SOME WHITE HOUSE FORMALITIES
My very active participation in my husband’s career came to an end when
he became President. I had always had the satisfaction of knowing almost
as much as he about the politics and the intricacies of any situation in
which he found himself, and my life was filled with interests of a most
unusual kind. But in the White House I found my own duties too
engrossing to permit me to follow him long or very far into the
governmental maze which soon enveloped him.
I was permitted fully to enjoy only about the first two and a half
months of my sojourn in the White House. In May I suffered a serious
attack of illness and was practically out of society through an entire
season, having for a much longer time than that to take very excellent
care of myself. During this period my sisters, Mrs. Louis More, Mrs.
Charles Anderson, Mrs. Laughlin and Miss Maria Herron, came from time to
time to visit us and to represent me as hostess whenever it was
necessary for me to be represented.
But even in my temporary retirement, as soon as I was strong enough to
do anything at all, I always took a very lively interest in everything
that was going on in the house, and from my apartments on the second
floor directed arrangements for social activities almost as if I had
been well.
I didn’t even have the privilege of presiding at all my first year
garden parties, though this was a form of hospitality in which I was
especially interested and which, I believe, I was able to make a notable
feature of our administration. Garden parties are very popular in the
Far East and I think, perhaps, I acquired my very strong liking for them
out there, together with a few sumptuous notions as to what a garden
party should be like.
The Emperor and Empress of Japan give two each year; one in the spring
under the cherry blossoms to celebrate the Cherry Blossom season, and
one in the autumn in the midst of chrysanthemums and brilliant autumn
foliage. These are the events of the year in Tokyo, marking the opening
and the close of the social season, and society sometimes prepares for
them weeks ahead, never knowing when the Imperial invitations will be
issued. The time depends entirely on the blossoming of the cherry trees
or the chrysanthemums in the Imperial Gardens. When the blooms are at
their best the invitations are sent out, sometimes not more than two
days in advance, and society, in its loveliest garments, drops
everything else and goes. It would be very nice, of course, to have
always some such special reason for giving a garden party, but it is
only in the “Flowery Kingdom” that the seasons are marked by flowers.
Nothing could be finer than the south garden of the White House. With
its wide lawns, its great fountain, its shading trees, and the two long
terraces looking down upon it all, it is ideally fitted for entertaining
out of doors. And I must mention one other thing about it which appealed
to me especially, and that is the wholesomeness of its clean American
earth. This is lacking in the tropics. There one may not sit or lie on
the ground, breathing health as we do here; the tropic soil is not
wholesome. Not that one sits or lies on the ground at garden parties,
but the very feel of the earth underfoot is delightfully different.
I determined to give my first garden party at the White House as soon as
spring was sufficiently far advanced to make it possible. I issued
invitations, 750 of them, for Friday, the 7th of May, planning at the
same time three others to complete the season, one each Friday during
the month.
In order to put possible bad weather off its guard, I made the
invitations simply for an “At Home from 5 to 7 o’clock,” because all my
life the elements have been unfriendly to me. Whenever I plan an outdoor
fête I begin to consult the weather man with the hopeful faith of a
Catherine de Medici appealing to her astrologer, but for all my humble
spirit I very frequently get a downpour, or else a long drawn out and
nerve-trying threat. Quite often the lowering clouds have passed and my
prayers for sunshine have been rewarded, but quite often, too, I have
had to move indoors with an outdoor throng for whom no indoor diversions
had been arranged.
By way of preparation for my first garden party I had a large
refreshment tent put up in the northwest corner of the garden where it
would be handy to the kitchen and serving rooms, while under the trees
here and there I had tables spread at which a corps of waiters were to
serve tea during the reception. The Marine Band I stationed behind the
iron railing just under the Green Room. For any kind of outdoor
entertainment at the White House the band had always been placed in the
middle of the lawn between the south portico and the fountain, but I
thought, and correctly, that the house wall would serve as a sounding
board and make the music audible throughout the grounds. I arranged to
receive under one of the large trees in a beautiful vista looking south.
No sooner were my plans completed, however, than the weather man
predicted rain. It was coming, sure. Of course, I knew it would, but I
had had too much experience to think of coming in out of the rain before
it began to come down. I always sustain my hopeful attitude until the
deluge descends.
About half past three it began to rain in torrents and I saw all of my
festive-looking preparations reduced to sopping wrecks before there was
even time to rush them indoors. By five o’clock, when it was time for
the people to begin to arrive, it had stopped raining, but the lawns
were soaked and the trees were dripping dismally, so I directed the band
to move into the upper corridor, as usual for afternoon affairs, had the
refreshment tables spread in the state Dining Room and took my by that
time accustomed position to receive the long line of guests in the East
Room.
A week later I had better luck. I sent out the same kind of invitations,
made the same kind of preparations, slightly elaborated, and was
rewarded with a perfect mid-May day.
The guests arrived at the East Entrance, came down the Long Corridor,
out through one of the special guest dressing-rooms, and down the long
slope of the lawn to the tree where Mr. Taft and I stood to receive
them, with Captain Archibald Butt to make the presentations. At the next
garden party I requested the gentlemen to come in white clothes, in thin
summer suits, or in anything they chose to wear, instead of in frock
coats. Some young people played tennis on the courts throughout the
reception; it was warm enough for bright-coloured parasols and white
gowns; the fountain made rainbows and diamond showers in the sun, and
altogether it was a most pleasing picture of informal outdoor enjoyment.
Each year after that the four May garden parties were among the most
popular entertainments of our social season.
The question of a “Summer Capital,” as the President’s summer home is
called, was quite a serious one for us to settle. We had been going to
Murray Bay for so many years that we had few affiliations with any other
place, and we were most uncertain as to what we might be able to do.
We finally selected a number of likely places and made our choice by the
process of elimination. One location was too hot, another had a
reputation for mosquitoes, another was too far away, another hadn’t
first-class railway, postal and telegraph facilities, and another, worst
drawback of all, had no good golf links. It wouldn’t have been a livable
place for Mr. Taft without golf links because golf was his principal
form of exercise and recreation. Also the whole family agreed that we
must be near the sea, so our search finally narrowed to the
Massachusetts coast. I decided on the North Shore, as the coast from
Beverly to Gloucester is called, because it had every qualification for
which we were seeking, including excellent golf at the Myopia and Essex
County clubs. Then, too, it had a further attraction in that the summer
homes of a number of our friends were located there, or in the near
vicinity.
[Illustration:
© Harris & Ewing.
THE WHITE HOUSE GARDEN AND WASHINGTON’S MONUMENT FROM THE SOUTH
PORTICO
]
I went up in the spring to Beverly Farms, with my friend Miss Boardman,
and inspected houses for three days, finally selecting one, principally
for its location. It stood near the sea and its velvety green lawns
sloped all the way down to the sea-wall. From its verandah one could see
out across Salem Harbour to Marblehead.
The house itself was a modern frame cottage, as simple as anything well
could be, with a fine verandah and a dormer windowed third story. It was
large enough for the family and for such visitors as we inevitably would
have to accommodate, but besides the Taft family, which was numerous
enough at that time, there were Captain Butt and a large corps of
secretaries and stenographers, to say nothing of the Commander of the
_Sylph_, the President’s smaller yacht, who all had to be within call
when they were wanted. Then, too, there was the necessity for Executive
Offices and I didn’t think it would seem like having a vacation at all
if the Executive Offices could not be somewhere out of sight so that
they might sometimes be out of mind. The President didn’t expect to be
able to spend much of his time away from Washington the first summer but
when he did come to Beverly I wanted him to feel that he was at least
partially detaching himself from business. So another house was found in
the town, yet on the seashore, and was fitted up for Executive Offices
and as a home for the office staff and Captain Butt. The secret service
men, like the poor, we had with us always, but it never seemed to me
that they “lived” anywhere. They were merely around all the time. They
were never uniformed, of course, and looked like casual visitors. They
used to startle callers by emerging suddenly from behind bushes or other
secluded spots—not I am sure because of a weakness for detective
methods, but because they concealed comfortable chairs in these
places—and asking them what they wanted. It was sometimes most amusing
and sometimes rather trying, but as long as there are cranks and
unbalanced persons such precautions will be necessary for the protection
of Presidents, and anyhow, one gets so used to the men as almost to
forget what they are there for.
We did not go to Beverly the first summer until the third of July.
Captain Butt preceded us to make final arrangements for our reception on
the Fourth, and the servants and motor cars had been sent on several
days before. I was still in such ill health that it was necessary to
avoid the excitement of the inevitable crowds, so when our private car
“Mayflower” arrived in Beverly the welcome ceremonies were purposely
subdued. A great crowd was present at the station, but at Mr. Taft’s
request no speeches were made. Shortly after we arrived at the house the
Mayor of Beverly, with a committee of citizens, called, an address of
welcome was delivered, to which Mr. Taft responded and cordial relations
were established. But nothing more occurred even though it was the
Fourth of July.
Mr. Taft spent just one day with us, then hurried away to keep a
bewildering number of engagements here and there before he returned to
Washington, where Congress was still in stormy session over the tariff
bill.
He came back in August to spend a month with us, and then the little
sea-side colony, which we had found as quiet as the woods, except for
the lavish hospitality of its people, became indeed the nation’s summer
capital. Nobody found it inconvenient to come to Beverly to see the
President and he was just about as busy there as he ever was in
Washington. He had a game of golf every day on the Myopia links and grew
jubilant over his scores, but for the most part he seemed always to be
attending to the business of being President. There was an Executive
Office, as I have said, but nearly always one could find four or five
men sitting on the verandah waiting to see him. Fortunately he had a
large room to himself with a private entrance, but we grew so accustomed
to running into strangers that we came almost not to notice them and to
enjoy our supposed privacy as if they were not there.
The most interesting callers we had that summer were their Imperial
Highnesses, Prince and Princess Kuni of Japan, who were making a tour of
the world. They were accompanied by Madame Nagasaki, the wife of the
Court Chamberlain who officiated at my husband’s first audience with the
Emperor, by Colonel Kukurita, a military aide and Mr. Matsui, Chargé
d’Affaires of the Japanese Embassy in Washington. They were escorted by
representatives of both the State and War Departments. I had never met
these Imperial personages, but when Mr. Taft and Miss Alice Roosevelt
were in Japan they had been presented to their Highnesses, so Mr. Taft
invited Miss Roosevelt, then Mrs. Longworth, and her husband to meet
them.
The day following the visit of the Prince and Princess Mr. Taft left for
a long trip through the West and I didn’t see him again until the late
autumn when we all returned to Washington.
The social season in Washington always opens with the Cabinet Dinner in
December. This is one of the regular State Dinners which are carefully
scheduled and jealously regarded as such. The others were formerly the
Diplomatic Dinner and the Supreme Court Dinner, but we inaugurated a
Speaker’s Dinner, so there are now four. These are state functions pure
and simple, but by the exercise of a little art one can manage to make
them most enjoyable affairs. To the Cabinet Dinner only the
Vice-President and his wife, the members of the Cabinet and their wives
and a few especially distinguished outsiders are invited.
The hostess doesn’t have to worry about seating the Cabinet officers
because it is all a matter of precedence and is attended to by the
Social Executive Secretary. The rank of a Cabinet officer is determined
by the date on which his office was created and not, as one might think,
by the relative importance of his official status.
The only time when a friendly democracy presents itself to the President
_en masse_ is on New Year’s Day. At the New Year’s Reception he receives
just as many persons as he can shake hands with between the hours of
eleven in the morning and half past two or three in the afternoon. His
wife, the wife of the Vice-President and the ladies of the Cabinet
receive with him as long as it is physically possible for them to do so.
While writing in the third person I am thinking in the first, of course.
These were our customs.
Yet if anybody unfamiliar with Washington life imagines that a New
Year’s Reception means throwing open the White House doors and admitting
the public without consideration of rank or the rules of precedence he
is mistaken. The Reception, up to a stated hour, is as carefully
regulated as any other function, and I consider the list of the
especially favoured most interesting as a revelation of the complexity
of Washington’s social life.
[Illustration:
THE TAFT COTTAGE AT BEVERLY, MASSACHUSETTS
]
Announcement is made that the President will receive at 11:00 A.M.—the
Vice-President, the members of the Cabinet and the Diplomatic Corps; at
11:20 A.M.—the Supreme Court, members of the Judiciary of the District
of Columbia, former Cabinet officers and former diplomatic
representatives of the United States; at 11:30—Senators, Representatives
and Delegates in Congress; at 11:45—Officers of the Army, the Navy, the
Marine Corps and the Militia of the District of Columbia; at 12:15
P.M.—Regents and Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, all the
various Commissions, Assistant Secretaries of Departments, the Solicitor
General, Assistant Attorneys-General, Assistant Postmasters-General, the
Treasurer of the United States, the Librarian of Congress, the Public
Printer, heads of all Bureaus and the President of the Columbia
Institution for the Deaf and Dumb; at 12:30 P.M.—The Secretary of the
Cincinnati, the Aztec Club of 1847, the Associated Veterans of the War
of 1846–47, the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States,
the Grand Army of the Republic, the Medal of Honor Legion, the Union
Veteran Legion, the Union Veterans’ Union, the Society of the Army of
Santiago, the Spanish Minute Men, the Sons of the American Revolution
and the members of the Oldest Inhabitants’ Association of the District
of Columbia; at 1:00 P.M.—Citizens.
