Olivia.
[HONORING THE PRINCE.]
Reception to the Visiting Scion of Royalty.
Washington, January 26, 1870.
In the very heart of the fashionable quarter of the capital may be seen a most unpretending two-story-and-a-half house, in the usual American imitation of brown stone. A modest bay window keeps steady company with a classic little porch at the front entrance of the mansion. As you enter the building you find yourself in a moderately sized hall, and if you turn to the left you are ushered into a drawing-room, octagonal in shape, and you perceive the vista opening to another of the same shape and size, leading to the third, which completes the suite of apartments thrown open at the entertainment of guests. These parlors are not extravagantly furnished. The walls are not covered with costly pictures; yet this establishment at present is the cynosure of all eyes, because a prince of the royal blood of England finds shelter under its hospitable roof. The ugly truth must be told. Great Britain does not consider the United States a first-class mission, and she does not furnish her minister resident with a palace and et ceteras to match, as in Paris and other continental cities. But England does honor our Republic by sending Mr. Thornton to represent her, one of nature’s noblemen, and plain Mrs. Thornton, without a drop of blue blood in her veins. So Victoria has sent her good-natured boy amongst us, and the wife of England’s minister is doing the handsome part by her guest.
For reasons already mentioned no very large entertainment can be given at the English embassy. A dinner party was given on Monday evening, at which were present the Cabinet and a portion of the diplomatic corps, as well as General Sherman and Senator Sumner. Different sets of invitations were issued; or in other words, each woman’s card was a separate affair from her husband’s. Only gentlemen were entertained at dinner—the ladies came afterwards to the reception, which began at half past nine in the evening. Each woman invited to the residence of the English minister to honor the Prince received a special card from Mrs. Thornton.
The dinner passed away like other dinners when gentlemen have it all their own way; but the reception was as brilliant as the presence of beautiful and accomplished women could make it. The guests were first introduced to Mrs. and Mr. Thornton, and they in turn presented them to their prince. Mrs. Thornton’s eyes sparkled as only an English woman’s can with the son of her sovereign beside her.
Prince Arthur is a medium sized youth, who has just reached the door-sill of adolescence. A soft yellowish down occupies the place where whiskers are intended to grow, and his thoroughly English face has the peachy bloom which distinguishes the gentry of that famous island. He bears a strong resemblance to the Prince of Wales, but with indications of more force of character. His hands are as pink as a sea shell, and anything else but aristocratic. At the reception he was dressed in a suit of black cloth, high standing collar, handsome cravat, and polished patent leathers. Three emerald studs adorned his faultless shirt front, and a sprig of violets dangled from a button-hole. He wore no gloves, but gave his bare, pink palms for an instant to the keeping of American citizens. He was so kind, plain, and straightforward, that everybody forgave him for being a prince.