To the attire of the women of the Government City in that day our home manufacturers contributed but little. In fact, the industries of our country yielded but a common grade of materials designed for wearing apparel, and were altogether unequal to the demands of a capital in which the wealthy vied with their own class in foreign cities in the acquisition of all that goes to make up the moods and character of fashion. Our gloves and fans and handkerchiefs, our bonnets and the larger part of our dress accessories, as well as such beautiful gown patterns as were purchased ready to be made up by a New York or Washington dressmaker, were all imported directly from foreign houses, and the services of our travelling and consular friends were in constant requisition for the selection of fine laces, shawls, flounces, undersleeves and the other fashionable garnitures. Scarcely a steamer but brought to the capital dainty boxes of Parisian flowers, bonnets and other foreign novelties, despatched by such interested deputies. It was astonishing how astute even our bachelor representatives abroad became in the selection of these articles for the wives of their Senatorial indorsers in Washington. I was frequently indebted for such friendly remembrances to my cousin, Tom Tait Tunstall, Consul at Cadiz, and to Mrs. Leese, wife of the Consul at Spezia and sister of Rose Kierulf and Mrs. Spicer. Thanks to the acumen of these thoughtful friends, my laces, especially, and a velvet gown, the material of which was woven to order at Genoa, were the particular envy of my less fortunate “mess-mates.” I remember with much pleasure the many courtesies of William Thomson, Consul at Southampton, England, who was one of the many from whom the war afterward separated us. From the time of his appointment in 1857 his expressions of friendliness were frequent toward Miss Lane, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, myself, and, I doubt not, toward many other fortunate ones of the capital. To the first named he sent a remarkable toy-terrier, so small that “it might be put under a quart bowl,” as he wrote to me. The little stranger was a nine-days’ curiosity at the White House, where it was exhibited to all who were on visiting terms with Miss Lane. That I was not the recipient of a similar midget was due to the death of “Nettle,” the animal selected for me. “Please ask Miss Lane,” he wrote, “to show you her terrier, and you will be sure it is the identical ‘Nettle.’ I shall succeed in time in finding a good specimen for you!”