WASHINGTON, 1876.

Dear Aunt,—­The best way I can spend this Ash-ful Wednesday is to write a penitent letter to you and beg you to forgive my long silence; but if you could imagine what a life we have been leading, I think that, being the being you are, you would make excuses for a niece who gets up with the sun and goes to bed with the morning star.  When that morning star appears I am so tired I can think of nothing but bed and the bliss of laying my diplomatic body down to rest.

Dear old Mr. Corcoran (almost blind now) gave a unique banquet in honor of Johan and me.  We went first to the theater to see “Rip Van Winkle” played by Jefferson.  It was delightful, though I cried my eyes out.  From the theater we went to Mr. Corcoran’s house for a roasted-in-the-shell oyster supper.  Johan, who had never before attended such a feast, thought he had got loose among a lot of milkmaids and firemen, each with his bucket and pail, and when he saw the enormous pile of oysters brought in on platters he wondered how many “r’s” March had in her.  However, like a lamb he sat next to his pail, and after having consumed about a bushel himself he became quite expert at opening the oysters and throwing the shells in his pail.  It was a most amusing and original evening, and the amount of oyster-shells we left behind us would have paved the way to the Capitol.

Another original entertainment I must tell you about.  We received a note from General Burnside (Senator from Rhode Island):  “Will you come to my codfish dinner on Thursday next?” We of course accepted and went.  General Burnside and Senator Anthony are great friends and live together.  I never could understand, and never dared to ask, why such a little state as Rhode Island needed two Senators.  However, that is neither here nor there.  The other guests were Mr. Bayard, Mr. Blaine, Mrs. Blaine, Mrs. Lawrence, General Sherman.  According to the rules of a codfish dinner, every one was provided with the same amount of boiled codfish, hard-boiled eggs, beets, carrots, and potatoes, and every English sauce ever made.  Every one made his own mixture, which was passed about and “sampled.”  The lucky person who got the greatest number of votes received a beautiful silver bowl.  The dining-room was arranged as if it were a camp.  There were no ornaments of any kind, and we sat on little iron tent-chairs.  You may imagine after we had finished with the codfish that our appetites were on the wane, and we felt that we had dined sumptuously, if monotonously, when, lo! our genial host surprised us with an enormous turkey (reared on his own estate), twenty-seven pounds in weight, with its usual accompaniments of cranberry sauce, sweet-potatoes, and so forth.  Mr. Blaine and Mr. Bayard were fountains of wit.