"Hail, Columbia." People waved handkerchiefs, and the display of
patriotism was overpowering. In coming out, after the President had
left the tribune, the crowd filled in after him, and we had to fight
our way out as best we could.

[Illustration:
DOM PEDRO
Emperor of Brazil.]

The heat, which no thermometer could register--and there was no shade
for the thermometer to register in--and the crowd were something
fearful. People were almost crushed to death, and those who did the
most crushing were the fat policemen, who stood in every one's way and
on every one's toes and barred the whole procession. Johan looked like
an enormous poppy in his red uniform; the sun blazing through the glass
roof almost set him on fire (the diplomats were begged to come in
uniform, and that meant coats padded and buttoned up to the chin).
Johan tells fabulous stories of the number of stout old ladies he
saved, who all threatened to faint away on his decorations. He says he
carried them bodily through the crowd and deposited them on the grass
outside and went back for more. I was miraculously saved. I clasped my
arms around the fat body of a policeman and whispered endearing words
with a foreign accent to the effect that a foreigner who had come there
at the invitation of the country ought to be saved at any cost. He
thought so too, and was very kind and sympathetic, but as I clung to
his padded coat and felt his scorching buttons I wondered whether it
were better to die crushed than to suffer suffocation. However, we were
all saved; even Johan's chamberlain key clung to his back, and his
decorations actually stayed in their places, which I think was
wonderful, considering the stout ladies. My dress left a good deal of