# A Tribute to W. W. Corcoran, of Washington City/Chapter 1

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Chapter I.
F the history of American statesmen is a pleasing study, and will interest the minds of thousands of people throughout the breadth of our land, we may not be wrong in believing that a biography of the noblest philanthropist of our National Capital, will also find its way to the sincere appreciation of very many hearts. If the deeds of great men who have electrified Senates and ruled the nation, are emblazoned in characters of gold, so should continued acts of philanthropy forever dwell in letters of living fire. Heroes acting in behalf of the common good of our country, gain the proudest plaudits of earth, but the humanitarian, sowing the seed of charity, gathers in even a richer harvest, because his generosity is in imitation of the blessed example of God, Who showereth unstintedly His gifts upon mankind. In this age, when, oftentimes, principle, reputation, and honor are sacrificed on the altar of Mammon, it is commonly agreed that the goods of this world become a primary consideration, and that to guard them jealously is an imperative duty. When this selfish rule is departed from, and a man looks in upon his treasury of wealth, saying, "This I ​resign for the good of my fellow creatures," he has but walked out of the broad beaten path of avarice and penuriousness, to seek the narrow way that leadeth to righteousness; and such a man, whilst sadly contemplating the weeds and wretched tares that perplex his neighbor, can yet gladly feel that instead of thorns and thistles there have sprung up for himself, violets of love and gratitude.
The subject of our sketch, William Wilson Corcoran, was born on the 27th of December, 1798, in Georgetown, D.C. His father, Thomas Corcoran, a native of Ireland, moving to this country in early youth, first resided in Baltimore, and afterwards settled in Georgetown. By his worthiness and integrity he won the respect and admiration of the community, and held important offices of trust up to the time of his death. For thirty-nine years Wm. Wilson Corcoran continued to reside in his native town, giving his attention, the larger portion of that time, to mercantile affairs. From 1828 to 1836 he had the management of the real estate of the Bank of the United States, in Washington City, and the Bank of Columbia, in Georgetown, and afterwards was engaged in the Exchange business in Penn avenue, up to 1839, when he removed to the building of the old Bank of the Metropolis, F street. Mr. George W. Riggs having become his partner, they purchased, in 1844, the old Bank of the United States, and on the 4th of July of that year (propitious day for a bright destiny), they established themselves, soon making it a bulwark of strength and goodly reputation, and crowning their names with emolument and honor.
In the midst of the grave and momentous trials brought about by the Mexican war, this firm took up the heavy loans made by the government, and with ​discretion and ability passed through the storm, the anchorage of the national credit being fast and sure under their wise guidance. This was a bold and hazardous undertaking, but what better proof of energy, zeal and generous patriotism? It was but the beginning of that high principle in Mr. Corcoran of doing good and proffering help where necessity and emergency were involved.
In 1835 Mr. Corcoran married Louise Morris, the daughter of Commodore Morris. She was a most estimable woman, possessed of beauty and accomplishments, but this happy union was soon broken by death, the fragile flower fading away at the expiration of five years. She left a son, who died shortly after her decease, and a daughter Louise, whose euology, now that she has also passed to the eternal world, is best told in the beautiful memories that cluster around her name. The life of this only child, reared in the lap of affluence, was like a placid dream, and she drew so much of her inspiration from the lovely things of earth, that the fairest beauty mirrored in her countenance, and in her latter days especially, gave a "saintly meaning to her face."
In 1859 she was married to Hon. Geo. Eustis, a representative in Congress from the State of Louisiana. They resided several years in Paris, whither Mr. Corcoran, with loving solicitude, frequently repaired, to share in the sweet social amenities for which her home was noted. Three interesting children added to her many joys and blessings, yet athwart the glad sunshine came the dark cloud of sickness and threatening dissolution, and in December, 1867, at Cannes, she exchanged the fleeting delights and riches of earth for the priceless inheritance of heaven. It was truly a sorrowful day for the fond father when so dear a link ​was severed and so bright a jewel taken away to add to the radiance above, but he who had surrendered many worldly possessions in acts of Christian charity, laid this best and fondest treasure, with becoming submission, at the feet of Him who shapeth the lily and coloreth the violet, and plucketh them from earth to shed fragrance in the fair garden of His keeping.