As all the men present themselves in the dress uniform of their various
services or orders, or wearing the decorations they have won in
epoch-marking events, one gets a most illuminating view of organised
American patriotism.
There is an old system obtaining at the White House known as inviting
guests “behind the line.” This means that a chosen few are permitted as
special guests to be present in the Blue Room while a reception is in
progress. It is a system which has at times been so carelessly regulated
as to engender jealousies and dissatisfactions, and we determined if
possible to avoid on all occasions any appearance of favouritism. So at
our first New Year’s Reception we decided to limit special privileges to
the Diplomatic Corps, the wives of Assistant Secretaries and our own
house guests. This made the distinction a mere matter of official rank
and did away with all possibility of unpleasant comment from
distinguished members of civilian society.
For instance, there has always been a delicate question in connection
with the Judicial Reception as to whether or not on this occasion the
Justices of the Supreme Court take precedence over the members of the
Diplomatic Corps. The Justices have always contended that at their own
Reception they do, but the unwritten code has it that no person under
the rank of President or Vice-President ever takes precedence over an
Ambassador who is the direct representative of his sovereign.
We settled this question by inviting the heads of all Missions to the
Blue Room where they were greeted by the President before he took his
place in the receiving line, and where they were permitted to remain as
long as they desired, being, as it were, a part of the receiving party.
This was a solution which satisfied everybody and pleased the Diplomats
particularly.
A great many special arrangements are necessary for a New Year’s
Reception at the White House. For every state occasion or any large
function there are always many extra footmen, policemen, guards,
waiters, cloak room attendants and ushers on hand, but on New Year’s Day
the array of them would be most imposing if they were not almost lost in
the midst of a thronging populace. All the people who come to these
receptions do not pass the receiving line. Many of them find points of
vantage in the vicinity merely to look on, and yet the President shakes
hands with from six to eight thousand of them before the gates are
closed. I have seen the line of waiting people stretching out through
the spacious grounds, down the street, around a corner and out of sight
at a time when I had already given up in utter exhaustion. And the way
the carriages come and go in perfect order, without a hitch, each
coachman with his card of a particular colour telling him just where to
make his exit, was a thing I never could understand.
The corps of aides arrange all these details and each department,
including the police and the secret service, has its printed and
explicit orders for the day a long time ahead. Some of the police orders
are interesting. For instance: “No person under the influence of liquor,
disorderly in his behaviour or bearing any advertisement will be allowed
in line. Conspicuously dirty persons will not be admitted.” Also:
“Except in the most aggravated case a coachman will not be taken from
his box and put under arrest. It will be sufficient to take his name and
address and arrest him on the following morning.”
After a New Year’s Reception the White House is a sorry sight, even
though by using extra strips of carpet to protect the polished floors
and by removing fine rugs and breakable bric-à-brac every possible
precaution is taken to make the damage as slight as possible. But it
doesn’t take long to restore the house to its normal condition. The way
the crowd of workmen used to go about putting the place in order after
an invasion of this kind always reminded me of the well-drilled stage
hands at a hippodrome who manage to set different scenes and keep things
spic-and-span without even interfering with a continuous performance.
Very shortly after the New Year’s Reception, three days later in fact,
we gave the next big event of the season, the Diplomatic Reception. It
is understood, of course, that one of the chief occupations of the
President of the United States is shaking hands. I am moved to this
observation by memories of uncounted hours by my husband’s side in a
receiving line at the White House when thousands of guests passed by,
each separately introduced to both the President and to me and each
extending an untired hand to give and to receive the hearty grasp which
all good Americans so highly regard. And there is no conceivable form of
work or exercise more fatiguing. If it were not for the mental stimulus
afforded by the friendliness of a gay throng, by music and lights and a
general festive atmosphere, it could hardly be borne.
For Mr. Taft it was never so hard because in his long public career, and
especially through a political campaign, he had had considerable
training for it. But for me it was somewhat more difficult. My friends
used to wonder how I could stand it, but when I was well I never found
it so much of a strain that I could not very quickly recover from it.
