Part 20

The fashionable season at the capital is in the full meridian of glory. Every working day of the week is devoted by the beau monde to dissipation. Feminine faces seamed with the scars of sleepless nights are the rule, and plump, rosy cheeks the exception. All is glare, glitter and pomp, and nothing home-like and substantial. One social gathering is like another, except that the women change their dresses; but the ideas afloat upon all occasions are precisely the same. An exhibition of the weather takes place every day, consequently one topic of conversation can not be exhausted. Another subject, as Bret Harte would say, “never peters out.” Women who go to receptions must be “dressed;” consequently the taste, the quality, the cost of each other’s costumes afford endless food for comment. Whilst the season lasts there is no time for reading, sensible conversation, or reflection. The fashionable wife of a Senator has not time to rest her corporeal frame before a fresh demand is made upon her nervous and vital forces. In other cities of the Union the mansions of the opulent and hospitable are thrown open because the host and hostess desire to see their guests. In Washington this order of things is reversed. Entertainments are official instead of social, and the magnificent card reception of a Cabinet minister is as cold and formal as a President’s levee. Receptions of every kind seem to be cast in the same cruel and relentless mould. Whilst it is not expected that President Grant should stop the ceremonies of a levee to introduce Jones to Brown, it would seem that a Senator’s wife, at an afternoon reception in her own little, quiet parlor at a boarding-house or hotel, would make her two or three guests acquainted for the time being, even though these women were foes ever after. But no introductions take place. The hostess must be a wonderful woman to keep three shuttles of conversation going without occasionally breaking threads. On account of these difficulties many of the “leaders” in the gay season invite a few particular friends to help carry on the tasks of reception day. Mrs. Grant set the example by inviting a number of ladies to preside at her “Tuesday afternoons.” But in order to make everything perfect the wife of the President orders the reserve force to come down at the last end of the battle. This battalion consists of General Grant and as many of the Cabinet officers as choose to follow, and if General Dent comes trickling after in his yellow kids there is nothing left to be done except for the sun and moon to stand still until the performance is over. In order to fortify the ladies for the afternoon’s work Mrs. Grant provides a dainty lunch beforehand, in the family dining-room. A spotless cover of white linen is spread over the national mahogany. Upon this pearly foundation rest rare and fragrant hothouse exotics. Fruits rifled from the trees of the tropics, luscious oysters from the smiling Chesapeake, sardines from the limpid Mediterranean, and pastry concocted by the “incomparable Melah” lend their charms to grace the feast provided by our “first lady” for the maids of honor when they go to the White House to grace reception day. Being only mortal, like the rest of us, it does sometimes happen that Mrs. Grant and her accomplished assistants linger a little too long over the nutritious chocolate and Bahei; consequently, callers assemble in the East Room and stamp their feet with impatience because the performance does not commence.

At last the hour has arrived, the doors of the “Blue Room” are thrown open, and the play begins. Daylight has been as carefully excluded as if it had thievish propensities. An immense chandelier hung in the centre of the room throws a fitful glare over the enchanted scene. Blue and gold everywhere. Blue satin damask masks the walls; blue velvet carpet under the feet; blue and gold upholstery scattered profusely around. Baskets of natural flowers make the air fragrant with faintest perfume. Mrs. Grant stands near the entrance, with General Michler, master of ceremonies, at her left, and her maids of honor at her right. General Michler’s face lights up with real joy at the delightful prospect before him. Not a woman of the vast incoming throng, be she hag or beauty, but must come in contact with him before she reaches the Mecca of her hopes. Mrs. Grant, one of the most amiable and excellent of women, looks as if she meant to make everybody welcome, and she puts so much hearty good feeling into a hand-grasp that she would certainly lose caste in the fashionable world if she was not safely intrenched behind an impregnable fortress. She is clad in a heavy, pearl-colored brocade, embroidered with field flowers and modestly trimmed with point lace. Mrs. Grant has never been accused of being a beauty, and yet there may be seen in her person a great many points which help to make the handsome woman. She has a very fine figure, and an arm as beautiful as Mrs. Slidell’s (and the Greek Slave statue was modeled upon the plan of this elegant Creole rebel). Mrs. Grant has an exquisite complexion, lovely hair, and a sincere, unaffected manner, which endears her to every personal acquaintance. General Grant thinks her beautiful, and, as he is the highest authority in the nation, this question is settled. Now let the country hold its peace.

Next to the “first lady” stands the superb wife of the Secretary of State. She is clad in palest of lavender, richly ornamented with duchess lace. Mrs. Fish is a fine, queenly looking woman, of middle age. Time has gently touched her, for her figure is as erect, her complexion as faultless, and her eyes as bright as in the days of her girlhood. A Long Island acquaintance of Mrs. Grant is also assisting to receive. She is rather pretty, and is becomingly dressed in pink silk, underneath white muslin and lace.

