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                          Transcriber’s Note:

This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.

Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
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                        TEN YEARS IN WASHINGTON:

                                  OR,

                         INSIDE LIFE AND SCENES

                                   IN

                          OUR NATIONAL CAPITAL

                     =As a Woman Sees Them.=

                               EMBRACING

           A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE MANY MARVELS AND INTERESTING
 SIGHTS OF WASHINGTON; OF THE DAILY LIFE AT THE WHITE HOUSE, BOTH PAST
       AND PRESENT; OF THE WONDERS AND INSIDE WORKINGS OF ALL OUR
        GOVERNMENT DEPARTMENTS; AND DESCRIPTIONS AND REVELATIONS
                OF EVERY PHASE OF POLITICAL, PUBLIC, AND
                  SOCIAL LIFE AT THE NATION’S CAPITAL.

                            BY MARY CLEMMER,

 AUTHOR OF “MEMORIALS OF ALICE AND PHŒBE CARY,” “A WOMAN’S LETTERS FROM
                        WASHINGTON,” ETC., ETC.

                             --------------

                  TO WHICH IS ADDED A FULL ACCOUNT OF

           THE LIFE AND DEATH OF PRESIDENT JAMES A. GARFIELD,

                        BY J. L. SHIPLEY, A. M.

                             --------------

                           FULLY ILLUSTRATED
    =With a Portrait of the Author on Steel, and Forty-Eight fine
                        Engravings on Wood.=

                             --------------

                      [SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY.]

                             --------------

                            HARTFORD, CONN.:
                    THE HARTFORD PUBLISHING COMPANY.
                EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING CO., CHICAGO, ILL.
                 OHIO PUBLISHING CO., CLEVELAND, OHIO.

                                 1882.



------------------------------------------------------------------------

       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by

                      THE HARTFORD PUBLISHING CO.,

       In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration: List of Illustrations.]

  1. FINE STEEL-PLATE PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR,           [Frontispiece.]
  2. COLUMBIA SLAVE PEN,                              To face page   48
  3. THE FREEDMAN’S SAVINGS BANK,                                    48
  4. SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE,                                          48
  5. MAJOR L’ENFANT’S RESTING PLACE,                                 48
  6. THE NATIONAL CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,                                72
     It covers more than three and a half acres. Over thirteen million
            dollars have thus far been expended in its erection.
  7. THE MARBLE ROOM—INSIDE THE CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,                  95
  8. THE SENATE CHAMBER—INSIDE THE CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,               98
  9. THE HALL OF REPRESENTATIVES—INSIDE THE CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,     100
 10. THE LADIES’ RECEPTION ROOM—INSIDE THE CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,      120
 11. THE CENTRAL ROOM, CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY—INSIDE THE             130
       CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,
 12. THE RED ROOM—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—WASHINGTON,                169
 13. THE CONSERVATORY—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—WASHINGTON,            174
 14. THE CABINET ROOM—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—WASHINGTON,            238
 15. THE BLUE ROOM—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—WASHINGTON,               246
 16. THE GREAT EAST ROOM—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON,        258
 17. THE GREEN ROOM—INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—WASHINGTON,              258
 18. UNITED STATES TREASURY—WASHINGTON,                             284
 19. MAKING MONEY—THE ROOM IN THE TREASURY BUILDING WHERE THE       319
       GREENBACKS ARE PRINTED,
 20. AMONG THE GREENBACKS—THE CUTTING AND SEPARATING ROOM IN THE    322
       TREASURY BUILDING,
 21. BURNT TO ASHES—THE END OF UNCLE SAM’S GREENBACKS,              337
     The above is a graphic sketch of the destruction of the worn and
       defaced currency constantly being redeemed by the Government,
       which is here burned every day at 12 o’clock. On one occasion
       considerably more than one hundred million dollars’ worth of
       bonds and greenbacks were destroyed in this furnace, and the
       burning of from fifty to seventy-five millions at a time is a
       matter of ordinary occurrence.
 22. THE NEW MARBLE CASH-ROOM, UNITED STATES TREASURY,              340
     The most costly and magnificent room of its kind in the world.
 23. COUNTING WORN AND DEFACED GREENBACKS AND DETECTING             354
       COUNTERFEITS,
     This room is in the Redemption Bureau, Treasury-Building. Over One
       Hundred Thousand Dollars’ worth of Fractional Currency alone is
       here daily received for redemption: out of which about Three
       Hundred and Fifty Dollars’ worth of counterfeit money is
       detected, stamped, and returned.
 24. THE LOBBY OF THE SENATE—INSIDE THE CAPITOL—WASHINGTON,         382
 25. DEAD-LETTER OFFICE, U. S. GENERAL POST-OFFICE—WASHINGTON,      398
 26. THE MODEL-ROOM—PATENT OFFICE—WASHINGTON,                       438
     This room contains the fruits of the inventive genius of the whole
       nation. More than 160,000 models are here deposited.
 27. BLOOD-STAINED CONFEDERATE BATTLE-FLAGS, CAPTURED DURING THE    462
       WAR,
     Sketched by permission of the Government from the large collection
            in possession of the War Department, at Washington.

         1. Black Flag.     4. State and Regiment unknown. [Captured
                               at the Battle of Gettysburg, by the 60th
                               Regiment of New York Volunteers.]
         2. Alabama Flag.
         3. Palmetto Flag.  5. State Colors of North Carolina.

 28. THE NEW BUILDING NOW BEING CONSTRUCTED FOR DEPARTMENTS OF      466
       STATE, ARMY, AND NAVY—WASHINGTON,
 29. THE MAIN HALL OF THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM—WASHINGTON,           476
     This Museum occupies the scene of the assassination of President
       Lincoln, in Ford’s Theatre, which after that date became the
       property of the Government. It contains a collection of upwards
       of twenty thousand rare, curious and interesting objects,
       surpassing any similar collection in the world. It is visited
       annually by upwards of twenty-five thousand persons.
 30. CURIOSITIES FROM THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM,                      482
 31. A WITHERED ARM,                                                482
     Skin, flesh, and bones complete. Amputated by a cannon-shot on the
       battle-field of Gettysburg. The shot carried the severed limb up
       into the high branches of a tree, where it was subsequently
       found, completely air and sun-dried.
 32. SKULL OF A MAN,                                                482
     Who received an arrow-wound in the head, three gun-shot
       flesh-wounds, one in the arm, another in the breast, and a third
       in the leg. Seven days afterwards he was admitted to the
       hospital at Fort Concha, Texas, (where he subsequently died,)
       after having travelled above 160 miles on the barren plains,
       mostly on foot.
 33. APACHE INDIAN ARROW-HEAD,                                      482
     Of soft hoop-iron. These arrows will perforate a bone without
       causing the slightest fracture, where a rifle or musket-ball
       will flatten; and will make a cut as clean as the finest
       surgical instrument.
 34. SKULL OF LITTLE BEAR’S SQUAW,                                  482
       Perforated by seven bullet-holes. Killed in Wyoming Territory.
 35. ALL THAT REMAINS ABOVE GROUND OF JOHN WILKES BOOTH,            482
     Being part of the Vertebræ penetrated [A] by the bullet of Boston
       Corbett. Strange freak of fate that the remains of Booth should
       find a resting-place under the same roof, and but a few feet
       from the spot where the fatal shot was fired.
 36. SKULL OF A SOLDIER,                                            482
     Wounded at Spottsylvania; showing the splitting of a
       rifle-ball—one portion being buried deep in the brain, and the
       other between the scalp and the skull. He lived twenty-three
       days.
 37. A SIOUX PAPPOOSE,                                              482
     Or Indian infant, found in a tree near Fort Laramie, where it had
       been buried (?) according to the custom of this tribe.
 38. SKULL OF AN INDIAN,                                            482
                    Showing nine distinct sabre wounds.
 39. “OLD PROBABILITIES’” INSTRUMENT ROOM,                          504
            Storm and Weather Signal Service Bureau—Washington.
 40. TROPICAL FRUITS—INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT                          545
       CONSERVATORY—WASHINGTON,
 41. THE DOME AND SPIRAL STAIRCASE; RARE PLANTS AND FLOWERS—INSIDE  546
       THE GOVERNMENT CONSERVATORY—WASHINGTON,
 42. TROPICAL PLANTS AND FLOWERS—INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT              548
       CONSERVATORY—WASHINGTON,
 43. THE VAN NESS MANSION, AND DAVY BURNS’ COTTAGE,                 550
 44. THE CAPITOL AS SEEN FROM PENNSYLVANIA AVE.—WASHINGTON,         550
 45. VIEW OF THE “CITY OF THE SLAIN”—ARLINGTON,                     582
       The remains of over 8,000 soldiers, killed during the war, lie
      buried in this Cemetery—the name, regiment, and date of death of
                  each is painted on a wooden head-board.
 46. THE TOMB OF “THE UNKNOWN”—ARLINGTON,                           586
     Erected by the Government to the memory of Unknown Soldiers killed
       during the War. It bears the following inscription:
                          “Beneath this stone
    repose the bones of Two Thousand One Hundred and Eleven unknown
                   soldiers, gathered after the war,
    from the fields of Bull Run and the _route_ to the Rappahannock.
 Their remains could not be identified; but their names and deaths are
  recorded in the archives of their country, and its grateful citizens
 honor them as of their noble army of Martyrs. May they rest in peace!
                        September, A. D. 1866.”
 47. PORTRAIT OF JAMES A. GARFIELD, THE MARTYR PRESIDENT,           588
                     Engraved from a recent photograph.
 48. PORTRAIT OF MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD, WIFE OF THE MARTYR         600
       PRESIDENT,
                     Engraved from a recent photograph.




                               CONTENTS.

[Illustration]

                            CHAPTER I.

                     FROM THE VERY BEGINNING.                      PAGE.

 The Young Surveyor’s Dream—A Vision of the Future Capital—The
   United States Government on Wheels—Ambitious Offers—The Rival
   Rivers—Temporary Lodgings for Eleven Years—Old-Fashioned
   Simplicity—A Great Man’s Modesty—Conflicting Claims—A
   Convincing Fact—The Dreadful Quakers—A Condescending Party—A
   Slight Amendment—An Old Bill Brought to Light Again—The Future
   Strangely Foreshadowed—A Dinner of Some Consequence—How it was
   Done—Really a Stranger—A Nice Proposal—Sweetening the Pill—A
   “Revulsion of Stomach,”                                            21

                            CHAPTER II.

              CROSS PURPOSES AND QUEER SPECULATIONS.

 Born of Much Bother—Undefined Apprehensions—Debates on the Coming
   City—Old World Examples—Sir James Expresses an Opinion—A Dream
   of the Distant West—An Old-time Want—A Curious Statement of
   Fact—Where is the Center of Population—An Important
   Proclamation—Original Land Owners—Well-worn Patents—Getting on
   with Pugnacious Planters—Obstinate David Burns—A “Widow’s Mite”
   of Some Magnitude—How the Scotchman was Subjugated—A Rather
   “Forcible Argument,”                                               31

                           CHAPTER III.

                    THE WORK BEGUN IN EARNEST.

 Washington’s Faith in the Future—Mr. Sparks is “Inclined to
   Think”—A Slight Miscalculation—Theoretical Spartans—Clinging to
   Old World Glories—Jefferson Acts the Critic—He Communicates
   Some Ideas—Models of Antiquity—Babylon Revived—Difficulty in
   Satisfying a Frenchman’s Soul—The Man Who Planned the
   Capital—Who Was L’Enfant?—His Troubles—His Dismissal—His
   Personal Appearance, Old Age, Death, and Burial Place—His
   Successor—A Magnificent Plan—A Record Which Can Never Perish—An
   Overpaid Quaker—Jefferson Expresses His Sentiments—A Sable
   Franklin—The Negro Engineer, Benjamin Bancker—A Chance for a
   Monument,                                                          38

                            CHAPTER IV.

                          OLD WASHINGTON.

 How the City Was Built—“A Matter of Moonshine”—Calls for
   Paper—Besieging Congressmen—How They Raised the Money—The
   Government Requires Sponsors—Birth of the Nation’s
   Capital—Seventy Years Ago in Washington—Graphic Picture of
   Early Times—A Much-Marrying City—Unwashed Virginian
   Belles—Stuck in the Mud—Extraordinary Religious Services,          51

                            CHAPTER V.

                    THE CAPITAL OF THE NATION.

 Expectations Disappointed—Funds Low and People Few—Slow Progress
   of the City—A Question of Importance Discussed—Generous
   Proposition of George Washington—Faith Under
   Difficulties—Transplanting an Entire College—An Old Proposition
   in a New Shape—What Washington “Society” Lacks—Perils of the
   Way—A Long Plain of Mud—Egyptian Dreariness—The End of an
   Expensive Canal—The Water of Tiber Creek—Divided Allegiance of
   Old—The Stirring of a Nation’s Heart—A Personal Interest,          62

                            CHAPTER VI.

                THE WASHINGTON OF THE PRESENT DAY.

 Hopes Realized—Washington in 1873—Major L’Enfant’s Dream—Old and
   New—“Modern Improvements”—A City of Palaces—The Capital in all
   its Glory—Traces of the War—Flowers on the Ramparts—Under the
   Oaks of Arlington—Ten Years Ago—The Birth of a Century—The
   Reign of Peace,                                                    72

                           CHAPTER VII.

                        WHAT MADE NEW WASHINGTON.

 Municipal Changes—Necessity of Reform—The “Organic Act”
   Passed—Contest for the Governorship of Columbia District—Mr.
   Henry D. Cooke Appointed—Board of Public Works
   Constituted—Great Improvements Made—Opposition—The Board and
   Its Work,                                                          76

                           CHAPTER VIII.

                       BUILDING THE CAPITOL.

 Various Plans for the Building—Jefferson Writes to the
   Commissioners—“Poor Hallet” and His Plan—Wanton Destruction by
   the British, A. D. 1814—The Site Chosen by Washington
   Himself—Imposing Ceremonies at the Foundation—Dedicatory
   Inscription on the Silver Plate—Interesting
   Festivities—Extension of the Building—Daniel Webster’s
   Inscription—His Eloquent and Patriotic Speech—Mistaken
   Calculations—First Session of Representatives Sitting in “the
   Oven”—Old Capitol Prison—Immense Outlay upon the Wings and
   Dome—Compared with St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s—The Goddess of
   Liberty—The Congressional Library—What Ought to be Done,           83

                            CHAPTER IX.

                        INSIDE THE CAPITOL.

 A Visit to the Capitol—The Lower Hall—Its Cool
   Tranquility—Artistic Treasures—The President’s and
   Vice-President’s Rooms—The Marble Room—The Senate Chamber—“Men
   I Have Known”—Hamlin—Foote—Foster—Wade—Colfax—Wilson—The
   Rotunda—Great Historical Paintings—The Old Hall of
   Representatives—The New Hall—The Speaker’s Room—Native Art—“The
   Star of Empire”—A National Picture,                                93

                            CHAPTER X.

                       OUTSIDE THE CAPITOL.

