Reception of the Imperial Embassy of Japan by President Grant.

Washington, March 4, 1872.

Another interesting ceremony has taken place which marks an epoch in 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.