow and
placed it on Andrew's grave.
2[7
The Christmas anniversary of I9I9 brought a flood of mem-
ories. Roswell dear and kind-so reads her diary for December
24, but Oh! my heart aches, thinking of my thirty-two Christ-
mas eves! Heavy snow falling in evening forming a blanket
at Sleepy Hollow.
218
· // .
Louise Whitfield Carnegie's bravery revealed itself in a let-

ter she wrote to a friend some months after her husband's
death: "Many things are happening, and although there can
be 'nae second spring,' my heart is full of deep thankfulness
and hope that strength will be given me to carry the torch in
spirit even if in a very modest and feeble way outwardly."
She had passed her sixty-second birthday at the time Andrew
Carnegie died, but, notwithstanding the long anxious watch
over him under trying conditions, she still possessed a fund of
good health; her time in this life after her husband passed
away would be as long as that of the period of her marriage.
Her troubled romance with Andrew, and the long-delayed
wedding, had not been lightly passed over. by the wife in the
later years. The attitude of Andrew's mother had gone deep
into her being, and it worked itself out into a challenge to show
that she was well qualified to be his life companion not only in
home life, but also in his philanthropies.
Concerning this acceptance of the challenge, she said toward
the close of her life to her pastor, Dr. Wolfe: "I never forgot
that I was a steward of Andrew's wealth." From this convic-
tion flowed a constant stream of public and private gifts.
A key to her character had already been given by her hus-
band in his Autobiography:
The Peace-Maker has never had a quarrel in all her life, not even
with a schoolmate, and there does not live a soul upon the earth
who has met her who has the slightest cause to complain of neglect.
Not that she does not welcome the best and gently avoid the unde-
sirable-none is more fastidious than she-but neither rank, wealth,
nor social position affects her one iota. She is incapable of acting
or speaking rudely; all is in perfect good taste. Still, she never
lowers her standard. Her intimates are only of the best. She is al-
ways thinking of how she can do good to those around her-plan-
ning for this one and that in case of need and making such judicious
arrangements or presents as surprise those cooperating with her.
I
She had now to experience financially and otherwise the
responsibility he had feared his death before her would bring
about. He had stated that fear in his Autobiography:
I cannot imagine myself going through these twenty years with-
out her. Nor can I endure the thought of living after her. In the
course of nature I have not that to meet; but then, the thought of
what will be cast upon her, a woman left alone with so much
requiring attention and needing a man to decide, gives me intense
pain and I sometimes wish I had this to endure for her. But then
she will have our blessed daughter in her life and perhaps that will
keep her patient. Besides, Margaret needs her more than she does
her father.
Fortunately for the widow, Carnegie had arranged that she

should not be overburdened in the distribution of his wealth.
With wise foresight he had created well-founded, well-directed
institutions for dispersing the ninety per cent of his vast fortune
designed "for the improvement of mankind." Having the
friendship and sympathy of the trustees of these foundations,
and sharing their purpose to follow the mind of the creator
220
THE COURAGE TO GO ON
of these streams of education and benevolence, a pleasant and
fruitful relationship went on between Mrs. Carnegie and the
officers of the trusts.
She had plenty to occupy her mind and time in managing
wisely and usefully her own inheritance. The ten per cent of
the Carnegie fortune left to the widow made her one of the
world's richest women. Now, more than ever, the challenge
of the past must be met, and the answer returned in unob-
trusive good works.
Her friend John Morley understood. His was one of the ex-
pressions of regard that buoyed her. He wrote her on January
3, I920 :
We have often wondered how you have borne your first Christ-
mas without that living companionship that was for so many years
your fortunate lot. We make sure of your fortitude, your firmness.
That is you, as I have always pictured you in my ventures in char-
acter drawing.
In this year of I920, Mrs. Carnegie carried out a wish that
had been close to her husband's heart-the publication of his
Autobiography, as edited by the family's friend, Professor John
C. Van Dyke; for this she wrote a preface that gives her own
views of the events that broke her husband's spirits and Itealth:
For a few weeks each summer we retired to our little bungalow
on the moors at Aultnagar to enjoy the simple life, and it was there
that Mr. Carnegie did most of the writing. He delighted in going
back to those early times, and as he wrote he lived them all over
again. He was thus engaged in July, 1914, when the war clouds
began to gather, and when the fateful news of the 4th of August
reached us, we immediately left our retreat in the hills and returned
to Skibo to be more in touch with the situation. These memoirs
221
ended at that time. Henceforth he was never able to interest him_
self in private affairs. Many times he made the attempt to continue
writing, but found it useless. Until then he had lived the life of a
man in middle life-golfing, fishing, swimming each day, some_
times doing all three in one day. Optimist as he always was and
tried to be, even in the face of the failure of his hopes, the world
disaster was too much. His heart was broken. A severe attack of
influenza followed by two serious attacks of pneumonia precipitated
old age upon him . . .
Concerned with many important things, Louise Whitfield
Carnegie found relief in little homely things. Whenever she
was away from New York, her thoughts kept going back to
her garden: she wished the gardener to put tags on certain
plants she had ordered and to store them safely for use "when
the right time comes to plant them."
Writing from the house of the Roswell Millers, at Princeton,
soon after the death of her husband, it was taken as a sign of
reviving interest in life that she began to think of fall planting
in the Ninety-first Street garden:
I think it would be better to take up the pansies, which are cer-
tainly very shabby, and plant geraniums now; these will last until
frost. I do not want any chrysanthemums or spring bulbs in this
bed.
The pansies in spring and the geraniums for summer will keep
the bed tidy, & we can thus do with two plantings in the year,
instead of bulbs, geraniums, and chrysanthemums as formerly.
On June 17, 1920, about a year after the death of Andrew
Carnegie, a daughter, Louise Carnegie Miller, was born to Ros-
well and Margaret Carnegie Miller. The coming of the grand-
child was one of the providences that renewed Louise Whit-
222
field Carnegie's zest for life. The birth is recorded simply in
her diary note of June 17, 1920: Thurs. Rainy & cold. My little
grandchild was born at 2 this morning. Margaret dear named
her Louise Carnegie Miller. My darling so bright & well. Baby
Lou fine & so pretty.
Quoted here is a letter Mrs. Carnegie wrote many years later
on June 17, 1939, to this same granddaughter (Mrs. Gordon
Thompson) in which she recalled Baby Lou's arrival:
I see the Nurse coming to me at dinner time the evening before
saying I must not think of staying at home but must go to the
Wednesday evening service as usual-"it would be better for Mrs.
Miller."
The coming home at 9:30 to see Daddy leading Mummie down-
stairs from the third floor to the Family Library on the second floor,
Mummie clad in a pale blue tea gown like a madonna. Then Daddy
playing Scotch songs on the gramophone ... Then Dr. Thomas
leading Mummie into her own room, while Daddy and I retired
to my sitting room and rested on the two sofas until the wee sma'
hours-when Nana came to the door and said, "I hear the baby
crying!" and the wave of joy and thankfulness that went up from
my heart that now this new little life had come into our home!
And what a blessing that new life has been to us all, all our days,
ever since!
Passers-by must have seen the venerable Andrew Carnegie,

in his last year on earth, taking the sun in the home garden;
but now youth was taking over-Margaret's children.
They came along in this procession: Mrs. Carnegie's name-
sake, Louise Carnegie Miller, born June 17, 1920, familiar as
"De-de" (two syllables); Roswell Miller III, "Robin," born
December 14, 1922 ; Barbara Miller, "Ba," born April 3, 1925;
:723
and Margaret, known to her family as "Margot," born July IS,
1926. These children were the delight as well as the concern
of her life.
The neighborhood still remembered that, for all of Mrs.
Carnegie's fond care of her beautiful city garden, it was still
the playground for her grandchildren. Often she could be seen
among them, sharing their play. She allotted a place to them
on the broad lawn, training them, however, to respect growing
things. She superintended the laying of boards, with a rubber
covering, over part of the lawn, and upon this created an out-
door playground: a sandbox, a jungle gym, and swings in which
the four soared as high as the roofs of the passing Fifth Ave-
nue buses. And, in addition to the play, the green expanse be-
came a kindergarten of horticulture, because Grandmother
"Naigie" was there as a nature guide.
Experienced in the ways of life, and with a disposition to
plan ahead for happiness and avoid obstacles to it, Mrs. Car-
negie insisted from the start of her daughter's married life that
the first devotion of the daughter must be to her husband, and
to the children of the union. She did not mean by this that
there must be a severe break in living habits, but she did wish
that both families should have separate houses, and therein
proceed toward mutual happiness. Her wish is recorded in
this letter to her sister Estelle:
My life for the last six years has been one of continual change,
so I accept things as they come-sustained by the life within and
learning what it means to stand alone . . . Margaret and Roswell
are dear; no two children could be dearer and more thoughtful, but
I am inevitably an outsider. This is the lesson we all have to learn
and we do not truly live until we have learned it.
224
She always assured Margaret, "There was never a daughter
like you, my precious," but she remained firm in her purpose
to live independently. Thus gradually came into effect a mode
of separate yet related living. A house on Ninetieth Street,
which adjoined the Carnegie plot, was acquired, and there the
Millers lived side by side with Mrs. Carnegie, with an entrance
from the Miller house giving access to the Carnegie house and
garden. It became a much-used passageway. With each one
having the freedom of the other's home, always near, yet sep-
arate, the happiest groundwork had been laid for enjoyable
living for many years to come.
Avoiding the public gaze, Mrs. Carnegie gave little oppor-
tunity outside the circle of her friends and household to know
how considerate she was of the feelings and fortunes of others.
Her expressions of sympathy for friends who had suffered
bereavement were sincere and constant, and she responded in
practical ways to the misfortunes of persons she knew. In many
cases she went far beyond the normal conception of duty in
helping others.
As to her household staff, she wished pleasantness for them,
dealt considerately with her helpers, and looked after their well-
being. There was the time when a telegram came that little
George, the son of one of the chauffeurs, grandson of the
George Punton who had driven the Carnegie coach to Cluny,
was stricken by an infectious disease. After receiving the re-
port Mrs. Carnegie wrote her secretary, Mr. Barrow: .
Well, you certainly have done everything that could be done, and
I know that you will see to it that little George has every care and
attention, just as if he were our own •..
225
In her reviving activity in 1920, Mrs. Carnegie took out of
her desk a little ocean diary she had put away when her life
on the houseboat began; she sought a sea change and was plan-
ning to add to the notes in its pages the record of another ocean
voyage. The little canvas-covered book, Across the Atlantic) had
been in her possession since 1888; she had used it for the first
time on her third voyage abroad, and had kept it up for every
voyage since, and would do so until she completed her ninety-
second voyage, her last crossing. It had been given her by
Fannie R. Dennis, and was printed to be the record of one
f
voyage across and back. Opposite each blank page, planned for
autographs and notes, was a page of comforting texts, such as-
"When thou pas seth through the waters I will be with thee . . ."
Young Mrs. Carnegie had started to gather autographs, and
had first obtained that of her celebrated life companion. Next
came the contribution of the young musician Walter Dam-
rosch. His signature in the book took the form of one of the
motives from the Nibelungen Trilogy. Possessing these precious
trophies, Mrs. Carnegie converted the blank pages into a
crowded day-to-day record of all her voyages. Her minute notes
about each of the ninety-two outward and homeward bound
crossings eventually ran across every available inch of white
space and between the printed texts.
This was to become a very good life record of travel for the
girl of sixteen who on her first voyage to Europe had vowed
never again to set foot on a ship. The date of sailing; the name
of captain, steamship line and steamer; the family members
of the party; the mileage per day; the weather conditions,
appearance of whales, icebergs, derelicts; the taking on and
dropping off of pilots; the docking-these things she put down
226
regularly. Her note~ resembled those a skipper put in his log:
Moderate gale, rough sea. . . . Off the Banks, fog early
A. M . •.. Still going South to avoid ice; turned north . ..•
Passed full-rigged ship at dusk . ... Poor stoking. ... Bad
coal-worse coal. . . . Hurricane-slowed down to 8 knots .
. . . Cyclone all night, wind between 70 and 80 miles. ...
Strong westerly gales with hail and snow, heavy and confused
seas. ... calm sea-delightfully warm and bright. ... Sud-
den fog at Sandy Hook. Grounded on bar at 5 P. M.; re-
mained till next day,' tug got us off at5 P. M.
On a voyage in 1910, Mrs. Carnegie recorded one of the first
messages received by Marconi wireless by passengers on ship-
board: King Edward died. Occasionally she put in notes like
these: Kathleen Adam Smith's wedding day; sent cable. ...
Margaret's birthday. . . . Abby Rockefeller's wedding day •
. . . Wireless from Nan Rockefeller-her son Andrew born.
The revealing record of voyages was also a "Baby Book," for,
along with storms and whales, Mrs. Carnegie continued to note
the voyages and sailing qualities of, first, her Baby Margaret,
and then of Margaret's little ones. She made note that it was
Margaret's first, second, or third voyage, etc., and afterwards
made the same entries for each of her grandchildren:
June 2, 1897. 23rd voyage; Baby Margaret's first trip 9 weeks old.
April 25th, 1899. 25th voyage; Margaret's 3rd. On second day, in
fog, two-year-old Margaret protested: "Baba tell Captain put away
fog horn, only coach horn"-meaning dinner horn.
June 25th, 1921. Outward Bound. S. S. Celtic. Baby Lou's third
voyage. Baby fine traveler.
In the journal of the homeward voyage in the Majestic, in
October, 1925, are these notes about the grandchildren: Lou's
227
10th voyage} Robin}s 6th voyage} Barbara}s 2nd. Children so
good.
But in the year 1920, there was only one baby in the group,
and the decision was being made to try the child out at once
as an ocean traveler.
Six years had passed since the Carnegies had hurriedly left
their Highland summer home. Mrs. Carnegie recalled how
pleasantly her husband, her child, and she had sailed to Eng_
land in May, 1914, with nothing ominous in sight except a
derelict vessel. How different had been the return voyage in
September on the Mauretania, as fugitives from the horrors
they had devoted millions to help the nations avoid. Then she
had made this diary entry: Ship painted war gray and dis-
guised. No lights on deck.
Mrs. Carnegie was anxious to return. There were many de-
cisions about the property that were being suspended until she
arrived. The war had wrought severe changes in Great Britain,
and Skibo had not come out of it unscathed. She sailed with
her sister Estelle on the Red Star steamship Lapland} Captain
Bradshaw. The Roswell Millers, with Baby Lou, were to fol-
low by another ship. The grandmother was hurrying to Skibo
to prepare the nursery for the baby. Here, in a letter to her
daughter, is the story of her return to the Highlands:
Skibo
July 30, 1920
Darling,
I'm at Skibo!! just think of it! and everything in the house is
exactly as we left it six years ago. We might really have been gone
only six days from the way everything looks, except that in the
228
gld nursery there is a little pink bassinette waiting for its wee occu-
pant!
I have had a hasty run through the garden-the strawberries are
not over yet-the cherries still hanging on the east wall big dark
red ones, not many but still a few and oh! so sweet, and the goose-
berries and raspberries are just about ripe-they are all so won-
derful!
Mr. Ritchie [the minister] was on the train with us but I did
not see him until we reached Bonar Bridge. I am so glad he was
the first one I saw. Mr. and Mrs. Hardie [the factor and his wife]
were at the door as we drove up and Nimmie [Mrs. Nicoll, the
housekeeper of Cluny days] in the doorway-it was so good to see
her. Well, you will see it all for yourself soon. Will it be Monday or
Tuesday I wonder. I fear the latter. Mr. Hardie says there is lots
of grouse and the dogs are being trained, and there are lots and
lots of rabbits. Myl won't they taste good-rabbit pie for instance-
so there will be lots of sport for Roswell. Everything is good but
the weather-it is bitterly cold. I hope you have plenty of warm
clothing with you-put on all you have-it was very cold on the
train last night. We have had sunshine and showers all day just
like April-but the sky is wonderful. The house is warm and com-
fortable and of course we have open fires. Our breakfast baskets
at Kingussie were hot and nice, and at Inverness we had cold
luncheon baskets put in-we wired ahead for them-and ate them
when we felt like it-we did not reach Skibo today until 3.15.
Mr. Hardie gave me your dear letter on arrival. Ohl darling it
was so sweet of you to think of writing.
The Roswell Millers, starting their new family, must have
been a little worried as to Skibo arrangements; something the
daughter intimated in her letter caused the mother to give assur-
ance in reply.
229
But just here I want to set you right about something you said
in your letter. I don't expect you to have my viewpoint-and I
wouldn't have you feel one day older than you are. I want You
gay and young and frivolous and bent on having a good time both
of you together and it makes me happy to help you have a happy
young time. I say this because I know you have a heart under it all.
You are bringing your family to your home and I don't expect
things to go on in the old way and don't want them to. You are
the daughter of the house and I am only happy when you are
happy. We both have our separate lives to live but it is a comfort
to live them near each other. This is not a sermon!! Now hurry· up
and come home and don't take cold any of you-it I is a terrific
change from N. Y....
Baby Lou thrived aboard ship and in the Highlands, and
the weeks of Skibo life were delightful for all. But Margaret
was to be matron-of-honor at the wedding of Roswell's sister,
and after that the happiness of establishing Baby Lou in her
Princeton home lay ahead and preparing for winter life there.
On September lIth, therefore, the Roswell Millers sailed on
the Aquitania for the United States.
Mrs. Carnegie, about to return home, indicated an unset-
tled mind about whether to continue the ownership of the
estate in Scotland:
These coming weeks will be the real test whether I can keep this
place. I find it is you darling and not the place that counts-and I
cannot talk to you over the telephone from here! We shall see-I
don't know if I can stand many more partings like this but the first
is always the worst, and it will all work out well in the end ...
But qualms about giving up beloved Skibo crept out in other
passages of the same letter:
230
Auntie and I had a lovely afternoon with our tea basket up on
,truie near Aultnamain. We sat in the heather near a burn. It is a
ovely place and I must take you there next year! ...
It has been a wild day of wind and showers, rainbow in the
norning! but a good deal of sunshine with all. I managed to run
JP the hillside and drank from the Spring and went down to see
:he nearest waterfall which was in spate and crossed the stepping
,tones and stood at the gate. I thought of the afternoon when we
were last at Aultnagar together and of the cosy tea before the fire ...
I am so glad dear little Lou is such a good traveler and such a
oy and comfort too. I am so glad you have her, darling, and that
when you get a bit homesick for your "Home in the North Coun-
trie" you can snuggle her up and think that she has been there too
and later on you can talk to her about it. Little darling! as hard
as it is, I like to go into her room and imagine I see her there and
you lying on the sofa with her in your arms ...
I'm thinking of last Sunday morning, and the beautiful walk in
the afternoon on the little moor. I am afraid I am making it harder
for you, recalling all these times. I know how hard it was for you
to tear yourself away from this spot you love so well. You are your
father's own daughter, my darling! I was looking at the motto
over the fireplace in the hall this A. M.-"hame is harne, but a hie-
land hame is mair than hame"-I don't believe you remember it,
but isn't it true? Well, it doesn't do to get too much attached to
places-we must move on and we all have work to do in the world.
In a letter sent a week later, Mrs. Carnegie continued:

I am busy in the house some days going over the linen closet,
etc. Such beautiful new tablecloths-French-marked with your
initials I find here, but I am not bringing them over just yet. You
have two of your cribs here and I am getting the smaller one put
up all ready for Lou next yead! ...
2]1
I have had a long sleep this afternoon, after which I was busy
framing pictures of you as a bride and with Baby and one of our
family group. I want to leave them here and they are all lovely.
I like you with Baby in your arms better every time I look at it-
she is such a wonder with such a lot of hair-she was just 3 weeks
and 4 days old. It looks as if we intended to come back, doesn't
it? Instead of packing photos to take home I am framing to leave
here-heigh-ho! I hope you will tell me just how you now feel in
looking back over the summer. Does it seem to have been a big un-
dertaking? Was it worth while ? Would you dread doing it again?
To know just how you feel about it now will help me very much-
{
don't be afraid of my feelings-tell me honestly-weighing all the

advantages and disadvantages how you feel about it.
There were messages from her to Roswell too: thanks for the
check he had procured for her, and for finding out where she
could hire a motor car when she came to London. And then
she remembered his music:
Tell Roswell I actually long to hear him playing the organ. I
miss it and him dreadfully-but I mustn't talk of missing; I couldn't
live if I didn't try to shut that from my mind.
The wedding of Dorothy Miller, Roswell's sister, took place
on September 25, 1920. On the afternoon of that day, the lady
of Skibo sat at her desk picturing the scene:
It is 5.15 by the clock. I can see the drawing room at Millbrook.
The bride and groom standing before Dr. Coffin and my own little
girl standing beside Dorothy holding her bouquet, as the holy words
are said. It all brings you very close to me....
I hope Dorothy will receive the cable I sent off last night to be
in time. I also sent one to Mrs. Miller at the same time. I only
signed it Louise but I hope it went all right. Dorothy will make
23 2
1 pretty bride and I hope everything will pass off to Mrs. Miller's
:ull satisfaction. I know only too well the blank that will be after-
wards •••
I shall be glad to think of you next Tuesday or Wednesday as
Jeing settled in your own Princeton home although to Roswell it
will be hard for him to resume his studies. I know how busy you
will be getting the nursery settled and everybody broken in, but I
know you will love it . . . I also know you long to stand on your
own feet and even your household cares will give you a sense of
freedom because they are your own.
Mrs. Carnegie's frankness about herself comes in at the end

of a letter:
Auntie and I are having lovely times together and she is very
dear and thoughtful and I try not to be domineering. She and I
had our last game of golf yesterday ... We had pretty poor scores
but the day was glorious! I did the 7th hole in eight! and was so
disgusted I went back and played it again in four! if I only could
have counted it!
The letter of September 25th from Skibo virtually settled the

question whether the estate should be retained. An old family
friend, Dr. John Ross, who had negotiated for Andrew Car-
negie the desired purchase of Pittencrieff Glen as a public
park for Dunfermline, had come up, old as he was, to advise
Mrs. Carnegie about the property. The decision on whether to
sell part of the estate or to keep it all is told in this extract from
a letter to Margaret:
We are to give up all farming and reduce expenses as much as
we can. If we can let Aultnagar with the Auchinduich shooting we
shall do so. I want to sell all to the west of the Spinningdale road
233
-this will let us keep Loch Bhuie and Lagain and the Fairy Glen/_
but there would be no deer shooting nor salmon. Of course the
Shin is the best part of our revenue but I don't want the respon.
sibility and 1 do hope we may find a purchaser . . . 1 am making
my plans now to come back here early next summer, if you and
Roswell find that your plans work out so that you can come over
after R. graduates-it will make me very, very happy ..•
If you and Roswell want to leave Baby with me and take a run
on the Continent 1 shall be glad of this-but even if you feel you
cannot come over and that you must take a house near New York
-I could not be with you and my duties plainly lie here-if you
cannot come 1 shall not stay so long ... 1 feel like a new creature
now that 1 have begun some definite work and the awful thought
of parting with Skibo has gone. 1 believe it was almost killing
me.
Giving up Shadowbrook is nothing to giving up Skibo. The fast
ships now would take me to you quickly if you needed me, and
really you do not actually need me in one sense, now that you have
your husband and child and have your good doctor and trained
nurse to call upon if necessary, and always your Nana, and 1 would
come as quickly as ship could carry me if you were in trouble of
any kind, and then you would always have Skibo to come to. It
seems the right solution, doesn't it darling? At least for a few years.
Mr. Ritchie was here yesterday for luncheon and tea. I soon guessed
what was on his mind-he wanted to know the result of Dr.
Ross's visit. When I told him I was arranging to come back next
year he gave a sigh of relief and spoke several times of how pleased
the people round about would be. This is all very gratifying and I
believe even if I have to curtail and live in a smaller way, which
I shall earnestly try to do, that I can still bring a good deal of
happiness into the lives of many people.
234
In the summer of 1921, Baby Lou having started her second
year, the grandmother and child got well acquainted with each
other in a sunny period of gardening. Mrs. Carnegie reported
to the absent young mother:
Your darling daughter graciously consented to spend the after-
noon with her grandmother and I have gone back 23 years and
had a real old fashioned Sunday afternoon alone with her in the
garden ... I took Baby and sent Nurse off for a walk. We had
a fine time. I gave her old roses to pull to pieces while I cut off the
old calyxes, and this amused her for a long time, then she had a
fine time throwing things out of her pram and Grandmother had
a lot of exercise picking them up-it was as good as a game of
golf for me physically! So much depends upon the way we look at
things! Finally I spread a rubber rug under the big lime trees on
the lawn and she sang Grandmother to sleep and tried to eat all
the sticks she could find. It was half past five before I knew it and
then I carried her in to bed in the best of spirits.
Mrs. Carnegie and the Roswell Millers did not cross the At-
lantic during the next year. Mrs. Carnegie's ship diary tells
tersely why she stayed at home that year: Did not cross in
I922. Spent summer at Cape Cod} awaiting Robin. Roswell
Miller III was born December 14, 1922. In June, 1922, she went
to West Hyannisport, Cape Cod.
She was enjoying an escape from entertaining groups of
guests in her "wee house by the sea," and she had time to
indulge in a bit of quiet humor as to the impression her simple
living was making on the servants who accompanied her:
No doubt there is plenty of grumbling going on behind the
scenes, but, luckily, I do not hear it. I was amused with M-- [an
235
English chauffeur] when I was extolling the charms of Chisholm's
house as we passed, he replied, "Yes, the location is nne, but the
house is rather rough inside."
"Yes," I said, "people in this country like to camp out for the
summer."
Again she wrote from her seashore cottage:
I am having the best holiday I have ever had in my life. I love
every feature of my simple life and I am able to forget all my wor-
ries in the freedom I now enjoy ...
· 12 .
Andrew Carnegie's foundation for international peace had

spent nearly a half-million dollars in the restoration of the war-
devastated area of Europe. His widow had been invited to
view the work of restoration, and in the spring of I923 she
went in time to watch the spring come to Paris, and see the
horse-chestnut trees blooming, and flower-women selling lilies
in the streets.
We motored to Fontainebleau yesterday-the drive through the
forest with all the trees in their spring freshness was entrancing.
There was a hunting party lunching at the restaurant where we
took lunch-ladies and gentlemen in scarlet coats and velvet caps
-it was a gay scene.
Daddy's memory is revered here, and I want them to know that
Daddy's family take an interest and wish to help them carryon.
Word had come to the Belgian court of Mrs. Carnegie's in-

formal visit, and King Albert had invited her to attend a din-
ner which he was giving to the King and Queen of Spain:
The envoy said the King felt that this occasion gave him an op-
portunity to show the wife of the great philanthropist a new proof
of the esteem and sympathy which Belgium cherished toward the
memory of Andrew Carnegie.
237
Mrs. Carnegie went to Brussels by way of Rheims, Belleau
Wood, Chateau Thierry, and Soissons:
The devastated regions saddened us very much-such havoc is
beyond description-whole villages wiped out. Nature, always
beneficent if not thwarted, is covering everything with grass so
that much of the gauntness is gone-and the restorations are really
wonderful; so many buildings have gone up with new red roofs
everywhere-Rheims Cathedral is nearly roofed over, but oh! the
destruction of the beautiful windows!
Then came a touching reference to the slain son o~ Theodore
Roosevelt:
We visited Quentin Roosevelt's solitary grave-just where he fell
when his aeroplane was shot down. Born in the same year you
were, darling. We laid some white lilacs on his grave for his
Mother's sake-I know her well.
Often the traveler came on the Carnegie investments in hu-
man welfare:
We lunched at Soissons that day and in the P. M. went to Far-
nieres-where our Peace Foundation is rebuilding the school and
a good portion of the village. The center is to be called La Place
C,arnegie. The Mayor and all the Town Counsellors were assem-
bled at the little shack which is all they have for a Town Hall-
but dear Daddy's large photograph was hanging over the desk.
The Mayor gave a big bouquet to the woman who had shared
in the benefactions, and escorted her to' the shack that served
as a school:
All the children, about two hundred, were assembled outside, and
three little girls with their hair tied with American flag ribbon read
another address and presented another bouquet . . .
238
THE PLEASANTNESS OF SEVENTY
At Brussels, "dressed in my best," and accompanied by Gen-
eral and Mrs. Charles Sherrill, Mrs. Carnegie drove to the
palace, took her place in the line of guests and made her bow
to the King and Queen of the Belgians. Albert spoke to her
about the dinner given to Andrew Carnegie ten years before.
The two young princes were also in the receiving line, and Car-
dinal Mercier, and all shook hands.
The letter ended with this paraphrased Mother Goose rhyme

for her granddaughter:
FOR Lou
"Ganma, Ganma, where have you been?"
"I've been to Brussels to see the Queen."
"Ganma, Ganma, what did you do there?"
"I felt like the little mouse under the chairl"
In letters Mrs. Carnegie sent from Scotland in I923, she

often gave delightful little pictures of her strolls of the day, or
the scenery she was watching as she wrote the letter. Though
she made no pretense to literary style, her letters, when de-
scribing nature, have an authentic ring:
I just came in from a farewell walk along the top border of the
garden and part of the Sunset walk. Such a glorious evening! The
sunset was a yellow one against a greenish blue sky, and patches
of dark clouds, so lovely, and in the East the almost full moon was
silvery bright, too heavenly for words. Five hours later the same
moon will be shining down on you! I wonder if you will see it
from the train windows as you approach New York? The leaves
239
are falling rapidly and I love to see them lying on the ground.
What impresses me most are the individual trees-each a different
shade of yellow imbedded in the dark green of the pinesl
I am seated in my little East room downstairs where I can get
every blink of the sun which comes out fitfully. The dark clouds
hang loweringly over the Sutherland hills and all during breakfast
I watched the heavy rain clouds, rushing along through the valleys
and over the hills-such a wild day. The poor broom is thrashed
and beaten and Murray has been busy all the week tieing up the tall
flowers in the garden. My three doggies are stretched out on the
floor where they too can enjoy the blinks of the sun. I
I am glad you are enjoying the American summer [she said at
another time]; it is very fine in a way, and I love it too, if I don't
have to exert myself in the heat ... How lovely your flower~
which Roswell arranged must have been and the moccasin flowers!
All the beauty is not confined to one spot of the earth, fortunately,
so while I long for you here, and can hardly enjoy it without you,
still I know you too are enjoying a beauty of your own, which I
too knew in my early days and I am glad you are learning all
about your own country now. We are rich indeed-knowing two
countries so intimately.
The Roswell Millers were staying in Millbrook, preparatory
to going over later in the summer. The mother wrote to them
there in the same vein, referring to Aultnagar:
I know the joy and peace you have living on your hilltop in
America and the joy I feel in being on my Scotch hilltop bring~
me very close to you.
To capture the rare beauty of the Highland scenery, Mrs.