 The Famous Bronze Doors—The Capitol Grounds—Statue of Washington
   Criticised—Horace Greenough’s Defence of the Statue—Picturesque
   Scenery Around the Capitol—The City and Suburbs—The Public
   Reservation—The Smithsonian Institution—The Potomac and the
   Hights of Arlington,                                              104

                            CHAPTER XI.

                   ART TREASURES OF THE CAPITOL.

 Arrival of a Solitary Lady—“The Pantheon of America”—Il
   Penserosa—Milton’s Ideal—Dirty Condition of the House of
   Representatives—The Goddess of Melancholy—Vinnie Ream’s Statue
   of Lincoln—Its Grand Defects—Necessary Qualifications for a
   Sculptor—The Bust of Lincoln by Mrs. Ames—General Greene and
   Roger Williams—Barbarous Garments of Modern Times—Statues of
   Jonathan Trumbull and Roger Sherman—Bust of Kosciusko—Pulling
   his Nose—Alexander Hamilton—Fate of Senator Burr—Statue of
   Baker—His Last Speech Prophetic—The Glory of a Patriotic
   Example—The Lesson which Posterity Learns—Horatio Stone, the
   Sculptor—Neglected Condition of the Capitol Statuary—Curious
   Clock—Grotesque Plaster Image of Liberty—Webster—Clay—Adams—The
   Pantheon at Rome—The French Pantheon,                             109

                           CHAPTER XII.

                        WOMEN WITH CLAIMS.

 The Senate Reception-Room—The People who Haunt it—Republican
   “Ladies in Waiting”—“Women with Claims”—Their Heroic
   Persistency—A Widow and Children in Distress—Claim Agents—The
   Committee of Claims—A Kind-Hearted Senator’s
   Troubles—Buttonholing a Senator—A Lady of Energy—Resolved to
   Win—An “Office Brokeress”—A Dragon of a Woman—A Lady who is
   Feared if not Respected—Her Unfortunate Victims—Carrying “Her
   Measure”—The Beautiful Petitioner—The Cloudy Side of Her
   Character—Her Subtle Dealings—Her Successes,                      120

                           CHAPTER XIII.

                    THE CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

 Inside the Library—The Librarian—Sketch of Mr. Spofford—How
   Congressional Speeches are Manufactured—“Spofford” in
   Congress—The Library Building—Diagram—Dimensions of the
   Hall—The Iron Book Cases—The Law Library—Five Miles of Book
   Shelves—Silent Study—“Abstracting” Books—Amusing Adventure—A
   Senator in a Quandary—Making Love Under Difficulties—Library
   Regulations—Privileged Persons—Novels and their Readers—Books
   of Reference—Compared with the British Museum—Curious Old
   Newspapers—Files of Domestic and Foreign Papers—One Hundred
   Defunct Journals—An Incident of the War of 1814—Putting it to
   the Vote—“Carried Unanimously”—35,000 Volumes
   Destroyed—Treasurers of Art Consumed—The New Library—The Next
   Appropriation,                                                    127

                           CHAPTER XIV.

                  A VISIT TO THE NEW LAW LIBRARY.

 How a Library was Offered to Congress—Mr. King’s Proposal—An Eye
   to Theology—The Smithsonian Library Transferred—The Good Deeds
   of Peter Force—National Documents—Eliot’s Indian Bible—Literary
   Treasures—The Lawyers Want a Library for Themselves—The Finest
   Law Library in the World—First Edition of Blackstone—Report of
   the Trial of Cagliostro, Rohan and La Motte—Marie Antoinette’s
   Diamond Necklace—A Long Life-Service—An Architect Buried
   Beneath his own Design—“Underdone Pie-crust”—Reminiscences of
   Daniel Webster and the Girard Will,                               138

                            CHAPTER XV.

          THE HEAVEN OF LEGAL AMBITION—THE SUPREME COURT ROOM.

 Memories of Clay, Webster, and Calhoun—Legal Giants of the
   Past—Stately Serenity of the Modern Court—“Wise Judgment and
   Wine Dinners”—The Supreme Court in Session—Soporific
   Influences—A Glimpse of the Veritable “Bench”—The Ladies’
   Gallery—The Chief Justices of the Past—His
   Apotheosis—Chief-Justice Chase—Black-Robed Dignitaries—An
   Undignified Procession—The “Crier” in Court—Antique
   Proclamation—The Consultation-Room—Gowns of Office—Reminiscence
   of Judge McLean—“Uncle Henry and his Charge”—Fifty Years in
   Office,                                                           144

                           CHAPTER XVI.

                   THE “MECCA” OF THE AMERICAN.

 The Center of a Nation’s Hopes—Stirring Reminiscences of the
   Capitol—History Written in Stone—Patriotic Expression of
   Charles Sumner—Building “for all Time”—“This our Fathers Did
   for Us”—The Interest of Humanity—A Secret Charm for a
   Thoughtful Mind—An Idea of Equality—The Destiny of the Stars
   and Stripes—A Mother’s Ambition—The Dying Soldier,                148

                           CHAPTER XVII.

              THE CAPITOL—MORNING SIGHTS AND SCENES.

 The Capitol in Spring—A Magic Change—Arrival of Visitors—A New
   Race—“Billing and Cooing”—Lovers at the Capitol—A Dream of
   Perpetual Spring—Spending the Honeymoon in Washington—New
   Edition of David Copperfield and Dora—“Very Young”—Divided
   Affections: The New Bride—Jonathan and Jane—Memories of a
   Wedding Dress—An Interview with a Bride—“Two Happy Idiots”—A
   Walk in the City—President Grant—The Foreign Ambassadors—“Beau”
   Hickman—An Erratic Genius—Walt Whitman the Poet—A “Loafer” of
   Renown—Poets at Home—Piatt—Burroughs—Harriet Prescott
   Spofford—Sumner and Chase—Tiresome Men—How to Love a Tree,        153

                          CHAPTER XVIII.

             FAIR WASHINGTON—A RAMBLE IN EARLY SPRING.

 Washington Weather—Sky Scenery—Professor Tyndall Expresses an
   Opinion—A Picture of Beauty—Prejudiced Views—Birds of Rock
   Creek—The Parsonage—A Scene of Tranquil Beauty—A Washington
   May—Charms of the Season—Mowers at Work—The Public
   Parks—Frolics of the Little Ones—Strawberry Festivals—“Flower
   Gathering,”                                                       162

                           CHAPTER XIX.

            INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

 Haunted Houses—Shadows of the Past—Touching Memories—The Little
   Angels Born There—A State of Perpetual Dampness—Dingy Aspect of
   a Monarch’s Palace—Outside the White House—A Peep Inside the
   Mansion—The Emperor of Japan Supersedes the Punch-Bowl—The
   Unfinished “Banqueting-Hall”—Glories of a _Levée_—Magnificent
   Hospitalities—A Comfortable Dining-Room—A Lady of Taste—An
   American “Baronial Hall”—The Furniture of Another Generation—A
   Valuable Steward—A Professor of Gastronomy—Paying the Professor
   and Providing the Dinner—Feeding the Celebrities—Mrs. Lincoln’s
   Unpopular Innovations—Fifteen Hundred Dollars for a Dinner—How
   Prince Arthur, of England, was Entertained—Domestic
   Economy—“Not Enough Silver”—A Tasty Soup—The Recipe for an
   Aristocratic Stew—Having a “Nice Time”—Hatred of Flummery—An
   Admirer of Pork and Beans and Slap-jacks—A Presidential
   Reception—Ready for the Festival—Splendor, Weariness and
   Indigestion—Paying the Penalty—In the Conservatory—Domestic
   Arrangements—Reminiscence of Abraham Lincoln,                     167

                            CHAPTER XX.

                    LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE.

 A Morning Dream—Wives and Daughters of the Presidents—An Average
   Matron of the 18th Century—Educational Disadvantages—A
   Well-Regulated Lady—Useful Wife—Advantages of Having a
   Distinguished Husband—A Modern Lucretia—Washington’s
   Inauguration Suit—An Awkward Position for a Lady—Festivities in
   Franklin Square!—Transporting the Household Gods—Keeping Early
   Hours—Primitive Customs—Much-Shaken Hands—Remembrances of a
   Past Age—Very Questionable Humility—The Room in which
   Washington Died—Days of Widowhood—A Wife’s Congratulations—A
   True Woman—Domestic Affairs at the White House—An Unfinished
   Mansion—Interesting Details—A Woman’s Influence—A Monument
   Wanted—Devotion of a Husband—The “Single Life”—Disappointed
   Belles—An Extraordinary Reception—Blacked His Own Boots—A
   Daughter’s Affection,                                             177

                           CHAPTER XXI.

         WIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS—LIFE AT THE WHITE HOUSE.

 A Social Queen—“The Most Popular Person in the United States”—The
   Slow Days of Old—Traveling Under Difficulties—Political
   Pugnacity—Formality _versus_ Hospitality—Big Dishes Laughed
   at—A Foreign Minister Criticises—Advantages of a Good
   Memory—Funny Adventure of a Rustic Youth—A Strange
   Pocketful—Putting Him at His Ease—Doleful Visage of a New
   President—Getting Rid of a Burden—A Brave Lady—Waiting in
   Suspense—Taking Care of Cabinet Papers—Watching and
   Waiting—Flight—Unscrewing the Picture—After the War—Brilliant
   Receptions—Mrs. Madison’s Snuff-Box—Clay Takes a Pinch—“This is
   my Polisher!”—Two Plain Old Ladies from the West—They Depart in
   Peace—Days of Trouble and Care—Manuscripts Purchased by
   Congress—Last Days of a Good Woman—Mrs. Monroe—A Severe and
   Aristocratic Woman—Madame Lafayette in Prison,                    192

                           CHAPTER XXII.

          NOTED WOMEN OF WASHINGTON—A CHAPTER OF GOSSIP.

 A Traveling Lady—Life in Russia—A Modern American Minister—A long
   and Lonely Journey—The Court of St James—Peculiar
   Waists—Costume of an Ancient _Belle_—Fearful and Wonderful
   Attire of a _Beau_—“A suit of Steel”—An Ascendant Star—A Man
   Who Hid his Feelings—The Candidate at a Cattle Show—Charles’s
   Opinion of His Mother—How a Lady “Amused” Her Declining Days—A
   Woman’s Influence—Politics and Piety Disagree—Why the General
   Didn’t Join the Church—A Head “Full of Politics”—Swearing
   Some—The President Becomes a Good Boy—Domestic Tendencies,        204

                          CHAPTER XXIII.

         SCENES AT THE WHITE HOUSE—MEN AND WOMEN OF NOTE.

 Widows “at par”—Four Sonless Presidents—Supported by Flattery—A
   Delicate Constitution—Living to a Respectable Age—Teaching Her
   Grandson How to Fight—A Pathetic Reminiscence—A Perfect
   Gentlewoman—Obeying St. Paul—A Woman Who “Kept Silence”—“Sarah
   Knows Where It Is”—Three Queens in the Background—A Very
   Handsome Woman—A Lady’s Heroism—A Man Who Kept to His Post—A
   Life in the Savage Wilderness—A Life’s Devotion—The Colonel’s
   Brave Wife—Objecting to the Presidency—An Inclination for
   Retirement—The Penalty of Greatness—Death in the White House—A
   Wife’s Prayers—A New _Regime_—The Clothier’s Apprentice and the
   School Teacher—The Future President Builds His Own
   House—Domestic Happiness—Twenty-seven Years of Married
   Life—Home “Comforts” at the White House—The Memory of a Loving
   Wife,                                                             218

                           CHAPTER XXIV.

                  THE WHITE HOUSE DURING THE WAR.

 Under a Cloud—“A Woman Among a Thousand”—Revival of By-gone
   Days—Another Lady of the White House—A “Golden Blonde”—Instinct
   Alike with Power and Grace—A Fun-Loving Romp—Harriet with her
   Wheelbarrow of Wood—A Deed of Kindness—The Wheel Turns
   Round—Gay Doings at the Capital—Rival Claims for a Lady’s
   Hand—Reigning at the White House—Doing Double Duty—Marriage of
   Harriet Lane—As Wife and Mother—Mrs. Abraham Lincoln—Standing
   Alone—A Time of Trouble and Perplexity—Rumors of War—Whispers
   of Treason—Awaiting the Event—A Life-long Ambition
   Fulfilled—The Nation Called to Arms—What the President’s Wife
   Did—The Dying and the Dead—Arrival of Troops—The Lonely Man at
   the White House—An Example of Selfishness—Petty Economies—The
   Back Door of the White House—An Injured Individual—Death of
   Willie Lincoln—Injustice which Mrs. Lincoln Suffered—The Rabble
   in the White House—Valuables Carried Away—Big Boxes and Much
   Goods—Mrs. Lincoln Disconsolate—Missing Treasures—Faults of a
   President’s Wife,                                                 231

                           CHAPTER XXV.

                       THE WHITE HOUSE NOW.

 After the War—A Contrast—Secretly Burying the Dead—A Wife of
   Seventeen Years—Midnight Studies—Broken Down—A party of
   Grandchildren—“God’s Best Gift to Man”—The Woman Who Taught the
   President—Doing the Honors at the White House—Traces of the
   Soldiers—A State of Dirt and Ruin—Mrs. Patterson’s Calico
   Dress—In the Diary—A Nineteenth Century Wonder—How the Old
   Carpets were Patched—How $30,000 were Spent—Buying the
   Furniture—Working in Hot Weather—Very Good Dinners—Doors Open
   to the Mob—Sketching a Banquet—The Portraits of the
   Presidents—The Impeachment Trial—Peace in the Family—The Grant
   Dynasty—Looking Home-like—Mrs. Grant at Home—What Might Be
   Done, if—How a Certain Young Lady was Spoilt—Brushing Away “the
   Dew of Innocence,”                                                243

                           CHAPTER XXVI.

        RECEPTION DAY AT THE WHITE HOUSE—GLIMPSES OF LIFE.

 Feeling Good-Natured—Looking After One’s Friends—Ready to
   Forgive—Mr. Grant’s “Likeable Side”—Rags and Tatters
   Departed—The Work of Relic-Hunters—Eight Presidents, All in a
   Row—Shadows of the Departed—A Present from the Sultan of
   Turkey—A List of Finery—A Scene Not Easily Forgotten—How They
   Wept for Their Martyr—Tales which a Room Might Tell—Underneath
   the Gold and Lace—The Census of Spittoons—“A Horror in Our
   Land”—The Shadow of Human Nature—Two “Quizzing” Ladies—An
   Illogical Dame—Her “Precarious Organ”—A Lady of Many Colors—“A
   New Woman”—A Vegetable Comparison—The Lady of the Manor—Women
   Who are Not Ashamed of Womanhood—Observed and Admired of
   All—Sketch of a Perfect Woman—After the Lapse of
   Generations—The “German”—The “Withering” of Many American
   Women—Full Dress and No Dress—What the Princess Ghika Thinks—A
   Young Girl’s Dress—“That Dreadful Woman”—The Resolution of a
   Young Man,                                                        256

                          CHAPTER XXVII.

                  INAUGURATION DAY AT WASHINGTON.