When I was not feeling particularly strong I would resort to all manner
of innocent pretexts to give myself short intervals of rest. I would
turn around and engage in important conversation with someone behind me;
I would consume minutes in taking a drink of water; or I would get into
serious difficulty with my flowers or something. Then, too, I sometimes
would sit frankly down and let the crowds pass by.
To me the long standing was the real strain and I soon came to a point
where I was willing to sacrifice appearance to approximate comfort by
wearing wide flat slippers with low heels.
The Diplomatic Reception is undoubtedly the most brilliant of the set
state functions which are given at the White House each year, but to me
it was never as interesting as the Diplomatic Dinner which follows it.
There are thirty-nine foreign Embassies and Legations in Washington.
Each Ambassador and Minister has his own distinctive and sometimes very
elaborate regalia; each attaché, military and naval, wears the uniform
of his service, in many cases very picturesque and often positively
flamboyant; the foreign women, gowned exquisitely, are many of them
crowned with tiaras and laden with jewels, and when they are all
gathered around one great, glittering and gorgeously decorated table
they present such a picture of varied colour and magnificence as is not
to be seen on any other occasion in Washington.
[Illustration:
© Harris & Ewing.
THE CRESCENT TABLE IN THE STATE DINING-ROOM ARRANGED FOR THE
DIPLOMATIC DINNER
]
I used always to wonder how they managed to get along with each other.
There is an impression quite general among us that we are the only
nation on earth that sends abroad diplomatic representatives without any
knowledge of the French language. This is not quite true. There are a
good many diplomats in Washington who do not speak French, and there are
more diplomats’ wives. But as both men and women are seated at the
Diplomatic Dinner in strict order of rank, there is no chance to take
into consideration the seemingly important question as to whether or not
dinner partners will be able to communicate with each other very freely.
They do speak English, of course, but many of them imperfectly, and,
taking them all, with exactly thirty-nine different accents. Imagine the
wife of the Chinese Minister sitting between the Minister of Salvador
and the Minister of Cuba, or the wife of the Japanese Ambassador having
on one hand the German Ambassador and on the other the Minister of Costa
Rica!
It all depends on how long they have been in Washington. When I first
went to the White House the Italian Ambassador was the Dean of the
Diplomatic Corps, with the Austrian Ambassador next, while among the
Ministers those from Siam and from Costa Rica, I think, had precedence
over all others. If the Minister of Haiti remained in Washington long
enough he could outrank the Minister of Spain. The Minister of Haiti is
the only negro diplomat in the Corps and his place at table in my time
was with a group of envoys of almost equal rank who sat together near
one outer end of the great crescent.
It was not possible to invite many outsiders to the Diplomatic Dinner
because there were enough of the Diplomats themselves with their wives
and attachés to tax the capacity of the State Dining Room. But Mr. Taft
never did take space limits into consideration. For both Receptions and
Dinners I used always to go over the invitation lists and do my best to
keep them within bounds. Regretfully enough would I cut them wherever I
found it possible, but my husband, according to his fixed habit,
invariably added more names than I took off, so, thanks to him, we have
to our credit the largest dinner parties ever given in the new Executive
Mansion. Mr. McKim in his report on the restoration of the White House
says the Dining Room will hold one hundred, but strained to its utmost
capacity ninety-two was as many as I could ever crowd into it, and then
everybody was aghast at the number. We might have put a star in the
hollow of the crescent so as to accommodate a few more, but I never
thought of it until this moment. I’m glad it never occurred to Mr. Taft.
With his expansive disposition he certainly would have had it tried.
The Reception crowds I did manage to cut down. It simply had to be done.
When more than two thousand people get into the White House it is a
literal “crush” and nobody has a good time. We not only introduced
dancing in the East Room at Receptions, a feature which delighted
everybody and especially the young people, but we always served
refreshments to every guest within our gates.
This was, I suppose, the most generally approved departure from
established custom that was made during my administration. It was made
possible by cutting down the list of guests one half and inviting one
half to one reception and the other half to the next. As a matter of
fact, preparing a buffet supper for a company of 2,000 people is not
much more of a strain on ordinary household resources than serving a
nine or ten course formal dinner to eighty or ninety guests. Neither
undertaking is particularly simple, but the White House kitchen and
pantries are large and adequate, we had an efficient staff and we never
had any mishaps or embarrassments that I remember.