Carnegie had gone in for colored photography-an art in which
her son-in-law excelled. The reason she seldom appeared in
240
group pictures in the Skibo setting was that it was she who
was taking the picture. The idea came to her to use one of the
scenes as a Christmas card:
I have taken some glorious colored photos-even Roswell is en-
thusiastic, but the vivid coloring does not reproduce well, so the
film itself is better than any Christmas card can be. The film in my
glass viewing case is an exact reproduction of nature.
The changes that had come with time had subdued the
"open house" aspect of Skibo. Mrs. Carnegie still welcomed her
friends, but they were friends, not necessarily public characters.
If the truth be told, she had not always enjoyed those large
house parties her husband had givell-so many visitors weary
me, she confided to her diary.
The unfailing letters from mother to daughter at this time of

renewing friendships in Britain carry reports of meetings with
venerable friends, especially John Morley.
Lord Morley came and lunched with us on Saturday the day
after we arrived. I see a great change in him; he is really very
feeble and is very pathetic, but he is the same sweet, dear friend.
He had many inquiries of you and made me promise over and
over again that I would bring you all out to see them in June when
you arrive-babies and all. Lady Morley was not able to come for
lunch and was not able to see us on Sunday, but I had a telegram
from Lord Morley on Monday morning asking us for tea that after-
noon. We found Lady Morley better than we expected. She was
down in the familiar library to greet us and when we left they
both followed us to the door to see the American car and Lord
Morley shook hands with [chauffeur] McCulloch. We stayed fully
an hour and they were both so interested in all I had to tell them
241
about you and the babies and said nice things about Roswell. His
last words were "Mind you bring them to us in June!"
Mrs. Carnegie's carefully preserved packet of letters from

Morley ends with one dated September 8, 1923. Labelled, in
her handwriting, "His last letter to me," it has characteristic
touches.
I wonder what sort of a world your youngsters will grow up to?
I fear we of this generation are not making things of good promise
for them. A storm laden "crisis" once a week, each of them more
dangerous than the week before, is trying for us all, and especially
for worthy people with nerves over 80!!! After all the golden
maxim of human life is steadily to make the best of things. Old
John Wesley once preached a fierce sermon against the sins and
wickedness of the time and of his countrymen; and then he sud-
denly wound up: "But our people are the best in the world for
all that." I fancy something of the same compliment to themselves
is not unknown in your country.
Another friend whose death she mourned was the Right

Reverend Randall Davidson, Archbishop of Canterbury. He
and Lady Davidson became regular summer guests at Skibo,
usually staying for a week or more. The Archbishop's geniality,
his fondness for. the Miller children, his pleasure in non-eccle-
siastical things, such as tea parties, golf, salmon fishing, and
the like, gave a delightfully informal view of a head of the
English church.
Mrs. Carnegie afterwards wrote her granddaughter Louise
about a group picture of the Davidsons and the Carnegies, taken
at Skibo Castle, the Archbishop standing with his hands on the
shoulders of Louise, then about ten years old.
242
etc. Yes, darling, I have a great deal to be thankful for, and I am
grateful for my many mercies.
In March of 1924, Mrs. Carnegie discovered the coast of Cali.
fornia, and liked the people and scenery immensely. Uncle
George Lauder, in "great good spirits," was with her on the
trip. She especially enjoyed a stay at Coronado Beach:
It is a perfect Paradise. The palm trees, gay flowers, and the
beautiful stretch of the Pacific with the long lines of breakers make
it to me even more beautiful than the Riviera ... The Califor.
nians are most friendly and seem to reflect this beal1tiful climate
in their characters.
The party returned to New York on the steamship Man-
churia, by way of the Canal. Mrs. Carnegie could put up with
inconveniences when necessary:
They have not been able to give me a room with bath, but I am
on the Promenade Deck with plenty of air.... They had allotted
Manning a berth in an inside room, which they have changed to
an outside one, which will be more satisfactory.
Always eager to visit some new corner of the world, and
prepared to put up with any discomfort in doing so, Mrs. Car-
negie, in these years of renewed voyaging, sailed with the
De Peysters on the Conte Rosso for the Mediterranean. She
liked the little Italian ship's photographer, because "he didn't
intrude," and she sent home his snapshot of her group.
In the rough seas off Gibraltar, she enjoyed the fancy dress
ball:
The whole ship's company worked like slaves all day yesterday
to decorate the dining-room with tiny electric lights and garlands.
244
The saloon and upper deck are like fairyland. Everyone was throw-
ing confetti, streamers, balloons, etc., and it was a real fiesta, and
yet not boisterous, and nobody was hilarious, just having a thor-
oughly good simple time. I think it was just what I needed ••.
Mrs. Carnegie's chief interest as an aging woman was for the

simple things of life, the things that one did not have to be a
millionaire to enjoy. She found delight in visiting gardens; in
sitting on the beach viewing the gulls; in seeing children at
play; in reading letters from daughter and grandchildren; the
latter had deep admiration and love for "Grandma Naigie," as
they called her, perhaps reminiscent of that "Naig" which was
Andrew Carnegie's nickname among the friends of his boy-
flood. She enjoyed taking rambling walks all alone, in the sur-
rounding moors and hills, and sight-seeing tours-for she was
m inveterate visitor of cathedrals and places of historic interest.
She occasionally went to the movies and followed current events
llld speeches on the radio; she even tried out some modern
nusic and jazz-but gave it up in despair, reverting to her be-
oved Tschaikowsky, Brahms, and Wagner.
With grandchildren coming to visit her at Skibo, its mistress
!Vas soon giving as much attention to providing pet dogs for
heir fondling as she did to procuring dolls. As her letters show,
:he was herself a dog-lover. She gave this picture of Struie:
Wee Struie came to my bedside wagging his tail and of course
le had an invitation to come up and he lay in my arms looking
'p into my face until my breakfast came and then he cudc-lled by
ny side and went to sleep never begging for a morsel. He is the
nost satisfactory wee doggie imaginable. Last night I went for a
valk after dinner and Laddie was close by my side . . . The short
245
young grass is green but not many primroses near the house_
tomorrow I shall have to go down the glen and find them. I came
across a fine bunch last night. Laddie had promptly gone into the
burn and lay down in the icy water and when I called him he came
to where I was gathering the primroses and lay down on the top
of them, which did not improve them!
Some time later she told of acquiring another "wee doggie."

1 had to run off for a turn on the moors-sunset walk-while
the sun was shining, taking the doggies for a walk. It was glorious
the lights and shades on the distant hills most beautiful. There is
almost a purple tinge on the heather already. Of course 1 am later
here this year than last and everything has a real summer look ...
1 had written Mr. Wolfenden'l wanted to see the little Shetland
collie I wrote about last Autumn and to bring him to the train (I
wasn't going to tell you about this but I can't keep it). He was
there-the dearest little year-and-a-half-old all-sable Shetland collie
you ever saw. Of course I fell, and when the train pulled out little
"Ruag"-meaning red-was in my arms! He was restless at first
but soon "cuddled doon" and was sound asleep. My idea is, if
the children take to him, to give him to them to take to America
-only he will be hunted for a fox if you take him to Millbrook.
He is just about a year older than Struie-and is now what Struie
was last year. Not quite so docile, but very intelligent, and knows
everything I say to him. It will be nice for Barbara and Margot to
each have a dog to play with this summer ... I was fearful how
Laddie and Struie might receive Ruag-so Alexander held the latter
in his arms while Laddie and Struie devoured me, squealing with
delight. Laddie shows no lameness, and is as lively as ever, only too
fat-while Struie is like a little ball-this is partly owing to his very
heavy coat, and rather short legs. Ruag is very thin and, while small,
has longer legs. Together they are just like Rannoch and Cluny in
246
the collie picture in our gallery only in miniature edition. They all
took to each other at once, and all lay under the table while I
ate my dinner. Imagine me going about with three dogs at my
heels!
Friday I slept for two hours in the afternoon, and when I came
down to dinner Alexander asked me if Ruag had been with me.
I had not seen him all the afternoon! Neither had Alexander! He
had eaten a good dinner at one o'clock and the last he saw of him
he was running off with the other two dogs. Laddie and Struie
came back but Ruag did not-not even at night. Yesterday morn-
ing I started out to search for him. Went to every cottage, notified
McDonald the keeper, posted notices in Invershin P. O. and Bonar
Bridge P. O. offering 5 pounds reward, notified Bonar policeman
who telephoned Lairg police-did everything I could think of,
wrote an advertisement for the Northern Times for Leith to send,
etc. Another night and no sign of him. This morning while I was
writing here, Alexander brought him in.
The little fellow had walked in about II.30 A. M. as quietly as
if nothing had happened. Looking none the worse, not a bit weather
beaten, although it had rained one night and there was frost the
other. Where the little monkey had been no one can tell. He was
not a bit tired but was good and hungry for his lunch-gone nearly
two full days and nights! Now I expect I shall be busy most of to-
morrow notifying everybody he has been found. The whole three
of them are sound asleep at my feet as I write. I started this letter
thinking I should have to report to you a tragedy and now peace
and happiness reign supreme.
July 15, 1926, was one of the very happy days in Grand-
mother Naigie's life. She wrote in her diary: St. Swithin's Day.
My third granddaughter and fourth grandchild, Margaret
Morrison Miller, was born at 9:20 P.M. 7 lbs. This was a signal
247
occasion for the vicinity, because the birth of little Margaret
Miller (Margot) was the first one at Skibo for a great many
years. The baby was christened in the hall at Skibo. Recording
the ceremony, the grandmother wrote on August 29th, Sunday,
1926: Little Margaret Morrison Miller was baptized by Mr.
Ritchie, in the hall of our home. Sir George Adam Smith, Prin-
cipal of Aberdeen University [a close family friend] and Dr.
Bentick, minister of the Dornoch Cathedral, took part. Fire-
place and font decorated with palms, marguerites, bluebells,
and purple and white heather. My Dunfermline silver rose
bowl used. About 150 here. Baby was presented with a silver
vase by household staff. Mr. Ritchie for dinner. Hymns in the
eventng.
The christening of Barbara, Margot's next older sister, had
also occurred at Skibo. In June, 1925, baby Barbara, newly
brought from the United States, had been named and conse-
crated in Bonar Bridge Church, on the Skibo estate. At that
christening, Mr. Ritchie had also presided. The presence of this
good man accompanied the lives of the Carnegies and the
Millers from the oldest to the youngest; formally and in-
formally, he blessed them all.
In the summer of 1927, Mrs. Carnegie was presented to King

George V and Queen Mary at a Drawing Room held at Holy-
rood Palace in Edinburgh and received an invitation, including
her daughter and son-in-law, to the G9-rden Party given the
next day. It was a memorable event in the Skibo summer. Mrs.
Carnegie described it in a letter to a friend in America:
The weather could not have been finer for the Garden Party-
and I felt very happy and proud of my daughter and her husband,
248
both looking very smart,-Mr. Miller in his top hat, cutaway, and
spats!-as we walked across the beautiful lawns at Holyrood. The
Queen sent word that she wanted to see me, and Sir Harry Verney
who came for us, asked me to bring Mr. and Mrs. Miller also. We
were taken up to the Royal tent just after they had finished tea.
The Queen came out on the lawn and stood talking to us for some
time. She asked Mrs. Miller about her children and I told Her
Majesty about Dede [Louise] cutting out her pictures from the
papers and making frames for them. The Queen was much inter-
ested. Dede thrilled when I told her. The Queen then said the King
would like to talk with us, and he was very genial and pleasant,
and said he was very pleased to see me at the presentation on
Wednesday. I was much surprised that he had recognized me. Both
Mr. and Mrs. Miller were very pleased, and both much impressed
with the great charm of the King and Queen. It was a perfect
success, and now I .look forward with pleasure to formally present-
ing my daughter and son-in-law at Court some day!
. . . We seem to be in a very gay mood, for last week I decided
to give a Garden Party here which came off yesterday. We had
the tent we had for the christening erected on the tennis green
and had the full pipe band in their new uniforms, with Grant as
their leader march up and down the lawn at intervals. We also
had Mr. Innes and his orchestra placed under the cherry tree near
the garden entrance and they played delightfully. About 125 people
came ... The Hotel Dornoch furnished ices and strawberries and
tea, and served it at little tables on the lawn and everyone seemed
very happy.
In the year 1928, Mrs. Carnegie saw the completion of a

long-planned shrine to her husband. For several years she had
been planning some kind of personal memorial to Andrew and
his mother in his native town of Dunfermline. In Carnegie's
249
lifetime, greatly to his delight, she had purchased with money
of her own-a legacy under the will of her grandfather, George
Buckmaster Whitfield-the little two-story graystone cottage
in which Carnegie had been born in I835. The Dunfermline
Trust contributed the lot that adjoined his humble home.
Mrs. Carnegie, after consultation with John Ross and other
friends of Andrew, decided to convert the two sites into a per-
manent monument to her husband's life. In the course of that
life a vast collection of mementoes had been assembled; chief
among them were the "Freedoms" which had been presented
to Carnegie from the British towns and cities to which he had
given libraries. Carnegie had always been proud of these parch-
ments bestowing the Freedom of the City. They were in heavy
silver or beautifully carved wooden caskets and the collection
during his lifetime held an honored place in two large glass
cabinets in the drawing room at Skibo. He liked genially to
boast that, whereas Gladstone had seventeen Freedoms, he
had fifty-two.
Mrs. Carnegie had begun the erection of a fine building,
directly adjoining the birthplace, to house these and other val-
uable Carnegie memorabilia. When the Birthplace Memorial
was finished and ready for dedication, the occasion became
famous in the history of the old "grey toun." The school chil-
dren obtained a holiday, and 8,000 strong, all waving flags,
formed the main part of the procession.
In connection with the dedication of the Carnegie Memorial,

there was an extra presentation which had special appeal for
the Roswell Millers and their children. This is disclosed in Mrs.
Carnegie's letter sent to Sir James Norval:
250
In this connection, may I say that I wrote Mr. Shearer a day or

two ago about a little drinking fountain which I should like placed,
if possible, in the shrubbery near the steps leading from the Me-
morial into the little park. One of the incidents of Mr. Carnegie's
childhood, which always touched me deeply, was his going to a
fountain to gather water for his Mother; and I have thought that
a small fountain would commemorate this, at least in his family's
mind, and be a pleasing touch . • •
I find that Mr. and Mrs. Miller are anxious to have just a boulder
or two of granite from Skibo, arranged so that the water could bub-
ble up into a little basin at the top. I will write Mr. Shearer more
clearly as to my ideas on this subject, and hope that you, as Chair-
man of the Trust, will approve of the drinking fountain being
placed there if possible. It is to be quite small and unostentatious.
Concerning the spot where she wished to place the fountain,
Mrs. Carnegie had already said to Provost Norval: "Whenever
I go to the Glen for tea, I am deeply moved by the sight of
the children playing on the green." The sward referred to was
part of the gift of Andrew Carnegie.
On June 28th, the date set for the opening of the Birthday
Memorial Building, a brief preliminary ceremony of presenting
the fountain was held. The two older grandchildren, Louise and
Robin, came to join the family and their friends, and as the
guests gathered for the main presentation, Mr. Miller dedicated
the little fountain in the garden. Mrs. Carnegie, in a letter to
Aggie King, told of the joy both ceremonies gave her:
The little drinking fountain in the corner of the garden was an
inspiration, and it was a proud moment for me to see Roswell
standing there, presenting it in a few well chosen words, spoken in
251
a clear full voice, and Lou and Robin turning on the water and
then bending over it and taking the first drink.
Margaret was beaming and never looked so well in her life as
she stepped up and opened the Memorial door. We all went in to
the beautiful building and at the far end, standing beneath An-
drew's full length portrait in his St. Andrews Rectorial robes, I
made my little speech presenting the building and its contents to
the Trustees .... The architect, Mr. Shearer, handed the souvenir
key to Margaret, who spoke a few words of thanks and appreciation,
in a good clear voice, and the little impressive ceremony ended,
after three short speeches by Dr. Keppel, president of the Carnegie
Corporation of New York, the Earl of Elgin, and Sir Dougald Clerk,
representing Andrew's other Foundations.
Lou and Robin sat through it all and joined in My Country 'Tis
of Thee and the National Anthem, every word of which they knew
by heart. We then adjourned to the Tea House in Pittencrieff Park
for tea and one of the Choral Societies sang, Will Ye No Com~
Back Again most delightfully, which brought the lump to my
throat.
In the little talk Mrs. Carnegie made at the opening of the
Birthday Memorial, she said:
It is very good of you to join us today in this little ceremony of

affectionate remembrance. I feel the occasion is an intimate one and
does not require many words. This Memorial speaks for itself. We
shall find in this Collection, by which we are surrounded, many
tributes from grateful communities. These addresses, presentations
and beautiful caskets containing Freedoms' from many cities were
Mr. Carnegie's most highly prized possessions, and, in addition to
these, we felt it would be interesting to show how far-reaching
have been the influences set in motion by the unique life we com-
memorate today, by visualizing in the form of photographs arid
252
diagrams some of the activities so ably carried on by the many
foundations Mr. Carnegie was privileged to establish. Here will
be sent yearly reports of the work that goes steadily on, so that this
Collection will never be entirely complete, and we like to think of
it as a place that has educational value, where people may come
and gain useful information.
It has not been easy to let these precious heirlooms pass from the
guardianship of the family; but the very large number of tributes
coming from the America he loved to call his "Wifeland" as well as
from his Motherland, made it difficult for any family to keep them
together as much as we would have liked to do so. We all feel they
should be in a place where they will not only be safe for all time,
but where we hope they may be an inspiration to following
generations . . .
There was a deep family sentiment in these ceremonies at

Dunfermline, in which even the littlest of the grandchildren
were sharing. "No gift I ever made or can ever make," Car-
negie wrote in his Autobiography, "can possibly approach that
of Pittencrieff Glen, Dunfermline. It is saturated with childish
sentiment-all the purest and sweetest ..." In boyhood, it
was beyond his fondest dreams that he would some day be
able to buy "the Paradise of his childhood" and turn it over to
Dunfermline for a public park. Now his daughter and son-in-
law and their children were commingling in Pittencrieff Glen
with the very children he had hoped might have its "sweetness
and light." After the dedication, Mrs. Carnegie and her party
returned to Gleneagles where they were staying. Mrs. Car-
negie's letter to Mrs. King continued:
The next morning bright and early, our Gleneagles party was on
the road again for Dunfermline, to take part in the Children's Gala
253
Day, and from the Balcony of the Town Hall we watched the 8,000
children march down the High Street headed by the Pipe Band.
Each had a flag and such cheering and waving! There were also
several bands of music. As arranged beforehand, when the head of
the Procession reached the Town Hall, the Reverend Mr. Hutchin-
son, one of the Trustees, who was marching with them, stepped
out where Margaret and the children were waiting, and Mr. Hutch-
inson, taking Louise and Robin by the hand, marched immediately
behind the Pipers into Pittencrieff Park! You can imagine our thrills!
Janet was waiting for them in the Park and when we arrived Lou
had already joined a circle of children and was playing "gjngaring"
-and pleading to continue. By that time it was lunch time and
Margaret and Roswell and Lou and Robin were carried off by Lord
and Lady Elgin and their four children to Broomhall for luncheon.
Stella and I lunched with the Trustees and our guests in the large
tent which had been erected. We then strolled among· the happy
children playing in the Parle
Then came another thrilling moment for me, when the two
nurses bringing Barbara and little Margaret arrived from Glen-
eagles! My Margaret was determined that all four of her children
should be with her and me in the Park that day. Soon the party
from Broomhall returned; four Elgins and the two Millers joined
the other two Millers and presently 1 saw them all dancing around
a tree, and looking up 1 saw a tablet-"This tree was planted by
Andrew Carnegie in 1904." (1 think it was)! Well, the day was full
of happy incidents. We had tea in the Tea House, had a family
group taken and soon we were all in the motors on our way back
to Gleneagles. You may imagine the delight of the people at seeing
the children. It was almost impossible to move about, the crowd
was so great, and most of the time we had to keep our children on
the balcony of the Tea House! They behaved wonderfully. They
did not get cross or unmanageable and really I was proud of them.
254
Returning to Skibo from such occasions, Mrs. Carnegie liked
to slip away to the quiet peace of Aultnagar.
Almost every . letter to her daughter contained an enclosure
of flowers which she had gathered with her own hands. Left
at noon for Auftnagar alone, she noted in her diary; had picnic
lunch, called on Mrs. Murray. Walked to the far seat at noon.
Called on Mrs. Morrison and tvent by Lairg. Home at seven
o'clock. Such a wonderful day!
That gives a perfect picture of the simplicity of her life. The
Mrs. Murray and Mrs. Morrison in question were humble cot-
tagers-the type that Mrs. Carnegie loved to drop in on for a
gossipy chat. Coming or going, she was always a thoughtful
neighbor to the families on the estate. All my good-byes have
been said-I went the rounds this A.M. and had time for a
little call at each cottage, everything so immaculate, and pret-
tily furnished, in many cases a piano or violin all showing such
comfort and contentment-no striving to live beyond -their
means-it did me good to see them and talk with them. I'm
glad to have had such a wonderful day for my last.
Here she is again recording her interest in the doings of the
people about the Castle: Angus got the much coveted gold
medal for pibroch playing at the Northern Meeting and Mal-
colm got the 4th prize for the same. Angus is very pleased, his
grandfather, father, and brother have all had the gold medal
and of course Angus would never rest until he got it. Going
among the families she found them "grateful, prosperous, con-
tented people." She said, "My heart is full of thankfulness, feel-
ing life has not been in vain."
The calm castle occupations were a great contrast to the
255
annual celebration of the great day of August I2th, which
marked the opening of the grouse season. The closed season
for the prized Red Grouse or Moor-cock ended the day before,
and "The Twelfth" stood out in the calendar as a day for sport
and festivity. It attracted to the moors of Scotland an interna-
tional company, a goodly number of whom could be counted
on to appear at Skibo.
The Twelfth had been observed by the Carnegies as far back
as Cluny days, and it amused the gathering sportsmen to hear
the welcoming Carnegie rail against the ingrained custom of
killing game, but it was not until Mrs. Carnegie had a house-
ful of young people who enjoyed the shooting, and grand-
children who had become old enough to take part in the sport,
that the day was so' enthusiasticall y celebrated at Skibo; then
the hostess entered into the spirit of it with great zeal.
Every house in the vicinity was full of guests, and all by
custom would go up to the moors after breakfast to see the
shooters start off. From the Castle, it was usually a party of
two or three guns, with pointers or setters, that followed a cer-
tain beat across the moors. It had been arranged that the shoot-
ing party and other guests should meet again for a picnic lunch.
A note in Mrs. Carnegie's diary says: Went up with the shoot-
ers, etc., including picnic lunch. The outdoor meal included
venison pasty and her favorite drink-claret and ginger ale.
In the evening came the great feast of the great day, with
the guests and favored neighbors joining in the dinner party.
Mrs. Carnegie's family remembers that she gaily contin-
ued this festive dinner through all her years at Skibo. This
dinner is one of the most vivid impressions of herself and life
at Skibo left by her to her grandchildren. During the after-
256
noon the gardeners and foresters brought in from the moors
armfuls of heather, moss, tiny pine trees, and rocks and peb-
bles; with these they created a miniature moor on the long
dining-room table, complete even to lakes. The glass and silver
seemed to sparkle with especial brilliance that night.
What a joyous scene I Grandma Naigie, rejuvenated, wore
her traditional purple lace evening dress, adorned by a sprig
of white heather-the Scottish symbol of good luck-and sat
beaming at the head of the table, enjoying with the rest of them
the delicious first grouse of the season.
257
· /3'
Every year, Louise Whitfield Carnegie kept her own inti-

mate observance of Andrew Carnegie's birthday. Now the
years were trending toward the centenary of his birth in the
attic of a one-story weaver's cottage. Mrs. Carnegie hoped that
the city, nation, and world would join with the family in
b.onoring him then. This wish was to be fulfilled; loyal friends
)f Andrew Carnegie, and admirers who knew him only by his
>vorks, also had their eyes on the calendar, and were planning
:or the great occasion.
The initiative for observing the Centenary of Andrew Car-

legie's birth in an international way came from the Carnegie
::::orporation of New York.
The Corporation's Board of Trustees, in a statement drafted
)y Elihu Root, Henry S. Pritchett, and Robert A. Franks, had
'ecognized the part the wife and daughter performed in the
>peration of this trust. The trustees affirmed their sense of
esponsibility towards the founder: "and towards Mrs. Andrew
~arnegie, and Miss Margaret Carnegie, who, with cheerful and
259
active sympathy, have approved and promoted the diversion of
a vast fortune from the ordinary channels of family distribution
to the benefit of mankind."
It was deeply gratifying to Mrs. Carnegie that there was so
much in Andrew's career worthy of honoring: his concern
with the common interests of mankind, his contributions to
free public libraries and colleges, his example as to the stew-
ardship of great fortunes, his work in the cause of peace.
Events were so shaping that she would have opportunity for
a preliminary celebration of the Centenary in Scotland. Sir
I
James Norval, Chairman of the Dunfermline Trust, informed
her in April, I935, as to the Scottish plans for commemorating
the Centenary, and she prepared to sail earlier than usual. St.
Andrews University wished to honor her in June. On May I6,
1935, Mrs. Carnegie boarded the Aquitania for her eighty-third
crossmg.
The Centenary celebration really began in June, at the
University of St. Andrews where Carnegie had served two terms
as Lord Rector. The University, choosing to take the living
woman as the symbol of Carnegie benefactions, decided to give
her the degree of Doctor of Laws. In the St. Andrews ceremony
she was capped by Sir James C. Irvine, Principal of the Uni-
versity.
A civic commemoration in Scotland also had Mrs. Carnegie
as the central figure. On September 30; the City of Edinburgh,
through Lord Provost Thompson, gave her its greatest honor
-that of free citizenship. The ceremony was held in the Town
Hall, in the presence of the sumptuously-robed City Fathers
and an audience of notables. At the colorful luncheon which
260
CARNEGIE CENTENARY-ITS LIVING SYMBOL
followed, Mrs. Carnegie expressed her gratitude in a speech
marked by modesty and brevity.
Perhaps the most picturesque feature of the continuing cele-
bration in Scotland was a broadcast made Sunday, November
24, in Dunfermline. This took place in the very second-story
room of the little stone cottage at Moodie Street and Priory
Lane, in whiCh Carnegie had been born one hundred years
before. The room, with its built-in beds against the wall, had
changed little since Andrew's arrival on earth.
In this chamber gathered a distinguished but necessarily
small company. Lord Elgin, head of the Carnegie United
Kingdom Trust, presided. He and John Finley, well-known
lecturer, educator, and an editor of the New Yark Times, who
had voyaged to Dunfermline for the occasion, were the chief
speakers. Their words, broadcast to the United States, were
heard with the utmost distinctness by all listeners, including
Mrs. Carnegie and close friends at Ninety-first Street. Lord
Elgin ended his speech with an affectionate tribute to Carnegie's
wife:
I cannot close without a word of grateful recognition to one who
shared in Andrew's life for over thirty years and who adorned his
work with a beautiful halo of personal charm and grace, and who,
by her kindly sympathy and interest, inspires his trustees.
At the dinner in the Music Pavilion in Pittencrieff Park, Sir

George Adam Smith, Principal of the University of Aberdeen,
emphasized the part played by Carnegie's wife in her husband's
work. He said:
Andrew Carnegie retained the heart of a child up to old age. His
:everence for his mother and devotion to her while she was alive
261
and later for her memory were especially beautiful and practical,
as this town of Dunfermline can well testify. And to his wife,
Scotland has but recently paid national honors, and very justly, for
her share in her husband's labors and ideals and for her gracious
influence in continuing them. Long may she be spared among us
to do so.
In the United States, the Centenary week began November 25,
and Mrs. Carnegie, then in her seventy-ninth year, was the
radiant center of the celebration. It was particularly fitting that
Sir James C. Irvine, of St. Andrews, should be selected to come
to America as the representative of the Carnegie foundations in
Britain. As a student, he had been one of the first beneficiaries
of the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland.
All the Carnegie trusts in the United States joined in the
celebration, along with the American Library Association and
educational institutions. In public and academic libraries Car-
negie exhibits were held and reproductions of Louis Mora's
new portrait of the benefactor were hung. The most elaborate
ceremonial took place in New York. It commemorated all the
activities for which Carnegie was responsible. Thus his interest
in music was the theme of the concert with which the proceed-
ings started on November 25th. In the quality of the great
audience and the musical program, the affair was distinguished.
The scene was that Carnegie Hall, on Fifty-seventh Street,
which Carnegie, as a semi-investment and for the cause of mu-
sic, had built and dedicated in 1891. Tschaikowsky, who had
helped to open this building, was no longer living; but Walter
Damrosch, who presided over the original ceremony, was
on hand; in 1891 he had been a young man of twenty-nine, but
in 1935 he was a white-haired veteran of seventy-three. He
262
formed an admirable link between Carnegie and the new era,
and gave many reminiscences. He said:
As a result of Mr. Carnegie's interest in music, he accepted the
presidency of both the Oratorio and Symphony Societies and later
of the New York Philharmonic. But perhaps his most important
contribution to music in New York was the building of this Hall
... Mr. Carnegie never earned a dollar out of it, but on the con-
trary there were many years when he paid the inevitable deficiency
out of his own pocket.
The following interpolation, for its amusing quality, is ap-
propriate. On one occasion, when Mr. Carnegie was called on,
as usual, to make good the Philharmonic Society's annual de-
ficiency, he looked up from his checkbook and said ,to his
caller: "Surely there are other folks who like the music well
enough to help; if they give half of what is needed, I'll give
the other half." The gentleman agreed, and went out to raise
the needed amount, which was quickly secured.
As Carnegie wrote a check for the balance, he said: "Do
you mind telling me who gave the other half?" The other
replied: "Not at all, it was Mrs. Carnegie."
This anecdote is told by Gene Fowler, in his book Beau lames,
a biography of James J. Walker, and inquiry indicates its
truth.
But to go back to Damrosch's speech in Carnegie Hall:
Mr. Carnegie knew nothing of the science of music, but grasped
the genius of Beethoven's symphonies and listened to them with his
little eyes tightly shut and a happy smile on his face. Du:-ing my
summers in Scotland almost every evening I had to play for him,
his wonderful wife, and John Morley, who was there much of the
time, page after page of Wagner's Nibelung Trilogy . ..
263
As I stand here thousands of memories crowd in upon me. Spirits
of the past are hovering in this Hall tonight and in their very
center we see the spirit of the noble and kindly man we all seek
to honor.
Then the musical program began, one that was largely a
repetition of the one with which Carnegie Hall had been
opened, featuring Tschaikowsky's Fifth Symphony.
Next evening came the lecture at the New York Academy
of Medicine by Sir James C. Irvine. He gave a scholarly review
of the Carnegie benefactions and the vast good they were ac.
complishing in Scotland and the United States. The following
evening there was a large banquet at the Waldorf-Astoria, at
which the principal speaker was Dr. James B. Conant, President
of Harvard University. .
And there were many private dinners, receptions, and
speeches in other places: Pittsburgh, where the orator was the
American historian Douglas Southall Freeman-Cleveland,
Denver, and even far-off Melbourne and Calcutta. An out-
standing event, in New York, was a luncheon, given by the
English-Speaking Union, for Sir James Irvine, with Sir Gerald
Campbell as another honored guest. In the little talk Mrs.
Carnegie made at this meeting she said something that has
taken on the nature of a true prophecy. The organization of
the United Nations, which has achieved some measure of sue·
cess, should be remembered as these words of hers are read:
I believe the day will yet come when his hope shall be realized
and the world shall become a family of nations. For many years
the subject of internationalism has interested me more deeply than
any other, and if the years have taught me anything it is that no
man nor nation can do any effective work in the world alone. It is
264
only by working together for a common cause that civilization can
be carried forward.
Grandmother Naigie's concern for the young people who