The wife of Judge Dent is also lending a helping hand in the ceremonies. She is a Southern woman by birth, and the mistress of all those charms for which the daughters of sunny climes are noted. She is clad in lemon-colored silk, and her person makes a delightful place for the eye to rest upon after long and severe wanderings.

Last, but not least, the brilliant wife of General Horace Porter makes up the group. She is a dazzling little woman, with pearly teeth, all her own. She may be an American, but she looks like a French woman. Her costume is made up of pink and blue, the two colors shaded with an artist’s brush. She is talking to some friend about the “baby left at home,” which proves that Horace Porter is consoled in his difficult position by a very sweet wife and a thoughtful mother.

The guests have begun to assemble, not only in scores, but hundreds. Conspicuous in the throng, towering like a palm in an oasis, might have been seen the majestic form of Sir John Rose, of Canadian fame. His fine old English face seemed alive with festive animal spirits, sound health, and the good results of a long temperate life. He might have been thinking of the solution of the fishery difficulties, but his eyes did not betray the least fishy appearance as they rested upon the fair faces and fine forms of our countrywomen. He remained only a short time, but was spirited away by some member of one of the foreign legations. About the time of the appearance of Sir John Rose the President and Cabinet, with the exception of General Belknap, descended from some unknown region and enlivened the brilliancy of the afternoon. General Grant appeared in a plain working suit, and his manner from the first betrayed business. Whilst he seemed willing to take every fairy by the hand, he was very careful at the same moment to look in an opposite direction. It might be possible that this was a mere political dodge to gain time to be prepared for woman suffrage; at any rate, no delicate creature could have left the Executive presence feeling that she had been particularly favored, and the most perfect gossip present pronounced his manner noncommittal, as usual. In close proximity to the Chief Magistrate might have been noticed the slender scion of a famous stock, in the shape of the quaint form of Secretary Boutwell, of Massachusetts. There seemed to be nothing dangerous in the appearance of the distinguished financier except the immense size of his feet. However, to set the mind of the country aright in regard to the foundation of the national finances, it is here declared, upon highest authority, that Secretary Boutwell’s extremities are precisely like other men’s, but the huge boots have been purposely built to frighten away female applicants for office, and bold impertinent Congressmen. Secretary Boutwell has a fine face, a gracious presence, and can be ornamental at times, as well as useful.

Far away in the offing might have been seen a jolly “iron-clad” who is well known in Washington society as the gallant Secretary of the Navy. No telescope was necessary to see him cruising about, with his main-sail handsomely squared, and his jib-boom set in the right direction. All at once he changes his course and bears down upon a modest little craft that seems entirely unaware of danger. Ugh! it is all over! No lives lost! They have bespoken each other on the wild waters of conversation, and each hurries forward to a different port.

One of the most distinguished women who paid her respects to Mrs. Grant, and honored the large assembly, was Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont, the better part of the great “Pathfinder,” of Pacific Railroad fame. General Fremont may have found a great many wonders in his terrific exploration, but the best thing he ever did find is “Jessie,” and if he is ever crowned with immortal bays, it will be because in their youth they ran away. Although Mrs. Fremont is below the average height of her countrywomen, she has a royal presence and a queenly face. Neither paint, powder, nor any other artifice of the age conceals or enhances the mischief time has wrought with her features, and her head is crowned with an abundance of snowy hair, but her countenance is lighted up by a pair of brilliant eyes, and the dimples that enchanted the “Pathfinder” still remain.

How shall we manage to get space in _The Press_ to describe the wives of Congress? Every adjective and adverb in the dictionary might be used and the work not then be accomplished. One most noticeable fact in relation to the receptions of the winter is the wearing of last year’s costumes. Very few new dresses are seen, and black silk was worn by nine-tenths of the ladies who went to Mrs. Grant’s reception. A very few trains were seen, but walking-dresses were the rule and long dresses the exception. A great many hats were worn, but the most elegant toilettes were finished by bonnets. Mrs. Hunter, wife of the Major-General, wore a black silk dress and a white satin bonnet; and Mrs. Cresswell, wife of the Postmaster General, wore the usual habiliments of the season. It will be noticed that the taste of American women is becoming more chaste and refined. Visiting suits are sombre; rich high colors are reserved for the evening. But more of this anon.

OLIVIA.

DYING SCENES OF THE FORTY-FIRST CONGRESS.

VINNIE REAM SECURES AN ADDITIONAL APPROPRIATION FOR HER STATUE OF LINCOLN.

WASHINGTON, _March 2, 1871_.