 My Own Private Opinion—The Little “Sons of War” Feeling
   Bad—Brutal Mothers—Our Heroes—Later Festivities—A Lively
   Time—The Mighty Drum-Major—“Taken for a Nigger”—Magnificent
   Display—The Oldest Regiment in the States—Sketches of
   Well-known Men—Blacque Bey—Full Turkish Costume—The Japanese
   Minister—The Supreme Court—Congress Alive Again—The
   Valedictory—Taking the Oath—“The Little Gentleman in the Big
   Chair”—His Little Speech—His Wife and Family Behind—The New
   President—Memories of Another Scene—The Curtain Falls,            269

                          CHAPTER XXVIII.

                  A PEEP AT AN INAUGURATION BALL.

 How Sixty Thousand Dollars were Spent—Something Wrong: “Twas Ever
   Thus”—A Fine Opportunity for a Few Naughty Words—Lost
   Jewels—The Colored Folks in a Fix—Six Thousand People Clamoring
   for Their Clothes!—A Magnificent “Grab”—Weeping on
   Window-ledges—Left Desolate—Walking under Difficulties—The
   Exploit of Two Old Gentlemen—Horace Greeley Loses his Old White
   Hat—He says Naughty Words of Washington—A Little Too Cold—Gay
   Decorations—Modesty in Scanty Garments—The President
   Frozen—Ladies of Distinction—Half-frozen Beauties—Why and
   Wherefore?—A Stolid Tanner Who Fought his Way,                    278

                           CHAPTER XXIX.

              THE UNITED STATES TREASURY—ITS HISTORY.

 The Responsibilities and Duties of the Secretary of the
   Treasury—Three Extraordinary Men—Hamilton Makes an Honest
   Proposal—The Mint at Philadelphia—A Little Personal Abuse—The
   Secretary Borrows Twenty Dollars—Modern Greediness—The Genius
   Becomes a Lawyer—Burning of Records—Hunting for Blunders and
   Frauds—The Treasury Building—A Little Variety—A Vision of Much
   Money—Old Debts Raked Up—Signs of the Times—The National
   Currency Act—Enormous Increase of the National Debt—Facts and
   Figures—The Credit of the Government Sustained—President
   Grant’s Rule—George S. Boutwell Made Secretary—Great
   Expectations,                                                     284

                           CHAPTER XXX.

           INSIDE THE TREASURY—THE HISTORY OF A DOLLAR.

 “Old Hickory” Erects his Cane—“Put the Building Right Here”—A
   Very Costly Building—The Workers Within—The Business of Three
   Thousand People—The Mysteries of the Treasury—Inside the
   Rooms—Mary Harris’s Revenge—The “Drones” in the Hive—Making
   Love in Office Hours—Flirtations in Public—A List of Miserable
   Sinners—A Pitiful Ancient Dame—Women’s Work in the Treasury—The
   Bureau of Printing and Engraving—Dealing in Big Figures—The
   Story of a Paper Dollar—In the Upper Floor—The Busy
   Workers—Night Work—Where the Paper is Made—The “Localized Blue
   Fibre”—_The_ Obstacle to the Counterfeiter—The Automatic
   Register—Keeping Watch—The Counters and Examiners—An Armed
   Escort—Varieties of Printing—The Contract with Adams’
   Express—Printing the Notes and Currency—Internal Revenue
   Stamps—Manufacturing the Plates—The Engraving Division—“Men of
   Many Minds”—Delicate Operations—A Pressure of Five or Six
   Tons—The Plate Complete—“Re-entering” a Plate—An
   “Impression”—How Old Plates are Used Up—A Close
   Inspection—Defying Imitation—The Geometric Lathe,                 303

                           CHAPTER XXXI.

        THE WORKERS IN THE TREASURY—HOW THE MONEY IS MADE.

 The Dollar with the Counters—In the Tubs—Getting a
   Wetting—Servants of Necessity—That Scorching Roof—Brown Paper
   Bonnets—A State of Dampness—Squaring Accounts—Superintending
   the Work—The Face-printing Division—The United States
   “Sealer”—Printing Cigar-Stamps and Gold-Notes of Many
   Colors—With a Begrimed Face—The Fiery Little Brazier—What the
   Man Does—The Woman’s Work—The Automatic Register—An Observer
   Without a Soul—Our Damp Little Dollar—The Drying Room—The First
   Wrinkles—Looking Wizened and Old—Rejuvenating a
   Dollar—Underneath Two Hundred and Forty Tons—Smooth and
   Polished—Precious to the Touch—A Virgin Dollar—The “Sealer” at
   Work—Mutilated Paper—What the Women are paid—The
   Surface-Sealing Division—Seal Printing—The Aristocratic Green
   Seal—The Numbering Division—Dividing the Dollars—Snowy Aprons
   and Delicate Ribbons—Needling the Sheet—A Blade that Does not
   Fail—Sorting the Notes—The Manipulation of the Ladies—The
   Dollar “In its Little Bed”—Dollar on Dollar—“Awaiting the Final
   Call,”                                                            317

                          CHAPTER XXXII.

                    THE LAST DAYS OF A DOLLAR.

 Ready for the World—Starting Right—Forty Busy Maids and
   Matrons—Counting Out the Money—Human Machines—A Lady Counting
   for a Dozen Years Fifty Thousand Notes in a Day—Counting Four
   Thousand Notes in Twenty Minutes—What has Passed Through _Some_
   Fingers—Big Figures—Packing Away the Dollars—The Cash
   Division—The Marble Cash-Room—The Great Iron Vault—Where Uncle
   Sam Keeps His Money—Some Nice Little Packages—Taking it
   Coolly—One Hundred Millions of Dollars in Hand—Some Little
   White Bags—The Gold Taken from the Banks of Richmond—A
   Distinction Without a Difference—The Secret of the Locks—The
   Hydraulic Elevator—Sending the Money off—Begrimed, Demoralized,
   and Despoiled—Where is Our Pretty Dollar?—The Redemption
   Division—Counting Mutilated Currency—Women at Work—Sorting Old
   Greenbacks—Three Hundred Counterfeit Dollars Daily—Detecting
   Bad Notes—“Short,” “Over,” and “Counterfeit”—Difficulty of
   Counterfeiting Fresh Notes—Vast Amounts Sent for
   Redemption—Thirty-one Million Dollars in One Year—The Assistant
   Treasurer at New York—The Cancelling Room—The Counter’s
   Report—The Bundle in a Box—Awkward Responsibility—“Punching”
   Old Dollars—The Funeral of the Dollar—The Burning, Fiery
   Furnace—The End of the Dollar,                                    326

                          CHAPTER XXXIII.

        THE GREAT CASH-ROOM—THE WATCH-DOG OF THE TREASURY.

 No Need for Dirty Money—The Flowers of July—Money Affairs—The
   Great Cash-Room—Its Marble Glories—A Glance Inside—The
   Beautiful Walls—A Good Deal of Very Bad Taste—Only Made of
   Plaster—“The Watch Dog” of the Treasury—The Custodian of the
   Cash—A Broken-nosed Pitcher—Ink for the Autographs—His Ancient
   Chair—“The General”—“Crooked, Crotchety, and
   Great-hearted”—“Principles” and Pantaloons—Below the Surface—An
   Unpaintable Face—An Object of Personal Curiosity—Dick and Dolly
   pay the General a Visit—How the Thing is Done—Getting his
   Autograph—A Specimen for the Folks at Home—Where the Treasurer
   Sleeps—Going the Round at Night—Making Assurance Sure—Awakened
   by a Strong Impression—Sleepless—In the “Small Hours”—Finding
   the Door Open—A Careless Clerk—The Care of Eight Hundred
   Millions—On the Alert—The Auditors—The Solicitor’s Office—The
   Light-House Board—The Coast Survey—Internal Revenue Department,   339

                          CHAPTER XXXIV.

 WOMAN’S WORK IN THE DEPARTMENTS—WHAT THEY DO AND HOW THEY DO IT.

 Women Experts in the Treasury—Their Superiority to Men—Money
   Burnt in the Chicago Fire—Cases of Valuable Rubbish—Identifying
   Burnt Greenbacks—The Ashes of the Boston Fire—From the Bottom
   of the Mississippi—Mrs. Patterson Saves a “Pile” of Money—Money
   in the Toes of Stockings—In the Stomachs of Men and Beasts—From
   the Bodies of the Murdered and Drowned—One Hundred and Eighty
   Women at Work—“The Broom Brigade”—Scrubbing the Floors—Stories
   which Might be Told—Meditating Suicide—The Struggle of Life—How
   a Thousand Women are Employed—Speaking of Their Characters—Miss
   Grundy of New York—Women of Business Capacity—A Lady as Big as
   Two Books!—A Disgrace to the Nation—Working for Two, Paid for
   One—Beaten by a Woman—The Post-Office Department—Folding “Dead
   Letters”—A Woman Who has Worked Well—“Sorrow Does Not Kill”—The
   Patent Office—Changes Which Should be Made,                       350

                           CHAPTER XXXV.

      WOMEN’S WORK IN THE TREASURY—HOW APPOINTMENTS ARE MADE.

 The Difference Between Men and Women—A Shameful and Disgraceful
   Fraud—What Two Women Did—Cutting Down the Salaries of Women—The
   First Woman-Clerk in the Treasury—Taking Her Husband’s
   Place—The Feminine Tea-Pot—“A Woman can Use Scissors Better
   than a Man”—Profound Discovery!—“She’ll do it
   _Cheaper”_—Besieged by Women—Scenes of Distress and
   Trouble—Infamous Intrigues—The Baseness of Certain
   Senators—Virtue Spattered with Mud—Secret Doings in High
   Places—Sounding Magnanimous—Passing the Examination—The
   Irrepressible Masculine Tyrants—Up to the Mark, but not
   Winning—An Alarming Suggestion—Men _Versus_ Women—Tampering
   with the Scales,                                                  369

                          CHAPTER XXXVI.

       GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL LIFE—HOW PLACE AND POWER ARE WON.

 Keeping his Eye Open—The Sweet and Winning Ways of Mr.
   Parasite—In Office—The Fault of the “People” and “my
   Friends”—Pulling the Wool over the Eyes of the Innocent—Writing
   Letters in a Big Way—The “Dark Ways” of Wicked Mr. P—— —A
   Suspicious Yearning for Private Life—The Sweets of Office—John
   Jones is not Encouraged—Post-offices as Plentiful as
   Blackberries—Receiving Office seekers—Dismissing
   John—Over-crowded Pastures—John’s Own Private Opinion—Peculiar
   Impartiality of the Man in Office—What the Successful Man
   Said—A Certain Kind of Man, and Where He can be Found,            382

                          CHAPTER XXXVII.

         THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE—ITS MARVELS AND MYSTERIES.

 The Post-Office—The Postal Service In Early Times—The First
   Postmaster General—The Present Chief—A Cabinet Minister—The
   Subordinate Officers—Their Positions and Duties—The Ocean Mail
   Postal Service—The Contract Office—The Finance Office—The
   Inspection Office—Complaints and Misdoings—One Hundred and
   Twenty Years Ago—Franklin Performs Wonderful Works—His Ideas of
   Speed—Between Boston and Philadelphia in Six Weeks—Dismissed
   from Office—A New Post-Office System—The Inspector of Dead
   Letters—Only Seventy-five Offices in the States—Only One
   Clerk—Government Stages—The Office at Washington—Franklin’s Old
   Ledger—The Present Number of Post-Offices—The Dead Letter
   Office—The Ladies Too Much Squeezed—Opening the Dead
   Letters—Why Certain Persons are Trusted—Three Thousand
   Thoughtless People—Valuable Letters—Ensuring Correctness—The
   Property Branch—The Touching Story of the Photographs—The
   Return Branch—What the Postmaster Says,                           388

                         CHAPTER XXXVIII.

 THE DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR—UNCLE SAM’S DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS.

 Inadequate Accommodation in Heaven—Valuable Documents—In
   Jeopardy—Talk of Moving the Capital—Concerning Certain Idiots—A
   Day in the Patent Office—The Inventive Genius of the
   Country—Division of Indian Affairs—Lands and Railroads—Pensions
   and Patents—The Superintendent of the Building—The Secretary of
   the Interior and his Subordinates—Pensions and Their
   Recipients—Indian Affairs—How the Savages are Treated—Over
   Twenty—One Million of Dollars Credited to their Little
   Account—The Census Bureau—A Rather Big Work—The Bureau of
   Patents—What is a Patent?—A Few Dollars Over—The Use Made of a
   Certain Brick Building—Cutting Down the Ladies’ Salaries—Making
   Places for Useful Voters—A Sweet Prayer for Delano’s Welfare,     407

                          CHAPTER XXXIX.

       THE PENSION BUREAU—HOW GOVERNMENT PAYS ITS SERVANTS.

 Sneering at Red Tape—The Division of Labor—Scrutinizing
   Petitions—A Heavy Paper Jacket—Invalids, Widows, and Minors—The
   Examiner of Pensions—How Claims are Entertained and Tested—What
   is Recorded in the Thirty Enormous Volumes—How Many Genuine
   Cases are Refused—One of the Inconveniences of Ignorance—The
   Claim Agent Gobbles up the Lion’s Share—An Extensive
   Correspondence—How Claims are Mystified, and Money is
   Wasted—Seventy-five Thousand Claims Pending—The Reward of
   Fourteen Days’ Service—The Sum Total of What the Government has
   Paid in Pensions—The Largest and the Smallest Pension
   Office—The Miscellaneous Branch—Investigating Frauds—A Poor
   “Dependent” Woman with Forty Thousand Dollars—How “Honest and
   Respectable” People Defraud the Government—The Medical
   Division—Examining Invalids—The Restoration-Desk—The
   Appeal-Desk—The Final-Desk—The Work that Has Been Done—One
   Hundred and Fifty Thousand People Grumbling—The Wrath of a
   Pugnacious Captain,                                               418

                            CHAPTER XL.

 TREASURES AND CURIOSITIES OF THE PATENT OFFICE—THE MODEL ROOM—ITS
                      RELICS AND INVENTIONS.

 The Patent Office Building—The Model Room—“The Exhibition of the
   Nation”—A Room Two Hundred and Seventy Feet in Length—The
   Models—Wonders and Treasures of the Room—Benjamin Franklin’s
   Press—Model Fire-Escapes—Wonderful Fire-Extinguishers—The
   Efforts of Genius—Sheep-Stalls, Rat-Traps, and Gutta Percha—An
   Ancient Mariner’s Compass—Captain Cook’s Razor—The Atlantic
   Cable—The Signatures of Emperors—An Extraordinary Turkish
   Treaty—Treasures of the Orient—Rare Medals—The Reward of Major
   Andre’s Captors—The Washington Relics—His Old Tent—His Blankets
   and Bed-Curtains—His Chairs and Looking-Glass—His Primitive
   Mess-Chest and old Tin Plates—Model of an Extraordinary
   Boat—Abraham Lincoln as an Inventor—The Hat Worn on the Fatal
   Night—The Gift of the Tycoon—The Efforts of Genius—A Machine to
   Force Hens to Lay Eggs—A Hook for Fishing Worms out of the
   Human Stomach,                                                    436

 CHAPTER XLI.

