Proper Procedure for Members of the Select Circle of Society.

Washington, March 18, 1871.

In a social way the doors of the White House have closed for the season. The beginning of Lent has heretofore marked the abrupt decline of the star of Fashion, but this year the days of folly have been lengthened, in consequence of the necessity of extending hospitalities to the British part of the joint high commission. Recent receptions may be compared to autumnal flowers trying to bloom after the coming of frost. The carpets at the Executive Mansion begin to show the result of the wear and tear of a winter’s campaign, and a dingy pall seems to wrap all the other surroundings. Mrs. Grant looks weary and worn, and, though her manner is kind and engaging as ever, it is plain to see that she will be glad when this universal handshaking is over. One becomes thoroughly exhausted in vain attempt to feel satisfied with the foam and froth of Washington’s fashionable dissipations. The same envy, heart burnings and petty jealousies exist here as in monarchical courts. There may be a small quantity of genuine comfort in a modern dinner party at the capital, and yet there is room for grave doubts. Suppose you are invited to a dinner at the White House; you must remember that every rule and regulation is prescribed. When you receive your invitation you know exactly what chair you will occupy at the table. Soon after your arrival you will receive a card which will inform you which “lady” you are ordered to take to dinner. This woman sits by your side. You are obliged to be civil whether you are inclined to be or not. You are expected to say solid, substantial things after the soup. You are expected to avoid everything weak and watery after the fish. Sly and delicate humor must be sandwiched between every course. Suppose this woman, though good enough in her way, is exactly the one you would flee from if the wind was fair, and the coast clear? There are women in Washington of rare conversational powers; queenly in manners, and kind of heart; but they are scarce, and the number can be counted without using any number beyond the digits.

There is to be a fashionable crush or reception at the Cabinet minister’s home. In order to keep it within the bounds of mathematics cards of invitation have been issued. Is it possible that a Cabinet minister means to pack his house so densely? Every available inch of standing room is occupied. The stairs resemble seats in an amphitheatre, with its tier of heads, one rising above another. The lights in the showy chandeliers burn with that dim blue flame sometimes noticed in mines down deep in the earth. There is a faint, deathly odor of undying perfumes. The music sounds as though it were afar off in the heavy atmosphere. If the mansion were a prison, and the inmates therein wretches of high and low degree, could the imagination picture a more horrible situation? But let it be remembered that this medley is made up of silk, satin, lace and jewels, snowy shoulders and distinguished men. Everybody is polite and refined; wit sparkles, women laugh, and if one must be pressed to atoms, no more charming death could be devised. Did the Cabinet dame invite all these people to her hospitable mansion? Nay! Never! She scattered abroad a suitable number of invitations. Some of the people who received these cards took the liberty to ask a friend, or perhaps more; and thus it will readily be seen that if many of the invited guests take such liberties the company is doubled, and sometimes quadrupled by the license usurped by what is called “fashionable society in Washington.” The writer has known of an instance where a member of Congress and his wife received cards for a Cabinet reception. They attended, accompanied by nine guests by their own invitation. The time will come when such entertainments must be done away with. None but men of immense wealth can accept such positions unless they have the fearlessness to emulate the simple life of George S. Boutwell. And yet how can an honorable, high-minded man accept legions of civilities and never have anything to offer in return?

The social fabric of Washington is reared upon the foundation prepared for it by George and Martha Washington. It was good and excellent for those days, when the wise and prudent Martha, and the wives of the Cabinet ministers, could return the visits of their friends in a single day. More than three-quarters of a century have gone, and society after that style is ready for the sickle. Last winter the wives of the Cabinet ministers met in solemn council and decided that visits would not be returned for the reason that the sun and moon could not be made to stand still, and the days were not long enough for the hundreds of demands made upon them. The most beautiful, gifted, and accomplished woman in Washington shortened her days in order to meet the insane, exorbitant demands made upon her by the tyrant Fashion. Mrs. Belknap once said to the writer: “It would not matter so much if I omit visiting a Senator’s wife, but it would pain me exceedingly if any person thought they were neglected on account of their obscurity. If I get well, this matter must be explained, and I know the people will understand it.”