come after us is shown by the copy of this address on which she
wrote: "For my grandchildren."
On one of the days of Centenary Week, the surviving part-
ners of Andrew Carnegie came with their wives to NO.2 East
Ninety-first Street. Over the collation the hearty "Veterans"
chatted about Andy and gave a present to his lady, their first
and foremost Honorary Member. Mrs. Carnegie still remem-
bered vividly the part this body of partners had played in
laying the business foundation for the public benefactions the
Centenary was commemorating; among this little group she
felt that Andrew was especially there in spirit.
On Wednesday the Carnegie Corporation gave a "family
dinner" at the Waldorf-Astoria, the Carnegie "family" having
expanded to three hundred guests who had manifested their
interest in the Corporation's work. Here is Mrs. Carnegie's
laconic diary note as to that brilliant occasion where she had
the place of honor; she refers in it to Skibo's imported piper:
Grant piped us in & Dr. Keppel and I followed. Sat next to
John D. Rockefeller, Jr.
Saturday, November 30th, when Centenary Week closed, was
the date of the annual banquet of the St. Andrews Society of
New York, whose history of charitable and social activities
went back to 1756. For the term of 1899-1902, Andrew Carnegie
had been its president.
The officers of the Society were happy to include their own
little celebration of the Centenary in their banquet program.
265
While the dinner is invariably stag, the lady of the commemo-
ration was invited to appear for a recognition of the Centenary
by the Chair, and for salutations to herself as co-partner in An-
drew Carnegie's work for mankind. She wore on a blue ribbon
the gold insignia of office which her husband had worn as Presi-
dent of the Society.
The woman thus honored fitted well into the scene. The
American and British banners joined over the platform were no
novelty to Mrs. Carnegie, who had united the same flags at
Cluny and Skibo. And the sounds played by the proud-breasted
pipe majors who led the procession of waiters bringing in the
haggis was familiar music. At just the right moment President
Andrew Baxter, Jr. spoke of the Centenary, and of the Society's
desire to share in honoring the work of Andrew Carnegie and
his lady, and invited her to rise. For that moment, she was the
focal point for all the celebrators on the dais, on. the floor,
and in the balconies. As she bowed, the banqueters rose and
lifted their glasses to her, and cheered and applauded.
It pleased Mrs. Carnegie that her daughter and son-in-law
were sharers in the general commemoration. To Lady Norval
in Scotland she wrote:
Margaret is on her way to attend the annual meeting of the
Trustees of the Carnegie Institution, of which Roswell is one. This
will be another celebration. Weare simply overwhelmed by the
enthusiasm and tributes to Andrew Carnegie which are pouring in
on us, and our hearts are full of deep gratitude.
The Centenary was over, but not the work of the public-serv-
ing Carnegie foundations; the next year, 1936, came the twenty-
fifth anniversary of the Carnegie Corporation. At a November
266
dinner its President, Frederick P. Keppel, proposed this minute,
which was unanimously adopted, engrossed, and presented to
Mrs. Carnegie:
In the plans for the creation of the Carnegie Corporation, Mrs.
Andrew Carnegie has had an active share. Her generous and un-
derstanding approval was an essential factor in bringing into ex-
istence this foundation for the advancement and diffusion of
knowledge and understanding. She has always shown deep interest
in its activities. For ten years she was an active and useful member
of the Board. On this, the twenty-fifth anniversary of its organiza-
tion, the Trustees of the Carnegie Corporation unite in extending
to Mrs. Carnegie the assurance of their appreciation and esteem
and their best wishes for her health and happiness.
There was an echo of the Centenary in a trip Mrs. Carnegie
took in the spring of I937; a number of presidents of Latin-
American countries, members of the Pan-American Union,
wished to honor her. This tropical cruise on the Aquitania
(Captain Irvine) turned out to be quite an ordeal for a woman
of eighty. She wrote home concerning her room aboard:
It is opposite the pantry and I am sure the thermometer must be
in the nineties-they say it is II2 degrees in the kitchens, but every-
one is smiling though rather white and wan.
On this voyage there came to Grandmother Carnegie what
was probably the experience of her lifetime in adventures at sea.
The tropical storm at Montevideo was terrifying. We were for-
tunate enough to be in the first tender to reach the Aquitania, but
a 24-mile trip in such a tempestuous sea was not a pleasant experi-
ence. One tender had to seek refuge under an island; the captain
said it was not safe to go on. A more powerful tender was sent
267
to their rescue but even then they could not reach the ship, but had
to return to Montevideo; 59 passengers were out all night, but the
officers managed to send food and blankets to them. It was an
anxious time for everyone.
And an anxious time especially for this octogenarian who

was thought to be reserved, and yet was sympathetic to all
humanity.
On such voyages, despite her failing eyesight, she could al-
ways be found in the ships' libraries. One of the last books
she read-and recommended-was Douglas's The Robe. An-
other book that pleased her was God Was My Co-Pilot, by
Robert Lee Scott and when Captain Rickenbacker was lost and
found she gave away copies of his story of his providential
rescue, Seven Came Back.
Her financial and business responsibilities remained heavy;

her conscience would not permit the slightest neglect of any
matter important to herself and others. Her husband's last will
and testament had given her a lifetime responsibility, for there
was a provision in it which stated:
Being unable to judge at present what provision for our daughter
will best promote her happiness I leave to the mother the duty of
providing for her as her mother deems best. A mother's love is the
best guide.
Mrs. Carnegie placed primary emphasis on providing her

immediate family with a standard of living commensurate with
the Carnegie inheritance. Her chief duty, she felt, was to her
daughter, grandchildren, and close relatives. Then, having ful-
filled the responsibility imposed by the will, she expended the
268
surplus, and made gifts in her lifetime to employees and other
persons not close relatives amounting to nearly a half-million
dollars. Each year she made over two hundred gifts to charitable
organizations.
It was these business concerns that kept her busy in her office
far into the night. She personally supervised the management
and administration of her properties, and her attention was
divided between the Skibo estate and her American home. She
kept her personal checkbook and every month balanced her
bank accounts against her checks down to the last penny. Thus,
for example, in June, I933, she tracked down a 50-cent dig..
crepancy, making the notation: Bank misread my check 1688,
which was .79 not .29. This detection of a bank error gave her
much satisfaction.
Organizations she was connected with gave her much to do.
Some of the social and charitable interests had been hers before
her marriage. For over a half-century she was on the Board of
Managers of Chapin House; and she carried forward her fa-
ther's interests in New York Ophthalmic Hospital, of which
he had been a trustee.
In her giving she followed the divine teaching: ... let not
thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth. One of her
diary notes, made at Skibo, mentions that Dr. Bentick, the
minister of Dornoch Cathedral, was voyaging to Canada to see
his daughters. Nothing more was said. It was only by a query
after her death that it became known that the trip was her gift.
Mr. Russell Leffingwell, who is intimately aware of Mrs.
Carnegie's "usefulness, generosity, and high-mindedness," has
suggested that any story of her life should include: "her many
public and private charities; the long roll of pensioners; her
269
service as trustee of the Carnegie Corporation; her gift of a
house to the English-Speaking Union, of a parish-house to the
Brick Church in the last moments of her life, and her gift by
will of her own home [for philanthropic purposes] ... to the
Corporation; and the long roll of private gifts in her will. She
was," he said, " great lady in her own right."
Her gifts as a rule were not immense, but they were steady.
One large contribution was the $300,000 she gave to advance
the work of the Union Theological Seminary. Another was the
$IOO,OOO given to the Brick Presbyterian Church toward build-
I
ing a parish-hous,e; in this latter donation she stimulated a gen-
erous congregation to raise an equal sum.
A woman of a democratic spirit, with an often-proved ap-
preciation of the individual merits of all races, she was at the
same time deeply interested in promoting cooperation between
Great Britain and the United States, which seemed· to her to
possess the key to world concord. For the meetings of the Eng-
lish-Speaking Union, and for entertainment of soldiers and
citizens who come to these shores as representatives of Great
Britain, she gave the building in East 54th Street, at a cost
to her of $70,000. Another barely known social contribution
was made by her to the Community Service Society of New
York-to pay the salary of a Negro worker for social service
among families of Harlem.
Among all her concerns, Mrs. Carnegie's own last will and
testament kept its dominant place; her anxiety was to name
in it every person she wished to provide for. Mr. Elihu Root,
Jr., supervised the changes, and Mr. Vincent R. Smalley of his
office conferred over its provisions and drafted it. She could
270
not go away in the summer with an easy mind until she had
revised it to meet new conditions.
In 1931 she made these notations in her diary: March 26:
Mr. Root came in P.M. to talk about Codicil. April 10: Mr.
Root came and I signed the Codicil to my will, but alas I have
thought of something else and may have to write it over. April
24: Mr. Smalley from Mr. Root's office, with two others, came
to witness my new revised Codicil . ..
With every year, the drafting of the will became more diffi-
cult, as these notations she made in 1934, show: April 23:
Then I worked on my will. Taxes so high I must cut all my
estate . .. April 27: Mr. Smalley came for a long conference.
Terrible taxes make my estate planning very difficult.
An interview with Mr. Smalley, who about 1930 started
helping Elihu Root, Jr. to draw up Mrs. Carnegie's of ten-
changed will, brings out her solicitude for the many benefi-
ciaries, and her consideration for members of her household
staff. Mr. Smalley tells of her dilemma:
... several substantial increases in estate taxes wound up taking
about three dollars out of every four in Mrs. Carnegie's estate. The
major problem was, therefore, to stretch the fourth dollar over as
many as possible of the purposes which she wanted to accomplish in
her will. It was a tight stretch, and distressing to Mrs. Carnegie in
many respects.
One of the essential purposes of the will was to provide for those
who served Mrs. Carnegie at Skibo and in her New York house-
hold, and she never faltered in her determination to make that
provision as generous as possible . . . she gave a great deal of time
to such matters. She regularly wrote out specific instructions for
me in her own handwriting, giving names, amounts, and titles, and
271
then carefully checked the will against her lists prior to execution.
Frequently, in going over the lists, she would stop and comment
to me on various individuals and their particular circumstances.
The extent to which she kept in intimate touch with the lives of so
many people was to me quite remarkable.
From matters of big concern like these she turned with

equal interest to the little matters of daily life. To glimpse her
activities and interests in the period she termed "advancing
years," the diary is, as usual, the best recourse. To take at ran-
dom her seventy-fourth year:
On January third she went to the Metropolitan and heard
the opera Lucia de Lammermoor, in which Lily Pons made her
debut. On January fourth, Sunday, she went to church and took
Communion and made a note of Dr. Merrill's text: "God is a
spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit
and in truth." On the sixth she went to the Women's Associa-
tion and lunched with Mrs. Colgate to meet Mrs. Edison and
Miss Hill. In the evening she went to hear Ruth Draper. On
Sunday, January IIth, she encouraged church-going among
Miss Spence's scholars, whose school was nearby at 22 East
Ninety-first Street: Called for four Spence girls and took them
to church. Four children [the Miller quartet] for lunch. Happy
time. Lou and I walked around the reservoir and went to Met.
Museum. Miss Goddard for tea.
An occasion Mrs. Carnegie seldom missed was the birthday
luncheon given February 14th in Orange, New Jersey, by
Isabel Wiggin for her mother-Mrs. Alexander King. There old
times were recalled: how Alex King had introduced Andy
Carnegie to Louise, and suggested that they go riding together;
how, when Alex had brought his bride Aggie from Scotland,
272
Louise's mother had taken her under her wing and made her
feel at home in New York. The two families had formed the
custom of spending New Year's Day together, and now the
quiet birthday luncheon to Aggie had become an annual event.
The regular Philharmonic concert was for Mrs. Carnegie
the week's finest enjoyment. She derived a special pleasure one
happy season in going with Lou, Robin, and their mother to
see Maeterlinck's Blue Bird. She was also hostess to the members
of the Zoological Society, and after attending the People's
Chorus at Mrs. John Henry Hammond's, opened her house to
it. She attended the Dickinson recital at the Union Theological
Seminary, and was a guest at the dinner party Mr. Rockefeller
gave to Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick.
She supervised the children's pictures taken for Margaret's
birthday, and then went over to the house to read to the grand-
children. This "Children's Hour" was used to present a Sun-
day lesson; she gave the quartet certain Psalms or passages from
the New Testament to memorize, and when they recited these
to her satisfaction, she bestowed prizes of cards containing
Bible texts printed in color.
Mrs. Carnegie's appreciation for the work of the great com-
posers brought her constant enjoyment. She greatly admired
Toscanini; it was only through some unavoidable happening
that she missed a Philharmonic concert when he was con-
ducting. With other discriminating persons she saw that he
was a rare artist who had a clear perception of beauty, and the
ability to express it in sound, so that listeners were exalted and
shared the vision. His radio concerts were an added pleasure.
He and other conductors kept her imagination refreshed, her
nerves soothed, her spirit uplifted.
273
Her fondness for organ music comes out again in a letter
Mrs. Carnegie sent from Scotland to her daughter; she was
writing from Edinburgh about Alfred Hollins, the blind organ-
ist, of St. George's, West:
The recital was delightful-he gave one of his own compositions,
a Concert Rondo. Coming out I said how I wished he had played
his Spring Song. Alice knew one of the officials and he took us
up and introduced us to Mr. Hollins. When I said how often Mr.
Gale had played us the Spring Song, he said, "I'll play it for you
now," and there in that dim rather cold church-the audience had
dispersed-Mr. Hollins played his lovely Spring Song for Alice and
me-it was wonderful!
The Sunday organ recitals in the big hall at No. 2 East
Ninety-first Street began largely because Mrs. Carnegie's son-
in-law was so keen about the organ. She felt also that it would
be an artistic and spiritual influence for the young people. The
recitals were simple affairs, intended for the family and inti-
mate friends. The programs were composed only of familiar
airs or selections from the old masters.
She never closed her mind to the new and the good. The
phonograph came, and she became an enjoyer of noble selec-
tions on its discs; the radio developed, and she dialed the
Boston Symphony, and some important speech in Washington
or London, and Dr. Fosdick's sermons. She maintained her
interest in men and women of affairs, and it was a very human
tendency that, after she had returned by motor car from a trip
through New England, she confided to her diary that she had
viewed President Coolidge's old home in Northampton, and
also his new residence, the Beeches.
Engagements-light-hearted, serious, local, national, interna-
274
tional-her diary for this year is crowded with them: Myron
C. Taylor's reception to Signor Grandi of Italy; lunch with the
trustees of the Church Peace Union; a meeting about the af~
fairs of the Woman's Hospital; a Colonial Dames service; the
Bagby concerts; a reception to Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt at
the Colony Club; a talk on the Indians given at her church by
a woman missionary; a Carl Akeley exhibition (she had given
Mrs. Akeley a sum to make possible this showing at the New
York Museum of Natural History). At a luncheon of the For~
eign Policy Association she listened broodingly to a talk on:
"Can France and Germany get together?" One of the impor~
tant affairs she attended in 1931 was the first celebration of
Pan~American Day, in Washington; there she was felicitated
by the twenty-one ambassadors from the Americas; she made
note: Photographers waylaid me and took my photo.
Any invitation to engage in church and charitable work
met a willing acceptance: if it were a prayer-meeting, a lecture,
a bazaar, a laying of a cornerstone, a christening, an exhibition
of paintings or a concert recital, a benefit, a Y.W.C.A. meeting
or a horticultural show, there she went. As to the informal side
of religious work, this note in her diary indicates how she min~
gled with the members of her church in intimate congrega~
tional work and in inter-church visiting: Took car to Brick
Church. Filled it with ladies and large party. Went to Christ
Church and visited all its activities. Lunched there and drove
to the Church of the Covenant. I came home exhausted, and
could not go down to concert here (at home) for benefit of
New York Hospital.
In November of the same year she shopped at Tiffany's and
Putnam's for Christmas cards; and on December 7th personally
275
gave Huyler's orders for candy. Two days later, Mrs. Mark
and I went to Woolworth's to buy tree ornaments and things
for party.
She was scrupulous about attending to her civic and national
duties. These later entries indicate her political inclinations:
November 8, 1932: Went to polls about 12 o'clock, but queue
so long turned back . .. Went to polls again at 2 and stooel
1 hour in line, and voted for Hoover. Listened to returns. Gov.
Roosevelt elected by overwhelming majority. Nov. 7, 1933.