  THE BUREAU OF PATENTS—CRAZY INVENTORS AND WONDERFUL INVENTIONS

 Patent-Rights in Steamboats—The Corps of Examiners—Twenty
   Thousand Applications _per annum_—Fourteen Thousand Patents
   Granted in One Year—Wonderful Expansion of Inventive
   Genius—“The Universal Yankee”—Second-hand Inventions—Where the
   Inventions Come From—Taking Out a Patent for the Lord’s
   Prayer—A Patent for a Cow’s Tail—A Lady’s Patent—Hesitating to
   Accept a Million Dollars—How Patentees are Protected—The
   American System—Exploits of General Leggett—His Efficiency in
   Office—The  Inventor Always a Dreamer—Perpetual Motion—The
   Invention of a D. D.—Silencing the Doctor—A New Process of
   Embalming—A Dead Body Sent to the Office—Utilizing Niagara—An
   Englishman’s Invention—Inventors in Paris—How to Kill Lions and
   Tigers in the United States with Catmint—A Fearful Bomb
   Shell—Eccentric Letters—Amusing Specimens of Correspondence,      446

                           CHAPTER XLII.

                        THE WAR DEPARTMENT.

 The Secretary-of-War—His Duties—The Department of the Navy—The
   Custody of the Flags—Patriotic Trophies—The War of the
   Rebellion—Captured Flags—An Ugly Flag and a Strange Motto—The
   Stars and Stripes—The Black Flag—No Quarter—The Washington
   Aqueduct—Topographical Engineers—The Ordnance Bureau—The War
   Department Building—During the War—Lincoln’s Solitary
   Walk—Secretary Stanton—The Exigencies of War—The Medical
   History of the War—Dr. Hammond—Dr. J. H. Baxter—The Inspection
   of over Half a Million Persons—Who is Unfit for Military
   Service—Curious Calculations Respecting Height, Health, and
   Color,                                                            460

                          CHAPTER XLIII.

       THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM—ITS CURIOSITIES AND WONDERS.

 Ford’s Theatre—Its Interesting Memories—The Last
   Festivities—Assassination of President Lincoln—Two Years
   Later—Effects of “War, Disease, and Human Skill”—Collection of
   Pathological Specimens—The Army Medical Museum opened—Purchase
   of Ford’s Theatre—Ghastly Specimens—A Book Four Centuries
   Old—Rare Old Volumes—The Most Interesting of the National
   Institutions—Various Opinions—Effects on Visitors—An
   Extraordinary Withered Arm—A Dried Sioux Baby!—Its Poor Little
   Nose—A Well-dressed Child—Its Buttons and Beads—Casts of
   Soldier-Martyrs—Making a New Nose—Vassear’s Mounted
   Craniums—Model Skeletons—A Giant, Seven Feet High—Skeleton of a
   Child—All that remains of Wilkes Booth, the Assassin—Fractures
   by Shot and Shell—General Sickles Contributes His Quota—A Case
   of Skulls—Arrow-head Wounds—Nine Savage Sabre-Cuts—Seven
   Bullets in One Head—Phenomenal Skulls—A Powerful Nose—An
   Attempted Suicide—A Proverb Corrected—Specimen from the Paris
   Catacombs—Typical Heads of the Human Race—Remarkable Indian
   Relics—“Flatheads”—The Work of Indian Arrows—An Extraordinary
   Story—A “Pet” Curiosity—A Japanese Manikin—Tattooed
   Heads—Adventure of Captain John Smith—A “Stingaree”—The
   Microscopical Division—Preparing Specimens,                       475

                           CHAPTER XLIV.

 “OLD PROBABILITIES’” WORKSHOP—HOW WEATHER CALCULATIONS ARE MADE.

 “Old Probabilities”—An Interesting Subject—The Weather Bureau—The
   Experience Of Fifty Centuries—Foreseeing the Approach of
   Storms—The Fate of the _Metis_—Quicker than the Storm—The First
   Warning by Telegraph—Exchanging Reports with Canada—The
   “Observing Stations”—Protecting the River Commerce—The Signal
   Corps—The Examinations—The Sergeant’s Duties—The
   Signal-Stations—The Work of the Observers—Preparing Bulletins
   at Washington—Professor Maury’s Account—Safeguards Against
   Mistakes—Deducing Probabilities—Despatching Bulletins—Watching
   the Storm—The Storm at San Francisco—Prophetic
   Preparations—Perfect Arrangements—Training the
   Sergeants—General Meyer’s Work—An Extraordinary Mansion—The
   “Kites and Windmills”—Inside the Mansion—The Apparatus—“The
   Unerring Weather-Man”—“Old Probabilities” Himself—How
   Calculations are Made—“Young Probabilities”—Interesting Facts,    491

                           CHAPTER XLV.

    THE NAVY DEPARTMENT—THE UNITED STATES OBSERVATORY—THE STATE
                            DEPARTMENT.

 The Navy-Yards and Docks—Equipment of Vessels—Bureau of Ordnance
   and Hydrography—The Naval Observatory—The Bureau of
   Medicine—Interesting Statistics—The Navy Seventy Years
   Ago—Instructions of the Great Napoleon—Keeping Pace with
   England—Scene from the Observatory—Peeping through the
   Telescope—The Mountains in the Moon—The Largest Telescope in
   the World—The Chronometers of the Government—The Test of
   Time—Chronometers on Trial—The Wind and Current Charts—The Good
   Deeds of Lieutenant Maury—“The Habits of the Whale”—The
   Equatorial—A Self-acting Telescope—The Transit Instrument—The
   Great Astronomical Clock—Telling Time by Telegraph—Hearing the
   Clock Tick Miles Away—The Transit of Venus—Great Preparations—A
   Trifle of Half-a-Million of Miles—A Little Secret
   Suggestion—Pardons and Passports,                                 507

                           CHAPTER XLVI.

    INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE—THE STORY OF A “PUB.
                       DOC.”—WOMEN WORKERS.

 The Largest Printing Establishment in the World—The Celebrated
   “Pub. Doc.”—A Personal Experience—What the Nation’s Printing
   Costs—A Melancholy Fact—Two Sides of the Question—Printing a
   Million Money-Orders—The Stereotype Foundry—A Few Figures—The
   Government Printing-Office—A Model Office—Aiding Human
   Labor—Working by Machinery—The Ink-Room—The Private Offices—Mr.
   Clapp’s Comfortable Office—The Proof-Reading Room—The Workers
   There—The Compositor’s Room—The Women-Workers—Setting Up Her
   Daily Task—The Tricks and Stratagems of Correspondents—A
   Private Press in the White House—Acres of Paper—Specimens of
   Binding—Specimen Copies—Binding the Surgical History of the
   War—The Ladies Require a Little More Air—Delicate Gold-Leaf
   Work—The Folding-Room—An Army of Maidens—The Stitching-Room—The
   Needles of Women—A Busy Girl at Work—“Thirty Cents
   Apiece”—Getting Used to It—The Girl Over Yonder—The Manual
   Labor System—Preparing “Copy”—“Setting Up”—Making-Up
   “Forms”—Reading “Proof”—The Press-Room—Going to Press—Folding,
   Stitching, and Binding—Sent Out to “The Wide, Wide World.”        520

                          CHAPTER XLVII.

    INSIDE THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION—ITS TREASURES OF ART AND
           SCIENCE—THE LARGEST COLLECTION IN THE WORLD.

 Strange Story of James Smithson—A Good Use of Money—Seeking the
   Diffusion of Knowledge—Catching a Tear from a Lady’s
   Cheek—Analysis of the Same Tear—A Brief Tract on
   Coffee-Making—James Smithson’s Will—Praiseworthy Efforts of
   Robert Dale Owen—The Bequest Accepted—The Plan of the
   Institution—Its Intent and Object—The Smithsonian
   Reservation—The Smithsonian Building—The Museum—Treasures of
   Art and Science—The Results of Thirty Government
   Expeditions—The Largest Collection in the World—Valuable
   Mineral Specimens—All the Vertebrated Animals of North
   America—Classified Curiosities—The Smithsonian
   Contributions—Its Advantages and Operations—Results—The
   Agricultural Bureau—Its Plan and Object—Collecting Valuable
   Agricultural Facts—Helping the Purchaser of a Farm—The Expenses
   of the Bureau—The Library—Nature-Printing—In the Museum—The
   Great California Plank—Vegetable Specimens,                       533

                          CHAPTER XLVIII.

    OLD HOMES AND HAUNTS OF WASHINGTON—MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS.

 The Oldest Home in Washington—The Cottage of David Burns—David
   Burns’s Daughter—The Attractions of a Cottage—The Favored
   Suitor—How The Lady was Wooed and Won—Mother and Daughter—The
   Offering to God—A Costly Mausoleum—The Assassination
   Conspiracy—Persecuting the Innocent—The Octagon House—A
   Comfortable Income—The Pleasures of Property—A Haunted
   House—Apple-Stealing—“Departed Joys and Stomach-Aches”—The
   Tragedy of the Decatur House—A Fatal Duel—The Stockton-Sickles
   House—A Spot of Frightful Interest—The Club-House—Assassination
   of Mr. Seward—Scenes of Festivity—The House of Charles
   Sumner—Corcoran Castle—The Finest Picture Gallery in
   America—Powers’ Greek Slave—“Maggie Beck”—During the War—The
   Romantic Story of Mr. Barlow’s Niece—Forgetting His Own
   Name—Locking Up a Wife—The “Ten Buildings”—Old Capitol
   Prison—The Deeds of Ann Royal and Sally Brass—“Paul
   Pry”—Blackmailing—Feared By All Mankind—An Unpleasant Sort of
   Woman—Arrested on Suspicion—Where Wirz was Hung,                  549

                           CHAPTER XLIX.

               MOUNT VERNON—MEMORIAL DAY—ARLINGTON.

 The Tomb of Washington—The Pilgrims who Visit it—Where George and
   Martha Washington Rest—The Thought of Other Graves—The
   Defenders of the Republic—Eating Boiled Eggs—A Butterfly
   Visit—Patriarchal Dogs—Remembering a Feast—The Room in which
   Washington Died—The Great Key of the Bastile—The Gift of
   Lafayette—Moralizing—Inside the Mansion—Uncle Tom’s
   _Bouquets_—Beautiful Scenery—Memorial Day at Arlington—The
   Soldiers’ Orphans—The Grave of Forty Soldiers—The Sacrifice of
   a Widow’s Son—The Record of the Brave—A National Prayer for the
   Dead,                                                             581

                            CHAPTER L.

    THE LIFE AND CAREER OF JAMES A. GARFIELD, THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT.

 The National Republican Convention of 1880—Nomination of James A.
   Garfield as President Hayes’s successor—The History of His
   Life—His Humble Home—Death of His Father—Hardship and
   Privations of Pioneer Life—Struggles of His Mother to Support
   the Family—Splitting Fence Rails with her own Hands—The Future
   President’s Early School Days—Working as a Carpenter—Chopping
   Wood for a Living—Leaving Home—Life as a Canal Boat Boy—Narrow
   Escapes—Beginning His Education in Earnest—School Life at
   Chester—How He Paid His Own Way—First Meeting with His Future
   Wife—Early Religious Experience—Enters Williams
   College—Professor and President—His First Appearance in
   Politics—His Brilliant Military Record—His Services at Shiloh,
   Corinth, and Chickamauga—His Congressional Career—Republican
   Leader of the House of Representatives—He is Elected to the
   United States Senate—His Appearance as the Leader of the
   Sherman Forces at the Chicago Convention—He is Himself
   Nominated amid the Wildest Enthusiasm—An Exciting Campaign—His
   Triumphant Election,                                              588

                            CHAPTER LI.

 THE HISTORY OF THE ASSASSINATION AND DEATH OF PRESIDENT JAMES A.
              GARFIELD—THE GREAT TRAGEDY OF THE AGE.

 Inauguration of President Garfield—Kissing His Venerable
   Mother—Chief Magistrate of Fifty Million People—Illness of Mrs.
   President Garfield—Tender Solicitude of the President for the
   Welfare of His Wife—She Goes to Long Branch—The President’s
   Plans to Meet Her—His Arrival at the Depot of the Baltimore and
   Potomac R. R. at Washington—His Buoyant Spirits—Joyous
   Anticipation of Meeting His Wife—The Assassin Lying in Wait—The
   Fatal Shot—Tremendous Excitement—The Wounded President—His
   Assassin, Charles J. Guiteau—Who He is—His Infamous Appearance
   and Character—His Cool Deliberation—His Capture and
   Imprisonment—A Thrill of Horror Throughout the Country—Removal
   of the President to the White House—Arrival of Mrs.
   Garfield—Her Courage and Devotion—The Fight for Life—Anxious
   Days—Removal of the Wounded President to Long Branch—A
   Remarkable Ride—Great Anxiety Throughout the Country—Fighting
   Death—Slowly Sinking—After Eighty Days of Unparalleled
   Suffering the President Breathes His Last—Grief and Gloom
   throughout the Land—The Whole Civilized World in
   Tears—Unprecedented Funeral and Memorial Honors—His Burial at
   Cleveland—Attendance of Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand
   People—His Life and Character Reviewed,                           606

                        Ten Years in Washington.

                               ----------

                               CHAPTER I.
                        FROM THE VERY BEGINNING.

The Young Surveyor’s Dream—Humboldt’s View of Washington—A Vision
    of the Future Capital—The United States Government on
    Wheels—Ambitious Offers—The Rival Rivers—Potomac Wins—Battles in
    Congress—Patriotic Offers of Territory—Temporary Lodgings for Eleven
    Years—Old-Fashioned Simplicity—He Couldn’t Afford Furniture—A Great
    Man’s Modesty—Conflicting Claims—Smith Backs Baltimore—A Convincing
    Fact—The Dreadful Quakers—A Condescending Party—A Slight
    Amendment—An Old Bill Brought to Light Again—The Indian Place with
    the Long Name—Secession Threatened—The Future Strangely
    Foreshadowed—A Dinner of Some Consequence—How it was Done—Really a
    Stranger—A Nice Proposal—Sweetening the Pill—A “Revulsion of
    Stomach”—Fixed on the Banks of the Potomac.


More than a century ago a young surveyor, Captain of the Virginia
troops, camped with Braddock’s forces upon the hill now occupied by the
Washington Observatory, looked down as Moses looked from Nebo upon the
promised land, until he saw growing before his prophetic sight the city
of the future, the Capital of a vast and free people then unborn. This
youth was George Washington. The land upon which he gazed was the
undreamed of site of the undreamed of city of the Republic, then to be.
This youth, ordained of God to be the Father of the Republic, was the
prophet of its Capital. He foresaw it, he chose it, he served it, he
loved it; but as a Capital he never entered it.

