Entering Upon the Duties of the Executive.

Washington, March 5, 1869.

On the 4th of March the goddess of day arose with bedraggled garments and watery eyes; but as the sun advanced to her meridian the clouds trembled and dissolved in mid air, and the atmosphere grew balmy as an infant’s breath, and at high noon all nature seemed decked in holiday mood to crown the eighteenth President of the United States.

A magic card was the “open sesame” to the Capitol, and once inside, the beholder was dazzled with a picture as gorgeous as anything ever beheld in the far-famed halls of the Montezumas. Here were seen the great, strong arms of the Government, as represented by both branches of Congress, the Army and the Navy, and the Supreme Court. The foreign ministers in their gay court dresses, bespangled with decorations and shimmering with gold lace, gave the last finishing touch of brilliancy to the scene upon the floor. The diplomatic gallery was filled with ladies through whose veins coursed the bluest blood of Europe, though in personal attractions they were equalled and in some cases totally eclipsed by the grace and beauty of the American queens around them. Never has the Senate been filled with a more aristocratic assembly, and yet an occasional pretty Treasury girl’s face peeped out, proving some great man’s exquisite taste, as well as that exclusiveness was not carried so far as to add the last feather to the camel’s back.

One of the front seats had been reserved for the use of Mrs. Grant and the friends who might be with her, but she did not take possession of it, and it remained unoccupied during the entire ceremonies. The seat retained for Mrs. Colfax and her friends was filled by that lady and her relatives, while every available square inch of the room in the vast gallery reflected some root, branch, or favorite of the men in power to-day who represent the leading Departments of the Government.

At precisely the hour of noon the buzz of whispered conversation was hushed, and in came the “coming man,” the cynosure of all eyes, Ulysses S. Grant, who was about to receive a new honor—the highest, the holiest, within the gift of a sovereign people. He was plainly attired in citizen’s dress, nothing noticeable but his yellow gloves. Many of the audience would have said: “He seems as modest, diffident, and shy as ever.” Others would have seen a man of power, reticent, self-possessed, and as far removed from his near surroundings as the first Napoleon upon the eve of battle. He took his seat in front of the Vice-President’s desk, where he sat as immovable as though encased in armor, while the President pro tempore administered the oath of office to Schuyler Colfax, and pronounced a requiem by simply saying, “the Fortieth Congress is no more.” In clear, distinct tones Mr. Colfax took the oath of office, and immediately entered upon his duties as Vice-President of the United States.

At the east front of the Capitol a different scene was enacting. At a proper distance from the platform stood the rank and file of the people, white, black, and intervening all shades, promiscuously mixed, a fair representation of the genuine glory of the Republic. For long, long hours the multitude had stood upon the cold, wet earth, waiting for a passing glimpse of the last closing scene; but their weary eyes were not to be feasted with dainty gold-laced foreign ministers and the great dignitaries of the land. It is true the Senate chamber could not hold the masses, but the national square contains room enough for all, and is it not time these old relics of another age were packed in the dust, like so many small clothes outgrown by the country? It is the royal people who are the sovereigns, and who has the right at any time to push them from their own marble temples with glittering bayonets? Soldiers are machinery to be used in time of war, and not engines of power in days of peace to thrust the cold steel into the breasts of loyal citizens.

No accident marred the festivities of the day. The long procession in its picturesqueness more than surpassed the public expectation. The soldiers were there, clean and trusty as their own polished weapons, and among them might have been seen the “black boys in blue.” The gallant firemen were out in gala dress, their engines gaudily decked in holiday attire, and all the different organizations in and out of the city seemed to vie with each other which should lend the most glory to the passing hour.

Just as the choicest viands are served for dessert, it was meant that the inaugural reception should eclipse all its predecessors as well as shine by itself after the manner of the mighty Kohinoor in the crown jewels of England. The place selected for this festival seemed most appropriate.

In the structure known as the Treasury building were gathered thousands of both sexes and the brilliant scene carried the spectator back to the middle ages. It was like some haughty chief in his feudal castle, summoning together the proud nobility of the land. Nowhere could be seen the simplicity of a republic. Only the crowns were wanting; everything else was there.

Mrs. Grant stood by the side of the new President in faultless dress of white satin and point lace, with pearl and diamond ornaments, and just beyond her stood the Vice-President and Mrs. Colfax, unassuming as a violet, in pink satin and illusion. Her ornaments were also pearls.

The various committees had endeavored to make preparations for every emergency except the most important one; they had made no calculation for numbers. When it was too late to remedy the error, the members of the committee discovered they had sold too many tickets; but this must have leaked out beforehand, for very few leading men were accompanied by their wives. In many cases they were seen with daughters or other young people clinging to their arms, whose youth would seem a shield against the fearful annoyance of the crowd. Toward midnight the jam culminated. The interesting spectacle might have been seen of two thousand people trying to get through a single door at the same instant into the supper room. It was the camel attempting once more to go through the needle’s eye. A short time after this, there was a grand division of the guests, composed of two parties—those who had fared sumptuously and those who had been used like Mother Hubbard’s darling:

Three to one could sing the old faithful nursery song. A supper had been set aside in another part of the building for the President, Vice-President and their friends, and rumor said that it was a most superb affair; but this only aggravated the famished ones who had paid their money for the substance and when about to grasp it had caught only an empty bubble with “Inaugural Ball” stamped on the rainbow-tinted, soapy, globular nothing.

The breaking up of the inaugural reception baffles description. The tearing up of the icebergs in the Arctic seas of a spring morning might seem more solemn, but alas! alas! not half so enthusiastic and interesting. The hats and coats of the gentlemen had been numbered, and then all thrown pell-mell together. As a matter of course when a check was presented, the hunt commenced. For hours men waited, and then were obliged to go home without hats or coats. In the meantime, the ladies, weary of waiting, sunk down in graceful attitudes on the carpeted floor, or else called their carriages and took their departure alone, leaving their escorts to follow as soon as the hat-and-coat trouble found solution.

When the sun arose on the 5th of March, his rays gilded eight hundred frantic men, who still stood doggedly at their posts, calling in vain for their hats and coats; but as this letter has nothing to do with anything but the 4th of March, the kaleidoscope is finished with the dawn of a new day.

Olivia.