Election Day. Went to vote right after breakfast. By ten o'clock
voted the Fusion (La Guardia) ticket. Afterwards, approving
of Wendell Willkie's "One World" views, she supported his
candidacy.
In the autumn and winter months international happenings
stood out. Premier Laval of France had come to the United
States, and she attended the Foreign Policy Association's tea
and reception to him. She was recalling the peace labors of her
husband and herself when she joined in the celebration of
Armistice Day and went to a Conference on Disarmament.
There was faithful devotion to the memory of Andrew Car-
negie in the simple notation that she and her daughter went
to Sleepy Hollow together and laid a wreath of heather from
Skibo on his grave.
Life at Skibo in the thirties was just as active for Mrs. Car-
negie, though its contrast was refreshing. Yachting had come
forward among the recreations, and· formed a breezy topic
in her letters. The. Millers' little motor launch Penguin had
been replaced by the W yndcrest, a sixty-six-foot gasoline launch
that had been brought over to Glasgow on a freighter. She
wrote to a friend:
The yacht has been a great source of pleasure and Lou and
Robin are fast learning navigation. They all swim like fish. My
Margaret thinks nothing of diving off the yacht into the cold North
Sea, and one day in the swimming pool I came upon young Mar-
got life-saving her Mother-swimming vigorously with her Mother
in tow.
One of the most pleasing of Grandmother Naigie's experi-

ences in England occurred in 1932. Her son-in-law having pre-
viously advised her how to hire a motor car when she was "on
her own" in London, she employed one for the journey north,
and drove in May to Stratford-on-Avon, where Andrew had
left a substantial token:
My dear Baba-
We have had a most wonderful experience here. We left London
yesterday by a most comfortable motor from Daimler Hire Co....
and did all the interesting Shakespeare places-Ann Hathaway's
Cottage, birthplace, etc. Most intelligent curators pointed out all
the wonderful documents in Museum etc and described how Mr.
Andrew Carnegie had bought the adjoining house and made it
into a library-a long story which I must tell you later. When the
others had left the room I had to introduce myself and such a look
of astonishment came into his face! He called the gentleman at the
head of it all and I was introduced to the Librarian and we were
taken to parts not usually shown, all so courteously, quietly done
and yet with deep enthusiasm ...
But the change to Scotland brought the lady of Skibo no
escape from the sorrows time brings; Mr. Ritchie, dearly-be-
loved minister of Creich parish, whose life was preciously
identified with Skibo Castle, died just as Mrs. Carnegie re-
turned there in June, 1933. Having learned by many losses to
277
be resigned to death, she subdued her grief, attended to the
funeral decorations, received his relatives, and mourned with
them. But she could not enjoy in this sad return the usual wel-
coming by the Skibo household:
I played the game bravely and walked solemnly in behind Grant
at dinner as he played Mrs. Carnegie's Welcome to Skibo, but as
much as I appreciate their kindness in giving me a cheery welcome
I told Morrison not to have the pipes again until Tuesday morning,
inside or out.
· /4·
Louise Whitfield Carnegie regarded the Carnegie Centenary

as concluding her public appearances and work. In declining
a degree from Rollins College, she wrote its President, Hamil~
ton Holt, that she had been long "in the limelight," and in~
tended to lead a secluded life. It was instead just a return to
privacy and normal interests, and in this retirement she kept
as active-minded as ever; with every year her life took on a
more mellow radiancy. At eighty she was arranging to buy
a Ford car for future trips in Scotland, and at Millbrook she
played Scotch bowls on the lawn with amazing energy. A note
made then at Millbrook has a triumphant sound: Walked to
farm and back, two miles, in my eighty~second year.
New Year's Day was as joyous an occasion as ever; she re~
tained her power to look forward and expect. She kept open
house on that day in much the same manner as her mother
long ago : "My tea party was a great success. My household
entered into it with a vim. We had over thirty here and how
they did enjoy the eggnog-it was certainly delicious."
Her grandchildren contributed largely to keeping her en~
thusiasm for life; their youth, dreams, and vigor refreshed her.
Along with her affection for them had gone from the first a
wish to help them gain wisdom to cope with a bewildering
279
world. Viewing them toward the close of her career, she felt
that her teachings had brought good results.
She watched their growth, received their confidences, coun-
seled them in their love affairs, and rejoiced to see them hap-
pily married. She liked to talk to them of her own early life:
of Miss Haines' quaint school; of the girls she played with; of
horseback rides and coaching parties with the magnetic
Andrew Carnegie; of the glamour of her married life with
him, when they were received by Kings, Queens, and Presi-
dents, and met and entertained many of the great persons of
their time.
Christmas was a happy season for her to the very end; then all
the sentiments of her life were gathered up to warm her spirit.
The Yuletide of her childhood in old Chelsea revived each
year in her memory-like the traditional Christmas rose. The
wistful spirit of Christmas past dwelt with her as. well as the
exhilarating Christmas present. She delighted to recall the
Christmas seasons when her grandchildren were young-just
waking to the enjoyments of the ornamented tree and the
dangling, bulging stockings.
Later, in the week before Christmas, she had gone the
rounds of the school celebrations; she remembered one at
Spence School in which Lou (Dede), took two parts very
pleasingly; and the Proebel League's play in which Margot
was the angel who brought good tidings; and also, the one
at Miss Chapin's school, when Barbara was in the cast. Other
memories came of Lou and Barbara separately singing verses
in the Spence School Christmas play, and of Lou singing in
the Glee Club at the 1935 Spence entertainment. And how
nice had been that pre-Christmas afternoon when she took her
280
THE OTHER ROOM
granddaughters to Mrs. Henry Coffin's for tea and for the
candlelight carol service in the chapel of the Union Theologi-
cal Seminary.
This lady, with Christmas eternally in her heart, saw to it
that her household helpers had their festivities too, and she
was in the midst of them. Austere No.2 East Ninety-first Street
might look from the outside, but inside there was lots of fun.
The servants' party was held several days before Christmas,
around the big tree in the picture gallery. There, under the
holly and mistletoe, appropriate goodies were passed, gifts
distributed, and good wishes exchanged. It was reminiscent of
the old ballad:
And the Baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
Keeping their Christmas holiday.
Mrs. Carnegie appeared to enjoy preparing for Christmas as

much as celebrating it. Her papers contain lists of people to
whom she had made gifts for sixty years, with the presents set
against their names. The Christmas cards which friends all
over the world received from her were reproductions of a pho-
tograph in color which she had taken herself. It was usually
some view of Skibo scenery; many of these cards were in-
scribed in her own handwriting, with messages. And when,
before distribution, the pile of presents rose on the billiard
table at No. 2 East Ninety-first Street, their gay wrappings
were her handiwork.
Christmas Day, she spent at Migdale House, Millbrook, the
country home of her daughter and son-in-law. This occasion,
the crest of the season's enjoyment, was long prepared for;
her big brown trunk, showing the effects of many Christmas
28r
journeys, was a family institution. The grandchildren, from
the time they began to take in the entrancement of the Christ-
mas season, claimed her special attention, and she herself filled
the trunk with gifts for them. Its arrival ahead of her at Mig-
dale House was a glorious heralding of her coming.
That the New York celebrations should weary her was to be
expected, but when Grandma Naigie arrived in Millbrook with
her devoted maid Manning she took on new life. The crisp
winter air was a tonic. "Oh, the fresh air, how good it smells!"
she said. The children always decorated her room with stag's
moss, Prince Edward pine, and holly, and the fragrance and
beauty of it embraced her as she entered it. "How good it is
to be here!" she exclaimed to her gleeful escort.
A little ceremony that particularly delighted her was tea on
Christmas Eve with the family before the crackling log fire.
This was the time for reciting her favorite Visit from St.
Nicholas, followed by the hanging of the stockings. The chant-
ing of the poem was always the big feature of Christmas Eve,
as Grandma Naigie gathered around her the entire family and
led them in reciting the famous lines:
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring-not even a mouse; ...
Certain young voices might falter as the poem gained mo-

mentum, but Grandma Naigie knew every line and in a clear
ringing voice brought out every dramatic episode.
Then came the filling of the stockings. While Mrs. Carnegie
had supplied a good deal of the "stuffings," she never took part
in the filling. This, she said, was the prerogative of the father
and mother. But she watched them from the sofa, chuckling at
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the little jokes that accompanied a toy or trinket. The next
morning, wearing her dark red Christmas frock, she appeared
promptly for the eight o'clock breakfast, anticipating the ex-
citing ceremony of opening the gifts spread under the tree.
The children, as they grew older, wished first to have the pleas-
ure of handing her their presents, and with this she went along,
untying each gift to her carefully, reading each card with its
fond message to Grandma Naigie, and tucking it away to keep
among her souvenirs. Then came her turn to give, and she
enjoyed this immensely, accepting everyone's thanks with a
beaming smile.
In one of the interludes at Millbrook, she took part in the
community carol-singing. Protestant and Catholic joined an-
nually in this service. The union of churches was a cause close
to her heart, and she looked upon community singing as a way
to broad understanding.
She would not have been Mrs. Carnegie if her thoughts had
not flown over to Skibo during the Christmastide. She remem-
bered each one of her friends, each one of her retainers, and
wondered if they were having a good holiday. She thought of
the children of the estate's four schools, gathered about their
ornamented tree, and hoped that they had been pleased
with her gifts to them. These thoughts led her to plan for the
next summer at Skibo.
Her daughter says: "As we talked of this, walking up and
down the terrace arm in arm, it seemed almost to become the
deck of the steamer and we were off for another delightful
summer at Skibo."
When, after New Year's Day, the Millers returned to their
city house in East Ninetieth street, Mrs. Carnegie, who had
283
gone to town earlier, would give them a token of welcome;
they would find that she had slipped in before them and
placed flowers in their rooms. Her greeting was cheery: "We
are nearer the spring . . . I heard a bird sing in the dark of
December."
In the disturbed but not yet seriously alarming years before

the outbreak of the Second W orId War, she had taken a new
hold on life through the engagement of her granddaughter
and namesake, Louise Carnegie Miller, to Mr. Gordon Thom-
son, a citizen of Edinburgh who had served in the First World
War. The difference in age between Dede and her fiance was
precisely the same as that between Andrew Carnegie and Louise
Whitfield. Mrs. Carnegie had known Gordon Thomson's
mother many years before the engagement. In the two women's
exchange of letters about the betrothal, Mrs. Carnegie revealed
that Gordon had captured Lou's fancy from the time they
first met. She wrote from New York:
Dede could not bring herself to l?e interested in the life of the
young debutantes. She was to be one this year (1938) but her heart
was overseas, and she was dreaming of the new life before her. I
have had calls from three friends wanting to know my reaction to
the great news. I have been able to communicate my happiness to
them, and they have gone away rejoicing. One look at Dede and
they know that everything is all right. Everyone has remarked on
her radiant loveliness this winter and now they will know the
reason.
The engaged girl kept her roguishness. A friend's son
had been attracted to her. They met at a ball, and he asked
her to dance, but the party she was with were leaving for sup-
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per, and she said she couldn't. Grandmother Naigie reported:
"Dede says he is quite nice and might have had a chance if
he had come sooner. She is a great one!"
The romance was a delight to the staff at the Castle; they
rejoiced in the Scottish-American union that was being knitted
under their eyes. When Dede left Skibo on an October day to
visit the family of her fiance in Edinburgh, she went demurely,
but the old clan spirit swept the Castle, and they made her
going a brave ceremony. The grandmother thus described the
occasion to Dede's mother in New York:
Well, Darling, I have just seen your beautiful daughter away
from the door, starry eyed but calm, Grant playing the pipes •..
and the people gathered at the corner to wave to her! . . . 7 :10
A.M. she chided me for being up, but I could not let her go off
without another embrace. . . . The sun burst forth as she was leav-
ing the door, but now it has clouded over, typical of the brightness
she has taken with her, and the shadow which has fallen upon the
home with her going.
These past three weeks have been such marvelous ones for me.
The beauty of her character has unfolded like a rose, and she goes
forth to meet her future husband, one of the most lovely creatures
God ever made. All the beauty of your own character, darling, is
unfolding in her, together with Roswell's directness and clear vision.
Her calm knowledge of life, and her tact in meeting it astounds
me. She has the poetic vision, and yet keeps her feet on the ground
-a marvelous combination. She even accepted from me last night
a little devotional book-New Every Morning, and 'asked me to
write both our names in it! I have a copy for you. Our moments
together have been few-but oh! such precious ones-and we have
grown very close. So close that she gave me your beautiful letter
to her, received yesterday, to read. I hope you do not mind; it was
285
almost too sacred for me to read, but you and I are so close that
we, mother, daughter, and granddaughter, seem almost one. What
a help you are to her, darling, and I can see how close you are to
her. She has gone off bravely and happily ...
Crossing on the Queen Mary in May, 1938, Mrs. Carnegie
found her fellow-passengers-Mrs. Thomas J. Watson, Mrs.
William J. Schieffelin, and Mrs. Cass Gilbert-"all interested in
hearing details of the coming wedding." Dede's mother, who
would follow on another vessel, was arranging for the shipping
to Scotland of "Dede's goods and chattels."
Dede had told the heads of various domestic departments
and the news went to a friend in New York: "They are simply
radiant. Morrison, and Mrs. Mark and Manning-and Orr,
Mr. Miller's man-and Chisholm each and all have so many fine
things to say of Gordon and all so highly approve."
Mrs. Carnegie's 1938 diary contains several buoyant entries
describing the preliminary happenings. There were pipe bands,
serenades, and dinners. Louise and Gordon each received a gift
of a Bible. July 22nd: The whole household attended a dance
at Clashmore Hall. Dede was presented with a beautiful pair
of candelabra by the Household (servants) and a very fine ros~
bowl by the tenants. She made two nice little speeches of thanks.
Then Margaret and Roswell both spoke. A very wonderful
occasion. Dance music by Mrs. Logan's band from Inverness.
I led the march with Mr. Whittet [the factor]. A remarkable
evening. All so happy . .. July 28: Glorious hot sunshine.
Dede's and Gordon's wedding day. Dear Dede came to my
room before breakfast. Whole party down to 8 A. M. break-
fast. All promptly at Cathedral at noon. Dede very lovely.
The Carnegies' pastor, the Reverend Doctor William P.
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Merrill, of the Brick Church, New York, had come to Scotland
to perform the ceremony. The Reverend John Levack, resident
minister at Dornoch Cathedral, was associated with Dr. Merrill
in the marriage service. Dr. James Black, the Thomsons' min-
ister from Edinburgh, gave impressively the final prayer and
benediction. The grandmother recorded her satisfaction: A
rarely beautiful service. Wedding breakfast for bridal party in
dining-room at Skibo, and then we went outdoors to the tent
to cut the cake, which Dede did with Gordon's sword.
The bride and groom drove away at 4:30 that afternoon, and
the company, after dinner, celebrated in the manner of the
country. Before the wedding, the gamekeepers, gardeners and
foresters of the estate had built a pile of brushwood on the
high ground above the Castle's farm, Overskibo. There the
party went. As the darkness fell, the bride's mother was called
on to light the pile, and up blazed a huge bonfire that informed
the countryside of the celebration. Mrs. Carnegie wrote that
night in her diary: We all went to bonfire at Overskibo, which
Margaret lit. Near midnight when we returned. And so the
great day is over. God bless them both.
The dreaded outbreak of war in 1939 caught the family at

