It seems but yesterday since the writer stormed this peculiar citadel to gain an audience with “the first lady of the land.” After passing the skirmish line of messengers and doorkeepers, the first real lion encountered was General Dent. This gentleman has often been described as made of “fuss and feathers,” a “military martinet,” but the writer found only a genial, pleasant gentleman. Most of his military life had been spent on the frontier, and what seemed “fuss” was only the embarrassment which came from being transplanted from almost obscurity to one of the most trying subordinate positions at the White House. He was not only high chamberlain, head usher, but also brother-in-law to the President, and this last position made him the target for more witty newspaper paragraphs than any other member of the Presidential household. “Want to see Mrs. Grant, do you? What for, just to pay your respects?” “Not altogether for that, though the respects will be included.” “Newspaper woman! eh?” “Sometimes.” “I don’t think Mrs. Grant wants to be written up in the newspapers. She ain’t that kind of a woman.” “I beg your pardon, General! I shall take no advantages of Mrs. Grant’s courtesy or kindness, but the people will wish to know something of the ‘lady of the White House,’ and how can I make up one of the ‘pictures’ unless I am permitted to dip my pen at the fountain head?” “Can’t you see her at her receptions? I think she sees ladies Saturday afternoons.” “I never describe dress. I want to tell the people something about the woman inside the clothes.” “I shall have to turn you over to General Badeau!” At this moment a bell was touched and a lackey, minus the military buttons, appeared. “Show this lady to General Badeau’s room.” Over the tufted carpet, through vestibule and broad hall, until the right door was reached. A smart knock, which was answered by “Come in!” The man with the military buttons looked up from the mass of papers at which he appeared to be at work, and the servant at my side simply said: