On entering the Palace, we (my companion and I) found that all the most eligible seats were already occupied, and that what were left were reserved for some man of straw and his wife. It was no use to show one’s ticket. “You mustn’t sit here!”--“You mustn’t sit there!”--“You can’t stand in that place!”--“You can’t go there!”--“You can’t come here!”--and so the throng went forlornly about and around--old men and maidens--heads of families--clergymen--elegant ladies--all sorts of people--seeking places whereon they might rest, and finding none. We finally resolved on action, seized a couple of boxes of workmen’s tools, emptied the contents on the floor, and converted the boxes into comfortable seats, in the most commanding position in the eastern gallery, notwithstanding the impertinent expostulations of the rosetted officers. Above us was the lofty stained dome, a most imposing feature;--flags of all nations waved from the latticed balconies; beneath, the jeweled arms of ladies fair gleamed and flashed in the sunlight. Directly below us was Marochetti’s equestrian statue of Washington, of colossal proportions. Years ago, dear general, you rode into my young affections on that very horse, as represented on a ninepenny printed cotton handkerchief, given me as a “reward of merit” for correctly “declining to love”--(I wish I had always declined it!) In the immediate neighborhood, our eye rested on a gigantic statue of Webster. There were his features, certainly, all correct, by line and plummet; but _where’s the expression_? It was soulless and corpse-like--it failed to magnetize me. An hour has passed; our eyes are weary with gazing; still, no President. The singers have taken their places--the organ has emitted one or two premonitory subterranean grumbles, and the platform is beginning to fill with lesser dignitaries. The richly-cushioned Presidential chair, has been wheeled about in the most inviting locality; a huge bouquet is placed under it by way of _bait_, but still the President doesn’t nibble! So we bide our time with what patience we may--though the thought of a glass of ice-water, or a cake, occasionally quenches our patience and patriotism. Another hour has passed! Even feminine curiosity cannot exist much longer on such unsubstantial aliment as pontifical robes and empty glitter. My companion is certainly a wizard! He has conjured up some ice cream and cake:--now I shall have strength to cheer the President. Here he comes, God bless him! You won’t see a sight like that out of America. The representative of a mighty nation--one of the mightiest on earth--receiving the homage of expectant thousands, standing without “star” or “order,” or insignia of power, other than that with which the Almighty has stamped him. No “body guard,” no hedging him in from the people. It is sublime!