But to return to the career of Mr. Corcoran, we have but to say that he retired from active life in 1854. The citizens of Washington, the representatives of foreign governments, and strangers from all parts of our country will remember with pleasure his princely hospitality, for many years in a home which was of itself a model of elegance and refinement.
Through all the vain attractions and temptations of the gay Capital, he passed unscathed, preserving his moral dignity and a regard for a consistent and honorable life. An open profession of religious faith was made by him a few years since, in the Church of the Ascension of this city, Rev. Wm. Pinckney, D. D., pastor, the rite of baptism being previously administered. There was always a warm affection between Mr. Corcoran and his pastor, and in the library of his residence, among the family portraits, hangs a likeness of this worthy and eloquent man, now the beloved assistant bishop of Maryland. It may safely be said, however, that no special sect of religion nor bigotry of faith could still or silence that instinctive sentiment of Mr. Corcoran, to give wherever there was need, and thus, every denomination has doubtless felt the goodness of his catholic spirit.
If he has aided the impoverished women of the South, he has also befriended the needy widows of other sections; if he gave five thousand dollars to the starving Irish, when famine stalked throughout ​their land, he also extended a helping, if not welcoming hand to the band of Hungarian exiles, seeking refuge on our friendly shores. Moreover, he has helped to build up the waste places and homes where war left its desolating trail, giving timely charities, or proffering loans which he meant should never be liquidated. Many persons, once in the hey-day of fortune, finding themselves about to be suddenly engulfed in the dark waters of despair, have seen a beacon light, and an ark of safety and retreat set afloat, wherein they have entered and found peace. Thus have families been kept united, that else would have widely scattered―rescued in mercy from the driving and pitiless storms of life.
Those who have been always poor, meet more in quiet patience their hard and weary lot; but when the roses of life turn to the piercing thorns, there are but few spirits in this world to whom the sudden change does not bring an insupportable woe.
These two conditions have, then, interested the sympathy of our benefactor. If he has lifted in part the burden of the "always poor," making their pathway less rugged, he has saved from the darker fate of sudden and heavy misfortune, the delicate and tenderly reared woman, and the noble, high minded man. Forgetting not the loving entreaty of the Saviour of mankind, he has also suffered little children to come unto him, affording them such happy relief, that when in maturer years they shall rest their heaviest burdens in the bosom of Infinite Love, they will still preserve a tender and precious memory of the "good man."
Mr. Corcoran has also taken a very great pride in the advancement of science and literature. In opening or paving the way to that inexhaustible mine of learning, whose riches are more enduring and valuable than ​gold or precious stones, he has said to the student, "I lay before you the inestimable treasure of books, whose pages, well studied and appreciated, will yield more true glory than any worldly fame to which you may aspire." The Washington and Lee University testifies to this special interest; for there, within its classic walls, the youth of our land owe a debt of gratitude to the donor of that choice library of five thousand volumes, from whose invaluable fund they might make the coming years lustrous with the light of knowledge. When the blight of war fell upon that time-honored institution of Virginia, William and Mary College, that same generous hand, so prompt and willing, bestowed the first sum of money towards raising her from her ashes. Donations have also been made to the University of Virginia, and the Virginia Military Institute. The Columbian College of Washington, also gives testimony to a most liberal, endowment of landed property. A fine building or hall, inclusive of the site, is one of the gifts, and is used as the medical department of that institution. Its dedication called forth a most eloquent address on the part of the trustees and faculty. Hospitals and asylums have also come in for a goodly share of benefaction and that true and sacred asylum for "the weary and heavy laden," the Church of God, writes the name of Corcoran upon her tablets. It would be impossible to recall in any order the numerous dispensations or favors benefiting both rich and poor. A gloria and thanksgiving of sweet music might be rendered, all conditions of men uniting in the chorus. But the sweetest of all would be the grateful songs of