The Olivia Letters - Emily Edson Briggs

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he should take his eyes off the printed page and glance hither and yon, to the right, to the left, or, with both at once, make a grand Balaklava charge? Is it possible for a man to get to that point in his life when the mind’s fruit hangs in clustered perfection, like the juicy purple grape of mid-autumn?

      Manager Boutwell is in the zenith of life, rather under the medium size and compact, and when tested gives the true ring of the genuine coin, or a perfect piece of porcelain, handsome enough for all the practical uses of life, but nothing startling or electrical about him, like Benjamin Butler; and it would seem as if wily Massachusetts was wide awake, as she has furnished two managers. But in case General Butler should exhaust himself like fiery Vesuvius, behold there is Boutwell, cool, solemn, eternal as the glacier-crowned Alps.

      Mr. Boutwell is a good speaker, but his reading seems wearisome, and yet the galleries listen with attention; at least it is very quiet in there—not a breath of air to spare.

      There is a faint odor of exquisite perfume exhaling from hundreds of snowy, cob-web handkerchiefs; dainty women scattered here and there, everywhere. Paris has Eugenie; Washington has Mrs. Senator Sprague, the acknowledged queen of fashion and good taste. She occupies a seat at the left of the reader. Her costume is just as perfect as the lily or the rose. She is a lilac blossom to-day. Not a particle of jewelry is visible upon her person. She has copied her bonnet from the pansy or wood violet. A single flower, of lilac tinge, large enough for the “new style,” rests upon her head, and is fastened to its place by lilac tulle so filmy that it must have been stolen from the purple mists of the morning. An exquisite walking dress of pale lilac silk has trimmings a shade darker, whilst lilac gloves conceal a hand that might belong to the queen of fairies. Is she a woman or a flower, to be nipped by the frost; to be pressed between the leaves of adversity; or, alas! to grow old and wither? Impossible! She is a flower of immortality; not perfect, it is true, as other letter-writers say, but she happens to be placed in a sphere where perfection is expected, and she is mortal like the rest of us. She shrinks from the hard and lowly task of visiting the wretched hut, the sick, and the afflicted. So do Victoria and Eugenie, whose fame is wafted to us across the great water.

      To the left of the queen sits another woman distinguished in Washington society. It is the wife of a millionaire—Mrs. Oakes Ames of Massachusetts. She is a handsome matron, in the early autumn of life. She has no desire to shine in the fashionable world, and her smiling face would only come out the brighter after an eclipse of that kind. Her elegant parlors are headquarters for old-fashioned hospitality, and to those who possess the “open sesame” she is always at home. But it is in Massachusetts that she finds her true sphere. There she is the wife of the baronet, the “Lady Bountiful of the neighborhood,” surrounded by her husband’s tenantry or working people. It is the “squire’s wife” who visits the lowly cottage, bringing sunshine and temporal relief. It is the “squire” who pays the clergyman his salary, that his people may be saved through no loss of spiritual grace, and instead of going to London for the winter they come to Washington. What! Gossips, you say; but it is an admitted fact.

      Olivia.

       Table of Contents

      The President’s Counsel During the Impeachment Trial.

      Washington, April 27, 1868.

      Another effort of the immortal mind has been inscribed upon the scroll of fame. Judge Nelson, of Tennessee, has spoken in behalf of the President, and only the pen of genius can do justice to this dewy, refreshing speech as it fell upon the American Senate.

      When it is known that Judge Nelson dropped the cowl of the monk for the lawyer’s pointed lance, it is not astonishing that he mistook the Senate for a set of Tennessee sinners, and appealed to its feeling instead of its judgment. This most interesting speech was interspersed with poetry, borrowed for the occasion, to be sure, but of equal use and effectiveness—nevertheless, like mourning garments, borrowed from friendly neighbors; and yet the speech was destitute of all solemnity. A rich vein of humor coursed through it, and the Senate seemed to enjoy the repose so much needed after the strong arguments of Mr. Boutwell.

      It is said Andrew Johnson chose Nelson for these very qualities; but, gratifying as it may have been to the President, it did not find favor in the minds of those who are friendly to the lost cause. A genuine sneer curled itself up and nestled in all the hide-and-seek places in the delicate face of William M. Evarts, while stately Mr. Groesbeck seemed severely offended. Members of Congress folded their unseen tents and silently stole away; the Chief Justice uncoiled his dignity just enough to catch a breath of the fluttering breeze; and the high court of impeachment was relieved as if by an unexpected holiday.

      Judge Nelson was a semi-rebel—a sort of Tennessee neutral—during the rebellion, and it has not been ascertained whether it was for this reason that Andrew Johnson chose him for the defence; but it is now known beyond a doubt that minister and lawyer are so ingeniously mixed in the judge’s composition that a third compound is the result, bearing no more resemblance to the first ingredients than soap bears to oil and alkali.

      Mr. Groesbeck had the floor next—apparently a good, strong man, bearing the same relation to the human family that a fair, rosy-cheeked apple does to the remainder of the fruit in the orchard. Like Mr. Stanbery, he pleads illness. His voice seemed in the last stages of collapse. It is very difficult to catch the hoarse sentences in the galleries. There is nothing flashing, brilliant, or electrical in his speech, and if there were, it would be entirely lost, unless it rose, cloud-like, into the galleries. Hard, cold, flinty argument must be hurled upon the impassive Senate. Mr. Groesbeck seems to be aware of this fact, as he contends against the odds.

      The gallery wears its usual high-toned, fashionable elegance. A real hothouse of rare human exotics is gathered together, partaking of the same weaknesses and desires that animate creation in the humbler spheres of life. Some of these exquisite butterflies have a way of spreading their voluminous crinoline to the exclusion of some unfortunate in want of a seat; but as soon as an acquaintance makes an appearance, in the twinkling of an eye space is evolved from a minus quantity and immediately occupied, and the real honest possessor has no redress except in repeating an ave, or declaiming mentally the touching poem of “sour grapes.”

      Allowing it to be exceedingly gratifying, it is not good taste to be eating in public. History tells us that a great monarch used to take his emetics and vomit gracefully in the presence of the court, but even royalty could not add dignity to, nor throw a rosy glamor over, one of Nature’s disgraceful freaks. And in the high court of impeachment no pink-lipped, amber-haired beauty can afford to distort her features and wantonly assail the ears of her neighbors by cracking nuts with her pearly teeth. If a woman has neither youth nor beauty, and commits the same fatal error, “Angels and ministers of grace defend us!”

      Olivia.

       Table of Contents

      A Comprehensive Review of the Life Work Of Hon. Thaddeus Stevens.

      Washington, April 28, 1868.

      After the storm and cloud of an eventful life, Thaddeus Stevens lingers on the disc of the Western horizon, surrounded by the glory of departing day. As he stands the central figure in the House of Representatives, he likewise occupies the same place at the manager’s table in the high court of impeachment. Like Lord Brougham, his intellectual powers seem to lose little by age, and his argument in behalf of the House has none superior, if any equal to it. Short, compact, conclusive, it was made up of the cream of the whole matter in the dispute. On the day of its delivery, as the Chief Justice ceased speaking, the galleries were hushed into more than attentive silence. Slowly the venerable speaker

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