the civilization of the world. To-day the Occident and the Orient
has an official greeting. The fluttering petticoats of the East
have bowed before the scant, ungraceful pantaloons of the West, and
history records the performance. The event was stately and solemn,
and nothing occurred to mar or disturb the feelings of those present,
except the cold and disdainful way in which the press was treated.
These scions of republican royalty were kept outside, whilst such
crumbs of information fell to our lot as the powers that be chose to
bestow.
Before the magic hour of 12, for the royal time of day was chosen,
ten of the Japanese highest in power, accompanied by Mr. Mori, the
Japanese minister, descended from their carriages and in single file
marched slowly into the Executive Mansion. Previously everything had
been prepared for their reception. The broad halls and the great
vestibule had been reduced to excruciating neatness. The air was
laden with the odor of tropical exotics. Above the central part of
the great ottoman, in the Blue Room, arose a pyramid of flowers
composed of Japanese lilies, birds of paradise, and the long,
dreamy, pendant leaves of the Eastern fern. Daylight, which was not
considered quite good enough for such an occasion, had been carefully
excluded, like the press, but, like this mighty engine, it managed to
struggle in, or at least enough of it for all practical purposes.
Whilst all these things were in preparation Secretary Fish came
rushing in and seized an unfortunate servant, who had accidentally
put the right flower-pot in the wrong place. This was quickly
adjusted and the Secretary left the place. Then Mrs. Secretary
Fish, swathed in pearl-colored silk, trimmed with the costliest
lace, sailed through the rooms. A lackey followed her with fear and
trembling. As near as could be ascertained in the distance, the hair
on his head stood upon end. All at once dulcet sounds were heard,
“Take it away.” The servant stood terror-bound until the lady said:
“Too much mignonette. We cannot be too careful. Perfume is a good
thing in the right place. The danger is, everything is becoming too
common.” The flower-basket was removed, and the rooms were pronounced
all ready for the ceremony.
First of all Secretary Robeson sailed in, and following in his
wake were the heads of the Navy Department, in their brilliant
regimentals. As these were not the men who distinguished themselves
in the late war, the people have no care to hear about them. But
their shining shoulder-straps and other finery helped to make the
occasion brilliant, the same as a shoal of dolphins at sea on a hot
summer’s day. Secretary Robeson looked as handsome and happy as could
be expected.
Then came Minister Boutwell, in white choker and pale pearl-colored
kids, closely followed by that interesting old greenback known as
General Spinner. Then Spinner was brought up by the heads of the
Treasury Department, and they stretched out until it seemed as if it
was intended they should represent the “crack of doom.”
Then came the handsome Saxon Secretary of War, with his officers,
followed by Cresswell and the Post Office, and Attorney-General
Williams and his “heads.” The heads of the Attorney-General’s office
are men who have blossomed, fruited and now ought to be gathered and
put in the cellar for future use. Delano, of the Interior, was there
with his force, the most dignified magnate present.
Spilled around promiscuously were Judge Holt, Cameron, Casserly, with
nose at an angle of forty-five degrees; Banks, with a new shade to
his hair, called “Paris in Ashes;” Professor Henry, with any amount
of electricity in his pockets; Speaker Blaine and Colfax--dear
Colfax! who came out and said he felt sorry for the press; he knew
how it was himself before greatness was thrust upon him.
And last, but not least, the Japanese. The President had fixed
himself in the right place in the East Room. To his left were
the great men of his Empire. To his right were the ten Eastern
representatives. The first five stood a little forward of the other
five, because they preceded them in rank. The first five were dressed
somewhat different from the remainder. They wore garments which are
never allowed to be upon their persons except in the presence of a
ruler of a great nation, and when engaged upon the highest diplomatic
duty. This dress consisted of a blue silk skirt, embroidered with
white, which reached almost to the floor, just allowing the queer,
sandaled feet to become visible. This was surmounted by a black
silken tunic fastened at the waist, which did not allow the arms to
be of much use. The head was covered by a courtier’s hat of device
indescribable, with a long metallic ribbon-like streamer falling down
the back. A stranger costume can hardly be conceived. Those of lesser
rank wore the same skirt and tunic, but the headgear seemed to be
made of patent leather, banded with soft white material, an excellent
invention for a masquerade. The great ambassador, in a sing-song way,
read from his parchment, whilst General Grant and all the others
listened. Then our President read something to the Japanese, Mr. Mori
standing and looking quietly on. Then President Grant introduced
his Cabinet. There was no-handshaking. The Americans snapped their
heads in the usual jerky way, but the Japanese gave them the graceful
salaam of the East. An Oriental only knows how to bow.
After everything official was concluded, then the Japanese allowed
their hands to be touched by the Western barbarians. The Cabinet
at this point offered their arms to the fluttering silks, and each
Minister took a Japanese into the presence of Mrs. Grant, where the
press had no desire to go. We claim there are certain inalienable
rights. For the preservation of these we will endure all that heroism
requires, and for comfort and support we look to the people.
OLIVIA.
THE PUBLIC GREET THE JAPANESE.
UNDER ADVERSE CIRCUMSTANCES EASTERN ROYALTY IS WELCOMED.
WASHINGTON, _March 6, 1872_.
It has already been truthfully stated that several thousand dollars
of the people’s money have been set aside with which to entertain
our Oriental guests. Last night’s experiment proved to be a superb
success. The Masonic Temple’s insignificant proportions were dwindled
to Lilliputian size in the vain effort to make it resemble some
gorgeous Eastern landscape. In the vain pursuit of this Quixotic
dream General Myers purchased pink and white tarletan by the rod and
furlong; carpenters nailed it to the ceiling, to the roof overhead,
and to every other available spot worth mentioning. Where there was
no place for tarletan, the gallant general plastered the stars and
stripes. A couple of fountains were placed in the upper part of the
room, and it was said Japan in miniature was represented on its
watery surface, but no persons present would have found it out unless
they had been told previously that this was the original program.
Hanging baskets were attached to the ceilings by long strings, a
threatening menace to the brains below, whilst birds in cages were
suspended in such a way as to cause serious alarm as to personal
safety. Then cards of invitation were issued, calling the faithful
together between the hours of 9 and 11 o’clock. At 9 o’clock the
writer stood within the enchanted hall of the Masonic Temple. The
sight was sorrowful if it was not imposing. The imperial chandeliers
had not been lighted. Carpenters were hard at work nailing tarletan
to finish out the eastern sky. Workmen were hurrying with tables and
flower pots and other et cetera of the landscape. Humbler hands
were scrubbing the floor, whilst one or more men were finishing
up the corners with an unpoetical mop. In the centre of all this
grandeur stood the Secretary of State, supported by General Banks;
only a short distance from them, to the left, were the wives of these
distinguished officials. As the landscape was to be heated after the
Esquimaux style, that is, by hanging lights and the warmth of human
bodies, the damp floors had to be dried by opening the windows of
the magnificent temple. Through these yawning holes came the Arctic
blasts. Mrs. Fish wrapped her royal ermine mantle around her; Mrs.
Banks drew the folds of her opera cloak close. It had previously been
agreed that those ladies who had elected themselves “to receive”
should get to the temple precisely at half past 8 to put the last
half dainty touches to the brilliant surroundings. It was a few
moments after 9, and only Mrs. Fish and Mrs. Banks and a newspaper
intruder, who was bound to tell the truth, unless she chose the
majesty of silence!
A new actress in the drama--all ripples, laughter, and girlish
abandon--Mrs. Colfax--came bouncing into the “eastern scene.” She
had thrown aside her wrappings in the dressing-room, and appeared
clad in rich white silk court-train over a black silk petticoat, and
a white pom-pon in her hair. Her neck and arms were bare, and in
through the open windows came the biting winds. The lithe, elastic
frame shuddered like a jaunty yacht caught in the jaws of a terrific
nor’wester, but succor was close at hand in shape of covering, and
the pearly shoulders disappeared from view. Next came Mrs. Governor
Cooke, magnificently arrayed in filmy lace and light green. If
the fountains in the corner had been larger and she had been more
sylph-like the play of Undine might have been performed.
