Each ward represented one of the States of our Union, and the rivalry between their tables, though good-natured, was intense. At one table they sold tea made in Martha’s china tea pot; at another table they dispensed slices from a pie having its edges scalloped by her false teeth; while a third overtopped all competition and did an immense business, regaling customers with sausage manufactured from the remains of her pet poodle. The aids who dealt out this luxury seemed conscious of the sacred trust. Tears of patriotism dimmed the lustre of their lovely eyes. They sold nosegays at the price of small conservatories, but pinned them on coat lappels without extra charge. They did more. With apparent cheerfulness, they accompanied male friends to the hall below, where the band played, and with them hopped and skipped, and glided and dipped, as if they were really enjoying themselves, and not sacrificing comfort to love of country. The pecuniary result of this affair was most gratifying. The Finance Committee kindly acknowledged this fact to its special partner, requesting her to do so some more and keep the ball rolling. Yet still its grandeur was eclipsed, totally eclipsed, by the next great effort. THE INTERNATIONAL TEA PARTY. [THIERS ON MOONSHINE.] Between the two tea drinkings, however, a _Fête Champêtre_ was held at Belmont, near the Centennial grounds. We wrote to France, Mrs. Gillespie’s native land, to find out what a _fête champêtre_ meant. Our respected friend Thiers replied. “You go out,” he wrote, “to some nice quiet spot. In the evening you hang a few lanterns on the trees, and leaving the other folks to dance, you yourself wander off with some ‘nearer and dearer one yet than all others,’ to explore the surrounding country, its shadowed nooks and moonlit glens.” Of course we went. But somehow everybody else was leaving the others to dance and seeking moonshine. Never before was there such a demand for nooks and glens since nooks and glens were first invented. The _fête_ was a perfect success as far as moonshine was concerned, but not pecuniarily. The caterer of the evening is wearing away his days in an insane asylum. Who cares for Champagne when they can have nearer and dearer ones? Who cares for lobster salad when they can have nooks and glens? A second tea party, to retrieve the reputation of the cabinet, was decided upon. This time, however, instead of representing only our States, all the nations of the earth were to be typified. “No pent up Utica contracts our powers; The world’s four boundless continents are ours. EMMA R.” were the suggestive lines with which “General orders 197” terminated. The aids appeared in the costumes which long theatrical usage has established as nationally characteristic. For three successive evenings, a thing of beauty and a joy for Emma enchanted and astounded throngs of visitors, and would have been continued longer had not everybody unfortunately run out of small change.