Customs Prevailing Under the Lincoln, Grant, Hayes and Johnson Regimes.

Washington, February 6, 1880.

A residence at the national capital which spans the social rule from the days of queenly Harriet Lane to the present “first lady” at the White House affords an opportunity to note the different changes and peculiar innovations inaugurated by those whom fate or accident has called to wield the most powerful social scepter to be found upon the face of the globe. The public need not be told that the wife of our President has more real political power than Queen Victoria. True, she does not ride “in state,” drawn by eight cream-colored horses to open Parliament in person, but she waits carefully in an ante-room, and when Cabinet sessions are over seizes upon the head of any of the Departments, and then and there, like a Catharine or Elizabeth, makes known her command. Mrs. Abraham Lincoln inaugurated this excellent plan of doing business, because the exigencies of the war wholly occupied the mind and time of the President, and it became necessary for the “first lady” to look after the minor affairs of the country at this particular date. To prove exactly what the writer means, the case of the first Commissioner of Agriculture is called up. Several crafty men put their heads together and decided to call into being a “Bureau Of Agriculture.” Its different departments were to be “run,” each one by its particular head, independent of the other. It was to be a cluster of little kingdoms with a nominal head that should be empty of ideas, possessing only one requisite, that of managing Mrs. Lincoln and the appropriation of the public funds. These shrewd men made the good old Quaker Newton believe that he was among the greatest men of the universe, and while he was busy talking “spiritualism” to our “first lady,” escorting her with his old time chivalry and grace to the humble homes of the “mediums,” the head men of his department were scattering the worthless seeds broadcast over the country and making up those absurd reports which have brought ridicule on one of the most important branches of the public service down to the present time.

One of the most impressive and gorgeous receptions which the writer ever attended was given by the President and Mrs. Lincoln toward the last of this important term. The White House looked old, worn, and dingy, for this preceded the golden splendor of the Grant regime, but the brilliancy and magnificence was made up by the scarlet uniforms of the Marine Band with the gilt buttons and shoulderstraps of the brave defenders of the Union, who clustered about the capital in those historic days. The same struggling tide of humanity inundated the doors of the Executive Mansion, but at every turn a soldier was stationed to keep the crowd within the limit of Mrs. Lincoln’s law. Bayonets glittered over the daintily dressed heads and bare shoulders of the beautifully dressed ladies who declared that “mob law” was now inaugurated and “they should never visit the White House again, until a change.” But if the guests felt insulted at the presence of the bayonets what was their astonishment upon going into the “presence” to find a genuine crown on Mrs. Lincoln’s head. It was made of gilt, but looked precisely like those which are found on the heads of those distinguished women about whom we read in Agnes Strickland’s “Lives of the Queens of England.” The stones or gems were wanting, but the tinsel and gilt were all there. There was only time allowed to note that dear old Abraham looked down at the little “bobbing” woman at his side as he might at a frolicsome kitten, then a cold steel bayonet pressed the writer’s shoulder, while the military gruff voice added: “Pass on! pass on!” Afterwards it was ascertained that the “crown” was a harmless head-dress invented by a Philadelphia milliner, and that Mr. Lincoln ridiculed it so severely that its debut and withdrawal all took place the same night. It was Mrs. Lincoln who arranged that a division of society should be made after the guests have entered the White House. She had a door set apart for the Judges of the Supreme Court, Senators, Army and Navy, and foreign ministers. Members of Congress were herded with the common people, and actually forced through the same door. When Mrs. Julia Grant succeeded to the sceptre she realized that any distinction of this kind would make any administration unpopular; so she decided that all persons who entered the front door of the mansion were entitled to the same social privilege, and all doors should be alike to the guests. But to get over the difficulty and please royalty as well as democracy, Mrs. Grant discovered a side door, a sort of sneak entrance, where those who wished to avoid the crowd could pass in, take up their positions in the rear of the “throne,” and glare upon the struggling crowd of humanity as it passed by in single file.

