to drink tea out of the Washington china. Later on I used to go there in the spring over that old Long Bridge, now happily replaced with iron. It looked as if it would break down, even with our one old hack, then.
The wild roses, the woods of Arlington, even that neglected tangle of a garden, were a delight to me, and Mrs. Lee used to encourage my love for the pink bonsa-line rosebuds which blossomed all winter. Indeed, I remember that once at New-Year's Day I plucked these roses in the city garden of Mrs. Seaton, and when I was there later, in a snow-storm, I wondered if the once soft, Southern climate of Washington was one of the vanished pleasures of youth, like a good appetite and a love of balls. Washington is a garden of delight in spring. I think Proserpine sets her blessed foot here earlier and more charmingly than anywhere else; but even in winter she used to throw us out a rose or two.
Such were some of the pleasures of the early Washington, the greatest of which was to hear the talking. A very grand set of talkers were those men. Mr. Calhoun was a most elegant conversationalist; he talked literature, social events, and even gossip, pleasantly. All that severe and almost iron logic of his speeches melted away, and he rattled on gayly; he liked to talk to ladies. Mr. Berrian was another finished talker when conversation was an art. Mr. Clay, the ugliest man in the world, was one of the most fascinating. He could have said with Wilkes, "Give me one hour's start and I will captivate any woman before the handsomest man in England." He was very gallant, and could make the dullest dinner go off bravely. How near he came to being President, and how wofully disappointed were he and his friends! Mr, Webster, however, talked better than any of them, to ladies or to anybody.
