Dear Aunt,--The best way I can spend this Ash-ful Wednesday is to write
a penitent letter to you and beg you to forgive my long silence; but if
you could imagine what a life we have been leading, I think that, being
the being you are, you would make excuses for a niece who gets up with
the sun and goes to bed with the morning star. When that morning star
appears I am so tired I can think of nothing but bed and the bliss of
laying my diplomatic body down to rest.
Dear old Mr. Corcoran (almost blind now) gave a unique banquet in
honor of Johan and me. We went first to the theater to see "Rip Van
Winkle" played by Jefferson. It was delightful, though I cried my
eyes out. From the theater we went to Mr. Corcoran's house for a
roasted-in-the-shell oyster supper. Johan, who had never before
attended such a feast, thought he had got loose among a lot of
milkmaids and firemen, each with his bucket and pail, and when he saw
the enormous pile of oysters brought in on platters he wondered how
many "r's" March had in her. However, like a lamb he sat next to his
pail, and after having consumed about a bushel himself he became quite
expert at opening the oysters and throwing the shells in his pail. It
was a most amusing and original evening, and the amount of
oyster-shells we left behind us would have paved the way to the
Capitol.
Another original entertainment I must tell you about. We received a
note from General Burnside (Senator from Rhode Island): "Will you come
to my codfish dinner on Thursday next?" We of course accepted and went.
General Burnside and Senator Anthony are great friends and live
together. I never could understand, and never dared to ask, why such a
little state as Rhode Island needed two Senators. However, that is
neither here nor there. The other guests were Mr. Bayard, Mr. Blaine,
Mrs. Blaine, Mrs. Lawrence, General Sherman. According to the rules of
a codfish dinner, every one was provided with the same amount of boiled
codfish, hard-boiled eggs, beets, carrots, and potatoes, and every
English sauce ever made. Every one made his own mixture, which was
passed about and "sampled." The lucky person who got the greatest
number of votes received a beautiful silver bowl. The dining-room was
arranged as if it were a camp. There were no ornaments of any kind, and
we sat on little iron tent-chairs. You may imagine after we had
finished with the codfish that our appetites were on the wane, and we
felt that we had dined sumptuously, if monotonously, when, lo! our
genial host surprised us with an enormous turkey (reared on his own
estate), twenty-seven pounds in weight, with its usual accompaniments
of cranberry sauce, sweet-potatoes, and so forth. Mr. Blaine and Mr.
Bayard were fountains of wit.
Then another entertainment, a sort of _mardi-gras maigre_ feast, was a
champagne tea given for us at the Capitol by Mr. Blaine. He had invited
a great many of the Senators and the Ministers, his wife, and some
other ladies. These mighty people talked politics and had prodigious
appetites. Sandwiches and cake disappeared in a hazy mist, and they
drank oceans of champagne. They took cocktails before, during, and
after! I amused myself--as I can't talk politics, and would not if I
could--by noticing the ingenuity and variety of the spittoons placed
about in convenient spots. The spittoons that tried to be pretty were
the most hideous. I liked best the simplicity of the large, open,
ready-to-receive ones filled with clean, dainty sand. There was no
humbug about them, no trying to be something else; whereas the others,
that pretended to be Etruscan vases or umbrella-stands or flower-pots,
were failures in my eyes. Why are they ashamed of themselves? Why do
they call themselves by the graceful name of "cuspidor"--suggestive of
castanets and Andalusian wiles? Why such foolish masquerading?
Spittoons will be spittoons--they risk not being recognized. I said as
much as this to Mr. Blaine. "You are right," he said, "to fight their
battles. Did you ever hear the story about the Western man who was not
accustomed to such artistic objects, and said in one of his spitting
moods, 'If you don't take that darned thing away I'll spit in it'?"
I forgot to tell you that the Emperor and Empress of Brazil are here
"doing" Washington--doing it so thoroughly that they have almost
overdone it. The Brazilian Minister is worn out. Every day he has a
dinner and an entertainment of some kind. The Emperor wants to see
everything and to know everybody. No institution is neglected, and all
the industries are looked into thoroughly. He goes to the Senate very
often and sits through the whole _séance_, wishing to understand
everything. He always tries to get hold of the people who can give him
the most information on any subject. Dom Pedro is most popular; one
sees him everywhere. At the ball at the English Minister's for their
Majesties, a gentleman presented to the Empress said, "_Je suis le
Sénateur qui parle frangais_." The Empress said to Johan, "I beg of you
to keep near me and talk to me so that the '_Senateur qui parle
français_' may be discouraged in his pursuit."