With astonishment the writer learned by personal experience that Mrs. Hayes has revived Mrs. Lincoln’s law as to the aristocracy of the doors. Last Saturday for the first time at a public reception the writer entered the White House. Seeing an immense crowd struggling to go through one door, and kept back by the police, while at another in close proximity only now and then a few were permitted to pass, upon inquiry it was learned that a door was set apart for the privileged few. As the hour was about to expire and it was found that if we waited our “turn” with the crowd there would be no view of republican royalty that day, at least, it was learned that a fat man in another part of the mansion had the power to let even a common person slip through the aristocratic door, and by means of that bribery which the “minions of the press” know so well how to bestow, access was gained the “presence” and a picture was hung on the walls of memory, to last us as long as the soul floats down the great river of eternity. In the same room the writer had gazed at a wonderful kaleidoscope. Instead of bits of colored glass, it was men and women shifting about in the hands of Time, beginning with the rare beauty and unstudied grace of Harriet Lane as she stood by the side of President Buchanan, followed by Mrs. Lincoln and her tinsel crown, succeeded by the daughters of Andy Johnson, who said, “We are plain people from the mountains of Tennessee; too much, we fear, is expected of us.” Then Julia Dent Grant, who possesses the wonderful power of conciliating all the distracting elements which help unite social and political society.

It is a historic fact that the White House is modeled after the palace of the Duke of Leister. This accounts for the lofty walls so decorated and beautiful in frescoes that they resemble in intention, if not in genius, the noble creations wrought by Raphael and Michael Angelo. As the eye descends from the ceiling it rests upon the inlaid floor, but this is covered with carpeting so thick that the tramp of a regiment would be noiseless as phantom wings. Ebony furniture with richest satin upholstering, candelabra which reach from floor to mantel, holding waxen candles all ready to light, pictures on the walls, huge baskets of flowers, with decorated pots of greenery scattered everywhere. In a row, like school girls in a class, stood the wives and daughters of the Cabinet officials, with Mrs. President Hayes at the head. That it was strictly “official” was proved by the order observed in their positions. Just as the departments are ranked the women stood. State, then Treasury, War, Post Office, Interior and Attorney-General. Mrs. Hayes may safely be called a “handsome woman,” and there will none be found brave enough to dispute the palm. A brunette of the purest type, with large, brilliant eyes that convey the idea of surface but not depth—like a transparent window that opens into space—a rather low, Greek forehead, over which is banded that shining mass of satin hair. If the glossy coronet could be improved by wave or bangs; but the dark, rich brunette complexion forbids this modern fashion, and Mrs. Hayes is an artist in one or more ways. Clad in rich, ruby satin and silk combination, the corsage square and low, as Pompadour invented to call attention to her charms, no fault can be found with Mrs. Hayes, for her dress is as costly and showy as any worn by the celebrated beauties who flourished in the Cabinet during the Grant reign. Mrs. Hayes has invented a way to shake hands which ought to be known to the official world, as it saves this useful member from crushing annihilation. Never give your fingers to the crowd, and, instead of allowing your own hand to be seized, grasp the unruly enemy by the hand as far as the unfortunate thumb will permit you to go, one vigorous squeeze, and the torment is over. All this is done on the same principle of a collision at sea. It is the vessel that is hit that sustains all the harm.

A plain, dignified, matronly woman stood next to Mrs. Hayes. A lace cap—Quaker-like in its simplicity—rested on her snowy hair, a self-trimmed black silk dress (for Mrs. Evarts has not wholly discarded mourning for a beloved son) made one of the simplest toilettes to be found in the crowded throng. A whole head and shoulders above Mrs. Evarts stood Mrs. Secretary Sherman—one of those creations which can be compared to the lilies of the field in purity of style and stately grace—occupying the middle ground between blonde and brunette, her tawny hair, with its natural wave gathered in the low, Greek coil, without comb or ornament of any kind. A simple black dress, relieved at the throat with illusion ruchings, she seemed the personified embodiment of one of Tennyson’s poems:

Not a beautiful woman, but one created with so much harmony that the whole mortal statue would have to be pulled apart to remedy the defect. Mrs. Sherman would make a most admirable “first lady”—the very best of all the candidates now in the field—for in all the years of her husband’s official life at the capital her unostentatious charity, her kindly deeds to the worthy and deserving, have enshrined her as a patron saint in many a widow’s heart.

