"You mean, poor people who like to fawn upon and hate the rich are introducing class distinctions," he corrected. He is thirty-two years old; he treats a woman as if she were a man, and he treats a man as if he himself were one. It isn't possible not to like that sort of human being. Invitations are beginning to come in floods--invitations for the big, formal things for which people are asked weeks in advance. And we are getting a splendid percentage of acceptances for our big affairs, thanks to my taking the trouble to find out the freest dates in the season. If all goes well, before another month, as soon as it gets round that we are going to give something big in a short time, lots of pretty good people will be holding off from accepting other things in the hope that they're on our list. Certainly, there's a good deal in going about anything in a systematic way--even a social launching. IV January 12. We are all sleeping so badly. Even the Senator, whom nothing has ever before kept from his "proper rest," is complaining of wakefulness. Suppers every night either here or elsewhere, the house never quiet until two or three in the morning, all of us up at eight--Cyrus often at seven because he rides a good deal, and the early morning is the only time when any one in Washington in the season can find time to ride. "It's worse than the Wilderness campaign," said Mr. Burke, who was a lieutenant in the war. "For now and then, between battles and skirmishes, we did get plenty of sleep. This is a continuous battle day and night, week in and week out, with no let-up for Sundays." And Mrs. Burke--poor "ma!" How hollow-eyed and sagged-cheeked she is getting with the real season less than two weeks old! She says: "I wouldn't treat a dog as I treat myself. I no sooner get to sleep than they wake me. I think the servants just delight to wake me, and I don't blame them, for they're worse off than we are, though I do try to be as easy on them as possible." She doesn't know how many long naps they take while she's dragging herself from place to place. On our way to the White House to a musicale she fell asleep. As we rolled up to the entrance I had to wake her. She came to with a sort of groan and gave a ludicrously pitiful glance at the attendant who was impatiently waiting. "Oh, Lord!" she muttered. "I was dreaming I was in bed, and it ain't so. Instead, I've got to enjoy myself." And then she gave a dreary laugh. "Ma" Burke dozed through the musicale with a pleasant smile on her large face and her head keeping time to the music. When we spoke to the President and he said he hoped she'd "enjoyed herself," she drawled: "I did that, Mr. President! I only wish it had been longer--I'm 'way behind on sleep." He laughed uproariously. It's the fashion to laugh at everything "ma" says now, because the German ambassador tells every one what a wit she is. And who'd fail to laugh at wit admired by an ambassador?