Heretofore the ladies who move in what is called Washington society, with the exception of Mrs. Grant, have been expected to return their calls. For the first time in social history, the Cabinet dames, who are a law unto themselves, have decided otherwise. In a little time the wives of the Senators will enact the same law, for they are already beginning to feel their chains, and some of the boldest assert that life is too solemn and earnest to be wasted in a giddy whirlpool of dissipation.

Among the accomplished women no longer seen upon the topmost wave of society may be mentioned Mrs. General Williams, better known as Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas, and the elegant wife of Senator Sprague. Both have known what it is to reign as “Queen of Beauty and Fashion,” and both have retired before the noon of life to the substantial comforts and enduring peace to be found only in the smooth waters of domestic life.

The most perfect entertainments of the winter have been given at the handsome mansion of Senator Chandler. A card reception at a Senator’s residence partakes more of the nature of a private party, consequently painfully crowded rooms are avoided. For this reason the finest toilettes of the winter are brought out, because they can be worn without danger of serious damage. The costliest dresses of the winter have been sported by Mrs. John Morrissey and Mrs. Fernando Wood. Mrs. Morrissey wore a black thread-lace dress, over heavy white moire, with solitaire diamonds only for ornament, at the Corcoran ball. Mrs. Morrissey has never been seen in general society in Washington. A party given by the Chinese embassy, and Mr. Corcoran’s entertainment planned to complete the Washington monument, as well as to make the beau-monde merry and glad, are the only social places known to the writer where the Hon. John Morrissey and his pretty, unobtrusive wife have been seen.

The rarest dress noticed this winter has been worn by Mrs. Fernando Wood. Take up your finest collar, my lady reader—“old point,” by the way. Now imagine a whole dress, with any quantity of ferns and palms running over it—waist, sleeves, skirt, all complete—with pink silk underneath. Could anything more exquisite in the shape of a dress be conceived? Stop a moment. Let us see! It certainly bears inspection. Let us move away and examine it as one would a picture. We are writing for a newspaper, and the truth must be told. It looks at this distance as if Mrs. Wood had rolled herself up regardless of expense in one of her own parlor window-curtains.

It is true that silk is worth its weight in silver the world over. We might as well talk of cheap silver as cheap silk. When we buy a heavy dress for a small sum of money we are paying for dye-stuff, and the dye-stuff we buy very soon destroys the silk. But costly as the article is with which we love to decorate ourselves, it is within the reach of every industrious single woman in the country. It is worn as every-day apparel by the fashionable women of Washington. When a dress becomes too well known, or has lost its freshness, it is taken for every-day wear. This is a great mistake for more than one reason. By making silk so common it detracts from its elegance and beauty. The only difference between a woman in full dress and when she is not—in the first instance she wears a clean garment, and in the latter, one that has seen the vicissitudes of life. Oh! blessed are the charms of the laundry. Better all cotton than all silk.

Because silk is so common, fashion has decided that the superior excellence or elegance of a woman’s wardrobe must consist in her rare and costly laces. But against this extravagant innovation good taste has set her face. A moderate amount of lace adds additional charms to a handsome dress, but when we come to make the entire garment of the material the effect is lost. Queen Augusta, of Germany, who ranks next to Eugenie in matters pertaining to the toilet, prefers tulle dresses to wear over her silks and satins. Sometimes these are ornamented with field grasses, at least this was the case in her younger years. In latter days her tulle garments are trimmed with pearls. The most exquisite taste delights in simplicity. The more barbarous a nation the more it revels in gorgeous and costly ornament; but when every American woman lays her earrings aside forever the tranquillity and peace of the Republic is assured.

Olivia.