Imagine an English duchess who has inherited the rare beauty which descends with hereditary rank. Why are the English nobility the finest specimens of personal beauty? It is because its members leave nothing undone to perfect the physical proportions of the race. Of English origin, Mrs. Ramsey brings to the Cabinet any amount of that material which this administration lacked most. It has already been whispered by those who ought to know that Governor Ramsey was not called to the war office because of his bloody record, but it was made necessary by the deficiency in the social Cabinet, for while a large number of these society leaders were equal to handshaking, they were not quite strong enough to prevent masculine yawns between the courses at official dinners. The coming of Mrs. Ramsey into the field, even at this late day, if it does not win the battle, will at least prevent a complete rout. Mrs. Ramsey’s long residence at the capital, her superior intelligence and winning ways, is doing much to retard the criticism which ended with the retirement of her predecessor, for it is openly declared that Secretary McCrary was hocus-pocused into a “jedge” because “Mrs. Hayes could stand it no longer.”

Next to Mrs. Ramsey stood Mrs. Postmaster-General Key, who, in the language of the Emperor Napoleon, would be pronounced the greatest woman, as he told Madame de Stael “it is she who has the largest number of children.” And yet Mrs. Key is robbed of her laurels, for while she has only ten olive branches, Mrs. Evarts has eleven, or did have when the Hon. William M. Evarts became Secretary of State. Mrs. Key is large and substantial-looking, without any particular genius in the style of dress, as her trying gown of red waist and yellow sleeves sufficiently proved. It is only youth and beauty that can wear theatrical costumes with becoming effect, but when a middle-aged woman can be found to take the risk her courage should be applauded and her wounds artistically dressed.

Just beyond Mrs. Key stood Miss Agatha Schurz, the eldest daughter of the Secretary of the Interior, rather more than pleasing in form and feature, but entirely destitute of that indescribable something which makes her father one of the historical characters of his time. The youthful girl who stood by the side of Miss Schurz might have been the niece of Attorney-General Devens, but as there is no proof on this point the subject is omitted.

It was Mrs. Grant who first invited other ladies to receive with her, and in those primitive days it was often the wives of the army officers. Mrs. General Babcock was almost always at her side. Mrs. Grant was very “near-sighted,” and Mrs. Babcock had the faculty of relieving any embarrassment which might come from this misfortune. Ladies whose husbands had never been in public life, except in the different professions, were seen by the side of Mrs. Grant or artistically grouped a little way off. The receptions of Mrs. Grant reminded the beholder of the picture of “Eugenie and her maids in waiting.” True, Mrs. Grant did not possess the beauty of the charming Spaniard, but her “suite” would compare favorably in dignity, beauty, and grace with the same number of women found near any throne in Europe. Mrs. Grant grouped her assistants as exquisite flowers of different color and perfume are gathered in a bouquet, making a tableau worth spreading on canvas. Mrs. Hayes stretches a straight line, that reminds one of a Bible class in a Methodist meeting, or would if it were not for the Pompadour corsage and canary-colored sleeves, and yet all this is permissible in the strictly fashionable churches of the day.

Is “society” improving at the capital? Alas, no! There are no social centres where gifted men and accomplished women meet to exchange original ideas. A few literary societies flourish, where a few friends gather to listen to some worn-out “theme” and bitterly complain of being “bored” afterwards. The brilliant men like Webster, Clay and Calhoun, Ben Wade and Thad Stevens have no genuine successors. Why? Because politics takes the place of statesmanship, and our public men have to work so hard to keep their heads above the muddy pool there is no time to gather and disseminate the rich fruit of thought, consequently there is a short crop and the inevitable famine.

Olivia.