Several days before a large reception my cooks would begin to turn out
piles upon piles of small pastries and to do all the things that could
be done in advance. Then on the day of the reception, with plenty of
extra assistants, it was found easily possible to prepare all the salads
and sandwiches, the ices and sweets, the lemonades and the punches that
were necessary. Nor did we find that it interfered in the least with the
usual household routine. We took our meals in the small family dining
room adjoining the State Dining Room, and even gave small and successful
dinner parties while the State Dining Room was in the hands of the
carpenters and decorators.
Referring to the serving of refreshments reminds me of an incident which
gave us some uneasiness shortly after Mr. Taft’s election. It was during
that phase of his career which all Presidents pass through, when his
most casual remark was likely to be construed into an “utterance,” and
his most ordinary act was likely to become a widely heralded “example.”
It was while he was still being held up as a model of all the
excellencies—framed in a question mark: “What will he do?” In other
words it was before his Inauguration.
He was at a dinner at Hot Springs, Virginia. As the wine was being
served one of the diners turned down his glass with the remark that he
had not taken a drink for eighteen years. Mr. Taft, in the most usual
and commonplace manner, followed suit, saying that he had been a total
abstainer for nearly two years and expected to continue so. The incident
was made the basis of a sensational newspaper story which created the
impression that he had acted with great dramatic effect and that his
remark amounted to a declaration of principle which he would turn into a
Presidential policy.
Immediately he was overwhelmed with memorials, with resolutions of
commendation framed by some of the most worthy and admirable Christian
and temperance organisations in the country. It was taken for granted
that he would banish alcohol in every form from the White House. In
simple honesty he had to tell all the reverend gentlemen that he had
made no pronouncement with regard to limiting White House hospitality,
that he had no desire to interfere with any normal man’s personal habits
and that as President he had no intention of trying to do so.
The truth is that he is a total abstainer because never in his life has
he indulged in stimulants to any extent; they have no attraction for him
whatever, and he found in those days that with so much dining out, it
was wiser to decline all wines and liquors. Being naturally abstemious
he has always rather objected to being given personal credit for such
virtue.
It was about this time that I, too, got into trouble of a peculiar sort.
In the mass of correspondence which began to roll in upon me as soon as
my husband was elected, there were requests of every possible kind from
all parts of the world. Among these came a letter from a society of
women engaged in political and social reform work in one of the newer
Balkan States, asking me to lend my aid in forming a similar society in
the United States.
I declined with as much grace and courtesy as I could command and
thought nothing more about it. Imagine my surprise to find almost
immediately that my reply had been construed by its recipients into a
sort of expression of personal interest in and sympathy for the people
of their country in general. I was proclaimed the warm friend of the
young State and an enemy to all her enemies. The incident became the
subject of an exchange of diplomatic notes in Washington, and it took a
bit of the suavity of the State Department to extricate me from the
tangle in which my alleged active participation in the trouble in the
Balkans had placed me. It taught me a lesson.
[Illustration:
MRS. TAFT’S OWN PICTURE OF THE WHITE HOUSE
]
Throughout my four years in the White House my mail contained surprises
every day, but I soon learned not to be surprised at petitions for
assistance in various forms. It is extraordinary how many of these a
President’s wife receives. The greater number came to me from small
charitable organisations throughout the country. It seemed to me that
nobody ever thought of organising a bazaar or a church fair without
asking me for some sort of contribution, and before holidays, especially
Easter and Christmas, I was simply besieged. They did not want money
ever; they wanted something that could be sold as a souvenir of myself.
I never, to my knowledge, refused a request of this kind. Mrs. Roosevelt
had used a photograph of the White House, and I decided, finally, to do
the same. I chose a view of the South Portico eight by ten inches in
size which I thought very nice, and asked to have it reserved for me.
With my signature across one corner it became a most satisfactory
souvenir. I hesitate to hazard a guess as to the number I signed and
sent away, but, ordered by the hundreds, they didn’t cost very much, so
contributing them to good causes became a pleasure unmarred by a sense
of unjustifiable extravagance. Handkerchiefs, too, were in great demand
and I always kept a supply of them on hand.
I see I have wandered away from the receptions and dinners and my
attempt to tell in some sort of consecutive fashion what a social season
at the White House consists of, but remembering the crowds I lived in
for four years it seems to me that everybody must know just as much
about these things as I do. I have to keep reminding myself that I am
not writing altogether for people who live in Washington, but for the
people in the far places who have never been to Washington, but who have
just as much of a personal property right in the nation’s capital and
just as much interest in the proper conduct of its affairs whether they
be legislative, administrative, diplomatic, or merely social, as any
President ever had.