SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF GEORGE CALEB
BINGHAM
BY C. B. ROLLINS
George Caleb Bingham and my father were friends for
forty-five years. This friendship began in Columbia in the
spring of 1834 at their first meeting, and lasted without interruption until Mr. Bingham's death in Kansas City, July
7, 1879. During this period, they carried on an extensive
correspondence. Both men were voluminous writers, and at
least a thousand letters must have passed between them.
Of these letters, I have 135 from Bingham, many of them of
the most intimate personal character, and it is mainly on
them, and my recollections of the man, that I base these
reminiscences. The letters are not always in close sequence,
but in spite of gaps, they give the thread and tenor of his life
and reveal him somewhat as he appeared to those who knew
him best.
I remember first seeing Bingham about 1860; he was a
frequent visitor in my father's home. The time I first recall
him, he arrived one evening for a visit, and I, a youngster,
was deputed to show him to his room. Filled with my own
importance, I walked briskly ahead carrying a candle to light
the way, while Bingham followed with his valise and portfolio.
I set the candle down, and then with childish curiosity lingered
to see what the portfolio, which he had begun to unstrap,
might contain. He laid out a few things, and I recall my
disappointment at the meager contents. But my curiosity
was yet to be satisfied in full measure. After unpacking his
artist's materials, he took off his coat and hung it on a chair,
went to the bureau, untied and removed his choker, and then
to my unspeakable amazement, lifted off the entire top of his
head, exposing a great white dome. I was speechless with
fright and fled in terror; I had never seen or heard of a wig
before. My mother finally quieted my fears by explaining
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