Skibo Castle, where conditions were much grimmer than in
1914. The Castle was blacked out, with the hall lights dipped
in dark blue paint, and the windows completely shaded. Sand-
bags were piled around the low windows-Mrs. Carnegie's
cherished lemon verbena plants had been dug up to make room
for them. The young men of the staff on the estate were leaving
to enlist.
September 3rd came, and then Mrs. Carnegie and the Miller
287
family were one with the millions of stricken families who
resigned themselves to conflict and its sacrifices. On that day,
Prime Minister Chamberlain told Parliament that a state of
war existed between Great Britain and Germany, and King
George broadcast from Buckingham Palace his repudiation of
the doctrine of force-that might makes right.
Mrs. Carnegie and her loved ones listened to the broadcast
from three places: Margaret and her children were still at
Skibo; Grandmother Naigie had been persuaded to go with
the protective Morrison to her friend Mrs. Buckworth's home
at Weymouth, England, to be near passenger ships bound for
New York, and Roswell Miller was in London on business.
The son-in-law kept in touch with the Embassy, seeking to ob-
tain passage home for Grandma Naigie.
Before Mrs. Carnegie left Skibo for Weymouth, she paused
in the front hall to have her gas mask fitted; then, carrying
the mask in its brown case, said farewell. Grant the piper
played for her departure: Happy we've been a' th' gither, and
Will ye no come back again. It seemed to her that there had
been no progress toward peace since Andrew and she had said
goodbye to the Castle under similar circumstances a quarter-
century before. She may have suspected that she would never
see the place again, for she left a bunch of freshly-plucked
flowers, which were found later, very faded, with the note say-
ing: "Farewell to Skibo. September I, 1939."
Her letters from Weymouth and London to Margaret at
Skibo show her continued brave spirit:
We must none of us be troubled if our departure is delayed a
few weeks ... I grieve to think of your having to meet this crisis
without your husband or even your decrepit old Mother beside you,
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but don't move from where you are until you hear from Roswell
-he has the American Embassy and the Cunard Company to
advise him ..•
After the war announcement, she wrote:

I pictured you all at Skibo in the morning-room listening to
the fateful message . . . I am sorry for Gordon Thomson and the
problems he has to face. My love to each one-underneath are the
Everlasting Arms ...
I am most comfortable here . . . each one should bring an elec-
tric torch with fresh battery and you can buy yellow air-raid can-
dles en route-the supply is exhausted here for the moment but
we have fresh torches and Mrs. B. is giving each a candle . . .
After moving to the Hotel Connaught, London, she made

this report:
Personally I felt there was a great rush to get off before the decla-
ration of war but now delay is safer . . . the raid signal sounded
at 7 A.M. this morning-the hotel gong sounded. We had neces-
sary things close at hand to put on-the housekeeper personally
came for me and with Manning and Morrison we took the elevator
down to the gas-proof chamber. They had a big easy chair and
cushion for me and I actually dozed the hour and a half there.
They served tea and orange juice!
Before she was escorted to the ship, she went shopping.

Strangely enough, things were normally quiet in London dur-
ing her stay, and the feared gas attacks did not come. A certain
mission to one of the shops gave her particular pleasure, for
she had assumed the r8le of advance agent for the stork, and
was in quest of a layette Dede would need in January, 1940.
Returning from the shop, she wrote to Margaret at Skibo:
289
I went to Edmund Orr's this A.M. and saw the head lady. She
was much interested and said they did not often have people come
in to order for the third generation! I told her you would call on
Tuesday next if possible to give the order ... She says they still
advise long clothes layettes, the dresses of a white non-crushable
muslin very dainty and sweet. I told her to show them to you and
if you approve to send Dede three complete sets-dresses, skirts,
little shirts, etc. I am not butting in; this is only if-
The baby came and was photographed in the "dainty and

sweet" muslin dresses, and photographs came to the thrilled
family in New York. Great-grandmother Naigie I wrote back
to the proud young matron: "1 find it hard to believe you are.
really her mother." The picture showed Dede holding "precious
little Betty" in her lap. During the next year, 1941, came a
photograph of Baby Margaret, the second child, and then, in
regular course, a picture arrived of the third great-granddaugh-
ter, Louise, and the fourth baby, Mary.
In September, 1939, her son-in-law obtained passage for his
charges. For Mrs. Carnegie and his own family he secured
accommodations on the neutral ship Nieuw Amsterdam of the
Holland-American Line, which passed without attack through
the cordon of submarine~ trying to shut off Britain's food sup-
plies. This was Mrs. Carnegie's ninety-second and last crossing.
The story of Mrs. Carnegie is now that of a woman past
eighty whose life had been devoted to pursuing peace, finding
herself forced to join the militant in defence of the things she
felt were worth fighting for.
As a grandmother and great-grandmother, she had two con-
cerns that went to the depth of her being: Margaret and her
family in the United States and Dede's in Scotland. In her
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talks and notes to them, she kept her emotions well restrained,
but they could be easily discerned under the surface; for in-
stance, in this letter to Dede, written at a quiet summer retreat,
the Kimball House, Northeast Harbor, Maine:
Last week we saw in the distance one of the cruisers returning
from the historical meeting of the President and the Prime Min-
ister. Airplanes were accompanying the cruiser and two of them
circled our Cottage ... We are really behind you now, and I be-
lieve supplies will go to you rapidly. I do hope they know of some
sure way of things reaching your shores ...
This note to her daughter, sent from Northeast Harbor,

shows where her thoughts went:
I have been spending this heavenly Sunday morning at our little
point down by the sea, with the waves lapping my feet. I believe
there is no land between this point and the coast of Ireland, and
the stretch of water is like a bridge between our loved ones and
ourselves-every wave seems to bring its message ...
She was at Millbrook in early summer, and then Manning

and Morrison and the rest of her staff attended her up to North-
east Harbor, Maine; they thought they were caring for her,
but she instead thought she was caring for them:
I sent the whole staff to escort Manning to Bar Harbor for her
holiday.
Her gift as a writer of travel letters was as good as ever. Of

the motor trip northward, she wrote:
The wind blowing on the car was like a blast from a furnace.
We actually closed the windows, leaving only a crack for ventila-
291
tion, and found it more comfortablel ... As we turned east at
Ellsworth, we felt the cool rip of the north country air, which put
new life in us.
Of another trip she said:

On our way back by the road below Shadowbrook [the Lenox
place of poignant memories] . We stopped at the Carillon Tower at
Stockbridge and listened to some lovely old English ballads.
When the war placed limitations on the movements of fami-

lies, she went along willingly. While in Maine she wrote:
I
I did think of running up to Canada for a few days, since I am

so near, but I have no heart for a trip alone, and now with thC)
prospect of a gasoline shortage it would not be the thing to
do ...
Little items in Mrs. Carnegie's letters give a glimpse of the

quiet social life of a simple Maine resort. There her happy mar-
ried life still echoed, because Walter Damrosch and his wife,
the former Miss Blaine, had a summer place, and welcomed
her warmly. And then, in a letter to her daughter, she told of
other pleasant occasions:
... a very happy afternoon with the John D. Rockefellers in
their lovely garden. They invited Uncle Hal, Aunt Polly, Mrs.
Devens and me-just by ourselves, to a sit-down tea, and then a
stroll through their wonderful, peaceful Chinese garden. Mrs. J.
D. and I drew very close to one another; as we sat on a shady
bench and talked . . . after an early dinner, we walked over to the
Rock End Hotel to a violin recital. The young girl artist has a
wonderful touch, and plays with the Philadelphia Orchestra; lovely
selections, Handel, Bach, Kreisler . • .
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There were also happy hours and trips with the visiting Van
Dusens, the W olfes, and several other friends.
All these diverting little meetings and trips were only flashes
of sunlight out of the grim mists of war. The burden of her
letters continued to set forth the war's impact on the large circle
of those she loved. Roswell Miller, husband of her daughter,
father of her grandchildren, expecting soon to go overseas, was
of course her chief concern:
What a joy to receive that fine photograph of Roswell! The one
in white uniform is very handsome, and has a wonderful expres-
sion showing fine character, tenderness and determination ...
After the entrance of the United States into the war, Roswell
Miller was appointed Lieutenant-Commander, U.S. Naval Re-
serve, temporarily stationed in Washington; his wife, a Red
Cross worker and airplane spotter, spent her weekends in
Washington with Roswell. The son, Robin, who had just
entered Princeton, was hurrying through an accelerated course.
Barbara and Margot were deep in war relief work: Barbara
was serving as nurse's aid at Bellevue Hospital, and Margot
was driving for the Red Cross-"M y truck-driving grand-
daughter," Mrs. Carnegie called her.
Roswell Miller received orders to go to the Clyde as military
observer. His yachting experience in the North Sea, his ac-
quaintance with the Orkneys and the Shetlands were militarily
useful now. In crossing, he shared the common danger from
blitzes and submarines, but the only departure from stoicism
in the family was Mrs. Carnegie's secret one. On August 6,
I94I, she wrote in her diary: Roswell has received his orders
to go overseas. 0 God, help my Margaret!
293
Mrs. Carnegie sent this note to her daughter:
When I heard Roswell's voice over the phone this evening it was
almost uncanny, for I thought he had gone. It was dear of him to
call up and I shall always remember it ... So Roswell's orders
have come, and all our lives are to be changed! I am proud of him,
and of you ... I want to be helpful in every sacrificial way I can.
He is contributing a real service to his country, and you will have
helpful lieutenants in your darling children . . .
The news that came in fragments from abroad about the

military occupations of Roswell and the Gordon I Thomsons
were deeply satisfying. She liked to think that amid the stern-
ness of war duties they were engaged in serving humanity in
uniform. Gordon Thomson, she was informed, had been com-
missioned Colonel of the Midlothian Battalion of the Home
Guard-a command of heavy responsibility; and her son-in-
law, aside from the duties of his post, was aiding the burdened
Dede in her canteen work. Roswell arranged with Mrs. Car-
negie to send from New York the food supplies, cutlery, plates
and glasses for the opening of a canteen for the men and offi-
cers of the combined British and United States naval base at
Londonderry, Ireland. He proposed, also, to open the Skibo
estate for the convalescence of officers invalided home from
the battle fronts, but on account of its remoteness and trans-
portation difficulties' the proposed Highland sanctuary could
not be used.
To Dede, canteen hostess, the grandmother wrote:
I'll keep in close touch with Bundles for Britain-my fingers are
too stiff to sew or knit but I can still write cheques, so I help them
294
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with contributions for whatever Mrs. Latham tells me they need
most.
Bundles for Britain was one of her warmly-supported proj-

ects. She could sympathize with its objectives because she
realized keenly that Dede and her little daughters were shar-
ing the privations of all Britain. It was only human and natural
that she hoped that once in a while one of the countless food
packages sent through regular channels should come as a sur-
prise to the door of the Gordon Thomsons.
It pleased her when there was organized a Bundles from
America movement, affiliated with the work of war relief to
Britain. She wrote to the senior Mrs. Thomson:
Dede's opening of the new hostel for soldiers brought tears to
my eyes. Can you not see the look of joy and pride in her Grand-
father's face could he only have heard of it? The Granddaughter
of "the little white-haired laddie of Dunfermline" still carrying on
as he would have wished! I feel like saying as Simeon of old, "Now
let Thy servant depart in peace." Dear child, she is too busy to
write either her mother or any of us very often-she says she is so
busy through the day that when night comes she falls right to sleep.
Mrs. Carnegie's earnestness had a spiritual spring which

strengthened as her days on earth drew to a close. Along with
the evidence in this narrative, there is the testimony given by
her pastor: "I was a young minister when I first met her,"
said Dr. Paul Austin Wolfe of the Brick Presbyterian Church,
"and she was in her eighties, but I found as I came to know
her well that she was continually growing in spiritual grace.
I always felt that she was an unusually fine person-fine in the
sense of spiritual awareness-she caught the overtones. Her
295
fortune was consecrated; her wealth was of the spirit. Born
under any circumstances, she would have been fine and great."
It was recalled by the minister that Mrs. Carnegie had once
given a chancel in the traditional feeling to the new Brick
Church. Dr. Wolfe regards this gift as an illustration of her
increasing regard for more ceremony in worship. "She was
brought up in a simple faith," he said, "and came by degrees
to desire more formality in church worship."
Nurtured by her life abroad, Mrs. Carnegie's inclination was
to the stately Gothic, with its similitude to the natural archi-
tecture that first impressed mankind-the tall, archi~g trees.
Toward the end of her life she learned that a large contribu-
tor to the church had withdrawn, and that the loss of his an-
nual contribution threatened to hamper the work laid out in
the budget. In this emergency, her philosophy appears to have
been that in any good work, the best defense is attack. Con-
ferring with her pastor, she said: "I have been talking over
Brick Church affairs with Margaret; don't you think it's time
for the Church to go ahead with its project for a parish-house?"
Then she made the offer of the big initial gift.
In the new parish-house, her work for the church has been
recognized very appropriately in a spacious, many-windowed
room with a garden outlook. The walls are exquisitely deco-
rated and the entire atmosphere is radiant. It is part of the
suite devoted to the weekday work of the women, and to the
care of children. Reflecting her spirit, it is called the "Louise
Whitfield Carnegie Memorial Room." The inscription on the
wall is: "She walked with God ... in her tongue is the law
of kindness."
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Naturally, Mrs. Carnegie's concern for her grandchildren
o.d great-grandchildren was made keener by the world con-
ict, and along with this anxiety came the problem-to her-
t the new freedom young people had won in their social life.
Barbara and Margot in their war work had earned the right
) keep pace with the more liberal new age, but their grand-
lother thought back to their mother's socially-shielded career,
o.d wondered, for instance, why "Ba" and "Migs" should wish
-and obtain permission for-an apartment of their own in
kw York. Her own Big House was still there, and the
lother's house was still open. Yet, if she worried, she never-
leless went along with the new ways. Speaking to Dr. Wolfe
bout her grandchildren who had grown up enough to be on
leir own, she said she had come to recognize that the doings
f the new generation differed from the standards of her days,
ut that she was trying to understand, and keep her sympathy
rith youth. She added: "I feel it my duty to keep the genera-
.ons together."
Here rang the old note of authority, but it had become sub-
ued. With the instinct and training to command, she had
lways had a sense of humility. She went to church to submit
erself to guidance-a guidance she wished to share with those
he loved.
The church hour was happiest for her when she knew there
{ere considerate members of the family sitting beside her,
:>ining in the hymns and pondering the sermon. Her Sabbaths
mong the devout churchgoers of Scotland, and the Scottish
labit of listening intently to the sermon, gave her an attentive-
less that would warm any minister's heart. Devoted to the
leverend Dr. Merrill, when he no longer filled the pulpit she
297
passed with affection and cooperation into the pastorate of the
younger Dr. Wolfe. There were evenings when the new min-
ister, in tune with the youth of the country, and the old lady
sat looking out over her New York. garden, explaining the
two points of view, and finding common ground.
When Andrew died, she had spoken of herself as being left
alone to bear the torch he had lighted; this was modest,
for she had lighted a torch of her own. Having always this idea
in mind, she found it reaffirmed in a sermon Dr. Wolfe
preached, and she preserved the text: Dr. Wolfe spoke on the
Apostolic Succession; not so much a church doctrine or cove-
nant but one soul passing the torch to the other.
The second wedding in the Miller family took place on