At last the tarletan was tacked, the last pot of flowers planted, the
floor mopped, the last bird--cage hung, the gas-jets lighted, and
the reception ladies had disposed themselves on the sofas. Let it
be remembered there were no other seats in the room. The door swung
open on its noiseless hinges, and in walked the precious Japanese
men, who had got themselves up in “Melican fashion” to please us
rude barbarians of the West. How poor, weak, and shammy everything
must have seemed to their almond-shaped eyes! Flower-pots and pink
tarletan, a bit of bright carpet, a cold, damp floor, a wintry
atmosphere faced them. As they walked through the narrow path which
opened in the throng and led to the upper end of the hall, they
saw seated before them women no longer young and some of them far
advanced into that period which is called the “sere and yellow leaf
of age,” with shoulders exposed below the point of modesty (if there
is any such place in that delicate region), arms bare above the
elbow! What a lesson it must have conveyed to our visitors! And yet
these women tried to look beautiful!
The foreign ministers, with their wives and daughters, had drawn
themselves into the usual diplomatic knot. There was the tall and
queenly Lady Thornton, elegant in pink silk and Chambrey gauze; and
Sir Edward Kingly as a knight of old; and pretty Madame Roberts,
the wife of the Spanish minister, in quaint costume, regardless
of expense; magnificent Mademoiselle Freyre, the daughter of the
Peruvian minister, who was the most gorgeously and costly appareled
of any woman in the temple. A moderate fortune of diamonds nestled in
her hair, whilst bust, arms and ears sparkled like the cave wherein
was caught unfortunate Sinbad the Sailor.
About the banquet? It fell below the “Oriental landscape” attempt. It
was spread under the directions of A. G. Jiraudan. We never heard of
this man before, and yet he will be remembered for his stale boned
turkey and hard crusts. In place of ice cream we were treated to
doubtful frozen custard. The salad might have been made of lamp oil,
judging by its flavor. The coffee was such as contractors furnished
the army during the late war, and water was denied the last resting
place of a goblet. We drank it from the humble plebeian glass in the
shape of a mug without a handle.
Fancy Sir Edward Thornton carrying this cup to his aristocratic lips
at an entertainment given to royalty! Will not motherly Philadelphia
or her sister city New York open the doors of hospitality and
retrieve Washington from her niggardly disgrace? Not that the people
of the capital are in fault, but a grave charge lies somewhere. Let
exposure do its work.
OLIVIA.
SAMUEL F. B. MORSE.
MEMORIAL SERVICES HELD AT THE CAPITOL.
WASHINGTON, _April 17, 1872_.
Because we have no Westminster Abbey, or other royal sleeping
place when genius passes away, we have memorial services held at
the capital of the nation, under the shadow of the dome and the
Goddess of Liberty. No man since the Saviour was born has ever
had such obsequies follow him to the grave as the plain citizen
of a Republic who has just passed away. The ceiling of the House
of Representatives had been pierced, and numerous wires were seen
suspended from the wall, and these ended below the Speaker’s desk,
where an electric instrument was placed that transferred to those
present that throb of sympathy which alone makes the world akin. The
voices of seventy cities of the Union were heard speaking in the Hall
of Representatives, for Professor Morse had given to each a tongue
of flame. Click, click, click; from the bed of mighty waters came
the sob of the Old World. London sent her condolence, dated many
hours subsequent to our time. April the sixteenth was dead and gone
in England, but on the wings of the lightning came the intelligence
of an unborn day. From Europe, Egypt, China, flashed sympathy with
this nation because a simple American citizen had gone to his eternal
home. In the self-same spot where all this tribute was paid to his
memory he had once stood--poor, obscure, and alone, working out the
solemn problem which should revolutionize the world.
On the floor of the House of Representatives might have been seen
political strength, the judicial ermine, poet, painter, scholar,
and humble citizen, and from the galleries looked down the womanly
element of the Republic. First of all came President Grant, with his
square, immovable face. At his side walked Secretary Fish, whose
comeliness will ever furnish a theme for song and story. Then came
Secretary Belknap, with a presence sufficiently warm and attractive
to keep the whole Cabinet from spoiling for the want of caloric; then
clear-cut Secretary Boutwell. Behind the Cabinet might have been
seen the ponderous Supreme Judges, and their presence proved that
the Creator worked regardless of material when he constructed these
excellent men. On the Speaker’s stand stood the men whose speeches
were to honor the great man whose memory was to be embalmed. Speaker
Blaine sat in his accustomed seat, with Vice-President Colfax at his
right hand.