Gazing from the green promontory of Camp Hill, what was the sight of
land and water upon which the youthful surveyor looked down? It was fair
to see, so fair that Humboldt declared after traveling around the earth,
that for the site of a city the entire globe does not hold its equal. On
his left rose the wooded hights of Georgetown. On his right, the hills
of Virginia stretched outward toward the ocean. From the luxurious
meadows which zoned these hills, the Potomac River—named by the Indians
Cohonguroton, River of Swans—from its source in the Alleghany Mountains,
flowing from north-west to south-west, here expanded more than the width
of a mile, and then in concentrated majesty rolled on to meet Chesapeake
Bay, the river James, and the ocean. South and east, flowing to meet it,
came the beautiful Anacostin, now called Eastern Branch, and on the
west, winding through its picturesque bluffs, ran the lovely Rock Creek,
pouring its bright waters into the Potomac, under the Hights of
Georgetown. At the confluence of these two rivers, girdled by this
bright stream, and encompassed by hills, the young surveyor looked
across a broad amphitheatre of rolling plain, still covered with native
oaks and undergrowth. It was not these he saw. His prescient sight
forecast the future. He saw the two majestic rivers bearing upon their
waters ships bringing to these green shores the commerce of many
nations. He saw the gently climbing hills crowned with villas, and in
the stead of oaks and undergrowth, broad streets, a populous city,
magnificent buildings, outrivaling the temples of antiquity—the Federal
City, the Capital of the vast Republic yet to be! The dreary camp, the
weary march, privation, cold, hunger, bloodshed, revolution, patient
victory at last, all these were to be endured, outlived, before the
beautiful Capital of his future was reached. Did the youth foresee
these, also? Many toiling, struggling, suffering years bridged the dream
of the young surveyor and the first faint dawn of its fulfillment.

After the Declaration of Independence, before the adoption of the
Constitution of the United States, its government moved slowly and
painfully about on wheels. As the exigencies of war demanded, Congress
met at Philadelphia, Baltimore, Lancaster, York, Princeton, Annapolis,
Trenton, and New York. During these troubled years it was the ambition
of every infant State to claim the seat of government. For this purpose
New York offered Kingston; Rhode Island, Newport; Maryland, Annapolis;
Virginia, Williamsburg.

June 21, 1783, Congress was insulted at Philadelphia by a band of
mutineers, which the State authorities could not subdue. The body
adjourned to Princeton; and the troubles and trials of its itinerancy
caused the subject of a permanent national seat of government to be
taken up and discussed with great vehemence from that time till the
formation of the Constitution. The resolutions offered, and the votes
taken in these debates, indicate that the favored site for the future
Capital lay somewhere between the banks of the Delaware and the
Potomac—“near Georgetown,” says the most oft-repeated sentence. October
30, 1784, the subject was discussed by Congress, at Trenton. A long
debate resulted in the appointment of three commissioners, with full
power to lay out a district not exceeding three, nor less than two miles
square, on the banks of either side of the Delaware, for a Federal town,
with power to buy soil and to enter into contracts for the building of a
Federal House, President’s house, house for Secretaries, etc.

Notwithstanding the adoption of this resolution, these Commissioners
never entered upon their duties. Probably the lack of necessary
appropriations did not hinder them more than the incessant attempts made
to repeal the act appointing the Commissioners, and to substitute the
Potomac for the Delaware, as the site of the anticipated Capital.
Although the name of President Washington does not appear in these
controversies, even then the dream of the young surveyor was taking on
in the President’s mind the tangible shape of reality. First, after the
war for human freedom and the declaration of national independence, was
the desire in the heart of George Washington that the Capital of the new
Nation whose armies he had led to triumph, should rise above the soil of
his native Dominion, upon the banks of the great river where he had
foreseen it in his early dream. That he used undue influence with the
successive Congresses which debated and voted on many sites, not the
slightest evidence remains, and the nobility of his character forbids
the supposition. But the final decision attests to the prevailing
potency of his preferences and wishes, and the immense pile of
correspondence which he has left behind on the subject, proves that next
to the establishment of its independence, was the Capital of the
Republic dear to the heart of George Washington. May 10, 1787,
Massachusetts, New York, Virginia and Georgia voted for, and New Jersey,
Pennsylvania, Delaware and Maryland against the proposition of Mr. Lee
of Virginia, that the Board of Treasury should take measures for
erecting the necessary public buildings for the accommodation of
Congress, at Georgetown, on the Potomac River, as soon as the soil and
jurisdiction of said town could be obtained.

Many and futile were the battles fought by the old Congress, for the
site of the future Capital. These battles doubtless had much to do with
Section 8, Article 1, of the Constitution of the United States, which
declares that Congress shall have power to exercise exclusive
legislation in all cases whatsoever, over such district (not exceeding
ten miles square,) as may, by cession of particular States and the
acceptance of Congress, become the seat of government of the United
States. This article was assented to by the convention which framed the
Constitution, without debate. The adoption of the Constitution was
followed spontaneously by most munificent acts on the part of several
States. New York appropriated its public buildings to the use of the new
government, and Congress met in that city April 6, 1789. On May 15,
following, Mr. White from Virginia, presented to the House of
Representatives a resolve of the Legislature of that State, offering to
the Federal government ten miles square of its territory, in any part of
that State, which Congress might choose as the seat of the Federal
government. The day following, Mr. Seney presented a similar act from
the State of Maryland. Memorials and petitions followed in quick
succession from Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Maryland. The resolution of
the Virginia Legislature begged for the co-operation of Maryland,
offering to advance the sum of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars
to the use of the general government toward erecting public buildings,
if the Assembly of Maryland would advance two-fifths of a like sum.
Whereupon the Assembly of Virginia immediately voted to cede the
necessary soil, and to provide seventy-two thousand dollars toward the
erection of public buildings. “New York and Pennsylvania gratuitously
furnished elegant and convenient accommodations for the government”
during the eleven years which Congress passed in their midst, and
offered to continue to do the same. The Legislature of Pennsylvania went
further in lavish generosity, and voted a sum of money to build a house
for the President. The house which it built was lately the University of
Pennsylvania. The present White House is considered much too
old-fashioned and shabby to be the suitable abode of the President of
the United States. A love of ornate display has taken the place of early
Republican simplicity. When George Washington saw the dimensions of the
house which the Pennsylvanians were building for the President’s
Mansion, he informed them at once that he would never occupy it, much
less incur the expense of buying suitable furniture for it. In those
Spartan days it never entered into the head of the State to buy
furniture for the “Executive Mansion.” Thus the Chief Citizen, instead
of going into a palace like a satrap, rented and furnished a modest
house belonging to Mr. Robert Morris, in Market street. Meanwhile the
great battle for the permanent seat of government went on unceasingly
among the representatives of conflicting States. No modern debate, in
length and bitterness, has equalled this of the first Congress under the
Constitution. Nearly all agreed that New York was not sufficiently
central. There was an intense conflict concerning the relative merits of
Philadelphia and Germantown; Havre de Grace and a place called Wright’s
Ferry, on the Susquehanna; Baltimore on the Patapsco, and Connogocheague
on the Potomac. Mr. Smith proclaimed Baltimore, and the fact that its
citizens had subscribed forty thousand dollars for public buildings. The
South Carolinians cried out against Philadelphia because of its majority
of Quakers who, they said, were eternally dogging the Southern members
with their schemes of emancipation. Many others ridiculed the project of
building palaces in the woods. Mr. Gerry of Massachusetts declared that
it was the hight of unreasonableness to establish the seat of government
so far south that it would place nine States out of the thirteen so far
north of the National Capital; while Mr. Page protested that New York
was superior to any place that he knew for the orderly and decent
behavior of its inhabitants, an assertion, sad to say, no longer
applicable to the city of New York.

September 5, 1789, a resolution passed the House of Representatives
“that the permanent seat of the government of the United States ought to
be at some convenient place on the banks of the Susquehanna, in the
State of Pennsylvania.” The passage of this bill awoke the deepest ire
in the members from the South. Mr. Madison declared that if the
proceedings of that day could have been foreseen by Virginia, that State
would never have _condescended to become a party to the Constitution_.
Mr. Scott remarked truly: “The future tranquillity and well being of the
United States depended as much on this as on any question that ever had
or ever could come before Congress;” while Fisher Ames declared that
every principle of pride and honor, and even of patriotism, was engaged
in the debate.

The bill passed the House by a vote of thirty-one to nineteen. The
Senate amended it by striking out “Susquehanna,” and inserting a clause
making the permanent seat of government Germantown, Pennsylvania,
provided the State of Pennsylvania should give security to pay one
hundred thousand dollars for the erection of public buildings. The House
agreed to these amendments. Both Houses of Congress agreed upon
Germantown as the Capital of the Republic, and yet the final passage of
the bill was hindered by a slight amendment.

June 28, another old bill was dragged forth and amended by inserting “on
the River Potomac, at some place between the mouths of the Eastern
Branch and the Connogocheague.” This was finally passed, July 16, 1790,
entitled “An Act establishing the temporary and permanent seat of the
government of the United States.” The word temporary applied to
Philadelphia, whose disappointment in not becoming the final Capital was
to be appeased by Congress holding their sessions there till 1800, when,
as a member expressed it, “they were to go to the Indian place with the
long name, on the Potomac.”

Human bitterness and dissension were even then rife in both Houses of
Congress. The bond which bound the new Union of States together was
scarcely welded, and yet secession already was an openly uttered threat.
An amendment had been offered to the funding act, providing for the
assumption of the State debts to the amount of twenty-one millions,
which was rejected by the House. The North favored assumption and the
South opposed it. Just then reconciliation and amity were brought about
between the combatants precisely as they often are in our own time, over
a well-laid dinner table, and a bottle of rare old wine. Jefferson was
then Secretary of State, and Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the
Treasury. Hamilton thought that the North would yield and consent to the
establishment of the Capital on the Potomac, if the South would agree to
the amendment to assume the State debts. Jefferson and Hamilton met
accidentally in the street, and the result of their half an hour’s walk
“backward and forward before the President’s door” was the next day’s
dinner party, and the final, irrevocable fixing of the National Capital
on the banks of the Potomac. How it was done, as an illustration of
early legislation, which has its perfect parallel in the legislation of
the present day, can best be told in Jefferson’s own words, quoted from
one of his letters. He says: “Hamilton was in despair. As I was going to
the President’s one day I met him in the street. He walked me backward
and forward before the President’s door for half an hour. He painted
pathetically the temper into which the legislature had been wrought; the
disgust of those who were called the creditor States; the danger of the
secession of their members, and the separation of the States. He
observed that the members of the administration ought to act in concert
... that the President was the centre on which all administrative
questions finally rested; that all of us should rally around him and
support by joint efforts measures approved by him, ... that an appeal
from me to the judgment and discretion of some of my friends might
effect a change in the vote, and the machine of government now
suspended, might be again set in motion. I told him that I was really a
stranger to the whole subject, not having yet informed myself of the
system of finance adopted ... that if its rejection endangered a
dissolution of our Union at this incipient stage, I should deem that the
most unfortunate of all consequences, to avert which all partial and
temporary evils should be yielded.

“I proposed to him, however, to dine with me the next day, and I would
invite another friend or two, bring them into conference together and I
thought it impossible that reasonable men, consulting together coolly,
could fail by _some mutual sacrifices of opinion to form a compromise
which was to save the Union_. The discussion took place.... It was
finally agreed to, that whatever importance had been attached to the
rejection of this proposition, the preservation of the Union and of
concord among the States was more important, and that therefore it would
be better that the vote of rejection should be rescinded to effect which
some members should change their votes. But it was observed that this
pill would be _peculiarly bitter to Southern States, and that some
concomitant measure should be adopted to sweeten it a little to them_.
There had before been a proposition to fix the seat of government either
at Philadelphia or Georgetown on the Potomac, and it was thought that by
giving it to Philadelphia for ten years, and to Georgetown permanently
afterward, this might, as an anodyne, calm in some degree the ferment
which might be excited by the other measure alone. So two of the Potomac
members, [White and Lee,] but White with a revulsion of stomach almost
convulsive, agreed to change their votes, and Hamilton agreed to carry
the other point ... and so the assumption was passed,” and the permanent
Capital fixed on the banks of the Potomac.




                              CHAPTER II.
                 CROSS PURPOSES AND QUEER SPECULATIONS.

Born of Much Bother—Long Debates and Pamphlets—Undefined
    Apprehensions—Debates on the Coming City—Old World Examples—Sir
    James Expresses an Opinion—A Dream of the Distant West—An Old-time
    Want—A Curious Statement of Fact—“Going West”—Where is the Centre of
    Population—An Important Proclamation—Original Land Owners—Well-worn
    Patents—Getting on with Pugnacious Planters—Obstinate David Burns—A
    “Widow’s Mite” of Some Magnitude—How the Scotchman was
    Subjugated—“If You Hadn’t Married the Widow Custis”—A Rather
    “Forcible Argument”—His Excellency “Chooses”—The First Record in
    Washington—Old Homes and Haunts—Purchase of Land—Extent of the City.


As we have seen, the Federal City was the object of George Washington’s
devoted love long before its birth. It was born through much
tribulation. First came the long debates and pamphlets of 1790, as to
whether the seat of the American government should be a commercial
capital. Madison and his party argued that the only way to insure the
power of exclusive legislation to Congress as accorded by the
Constitution, was to remove the Capital as far from commercial interests
as possible. They declared that the exercise of this authority over a
large mixed commercial community would be impossible. Conflicting
mercantile interests would cause constant political disturbances, and
when party feelings ran high, or business was stagnant, the commercial
capital would swarm with an irritable mob brim full of wrongs and
grievances. This would involve the necessity of an army standing in
perpetual defense of the capital. London and Westminster were cited as
examples where the commercial importance of a single city had more
influence on the measures of government than the whole empire outside.
Sir James Macintosh was quoted, wherein he said “that a great metropolis
was to be considered as the heart of a political body—as the focus of
its powers and talents—as the direction of public opinion, and,
therefore, as a strong bulwark in the cause of freedom, or as a powerful
engine in the hands of an oppressor.” To prevent the Capital of the
Republic becoming the latter the Constitution deprived it of the
elective franchise. The majority in Congress opposed the idea of a great
commercial city as the future Capital of the country. Nevertheless when
a plan for the city was adopted it was one of exceptional magnificence.
It was a dream of the founders of the Capital to build a city expressly
for its purpose and to build it for centuries to come. In view of the
vast territory now comprehended in the United States their provision for
the future may seem meagre and limited. But when we remember that there
were then but thirteen States, that railroads and telegraphs were
undreamed of as human possibilities—that nearly all the empire west of
the Potomac was an unpenetrated wilderness, we may wonder at their
prescience and wisdom, rather than smile at their lack of foresight.
Even in that early and clouded morning there were statesmen who foresaw
the later glory of the West fore-ordained to shine on far off
generations. Says Mr. Madison: “If the calculation be just that we
double in fifty years we shall speedily behold an astonishing mass of
people on the western waters.... The swarm does not come from the
southern but from the northern and eastern hives. I take it that the
centre of population will rapidly advance in a south-westerly direction.
It must then travel from the Susquehanna if it is now found there—_it
may even extend beyond the Potomac_!”

Said Mr. Vining to the House, “I confess I am in favor of the Potomac. I
wish the seat of government to be fixed there because I think the
interest, the honor, and the greatness of the country require it. From
thence, it appears to me, that the rays of government will naturally
diverge to the extremities of the Union. I declare that I look upon the
western territories from an awful and striking point of view. To that
region the unpolished sons of the earth are flowing from all
quarters—men to whom the protection of the laws and the controlling
force of the government are equally necessary.”