April 28, I945, when Robin (Roswell Miller III) and Anne
Brinton, daughter of Colonel and Mrs. Benjamin Brinton,
were married at Cumberland, New Kent, Virginia. This event
meant much to Grandmother Naigie. Robin and his grand-
mother were very close to each other. The flurry of engage-
ments among her grandchildren gave her life a sweet final
fillip. She wrote to Mrs. Thomson a happy account of the
wedding:
Robin and Anne's wedding in April was a lovely affair. The Brin-
tons have a charming house in Richmond, Virginia, and they in-
vited Margaret to visit them last week before the wedding. She
told me yesterday she had a "heavenly time .....:....strong language for
Margaret ...
Then the grandmother went on to herald two other wed-

dings, one of which she would not live to see:
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Usually a marriage in the family is exciting enough for one sea-
son, but to have two granddaughters announce their engagements
in rapid succession is almost overwhelming. Barbara and Lennart
Thorell expect to be married before Christmas, so Barbara is deep
in her preparations. Lennart (Pilot, American Overseas Line) was
a complete stranger to me, but I like him immensely. He is a per-
fect thoroughbred and rings very true. Of course his profession is
a hazardous one. He flies the Atlantic every other week. We are
all becoming air-minded, and to see the young people together, so
radiantly happy, makes us all happy too.
On December first, Barbara Miller, in a joyous ceremony,

became the wife of Lennart Thorell. Grandmother Naigie at-
tended, and remained throughout the reception.
Grandmother Naigie would not live to see her granddaughter
Margaret sign her name "Mrs. C. K McPherson, Jr.," but she
could enjoy the romance. In this period her diary pages are
bright with gatherings in her rooms of the couples.
Then here come Margot and Mac. He has been with the Army
in Italy and is just home and demobilized. He is just in the throes
of deciding whether to go back to college or go into business. He
is very much of a man. How my Margaret adapts herself to each
and everyone of them is a marvel to me, but she is calm and col-
lected and very happy. Roswell also is wonderful.
Gradually she had to give up her game of Scotch bowls, and

her clock golf, and the putting green Morrison had laid out
for her, but the garden remained for her strolling, and Central
Park and the New York streets were always inviting. Almost
every day before those last months of feebleness, Mrs. Carnegie
took long walks. When she returned from shopping she would
299
often leave her car about a mile from her house and walk
home.
She enjoyed as much as ever t.l}e annual Christmas celebration
when the students from International House came to be enter-
tained by her. In a typical gathering the guests numbered 200
students from International House and I50 to 200 of Mrs.
Carnegie's personal friends. The company, in a wonderful
blending of diverse voices, sang uniting carols about the fes-
tively-decorated tree.
At her last party for the International Students she said:
I
Christmas means more to us this year than ever before for a new
light is breaking over the world. We have learned that it is not
enough to sing our carols, to light our candles, even to follow the
gleam of the Star-the Spirit of the Christ Child must be born in
each one of us, for it is only living His Spirit of brotherly kindness
with understanding and good will, with a vitality never known,
that we can meet the challenge of the new world order we are enter-
ing. We need the joy of Christmas to lighten the deep sense of re-
sponsibility which rests upon us. Our nation has been given a second
chance, and we must each do our part to see that we do not fail the
world again. So despite the suffering which still exists, let this be a
joyous Christmas, warming our hearts to greater effort to bring in
world brotherhood and the Kingdom of God on earth-which is
what Peace really means. May I wish each one a most joyous Christ-
mas and the happiest of New Years.
She was keenly alive in these last days to the things that
were happening at home and abroad. There was, for instance,
her beloved Skibo, which for all its charms was a problem.
Now that she was getting too weak to travel, it was bother-
some to have to decide so many things at long distance. With
300
THE OTHER ROOM
three of the grandchildren married and living in this country,
she wrote in her notes, plans are difficult to make. On August
3rd she had sent word to Mr. Whittet, the factor, proposing that
he and his wife come to New York in January, I946 for a con-
ference. She had Dede's growing family in mind when she sent
the letter to him:
I think I can safely say that we do not contemplate letting
Aultnagar. The Gordon Thomsons love it and in all probability
will establish their family there ....
As I feel now, I have a strong desire to go over to Skibo with
just Morrison and Manning, early next June-not to take up the
old life-just to see the people, live very quietly-no visitors-Mr.
and Mrs. Miller would probably come over for the shooting, say in
September, and would take over, while I would come back to New
York. It will all be on a low key.
It could not happen again-even on a "low key." In addi-

tion to her failing health, there was the shortage of food in
Britain created by the war; she did not wish her party with
its staff of servants to add to the difficult food problem; instead
she made plans to repeat her summer visit to the garden en-
vironment of Lake Mohonk House.
About this time she gave her first intimation that she was
about through with life:
The time of the dry and yellow leaf has come for a good many
of us and we cannot expect to be buoyant-just thankful for the
measure of strength we have . . .
With this note, expressed in a letter to her long-time friend
Mrs. Walter E. Hope, she coupled one of joy in her grandson
and granddaughters:
301
My young people are all so happy and busy with their plans-
I cannot keep up with them. This is a new r8le for me, for I like
to boss; but I have had my turn and now it is theirs ... Dear
Dede and her four little girls are at Skibo. Dede opened a sale of
work where they made nearly $200 for war relief. She distributed
bonuses to the people of the Skibo estate on V-J day, making neat
speeches with each. Am I not a proud Grandmother! But I'd like
to see her and them all.
When the Whittets arrived from Skibo in January, 1946,

Mrs. Carnegie called a meeting of her family and business ad-
visers and arranged to maintain the Skibo estate on fa sound
financial basis. Then she sent her personal secretary to escort
the Whittets on a tour of lower New York: the Battery, Wall
Street, and the churches of Trinity and St. Paul. She had
planned this trip for the factor and his wife-"so they may
carry away a pretty good idea of New York, and be amazed
by it."
Her last appearance in public was when Roswell Miller
escorted her to the convocation at Columbia University at
which Winston Churchill, the voice of her feelings, received
one of his many doctor's degrees.
Dignity, faith, awareness of fate, and determination to ac-
cept it with serenity were manifest in these last few weeks of
her life. She told a friend: "Death is only going into another
room. I am not afraid."
Joy came to her in these last days in Dede's visit from Edin-
burgh; the beloved granddaughter brought with her six-year-
old Betty, and the four generations met. Mrs. Carnegie re-
called how long ago Andrew and she had taken their daughter,
Baby Margaret, to see Grandmother Davis, the old lady's first
302
THE OTHER ROOM
~reat-grandchild. Now she, Louise Whitfield Carnegie, was
hrilling to the similar continuity of life.
In that last winter and spring, her New York garden was
l greater comfort than ever; she took in its sun and air until
he died, making note of the changes the seasons wrought,
:rom the coloring by frost, and the snowfall covering the
oliage with white beauty, to the coming of the first spring
lowers and the blossoming of the dogwood and wisteria. On
me of the days of her last springtime, she made note : Walked
n garden; saw first robin.
On March 7, 1946, the family quietly commemorated
}randma Naigie's eighty-ninth year; looking ahead, she feared
hat she should not have another birthday. "The time has come
or the leaf to fall from the tree," she had already said to her
laughter. "The thing is to do it gracefully."
Knowing that she was growing weaker, she arranged all her
lays with that fact in mind. Thus she withdrew into herself,
topped most of her usual activities, denying herself to solici-
JUS visitors to conserve every ounce of strength for important
~ings. Those who saw her most in these last weeks recall
hieBy her poise, her thoughtfulness for those around her, her
entleness and religious faith. An unforgettable picture of this
nal period is that of the resigning mistress of No. 2 East
~inety-first Street, sitting almost every day in that lovely gar-
en, with all the rich freshness of spring around her.
Life in the air above her continued to fascinate her. She
wed to watch the gulls from the reservoir circling overhead,
n.d to follow the Bight of the great glinting planes. She had
een interested in birds since her childhood in green Chelsea,
1d in these last months the stories about birds that were read
30 3
to her from the Audubon Magazine held her interest when
nothing else could. In her visits to the Millers at Migdale
House, she had taken a fond interest in Roswell's bright lyri-
cal birds in the conservatory. As to the planes, that interest be-
gan to develop when Barbara married Lennart, the pilot.
Flight was marvelous to her, and one of her big excitements
in I945 was her visit to Lennart's plane, and hearing him ex-
plain the science of flying. She said afterward: "If he had asked
me to go up that day I would have gone." When Mrs. Roswell
Miller and Margot crossed by plane to visit Dede in March,
I946, Mrs. Carnegie was amazed at the swiftness of the cross-
ing; she compared the speed with her ocean voyages, and re-
called also that once it had taken her Andrew six weeks to
cross in a sailboat.
Her thoughts went from birds to planes. Her daughter said:
"You will catch the connection in her mind: the flight of
birds, the flight of man in his airplane, and the last mysterious
flight of the soul in death."
As Mrs. Carnegie watched in feebleness the birds, and above
them the planes, she would feel strengthened and would quote
from Henry van Dyke's God of the Open Air:
By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation,
By the courage of birds' light wings on the long migration,
(Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature's breast!)
Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest.
Louise Whitfield Carnegie died about noon of June 24, I946,

and was buried on a beautiful day beside Andrew Carnegie at
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. She kept to the end her faith in the
progress of mankind, and in the soul's progress to the life be-
30 4
THE OTHER ROOM
md. At rest beside her husband, she shared his living me-
lorial: the good works they had planned together went on.
The Carnegie residence, still a prized landmark of upper

[anhattan, was not permitted by its trustees to be just a house
: memories. The Carnegie Corporation wished it to be used
. a way in keeping with the social awareness of the family,
ld, in accord with Roswell and Margaret Carnegie Miller,
,und an appropriate way to continue the Carnegie spirit in its
loms and garden.
Leasing it for a long term to the New York School of Social
rork of the Community Service Society of New York, a gradu-
e school of Columbia University, the trustees of the Corpora-
m provided that many of the features of the residence should
main; for instance, the original paneling, the Persian prayer
gs, and the fireplaces of Carrara marble.
The main entrance hall, with its handsome carved staircase,
d with its paneling of oak, is unchanged. The pipe organ
mains at the east end, and the library and study are unaltered
the western end. The art gallery has become a lecture room,
d on the second floor the bedrooms on the south and west
les are now classrooms.
Another surviving feature intimately connected with the
nily life of the Carnegies is the small chamber paneled in
nd-carved teakwood, which was Andrew Carnegie's favorite
er-dinner room.
fhe new occupants at No. 2 East Ninety-first Street have
~en care that the residence of Andrew and Louise Carnegie
111 not be forgotten by the people of the city and neighbor-
od. The officers of the Community Service Center, whose
30 5
work accords so well with the spirit of the family, have un-
veiled a bronze tablet memorializing the couple. The marker
bears the simple inscription:
Andrew and Louise Whitfield Carnegie built this house in 1901
and lived here for the rest of their lives.
The End

Autobiography of Mrs. Louise Carnegie

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Autobiography of Mrs. Louise Carnegie

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THE LIFE OF MRS.

',' "', ...

"Or walk with king's'-'-1wr lose (lie common touch . . ."

All rights reserved. No part of this

2. GIRLHOOD IN THE SEVENTIES 19

6. SUMMERS AT CLUNY CASTLE 109

8. THE LADY OF SKIBO 151

9· No.2 EAST NINETY-FIRST STREET 185

II. THE COURAGE TO Go ON 21 9

12. THE PLEASANTNESS OF SEVENTY 237

13· CARNEGIE CENTENARy-ITS LIVING SYMBOL 259

14· THE OTHER ROOM 279

Louise Whitfield Carnegie Frontispiece

Louise Whitfield at the age of six 34

Louise Whitfield just before her marriage 50

Before long her family decided to move further uptown.

The Gramercy Park neighborhood was full of persons and

Seated in the red velvet arm-chairs of the parquette, and on the

New York was a stirring place for impressionable girls dur-

The east side of Fifth Avenue from Forty-fifth to Forty-

='- )'c(fut/el C(fudJhif

Carnegie and Sir Edwin Arnold became intimate personal

Then she mentioned a woman whose book, John Halifax,

Louise, in less than a year, would read with mingled

In inscribing the gift copy of The Light of Asia, Carnegie

She confessed to experimenting in nature painting:

She could be coquettish when the moment seemed to re-

The exchange of letters, in which any emotion of love is

And so things continued until the fall of 1884. Carnegie re-

In his quoting from the poems of Burns and Shakespeare,

The years of courtship passed, but the impediment that was

She could well expect the new season to continue to yield

/!Uddin! )tir cAbtfJaJ:

Andrew Carnegie recalled in his Autobiography: "Her de-

In the midst of writing this letter, the bride was thinking

The heat and turmoil of New York summers would eventu-

May 13, 1887

The temptation to remain in this spot was strong, but en-

After the Jubilee, the couple went to Wolverhampton to

The next visit was to the James Howards, of Clapham Park,

Before the busy couple could settle down in Kilgraston, im-

An offer of $250,000 for a library building was the charm

Carnegie amidst frequent applause, replied for his wife, re~

In the evening, at the Synod Hall, the working men of Edin-

Then came a garden note:

This letter reveals Mrs. Carnegie had to become accustomed

Fortunately, Louise had no servant problem:

News-letters like the following one gave her home folks

By now, Mrs. Carnegie was getting accustomed to having

The love of freedom that is the long-rooted, unconquerable

There was a pleasant reciprocity between the couple -as to

Another Sunday letter to her mother gives this description

c:£ummet;J at Cfult'j Ca;Jtie

There was happy excitement when the couple returned to

Carnegie's connections in America and Scotland had become

While on her honeymoon at Kilgraston, the bride of Car-

This familiar cry filled the convention hall; and pictures of

The Loch Laggan that has been mentioned belonged to Mr.

Besides picturing the scenery in her letters, Mrs. Carnegie

The Alexander Kings sailed for home, knowing that the

To refer to any human relationship as "perfect" brings a

Comparing the letters, and interpreting character therefrom

In I890 came a long-dreaded sorrow-Mrs. Whitfield died.

The tenants of Cluny had celebrated the birth of baby Mar-