The trip was full of interest to us both. We spent the greater part of the summer in England and saw the sights of London and the cathedral towns in great detail. Our only trip on the Continent was through Holland to Paris. I remember that in Amsterdam I bought some old and rather large Delft plates. They wouldn’t go into any trunk we had, so I had them carefully packed in a wicker hamper and this article became thereafter a part of our hand luggage, and was the occasion for a decided disagreement between my husband and me as to what the true object of travel was. He used to say that he “toted that blamed thing all around Europe and after all it arrived in Cincinnati with its contents in small pieces.” Which was true. He had “toted” it all around Europe, but when we arrived in New York I entrusted it to an express company with the result that when we opened it we found its contents in such a condition that only an accomplished porcelain mender could put a sufficient number of pieces together to make what my husband always afterward referred to as “the memento of our first unpleasantness.”
Our trip from Cincinnati to Cincinnati took just one hundred days and cost us just one thousand dollars, or five dollars a day each. I venture to say that could not be done nowadays, even by as prudent a pair as we were.
During a subsequent trip abroad, two years later, I was able to indulge my desire to hear music. We went to Beyreuth, to the Wagner festival, and heard Parsifal and The Meistersingers gloriously rendered; after which we went to Munich and attended operas and concerts until Mr. Taft rebelled. He said that he enjoyed a certain amount of music just as much as anybody, but that he did want to get something more out of European travel than a nightly opera and a daily symphony.
So—we went to Italy and saw Rome and Florence in true Baedecker style. When we arrived in Rome we opened our Baedecker and read that there was almost no foundation for Rome’s awful reputation as an unhealthy place. “Rome is a very healthy place,” said Baedecker, “at all times of the year except the first two weeks in August, when a visit there is attended with risk.” We had arrived for the first two weeks in August!
When we came home from our wedding trip we found that our house was not yet completed, so we went to stay with Judge and Mrs. Taft for a month at the old house in Mt. Auburn. It was a nice old place, with about three acres of ground, but the air around it was just about as sooty as if it had been located down under the factory chimneys. Mt. Auburn is on a sort of promontory which juts out into the city; it is on a level with the tops of the smoke stacks and it catches all the soot that the air can carry that far.
Judge and Mrs. Taft had come home from their European mission in time for our wedding. Judge Taft had been ill in St. Petersburg and had given his family a great deal of anxiety, but he was now settled down to the business of quiet recuperation and the enjoyment of well-earned rest.
My husband’s father was “gentle” beyond anything I ever knew. He was a man of tremendous firmness of purpose and just as set in his views as anyone well could be, but he was one of the most lovable men that ever lived because he had a wide tolerance and a strangely “understanding sympathy” for everybody. He had a great many friends, and to know him was to know why this was so.
Mr. Taft’s mother, though more formal, was also very kindly and made my visit to her home as a bride full of pleasure. The two, the father and mother, had created a family atmosphere in which the children breathed in the highest ideals, and were stimulated to sustained and strenuous intellectual and moral effort in order to conform to the family standard. There was marked serenity in the circle of which Judge and Mrs. Taft were the heads. They had an abiding confidence in the future of their children which strongly influenced the latter to justify it. They both had strong minds, intellectual tastes, wide culture and catholic sympathies.
Not long after we arrived my husband came to me one day with an air of great seriousness, not to say of conciliation and said:
“Nellie, Father has got himself into rather a difficulty and I hope I can rely on you to help him out—not make it too hard for him, you know—make him feel as comfortable about it as you can. The truth is he used to have a messenger at the War Department in Washington whom he was very fond of. He was a bright man—colored, of course—and he was very devoted to Father. Now this man called on Father down town today. He’s here on a private car and Father says he’s made a great success as a porter. Father got to talking to him, and there were lots of things they wanted to talk about, and besides the man said he would like very much to see Mother—and Father, who was just about ready to come home to lunch said—right on the spur of the moment—you understand he didn’t think anything about it—he said to this man, ‘Come on home and have lunch with us.’ He’s downstairs now. Father came to me and said he had just realised