In the course of the debate Mr. Calhoun called attention to the fact
that very few seats of government in the world occupied central
positions in their respective countries. London was on a frontier, Paris
far from central, the capital of Russia near its border. Even at that
early date comparatively small importance was attached to a geographical
centre of territory as indispensable to the location of its capital. The
only possible objection to a capital near the sea-board was then noted
by Mr. Madison who said, “If it were possible to promulgate our laws by
some instantaneous operation, it would be of less consequence where the
government might be placed,” a possibility now fulfilled by the daily
news from the Capital which speeds to the remotest corner of the great
land not only with the swiftness of lightning but by lightning itself.

Although the States have more than doubled since the days of this first
discussion on where the Capital of the United States should be, it is a
curious fact that the centre of population has not traveled westward in
any proportionate ratio. According to a table calculated by Dr.
Patterson of the United States mint, in 1840 the centre of population
was then in Harrison County, Virginia, one hundred and seventy-five
miles west of the city of Washington. At that time the average progress
westward since 1790 had been, each ten years, thirty-four miles. “This
average has since increased, but if it be set down at fifty miles, it
will require a century to carry this centre five hundred miles west of
Washington, or as far as the city of Nashville, Tennessee.” I state this
fact for the benefit of crazy capital-movers who are in such haste to
set the Capital of the Nation in the centre of the Continent.

I have given but a few of the questions which were discussed in the
great debates which preceded the final locating of the Capital on the
banks of the Potomac. They are a portion of its history, and deeply
interesting in their bearing on the present and future of the Capital
city.

The long strife ended in the amendatory proclamation of President
Washington, done at Georgetown the 30th day of March, in the year of our
Lord 1791, and of the independence of the United States the fifteenth,
which concluded with these words: “I do accordingly direct the
Commissioners named under the authority of the said first mentioned act
of Congress to proceed forthwith to have the said four lines run, and by
proper metes and bounds defined and limited, and thereof to make due
report under their hands and seals; and the territory so to be located,
defined and limited shall be the whole territory accepted by the said
act of Congress as the district for the permanent seat of the government
of the United States.” Maryland had ceded of her land ten miles square
for the future Capital. Nothing seemed easier than for these three
august commissioners, backed by the powerful Congress, to go and take
it. But it was not so easy to be done. In addition to the State of
Maryland the land belonged to land-holders, each one of whom was a lord
on his own domain. Some of these held land patents still extant, dating
back to 1663, and 1681. These lords of the manor were not willing to be
disturbed even for the sake of a future Capital, and displayed all the
irascibility and tenacity regarding price which characterize
land-holders of the present day. If we may judge from results and the
voluminous correspondence concerning it, left by George Washington, the
three commissioners who were to act for the government did not “get on”
very well with the pugnacious planters who were ready to fight for their
acres—and that the greater part of the negotiating for the new city
finally fell to the lot of the great Executive. One of the richest and
most famous of these land-owners was David Burns. He owned an immense
tract of land south of where the president’s house now stands, extending
as far as the Patent Office called in the land patent of 1681 which
granted it, “the Widow’s Mite, lyeing on the east side of the Anacostin
River, on the north side of a branch or inlett in the said river, called
Tyber.” This “Widow’s Mite” contained six hundred acres or more, and
David Burns was in no wise willing to part with any portion of it.
Although it laid within the territory of Columbia, ceded by the act of
Maryland for the future Capital, no less a personage than the President
of the United States could move one whit David Burns, and even the
President found it to be no easy matter to bring the Scotchman to terms.
More than once in his letters he alludes to him as “the obstinate Mr.
Burns,” and it is told that upon one occasion when the President was
dwelling upon the advantage that the sale of his lands would bring, the
planter, testy Davy, exclaimed: “I suppose you think people here are
going to take every grist that comes from you as pure grain, _but_ what
would _you_ have _been if you hadn’t married the widow Custis_.”

After many interviews and arguments even the patience of Washington
finally gave out and he said: “Mr. Burns, I have been authorized to
select the location of the National Capital. I have selected your farm
as a part of it, and the government will take it at all events. I trust
you will, under these circumstances, enter into an amicable
arrangement.”

Seeing that further resistance was useless, the shrewd Scotchman thought
that by a final graceful surrender he might secure more favorable terms,
thus, when the President once more asked: “On what terms will you
surrender your plantation?” Said humble Davy: “_Any_ that your
Excellency may choose to name.” The deed conveying the land of David
Burns to the commissioners in trust, is the first on record in the city
of Washington. This sale secured to David Burns and his descendants an
immense fortune. The deed provided that the streets of the new city
should be so laid out as not to interfere with the cottage of David
Burns. That cottage still stands in famous “Mansion Square,” and the
reader will find its story further on in the chapter devoted to the Old
Homes and Haunts of Washington. The other original owners of the soil on
which the city of Washington was built were Notley Young, who owned a
fine old brick mansion near the present steamboat landing, and Daniel
Carroll, whose spacious abode known as the Duddington House, still
stands on New Jersey Avenue, a little south-east of the Capitol. On the
31st of May, Washington wrote to Jefferson from Mount Vernon, announcing
the conclusion of his negotiations in this wise—the owners conveyed all
their interest to the United States on consideration that when the whole
should be surveyed and laid off as a city the original proprietors
should retain every other lot. The remaining lots to be sold by the
government from time to time and the proceeds to be applied toward the
improvement of the place. The land comprised within this agreement
contains over seventy-one hundred acres. The city extends from
north-west to south-east about four miles and a half, and from east to
south-west about two miles and a half. Its circumference is fourteen
miles, the aggregate length of the streets is one hundred and
ninety-nine miles, and of the avenues sixty-five miles. The avenues,
streets and open spaces contain three thousand six hundred and four
acres, and the public reservations exclusive of reservations since
disposed of for private purposes, five hundred and thirteen acres. The
whole area of the squares of the city amounts to one hundred and
thirty-one million, six hundred and eighty-four thousand, one hundred
and seventy-six square feet, or three thousand and sixteen acres.
Fifteen hundred and eight acres were reserved for the use of the United
States.




                              CHAPTER III.
                       THE WORK BEGUN IN EARNEST.

Washington’s Faith in the Future—Mr. Sparks is “inclined to think”—A
    Slight Miscalculation—Theoretical Spartans—Clinging to Old World
    Glories—Jefferson Acts the Critic—He Communicates Some Ideas—Models
    of Antiquity—Babylon Revived—Difficulty in Satisfying a Frenchman’s
    Soul—The Man who Planned the Capital—Who was L’Enfant?—His
    Troubles—His Dismissal—His Personal Appearance, Old Age, Death and
    Burial-Place—His Successor—The French Genius “Proceeded”—The New
    City of Washington—A Magnificent Plan—All About the City—The Major
    not Appreciated—“Getting on Badly”—L’Enfant Worries Washington—A
    Record which Can Never Perish—An Overpaid Quaker—Jefferson Expresses
    his Sentiments—A Sable Franklin—The Negro Engineer, Benjamin
    Bancker—A Chance for a Monument.


The majority of Congress were opposed to a commercial Capital, yet there
are many proofs extant that to the hour of his death George Washington
cherished the hope that the new city of his love would be not only the
capital of the nation, but a great commercial metropolis of the world.
Mr. Jared Sparks, the historian, in a private letter says: “I am
inclined to think that Washington’s anticipations were more sanguine
than events have justified. He early entertained very large and just
ideas of the vast resources of the West, and of the commercial
intercourse that must spring up between that region and the Atlantic
coast, and he was wont to regard the central position of the Potomac as
affording the most direct and easy channel of communication. Steamboats
and railroads have since changed the face of the world, and have set at
defiance all the calculations founded on the old order of things; and
especially have they operated on the destiny of the West and our entire
system of internal commerce, in a manner that could not possibly have
been foreseen in the life-time of Washington.” Throughout the
correspondence of Washington are scattered constant allusions to the
future magnificence of the Federal City, the name by which he loved to
call the city of his heart, allusions which show that his faith in its
great destiny never faltered. In a letter to his neighbor, Mrs. Fairfax,
then in England, he said: “A century hence, if this country keeps
united, it will produce a city, though not as large as London, yet of a
magnitude inferior to few others in Europe.” At that time, after a
growth of centuries, London contained eight hundred thousand
inhabitants. Three-fourths of Washington’s predicted century have
expired, and the city of Washington now numbers one hundred and fifty
thousand people.

The founders of the Capital were all very republican in theory, and all
very aristocratic in practice. In speech they proposed to build a sort
of Spartan capital, fit for a Spartan republic; in fact, they proceeded
to build one modeled after the most magnificent cities of Europe.
European by descent and education, many of them allied to the oldest and
proudest families of the Old World, every idea of culture, of art, and
magnificence had come to them as part of their European inheritance, and
we see its result in every thing that they did or proposed to do for the
new Capital which they so zealously began to build in the woods. The
art-connoisseur of the day was Jefferson. He knew Europe, not only by
family tradition but by sight. Next to Washington he took the deepest
personal interest in the projected Capital. Of this interest we find
continual proof in his letters, also of the fact that his taste had much
to do with the plan and architecture of the coming city. In a letter to
Major L’Enfant, the first engineer of the Capital, dated Philadelphia,
April 10, 1791, he wrote: “In compliance with your request, I have
examined my papers and found the plans of Frankfort-on-the-Main,
Carlsruhe, Amsterdam, Strasburg, Paris, Orleans, Bordeaux, Lyons,
Montpelier, Marseilles, Turin, and Milan, which I send in a roll by
post. They are on large and accurate scales, having been procured by me
while in those respective cities myself.... Having communicated to the
President before he went away, such general ideas on the subject of the
town as occurred to me, I have no doubt in explaining himself to you on
the subject, he has interwoven with his own ideas such of mine as he
approved.... Whenever it is proposed to present plans for the Capital, I
should prefer the adoption of some one of the models of antiquity, which
have had the approbation of thousands of years; and for the president’s
house I should prefer the celebrated fronts of modern buildings, which
have already received the approbation of good judges. Such are Galerie
du Louise, the Gardes Meubles, and two fronts of the Hotel de Salm.” On
the same day he writes to Washington: “I received last night from Major
L’Enfant a request to furnish any plans of towns I could for
examination. I accordingly send him by this post, plans of
Frankfort-on-the-Main, etc., which I procured while in those towns
respectively. They are none of them, however, comparable to the old
Babylon revived in Philadelphia and exemplified.” But these two fathers
of their country, as time proved, “did not know their man.” Had they
done so, they would have known in advance that a mercurial Frenchman
would never attempt to satisfy his soul with acute angles of old Babylon
revived through the arid and level lengths of Philadelphia.

The man who planned the Capital of the United States not for the present
but for all time, was Peter Charles L’Enfant, born in France in 1755. He
was a lieutenant in the French provincial forces, and with others of his
countrymen was early drawn to these shores by the magnetism of a new
people, and the promise of a new land. He offered his services to the
revolutionary army as an engineer, in 1777, and was appointed captain of
engineers February 18, 1778. After being wounded at the siege of
Savannah, he was promoted to major of engineers, and served near the
person of Washington. Probably at that time there was no man in America
who possessed so much genius and art-culture in the same directions as
Major L’Enfant. In a crude land, where nearly every artisan had to be
imported from foreign shores, the chief designer and architect surely
would have to be. Thus we may conclude at the beginning, it seemed a
lucky circumstance to find an engineer for the new city on the spot.

The first public communication extant concerning the laying out of the
city of Washington is from the pen of General Washington, dated March
11, 1791. In a letter dated April 30, 1791, he first called it the
Federal City. Four months later, without his knowledge, it received its
present name in a letter from the first commissioners, Messrs. Johnson,
Stuart, and Carroll, which bears the date of Georgetown, September 9,
1791, to Major L’Enfant, which informs that gentleman that they have
agreed that the federal district shall be called The Territory of
Columbia, (its present title,) and the federal city the city of
Washington, directing him to entitle his map accordingly.

In March, 1791, we find Jefferson addressing Major L’Enfant in these
words: “You are desired to proceed to Georgetown, where you will find
Mr. Ellicott employed in making a survey and map of the federal
territory. The special object of asking your aid is to have the drawings
of the particular grounds most likely to be approved for the site of the
federal grounds and buildings.”

The French genius “proceeded,” and behold the result, the city of
“magnificent distances,” and from the beginning of magnificent
intentions,—intentions which almost to the present hour, have called
forth only ridicule—because in the slow mills of time their fulfillment
has been so long delayed. As Thomas Jefferson wanted the chessboard
squares and angles of Philadelphia, L’Enfant used them for the base of
the new city, but his genius avenged itself for this outrage on its
taste by transversing them with sixteen magnificent avenues, which from
that day to this have proved the confusion and the glory of the city.
French instinct diamonded the squares of Philadelphia with the broad
corsos of Versailles, as Major L’Enfant’s map said, “to preserve through
the whole a reciprocity of sight at the same time.”

A copy of the Gazette of the United States, published in Philadelphia,
January 4, 1792, gives us the original magnificent intentions of the
first draughtsman of the new city of Washington.


  The following description is annexed to the plan of the city of
  Washington, in the District of Columbia, as sent to Congress by the
  President some days ago:

      PLAN OF THE CITY INTENDED AS THE PERMANENT SEAT OF THE GOVERNMENT
      OF THE UNITED STATES, PROJECTED AGREEABLY TO THE DIRECTION OF THE
      PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IN PURSUANCE OF AN ACT OF CONGRESS,
      PASSED ON THE 16TH OF JULY, 1790, “ESTABLISHING A PERMANENT SEAT
      ON THE BANKS OF THE POTOMACK.”

                          BY PETER CHARLES L’ENFANT.

                  OBSERVATIONS EXPLANATORY OF THE PLAN.

  I. The positions of the different grand edifices, and for the several
  grand squares or areas of different shapes as they are laid down, were
  first determined on the most advantageous ground, commanding the most
  extensive prospects, and the better susceptible of such improvements
  as the various interests of the several objects may require.

  II. Lines or avenues of direct communication have been devised to
  connect the separate and most distant objects with the principals, and
  to preserve throughout the whole a reciprocity of sight at the same
  time. Attention has been paid to the passing of those leading avenues
  over the most favorable ground for prospect and convenience.

  III. North and south lines, intersected by others running due east and
  west, make the distribution of the city into streets, squares, &c.,
  and those lines have been so combined as to meet at certain points
  with those diverging avenues so as to form on the spaces “first
  determined,” the different squares or areas which are all proportioned
  in magnitude to the number of avenues leading to them.


                      MR. ELLICOTT “DOES BUSINESS.”

  Every grand transverse avenue, and every principal divergent one, such
  as the communication from the President’s house to the Congress house,
  &c., are 160 feet in breadth and thus divided:

 Ten feet for pavement on each side, is                        20 feet

 Thirty feet of gravel walk, planted with trees on each        60 feet
   side,

                                                               ——

                                                              160 feet

  The other streets are of the following dimensions, viz.:

  Those leading to the public buildings or markets,            130
  Others,                                                      110-90

  In order to execute the above plan, Mr. Ellicott drew a true meridian
  line by celestial observation, which passes through area intended for
  the Congress house. This line he crossed by another due east and west,
  and which passes through the same area. The lines were accurately
  measured, and made the basis on which the whole plan was executed. He
  ran all the lines by a transit instrument, and determined the acute
  angles by actual measurement, and left nothing to the uncertainty of
  the compass.

