Jones Duer, another daughter, married George T. Wilson, an Englishman.
She was a great beauty, bearing a striking resemblance to Fanny Kemble,
and was remarkable for her strong intellect. Her marriage was
clandestine, and the cause, as far as I know, was never explained. Still
another daughter, Elizabeth, married Archibald Gracie King of Weehawken,
and was a Colonial Dame of much prominence in her later years. She was
the mother of the authoress, Mrs. John King Van Rensselaer. President
Duer's wife was Hannah Maria Denning of Fishkill, New York. I knew her
only as an elderly woman possessing a fine presence and social tastes.

In my early life the students of Columbia College enjoyed playing
practical jokes upon its dignified professors. As an illustration, I
remember once seeing the death of Professor Renwick fictitiously
published in one of the daily journals, much to the sorrow and
subsequently the indignation of a large circle of friends. Professor
Anthon, too, although a confirmed bachelor, had to face his turn, and
his marriage to some unknown bride bearing an assumed name was an
occasional announcement. But the most amusing feature of the joke would
appear in the morning, when an emphatic denial would be seen in the
columns of the same newspaper, accompanied by a quotation in spurious
Latin. Professor Anthon lived with his two spinster sisters in one of
the college buildings, and their home was a rendezvous for an
appreciative younger generation. In connection with his duties at the
college, he was the head of the Columbia College Grammar School, and I
have always understood that he strictly followed the scriptural
injunction not "to spare the rod." His victims were repeatedly heard to
remark that these flagellations partially counterbalanced the lack of
exercise which he felt very keenly in his sedentary life. But with all
his austerity his pupils would occasionally be astonished over the
amount of humor that he was capable of displaying. His handwriting was
exquisitely minute in character, and I have in my possession two
valentines composed by him and sent to me which are quaintly beautiful
in language and, although sixty years old, are still in a perfect state
of preservation.

_To Miss Marian Campbell._
The Campbell is coming! Ye Gentles beware,
For Don Cupid lies hid in her dark flowing hair,
And her eyes, bright as stars that in mid-heaven roll,
Pierce through frock-coat