SISTERS, Washington is splendid just now. In New York the winter seems to have frozen up all the sap in the trees; not a bud on the limbs, not a tinge of green even on the willows, which are the trees of all others that give out their greenness first in the spring, and keep it latest in the fall. The trees that grow in the Park were brown and naked when we left the city.

Here the buds are a-swelling. The willow-trees are feathered over with leaves as soft and pale as the down on a gosling's breast. The beech-trees are covered over with soft, downy buds, that float on the air like full-grown caterpillars. Even the ragged old button-balls are shooting out leaves like sixty, and the young trees at the Smithsonian Institution, and the old ones below the Capitol of the nation, are bursting into greenness, while the grass seems to spring up fresh in your path as you walk along.

I declare it is a satisfaction to breathe the air which is kissing so many buds and flowers open; and I feel sort of guilty in doing it, when I know that the hollows around Sprucehill are choked up with dead leaves, if not with drifted snow, and it will be weeks yet before the maple-sap will take to running.

Nature is an institution that I hope I shall always be fond of and appreciate; but men and women are, after all, the noblest work of a beneficent Creator, and, from the delicate greenness and the soft airs of spring, I turn to them.

At two o'clock, yesterday, Mrs. President Grant had a grand reception at the White House. There hasn't been the ghost of one while Lent kept people down to a fish diet and morning meetings; but now, when the flowers of Easter-Sunday have all withered up, people begin to visit one another again, and this grand reception at the White House sort of opens the way and sets the fashions a-going once more.

Well, when the time came, Cousin E. E. and I were on hand. My pink silk dress was a little rumpled; but I shook it out and smoothed it down.

Cousin E. E. came out like a princess, in pale lilac-colored silk, with a whole snow-storm of lace crinkling over it. I declare, sisters, she looked fresh and sweet as the first lilac that blows! I was really proud to introduce her as my relation.

Cousin Dempster, having a claim, had to go to the Capitol; so E. E. and I went together—no gentlemen being absolutely necessary to a daytime reception, you know.

Well, we got out of the carriage as light and chipper as two birds. The driver held out his arm to keep our dresses from touching the wheel, as they streamed out after us; and I must say Vermont didn't suffer much as to ladies when we walked, with the slow dignity befitting persons with the eye of a State upon them, into the blue room, where Mrs. President Grant recepted. Well, I reckon the ladies were two to one against the men in that blue room, and it just looked lovely!

In the centre of the room stood the round, blue silk sofa, I have told you about, cut up into seats, and rising to a point in the middle, as if a silk funnel had been turned bottom-side up there. On the nozzle end of this point a great white flower-pot stood, a-running over with pink and white flowers, rising in great clusters one above another, till they brightened the whole room with a glow like early morning.

In front of this ring sofa the Mrs. President stood, looking just as smiling and sweet as a bank of roses. She had on a pink dress—no, not exactly what we call pink—but the color was soft and rosy as a cloud; snowflaky lace floated around her arms, and shaded her neck, which was plump, and white, and pretty as any girl's. She hadn't a sign of a flower, or anything on her head; but the soft, crinkly hair curled down to her forehead sweetly, and she seemed almost like a young girl. Everybody there said that they never had seen her look so handsome.

Well, there she stood, with a nice little lady on one side, helping her recept; and she did it sweetly, which was likely, she being the wife of Senator Morton, of Indiana, one of General Grant's biggest sort of guns. You have heard of Senator Morton, of course. He was a first-rate fellow during the war, when he just buckled to and raised a half a million of dollars on his own account for the Government, which was grand in itself, and accounts for the way the people in Indiana almost worship him.

Well, this lady was his wife. She looked young, and was dressed nicely—not just like a girl, but as if she had her husband's dignity to take care of, as well as her own good looks.

When we got to the door of this room, a gentleman came up, and, after making a bow, wanted us to tell our names. Cousin E. E. answered:

"Mrs. Dempster, of New York, and Miss Phoemie Frost, of Vermont."

He didn't seem to hear distinctly, but bent his head; and says he:

"Miss, did you say?"

I flushed rosy-red, and my eyelids drooped, for I was thinking of the Grand Duke.

"At present," says I.

Then the gentleman called out so loud that everybody could hear him:

"Mrs. Dempster—Miss Phoemie Frost."

I say, sisters, did you ever see a cage full of canary-birds flutter when a cat was looking through the wires? If you have, that can give you some idea of the buzz, hum, and rustle that was going on when we came up to the front of that round sofa, and gave Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Morton one of those sliding curtsies that set off a long-trailed dress so well.

Mrs. President Grant smiled sweetly, and held our her hand. I took that hand, I pressed it kindly—for I like that woman, whom poverty could not daunt, and sudden prosperity could not spoil. She's a good, motherly, nice woman, and my heart warmed to her as I took her hand in mine.

"Miss Frost, I am delighted to see you back in Washington," says she; "especially as the weather promises to be so pleasant."

"In some places we are apt to forget the weather, finding everything bright and pleasant without regard to it," says I.

When I spoke, the ladies around crowded up to listen, and looked at each other, smiling. One or two gentlemen came up, too, and when I bowed my head and walked on, giving common people a chance, one of them came up to me, and says he:

"Miss Frost, I think I have the pleasure of claiming you as a constituent," says he.

"A what?" says I.

"A constituent," says he, a-smiling softly.

"No," says I; "I don't remember being connected with any family of that name."

"But you are from Vermont?"

"I am proud to say 'Yes,'" says I, a-bowing my best, in honor of the old State.

"Then I have some claim on your acquaintance," says he. "My name is ----."

I reached out my hand. The fire flashed into my eyes. "Our United States Senator?" says I.

"I believe the people have given me that honor," says he.

"And honored themselves in the doing of it," says I.

I declare the man blushed, showing that high parts and extraordinary knowledge haven't made him conceited. But I hadn't said a word more than the truth. Vermont, of all the States of the Union, I do think, has done herself credit in her choice of Senators. There isn't in all the Senate a man that either of 'em cannot hold his own with, and I don't believe a rough or ungentlemanly word or action has ever been on record against either of them."

Before he could answer, a gentleman came and spoke low to him. Then he said, with a pleased look:

"This is Mr. ——, our other Senator, Miss Frost, who is, I am sure, as glad to welcome you here as I am."

I turned, and saw a tall, spare man, with the kindest, mildest, and most speaking face I ever set eyes on. His voice, too, when he spoke, was just benign. I gave him my hand. If I looked half as glad as I felt, he must have seen the warmest sort of a welcome in my eyes. I felt honored by an introduction to these men. Not because they happened to be my own Senators, but because they are men of heart and brains, capable of understanding what the people want, and both honest and strong enough to maintain what they understand. I write this without hesitation, knowing that there isn't a society or household in Vermont that will not agree with my way of thinking about them.

I don't think much of beauty in a man, but there's no dreadful harm in being good-looking, and in that respect our Senators pull about an even yoke with each other, and can't be overmatched by many States in the Union.

Well, we walked about the room, and had a good deal to say concerning the Old Mountain State, while the crowd went in and out down the east room, through the parlors, and into a great, long greenhouse, blazing out with flowers that grew so thick and smelled so sweet that I longed to stay there forever. But by the time I was ready to leave, the company had thinned off, and Cousin E. E. was waiting for me, a little out of sorts, for somehow I had lost her in the crowd; but she soon came to, and when I told her our Senators were going to call on us at the hotel, she chirked up. After all, Cousin E. E. is a good-hearted creature as ever lived.