With the exception of appropriation bills legislative work appears to have come to an end. The mildew of dissolution is approaching, and for the moment the whole strength of the House seems to be in a seething state of excitement preparatory to the organization of a new Congress. When it became lawful for a new Congress to assemble within an hour after the death-knell of the old, a blow of utter demoralization was aimed at the short session of the national legislature. This law was made to Checkmate Andy Johnson; and like many patent medicines, it may be excellent for some particular disease, but its action upon all the other organs is mischievous and weakening, in its tendency at least.

The Forty-first Congress had 121 members who quietly slip back into private life. It is their last few days at the Capitol, and they decide upon having a good time, leaving the drudgery to the new Congress. These members will not agree to night sessions. It is impossible to assemble a quorum, and during the days the least possible work is accomplished. In order to show the country how a large mountain can bring forth a small mouse, yesterday the rules were suspended in order to put into the appropriation bill the amount necessary for the public buildings in different parts of the country. The yeas and nays were called, but owing to those intellectual antics which members know so well how to perform, the root of the matter could not be reached. The vote was taken eleven times, and after all this manoeuvring the whole matter was laid upon the table. Over seven precious hours of the time was wasted and the country has nothing to show for it except its depleted purse. During the last short session of Congress a majority of the members feel little or no responsibility, if they are to be judged by their deportment and work.

The officers to be elected in the new Congress are Clerk, Sergeant-at-Arms, Postmaster, and Doorkeeper. Pennsylvania is in possession of the Clerk’s office, and there seems to be little or no opposition to the present accomplished officer. New York holds fast to the Doorkeeper, and at this point of the proceedings there seems little cause for alarm. The great struggle, however, is going to be between the contestants for Postmaster and Sergeant-at-Arms. The present Postmaster has all the strength of the House, because he has proved himself a worthy and efficient officer, but Sergeant Sherwood ought to have the place, because he would make one of the handsomest officers in the House, where beauty is at a discount; besides he takes good care of his widowed mother, and he has but one shapely leg and no wife to comfort him in case he is defeated. If women were on the floor of Congress, Sergeant would be elected without a dissenting voice, and a mild hint is feelingly insinuated that every man on the floor shall vote exactly as if he expected at some future time in his life to become the connecting link between woman and the angels.

But whilst the old Forty-first Congress is prostrated with a paralytic stroke a great cry is heard from the hungry South. It is declared that the New England and Western States are represented in the leading offices of the House, but nowhere is the voice of the sugar-cane heard. Louisiana and Tennessee have both lifted up their eyes, and refused to be comforted unless room is found for one or the other in the national council. At the same time, between the groans of the dying monarch, merriment and feasting are heard. The present New Hampshire Sergeant-at-Arms is busily engaged in tickling the palates of helpless Congressmen. Across Capitol square, in a house of modest pretension, a table is spread which would make the President’s “incomparable Melah” clasp his hands with joy. It has been proven beyond a doubt that the vote of Congressmen often lies in the stomach, and with this end in view New England has been searched for chaste white pullets to make chicken salad as thorough in its action as a bottle of Spaulding’s glue. And yet, in the very midst of the feasts, a member with a stomach as capacious as a cotton-gin has shown alarming symptoms. His limbs have begun to tremble, and his knees act like the arch in carnival time. His mouth is seen to open without apparent cause, and a sound issues therefrom: “I say, Ordway! Any more chicken salad? I don’t like to bet on the champagne. You can have my vote (hic). Free country! Free carriages! Hip! hip! hooray!”

The House is still in session. The sonorous voice of the reading clerk opens the appropriation bill and reads: “To Joseph S. Wilson, for the valuable scientific Museum at the General Land Office, $10,000.”

At this point of the proceedings Mr. Kelsey, of New York, declares that Mr. Wilson is not entitled to one cent of it. Mr. Kelsey affirms that Mr. Edmunds, the predecessor of Mr. Wilson, sent a circular to surveyors, registers, and receivers of land offices throughout the country, thus officially authorizing them to collect the specimens of which this mineral and geological cabinet is composed. Mr. Kelsey likewise declared that Professor Hayden, formerly of the Interior Department, had donated to the Land Office his collection, gathered during the time he was connected with the Department. In 1868 Mr. Wilson sent a circular into the country, after the manner of his predecessor, and all specimens weighing less than four pounds were allowed to be sent through the mails free. These articles were arranged by a clerk and labeled by the same, and put in paper cases, at an expense of a little more than $9,000 to the Government. After this plain statement of the case, Mr. Kelsey subsided, yet the House voted $10,000 to Joseph S. Wilson for superintending this work less than three years, in addition to his own salary. Mr. Sargent, of California, said in extenuation of his vote that Mr. Wilson had been a faithful public officer for forty years, and although he had a perfect knowledge of the land system he didn’t own a single acre, and that he was now compelled to apply for copying for members of his family or to rent rooms for lodgings to support the same; and now, instead of pensioning an old and faithful public servant, as is done in every civilized country except our own, it is sought to rob him of the acknowledgment of meritorious service.

