of cranberry sauce, sweet-potatoes, and so forth. Mr. Blaine and Mr.
Bayard were fountains of wit.

Then another entertainment, a sort of _mardi-gras maigre_ feast, was a
champagne tea given for us at the Capitol by Mr. Blaine. He had invited
a great many of the Senators and the Ministers, his wife, and some
other ladies. These mighty people talked politics and had prodigious
appetites. Sandwiches and cake disappeared in a hazy mist, and they
drank oceans of champagne. They took cocktails before, during, and
after! I amused myself--as I can't talk politics, and would not if I
could--by noticing the ingenuity and variety of the spittoons placed
about in convenient spots. The spittoons that tried to be pretty were
the most hideous. I liked best the simplicity of the large, open,
ready-to-receive ones filled with clean, dainty sand. There was no
humbug about them, no trying to be something else; whereas the others,
that pretended to be Etruscan vases or umbrella-stands or flower-pots,
were failures in my eyes. Why are they ashamed of themselves? Why do
they call themselves by the graceful name of "cuspidor"--suggestive of
castanets and Andalusian wiles? Why such foolish masquerading?
Spittoons will be spittoons--they risk not being recognized. I said as
much as this to Mr. Blaine. "You are right," he said, "to fight their
battles. Did you ever hear the story about the Western man who was not
accustomed to such artistic objects, and said in one of his spitting
moods, 'If you don't take that darned thing away I'll spit in it'?"

I forgot to tell you that the Emperor and Empress of Brazil are here
"doing" Washington--doing it so thoroughly that they have almost
overdone it. The Brazilian Minister is worn out. Every day he has a
dinner and an entertainment of some kind. The Emperor wants to see
everything and to know everybody. No institution is neglected, and all