Speaker Blaine touched his desk with his gavel, and silence fell upon
those congregated there. Then softly upon the ear sounded the silver
voice of Professor Morse’s aged pastor in solemn prayer, a simple
petition, such as men utter when their feet have almost reached the
other shore. After the Marine Band had been heard, Sunset Cox made
some remarks, and these were followed by a lengthy biography from
Senator Patterson, which was altogether too long to be read when so
much that was equally interesting was to follow.
Fernando Wood gave the most interesting account of the struggle
and despair, but final triumph, of Professor Morse in his attempts
to make the Government aid him in his undertaking. Mr. Wood is the
only man in Congress who was a member of that body at the time the
inventor was pleading his cause. Professor Morse first laid his plans
before his own Government, and they were rejected. He then went
abroad, was absent two years, going, as did Columbus, from court to
court, obscure, unheard, unnoticed. All undaunted, he came home, to
try for the last time to bring his wonderful discovery before the
world. It was this period of his life that the Hon. Fernando Wood
brought so vividly before the audience. With the mind’s eye the vast
congregation could see a threadbare, dejected man traversing the
streets of Washington, modestly attempting to electrify Congress
with a flash of his own genius. At last, when he was slowly settling
into the depths of despair, he had the supreme happiness of learning
that in the very last hours of a session a modest amount had been
appropriated to carry out his apparently insane undertaking.
Facing the speakers of the evening hung a portrait of the departed.
It was surrounded by a white groundwork, inlaid with an inscription
in green letters: “What God hath wrought.” It was the picture of a
man in the winter of life, with hair and beard of snow; a face not
classically made, but with fine, manly features, that must have
glowed with indestructible beauty when lit up by the enthusiastic
genius within.
Samuel F. B. Morse has gone the way of all the earth. He lived to
know that his name had been spoken by the intellectual world from
pole to pole. No more honor could be bestowed upon his ashes; and his
memory is embalmed in the soul of his country.
One of the speakers of the evening said that Professor Morse was born
the same year that Benjamin Franklin died, and the lives of the two
men seemed like joining a broken thread. And this reminds the writer
of a man who might have been seen in that audience who to-day is
trying on the same field to get Congress to help him to demonstrate
to the people that wires and batteries and Atlantic cables are only
so much waste matter; that from given points anywhere on the world’s
surface that same lightning which Franklin brought to earth with
his kite can be harnessed to do his bidding. He has got his patent,
his invention, and his faith. As with Morse, Congress is afraid to
“establish a precedent,” and so another inventor goes begging his
way, perhaps to immortal fame.
OLIVIA.
ON THE PROMENADE.
A SATURDAY HOLIDAY WITH ITS STROLLERS AND EQUIPAGES.
WASHINGTON, _April 22, 1872_.
Spring, though laggard, has at last smiled upon Washington. Once
more the bosom of Mother Earth has yielded up the frost and the
baby vegetation wears a smiling face. No longer the cold, bitter
winds smite the wayfarer, for the king of the season has tempered
their edge. Saturday afternoon at the capital is a holiday. Congress
usually adjourns from Friday until Monday. Not always the Senate,
but the House, which is a much harder-worked body, necessarily must
have a short respite for breathing time, although it is claimed by
the members that the last day of the week is the hardest of them all.
A Senator who holds his position for six years can afford to take
more or less ease; but a member who has only two years to serve,
if he has any ambition or talent, is about the hardest-worked man
in the nation. He has the superhuman effort to perform of making
himself felt in Congress; at the same time he must manage to keep
the peace at home. The majority of them know there are men in their
districts as gifted as themselves, who are working out the problem
of rotation in office. So when Saturday afternoon comes they try to
forget their troubles whilst riding up and down Pennsylvania avenue,
with the smoke of cigars issuing from their lips; but only the women
suffragists envy this deceitful happiness.
Smoothly the carriage moves over the faultless pavement. Some of the
members are wealthy enough to own their own “turnouts,” but these
seem to have simply been purchased for their comfort, for there is
scarcely anything about them suggestive of display. The carriage
of Mrs. Secretary Fish is of the plainest and most comfortable
description. It might have belonged to some Knickerbocker relative
of a past generation, so prim and respectable it seems. Even the
wheels have an aristocratic roll, entirely unlike the little plebeian
satin-lined concerns of the _parvenues_ which have been called into
existence in the same way that Cinderella’s fairy god-mother changed
the nut-shells and mice.
When the Avenue was first lined with Nicholson pavement the carriages
of the “first families” were seen rolling over it. In those days
the “thoroughbreds” belonging to the President were seen stretching
their graceful limbs in contrast to the fast-trotting bays owned by
Sir Edward Thornton. The carriages of the foreign ministers were
then displayed in all their glory. The most magnificent were usually
occupied by the South American ministers. The representative of Peru
could be seen in the daintiest affair, lined with white satin. The
body of the carriage is rounded and the top opened in the centre,
and when thrown back it seemed to disclose a huge bird’s nest, and
the white satin in the distance bore a striking resemblance to eider
down. Altogether it looked like a portable nest filled with the
rarest birds of a tropical clime, whilst coachman and footman in the
most gorgeous livery completed one of the handsomest pictures of a
Saturday afternoon.
Another elegant establishment might have been noticed--a luxurious
carriage, with its light-bay prancing thoroughbreds attached. On
the creamy cushions, with their costly white lap-robe, was seated
a solitary woman in the earliest stages of the winter of life. She
usually wore a white carriage costume--nothing but white from the
snowy ostrich tip to the Paris kids that encased her slender fingers.
Who is it? A wealthy New York widow, too wise to be ensnared by
fortune hunters, and not a remarkably shining target for arrows of
the other kind.
In those days not so very far remote the carriage of Senator Chandler
might have attracted attention, especially if the superbly dressed
madame and her accomplished daughter were securely inclosed within.
But, alas! alas! the _creme de la creme_ no longer patronize the
Nicholson pavement. This is given up to the blonde-haired beauties,
fast youths, and tipsy Congressmen. The sunny side of the Avenue has
become the fashionable promenade. What a changing human kaleidoscope!
Here comes Secretary Robeson with his substantial bride. One feels
like lowering the mainsail of conversation in time to salute the
jolly consort and tender as they go sailing down the river of human
life.
This is the Hon. Eugene Hale, of Maine, with his graceful new wife.
Would the ladies know how the richest heiress in Washington is
attired? In plain black cashmere and a simple straw hat.
And this is the Hon. Benjamin F. Butler, one of our most famous
citizens, but so changed for the better that his nearest friends
scarce recognize him. The time has been when General Butler was
dubbed “belligerent,” but this must have been when he was in the
active fermentation of life. To-day the dregs have settled to
the bottom. The froth and scum were all whisked off in that last
Massachusetts campaign. Nothing but the rich, generous body remains.
Even the famous Don Piatt can find no peg to hang a fault on;
besides, the General is growing handsome, for the beauty of the
spirit lights up the countenance, and this is the truest type of
perfection.
A slender and exceedingly graceful man hurries by--a gentleman whom
the wicked types made us call in our last letter “Sunset Cox.” We
never applied any such appellation to this gentleman, and for this
reason we call attention to this correction. We have no personal
acquaintance with the Hon. S. S. Cox, but men, like greenbacks,
pass in Washington for just about what they are worth. There is
nothing about this Congressman to remind one of sunset, unless it
is the brilliant coloring of his mind. This is the term which envy
and malice have fastened upon him; and this uncourteous term cannot
be made to foreshadow his decline. Although he has not reached the
noontide of life, he is one of the readiest debaters, one of the most
eloquent and pleasing speakers, a fascinating writer, and in every
sense of the word an accomplished man. If this is “sunset,” may we
have a little more of it in Congress, for we believe in men instead
of parties, and when women vote we shall not stop to ask “Is he a
Republican?” “Is he a Democrat?” but we shall propound the awful
question, “Who is the man?”