The Secretary of the Navy Awarded the Palm for Entertaining.

Washington, March 22, 1870.

Humiliating as the task may be, it must be acknowledged that in every race undertaken by the two sexes at the same time, for reasons which never can be explained, the men will manage to come out ahead in the exquisite art of millinery and dressmaking, where it would seem natural that woman’s nimble fingers and dainty tastes should rival the work of the fairies; yet stubborn facts bring us face to face with Monsieur Worth, the masculine milliner of Paris, who has stepped on to the throne, and by superiority of judgment has robbed woman of her rightful heritage. “Ah!” said an American of rare taste, just returned from abroad, “you should have seen the dress prepared by this man for the Queen of Prussia. It was made of the simplest material, being composed of grass and lace, but the lace was filmy tulle, almost as ethereal as the moonbeams, and the grass was soft and velvety, such as may be supposed to adorn the river banks in Paradise. Over this faultless combination was flung a shower of seed pearls.” From whence did this man Worth get the pattern? He went to Nature’s glorious book, just as all Earth’s children must when they seek inspiration. Dear reader, have you seen in the early morning a handkerchief of cobweb glisten with pearly dew spread out on the grass? Monsieur Worth has noticed this fairy work, and the hint enabled him to fashion a queen’s dress which was pronounced by competent judges to be the most faultless ever worn by royalty. Dresses imported from Paris by the score may be seen in Washington society; but these costumes have not received the last touches of grace from the hands of the great masculine dressmaker. Monsieur Worth has all the orders he can fill for such women as Eugenie, Clothilde, the Queens of Prussia, Belgium, and others, without puzzling his dainty brains for the simple daughter of a Republic, who may be somebody to-day but nobody to-morrow.

This letter is written, in all humility and sorrow, to prove that the great social success of the season has been awarded (must the truth be told?) to a man, and the citizen is known to the world as the Secretary of the United States Navy. Whilst the President of the Republic has tickled society with his levees, and the married men of the Cabinet have held their receptions, Secretary Robeson, the jolly bachelor tar, has given a tea-party, and such a one as would make the Widow Bedott clap her hands with joy. No other woman in Washington in fashionable society would have dared ape the custom of other days; but the gallant Secretary, after donning a mental armor as invulnerable as ironclad, has sailed into the face of public opinion and won a victory as complete as McClellan’s capture of the wooden guns.

It will be remembered that at the tea parties given in the old times by the Widow Bedott the dear old snuff-taking stocking knitters assembled of an afternoon and talked their honest gossip by the light of the patient sun. But owing to the hard day’s work which has to be performed by the Secretary of the Navy the company was not assembled until long after candle-light; but as candles are not as plentiful as they used to be in the good old days of our grandmothers,—a modern substitute was found to light the mansion, by the flame of which every wrinkle was visible on the faces of his guests.

Thirty persons attended the tea party, but the most astonishing feature consisted in the fact that nearly one-half of the company were men. It is true the Secretary is single and these men were possibly invited for protection sake; but what hindered him from stationing a squad of marines outside of his modest home, within easy call, in case superior strength was needed? There is not a house in Washington fitted up so snugly and cosily as the home of the bachelor Secretary. Everything about it is suggestive of every-day comfort. Instead of heavy silken drapery at the windows, chintz, modest chintz, pure enough to smile on the dreams of a bachelor, shuts out the sun’s too obtrusive rays. Chintz covers the luxurious sofas and twines around the broad-shouldered, deep-chested chairs. All these happy surroundings had much to do with the jolly comfort of the guests of the tea party. Two hours were spent dallying with music before the tea-room was disclosed. At the expiration of that time a pair of folding doors were opened as if by magic, and in the offing might have been seen a tea-table such as would have brought tears of envy to Mrs. Potiphar’s eyes. It has been proved that the moon is made of green cheese, and Secretary Robeson had a piece of it on his tea-table. Then there were muffins, crisp as a frosty morning, and a pot of tea for which a war vessel had been dispatched with sealed orders, and the captain, under threats of dismissal, was commanded to return within a given space of time, bringing from Japan the exact quantity of tea requisite for the occasion. It was also rumored, but the writer cannot vouch for the facts, that the vessel brought over a Japanese man to brew the tea, and, after the awful thing was done, the miserable Jap committed hari-kari.

Besides the pot of tea the table groaned under a huge weight of dainties too numerous to mention. Terrapins, quails, oysters, salmon, honey sweet as that of the bees of Hybla, chickens broiled in the same style as they are always cooked in Mrs. Southworth’s novels, confectionery, and cream such as exudes from the Sacred Cow. But this table was not to be approached except by those anointed for the purpose. In the room were sprinkled around tables of all sorts and sizes, from the dining cover, capable of supplying six to eight persons, to the modest light stand, which had been hastily abstracted from a chamber. The guests could seat themselves in any manner they chose, provided they kept away from the fountain of supply. At one of the little tables might have been seen a youthful pair in the highest attitude of human enjoyment; there was just room enough for themselves, and no more. It can safely be said that the bachelor Secretary did more in the match-making line that night than all the manoeuvring mammas at the capital in the whole season. Some of the tables accommodated four persons; others more or less. In the meantime waiters performed their duty with the regularity of American watches.

But if there is one person more than another at the capital that deserves a national reputation it is the cook belonging to the naval establishment of the United States. The sex of the person cannot be ascertained, but this is of no mortal consequence so long as men and women are henceforth to stand on the same platform. Women have served on the jury in Wyoming, which proves that the reputation of a person has nothing to do with the sex. Secretary Robeson’s cook eclipses the President’s Italian “Melah,” and Professor Blot is requested to keep away from Washington if he has any regard for his well earned laurels. Two festive hours were spent at Secretary Robeson’s tea-table. Conversation rolled as easily as a clean, smooth-bottomed war vessel with a flowing sail and a rolling sea. When the guests found themselves unable to hold any more tea they reluctantly wended their way back to the neglected parlors, where a band of music had been stationed to compose their sensibilities. It must not be omitted that the wine and punch freely mingled with the tea, but this must be looked upon as a modern improvement attached to a harmless old fashion. Dancing and the german completed the grand social success of the season, and history will baptize it “A naval tea-party.”

Olivia.