The Diplomatic Corps enter the chamber by the main entrance, led by Blacque Bey, the dean of the Corps, a tall, dark, gray-haired, handsome man, wearing scarlet fez and full Turkish court regalia; next, the English Minister, Sir Edward Thornton, a white-haired, ruddy-faced, black-eyed, shrewd-looking gentleman; next, the Peruvian Minister, Colonel Freerye, followed by the Italian and French Ministers, with all the representatives of foreign governments, in order of seniority—over fifty ministers, secretaries and _attachés_ in full uniform, excepting Mr. Mori, Minister from Japan, in citizen’s dress. Just now Mr. Sumner appears, for the first time in months. He looks pale, and shows the traces of the acute suffering through which he has passed. His appearance creates a buzz on floor and in gallery, and many senators go over to him and exchange friendly greetings. Now the Supreme Court appear, in their robes of office, kicking them high up behind, as usual, and take their seats in front of the Vice-President’s desk. At fifteen minutes to twelve o’clock, Vice-President elect Wilson, escorted by Senators Cragin, Logan, and Bayard, comes down the centre aisle and takes his seat at the right of Vice-President Colfax. At three minutes before twelve, the President appears, leaning on the arm of Senator Cragin, followed by Logan and Bayard, and takes the seat assigned him, in front of the Secretary’s table. A deep hush falls on the throng, as if something awful were about to happen. It’s a sort of Judgment-Day atmosphere, yet nothing more terrific follows than the pleasant voice of Vice-President Colfax, beginning the words of his valedictory. (My! I forgot to say that the dying Congress has come to life again, and is comfortably, and perforce quietly seated between the Senate and Diplomatic Corps.) Now comes the new Vice-President’s little speech. Then the oaths of office, the swearing in of new senators, the proclamation of the President convening an extra session of the Senate, to begin this minute, when all start for the back door—no, it’s the front door of the Capitol, the Supreme Court leading, kicking up their gowns worse than usual. On the eastern portico, what do we see? Below, a vast mass of human beings, line on line of soldiers—cavalry, artillery and infantry; a line of battle flags at the base of the steps—shot-riddled, battle-torn, all shuddering or numb in the freezing air. Before us, a little gentleman sits down in a big chair—Washington’s inaugural chair, we are told. (Oh! no, we’re not at all sentimental.) A big gentleman, the Chief Justice, who has most unaccountably fringed out in a long grey beard and a muffling moustache, holds forth with solemnity a big Bible. The little gentleman kisses it—kisses these words from the eleventh chapter of Isaiah: “‘And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord.