Gathers a Number of the Beaux and Belles.

Washington, December 31, 1876.

Within the space of three brief years society at the capital has entirely changed in tone and character. The great drawing-rooms that were thrown open to receive guests from all parts of the civilized world are now closed forever, whilst a new set of people are pressing forward to blaze in the social sky as stars of the first magnitude. Glancing at the banquet halls, deserted, one sees with astonishment the path cut by the reaper Death. It requires no stretch of the imagination to call to mind the grand old home of the “West End” so long occupied by Admiral and Mrs. Powell (the latter lately deceased), where all that was most cultivated and refined in what is known as “Washington society” gathered to do honor to this late American queen. Mrs. Powell was the peer of Dolly Madison, the bosom friend of Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Tyler, and her remarkable vivacity and piquant wit lost none of its charm in advancing years. This made her old age just as attractive to youth as to people in the full bloom of life. So it may be truthfully said that this society belle never saw her scepter waning. It is true that only the ladies connected with the Army and Navy have the opportunity to officially perpetuate their reign. Our Republican court is so constructed that no matter how much a woman’s success may prove to be, like her husband, she must “step down and out,” sacrificed on the guillotine of “rotation in office.”

The closing of the Steele mansion, which became for a great many years the “headquarters” of elegant hospitality, was caused by the death of both Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Steele within ten days of each other.

Mrs. Wise, the daughter of Edward Everett, made her home most attractive to the elite of the capital, for, in addition to inheriting to a large degree much of the talent enjoyed by her gifted father, a long residence abroad had given her the advantage of every social acquirement. But she, too, has joined the “innumerable throng.”

Capt. Carlisle Patterson, late head of the Coast Survey, was a gentleman whose hospitality was boundless, so much so that his fortune at his death was found to have melted away. But whilst he lived what a grand good time he had.

The Myer mansion, for so many years occupied by the English legation, but purchased by the late head of the Signal Bureau, was closed by the last summons of its master. During his life this fairy dwelling, with its works of art, was thrown open and enjoyed by those who feel they “ne’er shall look upon its like again.” No doubt finer houses will be built, and the Bonanza kings will import the ancient ruins of Greece and Rome, but every year our receptions are growing colder, and our “drawing rooms” resemble those held in the monarchical palaces of the Old World.

Coming back to the closed habitations, the homes of Justices Hunt and Swayne pass before the mind’s eye—the first closed by affliction, the latter by death. And long will linger in the minds of our old residents the unostentatious hospitality of the late George W. Riggs, banker, and whose “business house” was felt to be the safest in Washington, though avaricious. Mr. Riggs was known to be clean-handed, and he inspired the public to believe that his bank was as solid as the foundation of the earth.

And who will forget the kingly hospitality of our late Mayor Wallach, so superbly assisted by his accomplished wife? The death of the ex-mayor, followed so soon by the death of Mrs. Wallach’s father, closes this mansion indefinitely.

Coming to the houses occupied by what is termed in Washington “official society,” deserted within the time specified, memory recalls the costly dwelling occupied and owned by the late Senator Chandler. “Old Zach,” as he was familiarly called, had no taste for society proper, but he had great respect for his wife’s feelings, and when she gave the order that he should stand in the proper place with his huge hands encased in white kid gloves and welcome the coming guest it was done with the same vim and audacity with which he would conduct a campaign. One grasp of his solid palm would put the visitor at ease, if the ardor could be made to last through the cooling process of passing the gauntlet of the handsome hostess. Mrs. Chandler conducted society matters on the Victoria plan, everything perfect, superb and grand, but the thermometers always indicated the freezing point, unless “dear old Zach” was around to warm matters up and infuse a little life and spirit.

Senator Carpenter, with all his faults—the mould was broken when he went away—on the floor of the Senate could be a statesman, but in society he had all the rollicking abandon of a school boy. Who can forget the charming Carpenter home, the little spinning-wheel in the parlor, at which sat the sole daughter of the house, with the flax slipping through her slender fingers? Ah, pretty tableaux! Gone, never to return!

Nailed to the stony turret of the celebrated Shepherd mansion floats the yellow flag of the Orient. Within its rocky battlements may be found that which represents in the highest sense Imperial China. The solid walls around this legation must remind the occupants of the famous one of their native country. It is very painful to those who have basked in the prodigality of the Shepherd hospitality to find them gone, and the magnificence usurped by Eastern pagans—one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of furniture, carpets and “silken hangings.” It would take the space of a column to describe this modern dwelling from cellar to turret, and leave out the terrapin, white grasses and champagne. “Boss Shepherd,” rather Alexander the Second, just now is in eclipse. We can afford to wait until “Batipolas” has been well stirred up, then the Shepherd will return to his flock, who, it is said, were once well sheared. But in the meantime our wool will grow, and if we must have a king give us one of the Shepherd kind.

From one of the most elegant and superbly furnished Washington homes the “Bryans” departed, to form new associations in far-off Colorado. At the Bryan fireside used to gather the most distinguished people known in science, literature and art. The only daughter of the house is one of Healy’s most promising pupils, and it is safe to say that Miss Bryan is the finest portrait painter of either sex of her own age in this country. This compliment is not paid her by the writer, who is unable to judge upon so important a point, but it is the decision of men who have studied art, both at home and abroad. The only son, a very young man, is already a successful lawyer, and serving his adopted State in her legislature. These instances are given to show that children reared at the capital amidst the surroundings of the most luxurious wealth need not necessarily be spoiled.

The closing of the “Kilbourne mansion” and the departure of the wife and two beautiful daughters to foreign lands, which happened in the interim, like the flitting of the Bryans, created a loss which has by no means been repaired. “The Kilbournes” have returned, but not to the classic home which grew stone by stone under the supervising eye of its late artistic mistress. Beneath its hospitable roof, evening after evening, were gathered the elite of the foreign legations, with members of the Army and Navy and others most distinguished in the world of literature and art. A landscape painter of no mean ability, and a writer such as would secure her a position on any of our leading newspapers, Mrs. Kilbourne made her elegant home the most attractive to journalists beyond any other at the national capital.

Whilst death has been so busy with our own people, the diplomatic circle has not been spared. Count Lita, the “society man” of the French legation, has passed away, and his place remains vacant. Count Lita owed his position to the relations which his sister-in-law sustains to the present King of Italy, the husband of the beautiful Queen Margharita. Instead of keeping quiet upon such a delicate point, it was a matter of great pride with the late count. It seems the sister-in-law looks after what might otherwise be an obscure and impoverished family. Whenever the newspaper correspondents have touched upon the theme “foreign legations,” we are reprimanded by the officials of the State Department and given to understand that these people are not a part of our body politic, but is that a reason why they should be permitted to be social slivers in our flesh? The late Russian minister, who got into debt at Newport, and then yelled for the Russian flag to protect him from his milk woman and the butter man, came to Washington and Mrs. Russian Minister asked why she was so neglected socially by American women. She was told that American ladies would not call upon the “lady of the White House” if it was public belief that she was living with the President without the marriage ceremony being performed. Mrs. Minister straightened up, saying, “I am illegitimate, my husband is illegitimate, our children are illegitimate. Now, what are you Americans going to do about it? Is it any of your business?” She was informed that American women would not accept the situation socially if the Czar should issue a ukase, so she gathered up her “illegitimates” and has disappeared, whilst the imperial dominion of the Czar at Washington is unbroken by woman’s voice, except the little pipers of the small attachÉs.

The late home of the Freyres, the Peruvian minister, was noted for its superb hospitality. The family was composed of SeÑor and SeÑorita Freyre and the four daughters; but it took eight cooks to provide for their wonderful table. Whilst six would be hard at work in the kitchen the other two would be scouring the markets of the capital to secure terrapin, reed-birds, canvasback and all other dainties for which this famous locality is noted. As a natural consequence, they grew so enormous in size that only two could occupy a carriage at a time, so it took three carriages, or a funeral procession, to land the family in church, and they were all such devoted Catholics that no religious rites were omitted. The very baby of the family weighed over three hundred pounds. But it happened, as it always will, that too many reed-birds brought this family to grief. Sickness seized the father and eldest daughter and both died within a very short time of each other. Whilst the father lay on his death-bed, he sent for an American lawyer who had once been a Cabinet minister of General Grant, to help him make his will. After devising ample fortunes to his wife and the four daughters, he began: “Five thousand Spanish dollars to my son Don Manuel;” five thousand to another, giving the name; five thousand to another, until eleven sons and daughters had been remembered. He then brought this astounding will to a close by saying, “These are not the children by my wife, but my children, by my God.” One of our citizens would probably have died under the same circumstances and bravely kept his lips closed to the last. So let us honor the sincerity and courage of the man. His widow has lost her vast fortune by the late turmoil in Peru and is now living very quietly in Florence, Italy.

Our last diplomatic scandal relates to Victoria’s new protÉgÉ, the English “envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary,” the Hon. Lionel Sackville-West. If he were not Victoria’s “Knight of the Garter,” it would not be so sad. Now it appears that when Lionel went to Spain as a young attachÉ he became desperately enamored with a ballet-dancer. “He loved not wisely, but too well.” The proud Sackville-Wests would have none of it. They declare to this day that Lionel is a bachelor Simon pure, and so he is inscribed on the awful book of the peerage. It is not understood whether the ballet-dancer has put on angel plumage, but it is known that she left a brood of little chick Sackville-Wests, which the Honorable Lionel is willing to gather under his wings as a hen doth her chickens. His eldest daughter is with him—his acknowledged child—and here lies all the trouble. If he would only ignore her, or wait, as the Peruvian minister did, till he hears the toot of the last trump, Victoria and “Washington society” would wink at his little “escapades.” But the British minister shows that he has a will of his own and a mind of his own, with the Prince of Wales to stand between him and his virtuous sovereign. The capital is becoming alive with men who manage to elude the snares of matrimony, whilst the foreign legations—words fail not because the source is exhausted, but newspaper articles must come to an end.

Olivia.