the orphans of this city, who might hold up a roll of fifty thousand dollars or more, saying, "Thus has he relieved our orphanage, and the Lord shall remember him." This same grateful refrain is also chanted ​elsewhere by other orphans, whom ​distance has not made him lose sight of or forget. Are not all these bright, sunshiny deeds, like a mirror, revealing to us a picture of goodness and benevolence? And does not the life that has been so long fed and sustained by a happy conscience, remind us of the brilliancy and light of the diamond, that rarest gem of earth, or the purity and beauty of the dew drop, whose immaculateness is of heaven? Turning from the perishing things of the world, he also reflected that there cometh to all men that great and important change―the slumber of the grave―and so from his meditations sprung this thought: "I will choose a spot to be made sacred to the dead. Its beauty will lessen the regret of a farewell to life, and for those who shall rest under its sod, may there be unlocked the glories of the world unknown!" Oak Hill Cemetery was then established and endowed. Every year some new beauty is added through the never failing interest of the donor. Situated on the picturesque heights of Georgetown, it overlooks a beautiful region of country, and affords a charming view of the city and the Potomac. Notwithstanding the sad associations, it is always poetic and beautiful, whether under the fall of winter's snow, or wearing the mantle of spring's brightest green, or when summer's sunshine wakes the flowers and tinges the moss with emerald loveliness. It was meet that this generous spirit should cast aside the thought of earth and its vanities, and, remote from the city's sullying breath, select this loveliest spot of nature, embalmed with fragrance, shadowed o'er with luxuriant foliage, within sound of the singing rill and leaping cascade. And it may be well in God’s wisdom that those dearest in his affections should first be laid to rest within the temple's shrine, that he ​might wander there to glorify Him "Who giveth and taketh away," and Who promiseth in their name, that he shall meet them again. This "come unto me" throws a shadow upon earth, whilst it brightens the portals of the sky! How tender and sad a feeling is kindled in our breasts as we stand amid the peaceful shades of Oak Hill, where so many that in life were noble and good, fair and beautiful, are "sleeping their last sleep!" There seems to flit before our gaze an angelic band, our mental eye straining to catch the last glimpse of the white robes, ere they vanish forever into the heavenly sphere. We see the sweet and gentle maiden, the loveliest flower of the household, going to prepare the way for the loved ones left behind—"the nursling from its mother's arms," a rose-bud to beautify the garden of our Lord—the matron, whose deeds of love on earth are her passport to the mansions of bliss—the young bride exchanging her wreath of orange blossoms for the coronal of heaven—the brave soldier, whose warfare being ended, puts on the armor of righteousness—the learned scholar, giving up the "lettered page" for the heavenly scroll, and countless others with brows bathed in glorious light, and whose wings bear them on to endless joys! With all this beauteous vision, there floats on the ear the soft, low music that was chanted over the remains of our loved ones, as the autumn leaves were being drifted down the vale, and the sun was setting in solemn beauty. "Rest, spirit, rest!" was mournfully echoed, but the thought of immortality has robbed it of its dirge-like cadence. Blest power of memory! Ye hath left an enduring legacy among the flowery walks of Oak Hill, in the costly memorials of granite and marble in the myrtle and blue-eyed periwinkle, creeping over many a grave, as if in humble love; in the faithful ivy entwining ​the "broken shaft;" and the rare exotics of other lands, wooed into lending their beauty to this consecrated soil Here are to be found rare specimens of South American and Asiatic plants, Australian ferns, &c., but noblest of all the wealth of verdure, are the native forest oaks that stretch their sheltering branches like the strong arm of Divine Love over frail, perishing humanity. To draw any graphic picture of the variety and beauty of art in this cemetery, would occupy too much space; but when the visitor leaves the Corcoran Temple of pure white marble and Doric architecture, he must seek a contrast in the Van Ness Mausoleum of sombre hue and Grecian architecture. Here also in this lovely spot has Mr. Corcoran reserved a lot for the ladies of the "Louise Home"—an institution to which we shall presently allude. What more touching consideration was ever shown—the twilight of age soothed and sustained, and the darkness of death lighted by this last kind and thoughtful provision!