Who are the people who file past the President? Titled men and women of foreign countries; a large part of the community which romance would call the “republican court;” and the mighty power sometimes called the sovereign people. Now it happens, as the stream flows onward through the Executive rooms, that particles of humanity are lodged in the same apartments that are honored with the presence of the President and his wife. The most distinguished guests remain permanently in the room of power. The picture is made up of the Presidential party in the foreground, and back of them stand the Army, Navy, and Cabinet, as well as the Vice-President of the United States. Of all the public men in the nation few or none stand so near the national heart as Schuyler Colfax, and the reason assigned is because he has got a mind like an elephant’s trunk. It picks up anything, from the largest man to the smallest woman, and his heart is big enough to give them all standing room. If he is introduced to a manufacturer he knows what kind of articles the man sends to market. If a literary woman is presented to him she finds that she has been registered in exactly the right place in his mind. He knows whether she writes about fashion, or, alas! alas! reports women conventions. Schuyler Colfax knows everything that is published in the newspapers. There is no room in his mind for lumber. It is full of working material, and he is the fairest specimen of progressive Young America to be found on the continent. Miss Nellie Grant is a prominent feature of the levees and receptions at the White House. She is just exactly at the age when the feathers of her wings are not quite well enough grown to admit of her flying as a woman, and yet they are far enough advanced to spoil her attractions as a child. Her costume is of the rarest and costliest kind, and she conducts herself as becomes the only daughter of a President. An elegant woman is seen standing in the background, slender almost to fragility, arrayed in a trailing robe of black velvet. Her powdered head and Greek profile take you back to the days of Louis XIV, and you feel that Madame Pompadour or some other beauty of that period has stepped out of her picture frame and stands flesh and blood before you. This woman is Mrs. Cresswell, the accomplished wife of the Postmaster-General.