Chapter 23
DESCRIPTION OF THE GORGEOUS FeTE AT THE WHITE HOUSE, INCLUDING THE OBSERVATIONS OF CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN: WITH SOME NOTE OF THE TOILETTES, CONFECTIONS, AND PUNCH.
WAs.h.i.+NGTON, D.C., February 7th, 1862.
Notwithstanding your general ignorance of Natural History, my boy, you may be aware that when the eagle is wounded by the huntsman, instead of seeking some thick-set tree or dismal swamp, there to die like a common bird, he soars straight upward in the full eye of the sun, and bathes in all the glories of noonday, while his eyes grow dull with agony, and his talons are stiffening in death; nor does he fall from the dazzling empyrean until the last stroke of fate hurls him downward like a thunderbolt.
Our Union, my boy--our Land of the Eagle--is stricken sorely, and perhaps to death; but like the proud bird of Jove, it disdains to grow morbid in its agonies; and the occasional sighs of its patient struggling millions, are lost in sounds of death-defying revelry at the dauntless capital.
All the best-looking uniforms in the army were invited to Mrs.
Lincoln's ball at the White House on Wednesday, and of course I was favored, together with the general of the Mackerel Brigade, and Captain Villiam Brown, of Accomac. My ticket, my boy, was as aristocractic as a rooster's tail at sunrise:
[Ill.u.s.tration:
(CUTLETS.) _E pluri bust Union._ (OYSTERS.)
ORPHEUS C. KERR,
Pleasure of your Company at the White House,
(R.S.V.P.) WEDNESDAY, Feb. 5th, 1862.
8 o'clock, P.M.
(HALF MOURNING FOR PRINCE ALBERT.)
NO SMOKING ALOUD.)]
At an early hour on the evening of the _fete_, the general of the Mackerel Brigade came to my room in a perfect perspiration of bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and white kids, and I asked him what "no smoking aloud" meant.
"Why," says he, putting his wig straight and licking a stray drop of brandy from one of his gloves, "it means that if you try to 'smoke' any of the generals at the ball as to the plan of the campaign, you mustn't do it 'aloud.' Thunder!" says the general, in a fine glow of enthusiasm, "the only plan of the campaign that I know anything about, is the rata-plan."
Satisfied with the general's explanation, I proceeded with my toilet, and presently beamed upon him in such a resplendent conglomeration of ruffles, bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, epaulettes and Hungarian pomade, that he said I reminded him of a comet just come out of a feather-bed, with its tail done up in papers.
"My Magnus Apollo," says he, "the way you bear that white cravat shows you to be of rich but genteel parentage. Any man," says he, "who can wear a white cravat without looking like a coachman, may pa.s.s for a gentleman-born. Two-thirds of the clergymen who wear it look like footmen in their grave-clothes."
We then took a hack to the White House, my boy, and on arriving there were delighted to find that the rooms were already filling with statesmen, miss-statesmen, mrs-statesmen, and officers, who had so much lace and epaulettes about them that they looked like walking bra.s.s-founderies with the front-door open.
The first object that attracted my special attention, however, was a thing that I took for a large and ornamental pair of tongs leaning against a mantel, figured in blue enamel, with a life-like imitation
"Thunder!" says the general, "that's no tongs. It's the young man which is Captain Villiam Brown, of Accomac. Now that I look at him," says the general, thoughtfully, "he reminds me of an old-fas.h.i.+oned straddle-bug."
Stepping from one lady's dress to another, until I reached the side of the Commander of the Accomac, I slapped him on the back, and says I:
"How are you, my blue-bird; and what do you think of this brilliant a.s.semblage?"
"Ha!" says Villiam, starting out of a brown study, and putting some cloves in his mouth, to disguise the water he'd drank on his way from Accomac--"I was just thinking what my poor old mother would say if she could see me and the other sn.o.bs here to-night. When I look on the women of America around me to-night," says Villiam, feelingly, "and see how much they've cut off from the tops of their dresses, to make bandages for our wounded soldiers, I can't help feeling that their 'neck-or-nothing' appearance--so far from being indelicate, is a very delicate proof of their devoted love of Union."
"I agree with you, my azure humanitarian," says I. "There's precious little _waist_ about such dresses."
Villiam closed one eye, turned his head one-side like a facetious canary, and says he:
"Now lovely woman scants her dress, with bandages the sick to bless; and stoops so far to war's alarms, her very frock is under arms!"
I believe him, my boy!
Returning to the General, we took a turn in the East Room, and enjoyed the panorama of youth, beauty, and whiskers, that wound its variegated length before us.
The charming Mrs. L----, of Illinois, was richly attired in a frock and gloves, and wore a wreath of flowers from amaranthine bowers. She was affable as an angel with a new pair of wings, and was universally allowed to be the most beautiful woman present.
The enthralling Miss C----, from Ohio, was elegantly clad in a dress, and wore number-four gaiters. So brilliant was her smile, that when she laughed at one of Lord Lyons' witicisms, all one corner of the room was wrapped in a glare of light, and several nervous dowagers cried "Fire!"
Her beauty was certainly the most beautiful present.
The fascinating Miss L----, of Pennsylvania, was superbly robed in an attire of costly material, with expensive flounces. She wore two gloves and a complete pair of ear-rings, and spoke so musically that the leader of the Marine Band thought there was an aeolian harp in the window. She was certainly the most beautiful woman present.
The bewitching Mrs. G----, from Missouri, was splendidly dressed in a breastpin and lace flounces, and wore her hair brushed back from a forehead like Mount Athos. Her eyes reminded one of diamond springs sparkling in the shade of whispering willows. She was decidedly the finest type of beauty present.
The President wore his coat and whiskers, and bowed to all salutations like a graceful door-hinge.
There was a tall Western Senator present, who smiled so much above his stomach, that I was reminded of the beautiful lines:
"As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; Though round its base a country's ruin spread, Eternal moons.h.i.+ne settles on its head."
Upon going into the supper-room, my boy, I beheld a paradise of eatables that made me wish myself a knife and pork, with nothing but a bottle of mustard to keep me company. There were oysters _a la fundum_; turkeys _a la ruffles_; chickens _a la Methusaleh_; beef _a la Bull Run_; fruit _a la stumikake_; jellies _a la Kallararmorbus_; and ices _a la aguefitz_.
The ornamental confectionary was beautifully symbolical of the times.
At one end of the table, there was a large lump of white candy, with six carpet-tacks lying upon it. This represented the "Tax on Sugar." At the other end was a large platter, containing imitation mud, in which two candy brigadiers were swimming towards each other, with their swords between their teeth. This symbolized "War."
These being very hard times, my boy, and the Executive not being inclined to be too expensive in its marketing, a most ingenious expedient was adopted to make it appear that there was just twice as much of certain costly delicacies on the table as there really was.
About the centre of the table lay a large mirror, and on this were placed a few expensive dishes. Of course, the looking-gla.s.s gave them a double effect. For instance, if there was a pound of beefsteak on the plate, it produced another pound in the gla.s.s, and the effect was two pounds.
When economy can be thus artistically blended with plent.i.tude, my boy, money ceases to be king, and butcher-bills dwindle. Hereafter, when I receive for my rations a pint of transparent coffee and two granite biscuit, I shall use a looking-gla.s.s for a plate.
It was the very which-ing hour of the night when the general and myself left the glittering scene, and we had to ask several patrols "which"
way to go.
On parting with my comrade-in-arms, says I:
"General, the ball is a success."
He looked at me in three winks, and says he:
"It _was_ a success--particularly the bowl of punch!"
Yours, for soda-water,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.