Upon the same principle that the Government is responsible for the pecuniary condition of those it employs, General Banks moved that Vinnie Ream should be paid an additional five thousand dollars for her immortal statue of Lincoln. In the most feeling manner he referred to the years of patient toil which the young artist had bestowed upon the model. In language of a statesman he depicted the woman, and the beauty and purity of the marble of which the celebrated statue is composed. All the strong points of the case were handled with a master’s dexterity, and General Banks suddenly collapsed before the scorching corruscations of his own mind. General Butler then arose and declared himself safe on the woman question. He had no objection to Vinnie Ream’s rosy lips and bright eyes, so long as they continued to be Congressional property, but he dare not, even for her sake, pick the national pockets in the daytime; and he therefore gave way to Mr. Dawes, the most economical man in Congress, who seemed to be exceedingly annoyed that his gallantry should be held up as a target for the shafts of less scrupulous Congressmen. Mr. Dawes protested against this bold proposition of General Banks; but a disinterested observer could perceive by the drooping of his eyelids, and the ready, flute-like tones of his voice, that a woman was in some way mixed up with the case, and that he was battling as only a man can with the waters of demoralization. Another Congressman was about to make a speech against giving Vinnie the additional five thousand, but before he had time to open his lips he was seized by one of the monsters of the lobby and hurried to a spot where a view of Vinnie’s modest studio greeted his vision. Filmy lace shrouded the tall gaunt windows. The clear little doves which the inimitable artist had brought from Rome were cooing and kissing, and baskets of flowers were slowly steeping in the beams of amber sunshine. The member fell on his face and wept, at the same time General Banks and the motion were carried.

OLIVIA.

PRAISE FOR DEPARTING LEGISLATORS.

VALUE OF GEORGE W. JULIAN’S SERVICES TO THE NATION.

WASHINGTON, _March 7, 1871_.

The Forty-first Congress of the United States has passed into history. It will simply be remembered on account of its negative qualities. It has done little good to its friends, and less harm to its enemies. It attempted reconstruction, but this was too large a pill for so small a throat, so the whole matter has been stowed away in Ben Butler’s committee room, where it is expected that it will be kept in the very best state of preservation. No law has been enacted to protect the Southern Unionist, whilst the bloody Ku Klux and fierce highwayman hold possession of every inch of the late Confederate soil. Is not the word “liberty” a mockery when every prominent Republican in certain districts of the country has to go armed to the teeth? when women, for expressing their sentiments, are taken from their beds at midnight and cruelly flogged by fiends with human forms and masked faces? With a Republican administration and a Congress made up of a majority of the same element, why are not life and free expression of opinion protected everywhere? Who is to blame for murder, rapine, and violence? Who is to blame for the pall which is slowly settling down upon the forces of the late grand army of the Republic? Is it not madness to talk about universal suffrage and universal amnesty when life and property are no more safe than in the South American republics? Why should we attempt to annex more territory, when, apparently, we have not the strength to keep the peace within our own domain? If Congress denies the President power to send the military wherever the laws are defied, let him bring the same influence to bear upon it as in the San Domingo business, and the matter will be settled in less time than it takes to cook this national pie. Where is the coming man or woman who will have the power and strength of mind to blot out Mason and Dixon’s line, and who will make this nation feel that it had no North, no South, no East, no West, but that it is one conglomerate whole, like a huge glacier or a mountain boulder?

The Forty-first Congress will be remembered because some of the largest minds and best men in the country with its departure will step back into the ranks of private life. It is a national loss when such men as George W. Julian can be found no longer on the floors of Congress. As chairman of the Committee on Public Lands he has saved millions of dollars for the Government. Firm as adamant, he has stood before the waves of corruption, whilst the humblest and weakest have always found in him a firm friend. It is true, he is one of the warmest advocates of woman suffrage, and for this reason, perhaps more than any other, the womanhood of this country should give this important subject a most thorough investigation, for when a great and good man like Mr. Julian advises what is good for us let us listen and not be afraid. Mr. Julian is not only immense in physical size, but he also has a colossal mental organization. At all times he is an ardent searcher after knowledge and truth. Not a great many years ago Mr. Julian lost a most beautiful and accomplished wife, and very soon after a boy of rare promise. How the strong man writhed beneath this double blow! For months he seemed more like a stone statue than a living man. Meeting him one day and noticing that look of the grave on his face, the writer ventured to say, “If there is any truth in spiritualism, she may be very near you.” “If there is any truth in spiritualism I will know it,” replied Mr. Julian. After a separation of months we met again. “Any tidings from the unknown bourne?” “None! None whatever. I have patiently investigated. It is all chaff! chaff! I have not been able to gather a single kernel of wheat. God will take care of us all in his own way. I think I am learning the lesson of submission, and this is the hardest task man is ever set to learn.”