After a New Year’s Reception the White House is a sorry sight, even though by using extra strips of carpet to protect the polished floors and by removing fine rugs and breakable bric-a-brac every possible precaution is taken to make the damage as slight as possible. But it doesn’t take long to restore the house to its normal condition. The way the crowd of workmen used to go about putting the place in order after an invasion of this kind always reminded me of the well-drilled stage hands at a hippodrome who manage to set different scenes and keep things spic-and-span without even interfering with a continuous performance.

Very shortly after the New Year’s Reception, three days later in fact, we gave the next big event of the season, the Diplomatic Reception. It is understood, of course, that one of the chief occupations of the President of the United States is shaking hands. I am moved to this observation by memories of uncounted hours by my husband’s side in a receiving line at the White House when thousands of guests passed by, each separately introduced to both the President and to me and each extending an untired hand to give and to receive the hearty grasp which all good Americans so highly regard. And there is no conceivable form of work or exercise more fatiguing. If it were not for the mental stimulus afforded by the friendliness of a gay throng, by music and lights and a general festive atmosphere, it could hardly be borne.