prolong the vista. "Mexico," in enormous letters formed by gas-jets,
stood over the entrances. And as for the supper, it was in a room out
of all proportion to the gathering! There was no question of getting
into it; only prize-fighters and professional athletes could elbow
their way through the crowd. The waiters had long since disappeared,
frightened at their formidable task. The chairs intended for the guests
were utilized as tables on which to put unfinished plates of food and
half-empty glasses. Everything that was not spilled on the floor was
spilled on the table. Such things as bonbons, cakes, etc., that could
be stowed away in pockets, vanished like magic. Gentlemen (?) broke the
champagne-bottles by knocking them on the table, sending the contents
flying across the room. The lady guests drew out the silver skewers
which ornamented the _plats montées_ and stuck them in their hair as
mementoes of this memorable evening.


WASHINGTON, 1876.

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