DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA TROOPS IN THE INAUGURAL PARADE.
At last comes the great day. The city is thronged with strangers. All Washington has been hoping for months that the sky will be blue and the air balmy, which is often but not always the case. There have been inaugurations when the weather was so warm overcoats were superfluous; at other times rain has fallen in torrents, snow has been piled up on the sidewalks, and men who escorted the President to the Capitol have had their ears and fingers badly frost-bitten. But whether fine or gloomy, from an early hour the capital of the nation takes on an air of unwonted activity. Orderlies and aides in gay uniforms are seen dashing in all directions, bands march up one street and down another, companies and regiments wend their way to their appointed positions, thousands of sight-seers pack the sidewalks, fill the stands and the windows on the line of the procession. Four years ago, when Mr. Cleveland was inaugurated for the second time, the weather was so cold that many of the men in the parade were frost-bitten, and several deaths resulted from the exposure. The night before it snowed heavily, which early the following morning turned into slush, and later in the day froze. But despite the forbidding weather the usual numbers were on the streets to see the new President, and men and women sat for hours on exposed stands rather than give up their places after having paid for them. Four years before that, when General Harrison was inducted into office the rain fell with pitiless fury, and yet under a sea of umbrellas people stood on the east front of the Capitol, and heard the new President deliver his first official pronouncement to the country. Many paid for their curiosity with their lives.
Whether the sun shines, or it rains in torrents, or the snow covers everything in its poetical but moist mantle, the President and the President-elect must ride to the Capitol in an open carriage. That is a penalty greatness has to pay to popular custom, and it has often been wondered at that the drive has not been fatal to one or both of the men. Nearly all the time during what is often a most unpleasant drive the new President has his hat off, bowing his acknowledgments to the applause which is never silent for one moment. It roars and rolls like a great salvo of artillery, in its intensity at times drowning even the music of the bands, and there are scores of them, all playing at the same time. Attended by a committee of Congress, regular infantry and artillery, thousands of militia from various States, and an even greater number of civic organizations, the President and President-elect drive in an open carriage, drawn by four horses, to the Capitol. Here everybody prominent in official life awaits them. In the Senate-chamber are the Senators, members of the House of Representatives, the Chief Justice and the associate justices of the Supreme Court of the United States, the members of the diplomatic corps, and the members of the cabinet.
The Vice-President precedes the President-elect to the Senate, and will have taken the oath of office while Major McKinley is en route. As soon as Mr. Hobart has been sworn in, he and the other personages who have been in the Senate-chamber proceed to the platform erected on the east front of the Capitol, and to which the President-elect has been escorted. Here, confronting an immense assemblage, the oath is administered by the Chief Justice, and then, by this simple ceremony Major McKinley having become President, and Mr. Cleveland being an "ex," the new President reads his inaugural address. When that is finished, Major McKinley is once more escorted to his carriage and driven to a reviewing-stand erected in front of the White House, where for several hours he has to salute and be saluted by the thousands as they sweep past him. It is usually late in the afternoon before the new President is able to leave the stand and enjoy a short rest before once more taking part in one of the features of the inauguration day. It is worthy of note how quickly the transformation is effected from the great power of the President to the private life of the citizen. When the ex-President leaves the White House in the morning to drive with his successor to the Capitol, it is seldom that he re-enters his former residence. Some Presidents have been known to drive direct from the Capitol to the railroad station and start on their journey home; while General Arthur remained in Washington for some days after Mr. Cleveland's inauguration, but as the guest of ex-Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, John Adams was so exasperated by the election of his successor, that he refused to accompany him to the Capitol, and left Washington early on the morning of the fourth. Curiously enough, his son was equally as discourteous, and so was President Johnson. But with the administering of the oath to the new President, the man who five minutes before was the Chief Magistrate of the nation has become merely a private citizen. There is no courtesy shown to the man who has been. He drives to the station or to his friend's house unattended, without escort, without any one anxious to see him. When Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland leave Washington early in March it will be just as any other persons do.
There has been little change in the general details of inaugurations from the time of George Washington to the present. Jefferson, according to tradition, rode to the Capitol on horseback, tied his steed to a paling, and took the oath in a very democratic fashion. But if history is to be believed, Jefferson rode because the fine new coach he ordered for the occasion was not finished in time, and had it been finished, six horses would have drawn the chariot. When Jackson returned to the White House after the ceremony at the Capitol, the doors were thrown wide open and punch served to every one. The scene that followed is almost indescribable. Furniture was smashed, carpets destroyed, and the dresses of women ruined in the mad rush to drink the President's punch, and that, I believe, was the last time the attempt was made to keep open house on the 4th of March. President Arthur was twice inaugurated. Immediately on receipt of a telegram announcing the death of General Garfield, he sent for one of the New York judges and took the oath, his son and only one other person being present. The scene was very pathetic. Later he publicly took the oath in the Capitol, Chief-Justice Waite administering it. At one time it was thought that only the Chief Justice of the United States could swear in the President. But this is a mistake. The oath taken before a notary public or any other person competent to administer it is legal. On the death of Mr. Lincoln, Andrew Johnson took the oath privately in his room. After Mr. Lincoln's family left the White House, he entered it without any ceremony.
THE BALL IN THE PENSION BUILDING.
It has been the custom for a ball to be held on the evening of the 4th of March. Of late years this ball has taken place in the hall of the Pension Building, a great court 280 feet long and 130 feet wide. From the floor to the roof-tree is 150 feet. This spacious room is elaborately decorated, and two great stands are erected on which are placed bands, one for dance music and the other for promenade. The floor is generally too crowded for dancing. At the last ball it is estimated that 12,000 persons were in attendance, but in corners here and there some of the younger people manage to find space enough for a few turns. The President is not expected to dance. He makes a circuit of the hall, and then retires to a room set apart for him, where he holds a reception. It is usually midnight before he leaves, and his first day as President of the United States comes to an end. After the President leaves, the room is less crowded, and dancing is more generally indulged in. Any one can attend the ball who cares to buy a ticket, the money derived from this source going to reimburse the subscribers to the guarantee fund.