                               REFERENCES.

  A. The equestrian figure of George Washington, a monument voted in
  1783 by the late Continental Congress.

  B. An historic column—also intended for a mile or itinerary column,
  from whose station, (at a mile from the Federal House,) all distances
  and places through the Continent are to be calculated.

  C. A Naval itinerary column proposed to be erected to celebrate the
  first rise of a navy, and to stand a ready monument to perpetuate its
  progress and achievements.

  D. A church intended for national purposes, such as public prayers,
  thanksgivings, funeral orations, &c., and assigned to the special use
  of no particular sect or denomination, but equally open to all. It
  will likewise be a proper shelter for such monuments as were voted by
  the late Continental Congress for those heroes who fell in the cause
  of liberty, and for such others as may hereafter be decreed by the
  voice of a grateful nation.

  E. E. E. E. E. Five grand fountains intended with a constant spout of
  water.

  N. B. There are within the limits of the springs twenty-five good
  springs of excellent water abundantly supplied in the driest seasons
  of the year.

  F. A grand cascade formed of the waters of the sources of the Tiber.

  G. G. Public walk, being a square of 1,200 feet, through which
  carriages may ascend to the upper square of the Federal House.

  H. A grand avenue, 400 feet in breadth and about a mile in length,
  bordered with gardens ending in a slope from the house on each side;
  this avenue leads to the monument A, and connects the Congress garden
  with the

  I. President’s park and the

  K. Well improved field, being a part of the walk from the President’s
  House of about 1,800 feet in breadth and three-fourths of a mile in
  length. Every lot deep colored red, with green plats, designating some
  of the situations which command the most agreeable prospects, and
  which are best calculated for spacious houses and gardens, such as may
  accommodate foreign ministers, &c.

  L. Around this square and along the

  M. Avenue from the two bridges to the Federal House, the pavements on
  each side will pass under an arched way, under whose cover shops will
  be most conveniently and agreeably situated. This street is 106 feet
  in breadth, and a mile long.

  The fifteen squares colored yellow are proposed to be divided among
  the several States of the Union, for each of them to improve, or
  subscribe a sum additional to the value of the land for that purpose,
  and the improvements around the squares to be completed in a limited
  time. The centre of each square will admit of statues, columns,
  obelisks, or any other ornaments, such as the different States may
  choose to erect, to perpetuate not only the memory of such individuals
  whose councils or military achievements were conspicuous in giving
  liberty and independence to this country, but those whose usefulness
  hath rendered them worthy of imitation, to invite the youth of
  succeeding generations to tread in the paths of those sages or heroes
  whom their country have thought proper to celebrate.

  The situation of those squares is such that they are most
  advantageously seen from each other, and as equally distributed over
  the whole city district, and connected by spacious avenues round the
  grand federal improvements and as contiguous to them, and at the same
  time as equally distant from each other as circumstances would admit.
  The settlements round these squares must soon become connected. The
  mode of taking possession of and improving the whole district at first
  must leave to posterity a grand idea of the patriotic interest which
  promoted it.

Two months after the publication of those magnificent designs for
posterity, Major L’Enfant was dismissed from his exalted place. He was a
Frenchman and a genius. The patrons of the new Capital were _not_
geniuses, and not Frenchmen, reasons sufficient why they should not and
did not “get on” long in peace together. Without doubt the Commissioners
were provincial, and limited in their ideas of art and of expenditure;
with their colonial experience they could scarcely be otherwise; while
L’Enfant was metropolitan, splendid, and willful, in his ways as well as
in his designs. Hampered, held back, he yet “builded better than he
knew,” builded for posterity. The executor and the designer seldom
counterpart each other. L’Enfant worried Washington, as a letter from
the latter, written in the autumn of 1791, plainly shows. He says: “It
is much to be regretted that men who possess talents which fit them for
peculiar purposes should almost invariably be under the influence of an
untoward disposition.... I have thought that for such employment as he
is now engaged in for prosecuting public works and carrying them into
effect, Major L’Enfant was better qualified than any one who has come
within my knowledge in this country, or indeed in any other. I had no
doubt at the same time that this was the light in which he considered
himself.” At least, L’Enfant was so fond of his new “plan” that he would
not give it up to the Commissioners to be used as an inducement for
buying city lots, even at the command of the President, giving as a
reason that if it was open to buyers, speculators would build up his
beloved avenues (which he intended, in time, should outrival Versailles)
with squatter’s huts—just as they afterwards did. Then Duddington House,
the abode of Daniel Carroll, was in the way of one of his triumphal
avenues, and he ordered it torn down without leave or license, to the
rage of its owner and the indignation of the Commissioners. Duddington
House was rebuilt by order of the government in another place, and
stands to-day a relic of the past amid its old forest trees on Capitol
Hill. Nevertheless its first demolition was held as one of the sins of
the uncontrollable L’Enfant, who was summarily discharged March 6, 1792.
His dismissal was thus announced by Jefferson in a letter to one of the
Commissioners: “It having been found impracticable to employ Major
L’Enfant about the Federal City in that degree of subordination which
was lawful and proper, he has been notified that his services are at an
end. It is now proper that he should receive the reward of his past
services, and the wish that he should have no just cause of discontent
suggests that it should be liberal. The President thinks of $2,500, or
$3,000, but leaves the determination to you.” Jefferson wrote in the
same letter: “The enemies of the enterprise will take the advantage of
the retirement of L’Enfant to trumpet the whole as an abortion.” But
L’Enfant lived and died within sight of the dawning city of his love
which he had himself created—and never wrought it, or its projectors any
harm through all the days of his life. He was loyal to his adopted
government, but to his last breath clung to every atom of his personal
claim upon it, as pugnaciously as he did to his maps, when commanded to
give them up. He lived without honor, and died without fame. Time will
vindicate one and perpetuate the other in one of the most magnificent
capitals of earth. His living picture lingers still with more than one
old inhabitant. One tells of him in an unchangeable “green surtout,
walking across the commons and fields, followed by half-a-dozen hunting
dogs.” Also, of reporting to him at Port Washington in 1814 to do duty,
and of first receiving a glass of wine from the old soldier-architect
and engineer before he told him what to do. Mr. Corcoran, the banker,
tells how L’Enfant looked in his latter days: “a rather seedy, stylish
old man, with a long blue or green coat buttoned up to his throat, and a
bell-crowned hat; a little moody and lonely, like one wronged.”

[Illustration: COLUMBIA SLAVE PEN.         FREEDMAN’S SAVINGS BANK.]

[Illustration: SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE.]

[Illustration: MAJOR L’ENFANT’S RESTING PLACE.]

He lived for many years on the Digges’ farm, the estate now owned by
George Riggs, the banker, situated about eight miles from Washington. He
was buried in the family burial-ground, in the Digges’ garden. When the
Digges family were disinterred, his dust was left nearly alone. There it
lies to-day, and the perpetually growing splendor of the ruling city
which he planned, is his only monument.

He was succeeded by Andrew Ellicott, a practical engineer, born in
Buck’s County, Pennsylvania. He was called a man of “uncommon talent”
and “placid temper.” Neither saved him from conflicts, (though of a
milder type than L’Enfant’s,) with the Commissioners. A Quaker, he yet
commanded a battalion of militia in the Revolution, and “was
thirty-seven years of age when he rode out with Washington to survey the
embryo city.” He finished, (with certain modifications,) the work which
L’Enfant began. For this he received the stupendous sum of $5.00 per day
which, with “expenses,” Jefferson thought to be altogether too much. In
his letter to the Commissioners dismissing L’Enfant, he says: “Ellicott
is to go on to finish laying off the plan on the ground, and surveying
and plotting the district. I have remonstrated with him on the excess of
five dollars a day and his expenses, and he has proposed striking off
the latter.”

After Ellicott concluded laying out the Capital, he became
Surveyor-General of the United States; laid out the towns of Erie,
Warren and Franklin, in Pennsylvania, and built Fort Erie. He defined
the boundary dividing the Republic from the Spanish Possessions; became
Secretary of the Pennsylvania Land Office, and in 1812 Professor of
Mathematics at West Point, where he died August, 1820, aged 66.

Ellicott’s most remarkable assistant was Benjamin Bancker, a negro. He
was, I believe, the first of his race to distinguish himself in the new
Republic. He was born with a genius for mathematics and the exact
sciences, and at an early age was the author of an Almanac, which
attracted the attention and commanded the praise of Thomas Jefferson.
When he came to “run the lines” of the future Capital, he was sixty
years of age. The caste of color could not have grown to its hight at
that day, for the Commissioners invited him to an official seat with
themselves, an honor which he declined. The picture given us of him is
that of a sable Franklin, large, noble, and venerable, with a dusky
face, white hair, a drab coat of superfine broadcloth, and a Quaker hat.
He was born and buried at Ellicott’s Mills, where his grave is now
unmarked. Here is a chance for the rising race to erect a monument to
one of their own sons, who in the face of ignorance and bondage proved
himself “every inch a man,” in intellectual gifts equal to the best.




                              CHAPTER IV.
                            OLD WASHINGTON.

How the City was Built—“A Matter of Moonshine”—Calls for Paper—Besieging
    Congressmen—How they Raised the Money—The Government Requires
    Sponsors—Birth of the Nation’s Capital—Seventy Years Ago in
    Washington—Graphic Picture of Early Times—A Much-Marrying
    City—Unwashed Virginian Belles—Stuck in the Mud—Extraordinary
    Religious Services.


Nothing in the architecture of the city of Washington calls forth more
comment from strangers than the distance between the Capitol and the
Executive Departments. John Randolph early called it “the city of
magnificent distances,” and it is still a chronic and fashionable
complaint to decry the time and distance it takes to get any where. In
the days of a single stage line on Pennsylvania Avenue, these were
somewhat lamentable. But five-minute cars abridge distances, and make
them less in reality than even in the city of New York. It is a mile and
a half from the northern end of the Navy-yard bridge to the Capitol, a
mile and a half from the Capitol to the Executive Mansion, and a mile
and a half from the Executive Mansion to the corner of Bridge and High
Streets, Georgetown. We are constantly hearing exclamations of what a
beautiful city Washington would be with the Capitol for the centre of a
square formed by a chain of magnificent public buildings. John Adams
wanted the Departments around the Capitol. George Washington but a short
time before his death, gave in a letter the reasons for their present
position. In going through his correspondence one finds that there is
nothing, scarcely, in the past, present or future of its Capital, for
which the Father of his Country has not left on record a wise,
far-reaching reason. In this letter, he says: “Where or how the houses
for the President, and the public offices may be fixed is to me, as an
individual, a matter of moonshine. But the reverse of the President’s
motive for placing the latter near the Capitol was my motive for fixing
them by the former. The daily intercourse which the secretaries of
departments must have with the President would render a distant
situation extremely inconvenient to them, and not much less so would one
be close to the Capitol; for it was the universal complaint of them all,
_that while the Legislature was in session, they could do little or no
business, so much were they interrupted by the individual visits of
members in office hours, and by calls for paper_. Many of them have
disclosed to me that they have been obliged often to go home and deny
themselves in order to transact the current business.” The denizen of
the present time, who knows the Secretaries’ dread of the average
besieging Congressman, will smile to find that the dread was as potent
in the era of George Washington as it is to-day. A more conclusive
reason could not be given why Capitol and Departments should be a mile
apart. The newspapers of that day were filled with long articles on the
laying out of the Capital city. We find in a copy of _The Philadelphia
Herald_ of January 4, 1795, after a discussion of the Mall—the yet-to-be
garden extending from the Capitol to the President’s house—the following
far-sighted remarks on the creation of the Capital. It says: “To found a
city, for the purpose of making it the depository of the acts of the
Union, and the sanctuary of the laws which must one day rule all North
America, is a grand and comprehensive idea, which, has already become,
with propriety, the object of public respect. The city of Washington,
considered under such important points of view, could not be calculated
on a small scale; its extent, the disposition of its avenues and public
squares should all correspond with the magnitude of the objects for
which it was intended. And we need only cast our eyes upon the situation
and plan of the city to recognize in them the comprehensive genius of
the President, to whom the direction of the business has been committed
by Congress.”

The letters of Washington are full of allusions to the annoyance and
difficulty attending the raising of sufficient money to make the Capitol
and other public buildings tenantable by the time specified, 1800. He
seemed to regard the prompt completion of the Capitol as an event
identical with the perpetual establishment of the government at
Washington. Virginia had made a donation of $120,000, and Maryland one
of $72,000; these were now exhausted. After various efforts to raise
money by the forced sales of public lots, and after abortive attempts to
borrow money, at home and abroad, on the credit of these lots, amidst
general embarrassments, while Congress withheld any aid whatever, the
urgency appeared to the President so great as to induce him to make a
personal application to the State of Maryland for a loan, which was
successful, and the deplorable credit of the government at that time is
exhibited in the fact that the State called upon the credit of the
Commissioners as an additional guarantee for the re-payment of the
amount, $100,000, to which Washington alludes as follows: “The necessity
of the case justified the obtaining it on almost any terms; and the zeal
of the Commissioners in making themselves liable for the amount, as it
could not be had without, cannot fail of approbation. At the same time I
must confess the application has a very singular appearance, and will
not, I should suppose, be very grateful to the feelings of Congress.”

I have cited but a few of the tribulations through which the Capital of
the nation was born. Not only was the growth of the public buildings
hindered through lack of money, but also through the “jealousies and
bickerings” of those who should have helped to build them. Human nature,
in the aggregate, was just as inharmonious and hard to manage then as
now. The Commissioners did not always agree. Artisans, imported from
foreign lands, made alone an element of discord, one which Washington
dreaded and deprecated. He went down with his beloved Capital into the
Egypt of its building. He led with a patience and wisdom undreamed of
and unappreciated in this generation, the straggling and discordant
forces of the Republic from oppression to freedom, from chaos to
achievement—he came in sight of the promised land of fruition and
prosperity, but he did not enter it, this father and prophet of the
people! George Washington died in December, 1799.

The city of Washington was officially occupied in June, 1800.

The only adequate impression of what the Capital was at the time of its
first occupancy, we must receive from those who beheld it with living
eyes. Fortunately several have left graphic pictures of the appearance
which the city presented at that time. President John Adams took
possession of the unfinished Executive Mansion in November, 1800. During
the month Mrs. Adams wrote to her daughter, Mrs. Smith, as follows: “I
arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting with any accident worth
noticing, except losing ourselves when we left Baltimore, and going
eight or nine miles on the Frederic road, by which means we were obliged
to go the other eight through the woods, where we wandered for two hours
without finding guide or path.... But woods are all you see from
Baltimore till you reach _the city_, which is only so in name. Here and
there is a small cot, without a glass window, interspersed amongst the
forests, through which you travel miles without seeing any human being.
In the city there are buildings enough, if they were compact and
finished, to accommodate Congress and those attached to it; but as they
are, and scattered as they are, I see no great comfort for them.... If
the twelve years in which this place has been considered as the future
seat of government had been improved as they would have been in New
England, very many of the present inconveniences would have been
removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of any improvement, and the
more I view it the more I am delighted with it.”

Hon. John Cotton Smith, of Connecticut, a distinguished member of
Congress, of the Federal school of politics, also gives his picture of
Washington in 1800: “Our approach to the city was accompanied with
sensations not easily described. One wing of the Capitol only had been
erected, which, with the President’s house, a mile distant from it, both
constructed with white sandstone, were shining objects in dismal
contrast with the scene around them. Instead of recognizing the avenues
and streets portrayed on the plan of the city, not one was visible,
unless we except a road, with two buildings on each side of it, called
the New Jersey Avenue. The Pennsylvania, leading, as laid down on paper,
from the Capitol to the presidential mansion, was then nearly the whole
distance a deep morass, covered with alder bushes which were cut through
the width of the intended avenue during the then ensuing winter. Between
the President’s house and Georgetown a block of houses had been erected,
which then bore and may still bear, the name of the _six buildings_.
There were also other blocks, consisting of two or three
dwelling-houses, in different directions, and now and then an insulated
wooden habitation, the intervening spaces, and indeed the surface of the
city generally, being covered with shrub-oak bushes on the higher
grounds, and on the marshy soil either trees or some sort of shrubbery.
Nor was the desolate aspect of the place a little augmented by a number
of unfinished edifices at Greenleaf’s Point, and on an eminence a short
distance from it, commenced by an individual whose name they bore, but
the state of whose funds compelled him to abandon them, not only
unfinished, but in a ruinous condition. There appeared to be but two
really comfortable habitations in all respects, within the bounds of the
city, one of which belonged to Dudley Carroll, Esq., and the other to
Notley Young, who were the former proprietors of a large proportion of
the land appropriated to the city, but who reserved for their own
accommodation ground sufficient for gardens and other useful
appurtenances. The roads in every direction were muddy and unimproved. A
sidewalk was attempted in one instance by a covering formed of the chips
of the stones which had been hewn for the Capitol. It extended but a
little way and was of little value, for in dry weather the sharp
fragments cut our shoes, and in wet weather covered them with white
mortar, in short, it was a “new settlement.” The houses, with one or two
exceptions, had been very recently erected, and the operation greatly
hurried in view of the approaching transfer of the national government.
A laudable desire was manifested by what few citizens and residents
there were, to render our condition as pleasant as circumstances would
permit. One of the blocks of buildings already mentioned was situated on
the east side of what was intended for the Capitol square, and being
chiefly occupied by an extensive and well-kept hotel, accommodated a
goodly number of the members. Our little party took lodgings with a Mr.
Peacock, in one of the houses on New Jersey Avenue, with the addition of
Senators Tracy of Connecticut, and Chipman and Paine of Vermont, and
Representatives Thomas of Maryland, and Dana, Edmond and Griswold of
Connecticut. Speaker Sedgwick was allowed a room to himself—the rest of
us in pairs. To my excellent friend Davenport, and myself, was allotted
a spacious and decently furnished apartment with separate beds, on the
lower floor. Our diet was varied, but always substantial, and we were
attended by active and faithful servants. A large proportion of the
Southern members took lodgings at Georgetown, which, though of a
superior order, were three miles distant from the Capitol, and of course
rendered the daily employment of hackney coaches indispensable.

Notwithstanding the unfavorable aspect which Washington presented on our
arrival, I can not sufficiently express my admiration of its local
position. From the Capitol you have a distinct view of its fine
undulating surface, situated at the confluence of the Potomac and its
Eastern Branch, the wide expanse of that majestic river to the bend at
Mount Vernon, the cities of Alexandria and Georgetown, and the
cultivated fields and blue hills of Maryland and Virginia on either side
of the river, the whole constituting a prospect of surpassing beauty and
grandeur. The city has also the inestimable advantage of delightful
water, in many instances flowing from copious springs, and always
attainable by digging to a moderate depth, to which may be added the
singular fact that such is the due admixture of loam and clay in the
soil of a great portion of the city that a house may be built of brick
made of the earth dug from the cellar, hence it was not unusual to see
the remains of a brick-kiln near the newly-erected dwelling-house or
other edifice. In short, when we consider not only these advantages, but
what, in a national point of view is of superior importance, the
location on a fine navigable river, accessible to the whole maritime
frontier of the United States, and yet easily rendered defensible
against foreign invasion,—and that by the facilities of inter-population
of the Western States, and indeed of the whole nation, with less
inconvenience than any other conceivable situation,—we must acknowledge
that its selection by Washington as the permanent seat of the federal
government, affords a striking exhibition of the discernment, wisdom and
forecast which characterized that illustrious man. Under this
impression, whenever, during the six years of my connection with
Congress, the question of removing the seat of government to some other
place was agitated—and the proposition was frequently made—I stood
almost alone, as a northern man, in giving my vote in the negative.”

Sir Augustus Foster, secretary of legation to the British minister at
Washington, during the years 1804-6, has left an amusing account on
record both of the appearance of the Capital and the state of its
society during the administration of President Jefferson: “The Spanish
envoy, De Caso Yrujo, told Sir Augustus it was difficult to procure a
decent dinner in the new Capital without sending the distance of sixty
miles for its materials. Things had mended somewhat before the arrival
of Sir Augustus, but he still found enough to surprise and bewilder him
in the desolate vastness and mean accommodations of the unshaped
metropolis.”

Of private citizens Sir Augustus says: “Very few private gentlemen have
their houses in Washington. I only recollect three, Mr. Brent, Mr.
Tayloe, and Mr. Carroll.”... Most of the members of Congress, it is
true, keep to their lodgings, but still there are a sufficient number of
them who are sociable, or whose families come to the city for a season,
and there is no want of handsome ladies for the balls, especially at
Georgetown; indeed, I never saw prettier girls anywhere. As there are
but few of them, however, in proportion to the great number of men who
frequent the places of amusement in the federal city, it is one of the
most marrying places on the whole continent.... Meagre the march of
intellect so much vaunted in the present century; the literary education
of these ladies is far from being worthy of the age of knowledge, and
conversation is apt to flag, though a seat by the ladies is always much
coveted. Dancing and music serve to eke out the time, but one got tired
of hearing the same song everywhere, even when it was:

                    “Just like love is yonder rose.”

“No matter how this was sung, the words alone were the man-traps; the
belle of the evening was declared to be just like both, and the people
looked around as if the listener was expected to become on the instant
very tender, and to propose.... Between the young ladies, who generally
not only good looking, but good tempered, and if not well informed,
capable of becoming so, and the ladies of a certain time of life, there
is usually a wide gap in society, young married women being but seldom
seen in the world; as they approach, however, to middle age, they are
apt to become romantic, those in particular who live in the country and
have read novels fancying all manner of romantic things, and returning
to the Capital determined to have an adventure before they again retire;
or on doing some wondrous act which shall make them be talked about in
all after time. Others I have known to contract an aversion to water,
and as a substitute, cover their faces and bosoms with hair powder, in
order to render the skin pure and delicate. This was peculiarly the case
with some Virginia damsels, who came to the halls at Washington, and who
in consequence were hardly less tolerable than negroes. There were but
few cases of this I must confess, though as regards the use of the
powder, they were not so uncommon, and at my balls I thought it
advisable to put on the tables of the toilette room not only rouge, but
hair powder, as well as blue powder, which had some customers....

“In going to assemblies one had sometimes to drive three or four miles
within the city bounds, and very often at the great risk of an
overthrow, or of being what is termed ‘stalled,’ or stuck in the mud....
Cards were a great resource during the evening, and gaming was all the
fashion, at brag especially, for the men who frequented society were
chiefly from Virginia or the Western States, and were very fond of this
the worst gambling of all games, as being one of countenance as well as
of cards. Loo was the innocent diversion of the ladies, who when they
looed pronounced the word in a very mincing manner....

“Church service can certainly never be called an amusement; but from the
variety of persons who are allowed to preach in the House of
Representatives, there was doubtless some alloy of curiosity in the
motives which led one to go there. Though the regular Chaplain was a
Presbyterian, sometimes a Methodist, a minister of the Church of
England, or a Quaker, or sometimes even a woman took the speaker’s
chair; and I don’t think that there was much devotion among the
majority. The New Englanders, generally speaking, are very religious;
though there are many exceptions, I cannot say so much for the
Marylanders, and still less for the Virginians.”

Notwithstanding the incongruous and somewhat disgraceful picture which
Sir Augustus paints of the Capital City of the new Republic, he goes on
to say: “In spite of its inconveniences and desolate aspect, it was I
think the most agreeable town to reside in for any length of time,”
which if true insures our pity for what the remainder of our native land
must have been.




                               CHAPTER V.
                       THE CAPITAL OF THE NATION.

A Ward of Congress—Expectations Disappointed—Funds Low and People
    Few—Slow Progress of the City—First Idea of a National University—A
    Question of Importance Discussed—Generous Proposition of George
    Washington—Faith Under Difficulties—Transplanting an Entire
    College—An Old Proposition in a New Shape—What Washington “Society”
    Lacks—The Lombardy Poplars Refuse to Grow—Perils of the Way—A Long
    Plain of Mud—“The Forlornest City in Christendom”—Egyptian
    Dreariness—Incomplete and Desolate State of Affairs—The End of an
    Expensive Canal—The Water of Tiber Creek—American “Boys” on the
    March—Divided Allegiance of Old—The Stirring of a Nation’s
    Heart—Ready to March to her Defense—A Personal Interest—Patriotism
    Aroused—The First-born City of the Republic—Truly the Capital of the
    Nation.


Washington was incorporated as a city by act of Congress, passed May 3,
1802. The city, planned solely as the National Capital, was laid out on
a scale so grand and extensive that scanty municipal funds alone would
never have been sufficient for its proper improvement. From the
beginning it was the ward of Congress. Its magnificent avenues, squares
and public buildings, could receive due decoration from no fund more
scanty than a national appropriation. At first Congress appropriated
funds with much spirit and some liberality, but there were many reasons
why its zeal and munificence waned together. At this day it has not
fulfilled the most sanguine expectations of its founders. In Jefferson’s
time its population numbered but five thousand persons, and for forty
years its increase of population only averaged about five hundred and
fifty per annum. Many stately vessels sail down the Potomac to the
Chesapeake and the James and out to the ocean; but the Potomac is far
from being the highway of commerce. The wharves of Washington and
Georgetown are empty compared with those of New York, or even of
Baltimore. For generations there was neither commerce nor manufacture to
induce men of capital to remove from large cities of active business to
the new city in the wilderness, whose very life depended on the will of
a majority of Congress. Washington’s idea of the National Capital far
outleaped his century. His vision of its future greatness comprehended
all that the capital of a great nation should be. He foresaw it, not
only as the seat of national commerce, but the seat of national
learning. One of the dearest projects of his last days was the founding
of a National University at the city of Washington. The following
references to this subject in a letter from him to the commissioners of
the Federal districts, with an extract from his last will, but faintly
express the intense interest which he manifested in the National
University, both in his daily life, and familiar correspondence:—


            WASHINGTON TO COMMISSIONERS OF FEDERAL DISTRICTS.

  “The Federal city, from its centrality and the advantages which in
  other respects it must have over any other place in the United States,
  ought to be preferred as a proper site for such a University. And if a
  plan can be adopted upon a scale as extensive as I have described, and
  the execution of it should commence under favorable auspices in a
  reasonable time, with a fair prospect of success, I will grant in
  perpetuity fifty shares in the navigation of the Potomac River toward
  the endowment of it.”


                         FROM WASHINGTON’S WILL.

  “I give and bequeath in perpetuity the fifty shares which I hold in
  the Potomac Company (under the aforesaid acts of the legislature of
  Virginia) toward the endowment of a University to be established
  within the limits of the District of Columbia, under the auspices of
  the general government, if that government should incline to extend a
  fostering hand toward it. And until such Seminary is established and
  the funds arising from these shares shall be needed for its support,
  my further will and desire is, that the profits arising therefrom
  whenever the dividends are made be laid out in purchasing stock in the
  Bank of Columbia, or some other bank at the discretion of my
  executors, or by the Treasurer of the United States for the time
  being, under the direction of Congress, providing that honorable body
  should patronize the measure; and the dividends proceeding from the
  purchase of such stock are to be vested in more stock, and so on, till
  a sum adequate to the accomplishment of the object be obtained, _of
  which I have not the smallest doubt before many years pass away_, even
  if no aid and encouragement is given by legislative authority, or from
  any other source.”

The correspondence of Washington and Jefferson abound with consultations
concerning this great National University. During his stay in Europe,
Jefferson had become personally conversant with its ancient seats of
learning, and longed to see somewhat of the splendor of their culture
transferred to his own native land. So great was his zeal on this
subject, both he and John Adams favored the plan at one time of
transferring to this city the entire college of Geneva, professors,
students, all. But George Washington opposed the transplanting of an
entire body of foreign scholars to the new Republic, almost as earnestly
as he did that of a horde of foreign laborers to build the Capitol, he
believing both to be inimical to the growth of republican principles and
feelings in a newly created republic.

Three-fourths of a century have passed since Washington, Jefferson and
Adams consulted together concerning the National University of the
future. Alas! it is still of the future. The dream of its fulfillment
was dearer to the father of his country, probably, than to any other
mortal. The explicit provision made for it in his will proves this. That
bequest went finally, I believe, to a college in Virginia. Columbia
College, feeble, small and old, is the nearest approach to the National
University of which the National Capital can boast to-day. Strange after
the lapse of nearly a century, the other evening the friends of this
feeble and stunted college, including the President of the United
Stales, high officials, learned professors, foreign ministers, and
gentlemen of the press, assembled in Wormley’s comfortable dining-room,
and over an “epicurean banquet” discussed what Jefferson and Washington
did in their letters—a National University for the National Capital. The
desire of Washington although not yet fulfilled, must in time become a
reality. The National Capital, already the centre of fashion, and
rapidly becoming the seat of National Science as well as of National
Politics and Government, is the natural seat of National Learning. The
educational element, the high-toned culture which always marks the
mental and moral atmosphere surrounding a university is to-day the
marked lack of what is termed “society in Washington.” The United States
Government is doing much for science. There is a greater number of
persons actively devoted to scientific pursuits in the National Capital
than in any other city of the Union. Washington is already the seat of
more purely intellectual activity than any other American city. The
scientific library of the Smithsonian Institute is one of the best in
the world. New departments of the Government devoted to Science are
continually being established on sure and ever-spreading foundations.
All these facts point to the final and crowning one—the University of
the Nation at the National Capital.

For a time, after the incorporation of the city, its founders and
patrons zealously pursued plans for its improvement. But failing funds,
a weak municipality, and indifferent Congresses, did their work, and for
many years “the city of magnificent distances” had little but those
distances of which to boast. Jefferson had Pennsylvania avenue planted
with double rows of Lombardy poplars from Executive Mansion to Capitol,
in imitation of the walk and drive in Berlin known as _Unter den
Linden_. But the tops of the poplars did not flourish, and the roots
were troublesome, and in 1832 the hoped for arcade came to naught. In
truth Pennsylvania avenue was one long plain of mud, punched with
dangerous holes and seamed with deep ravines. The interlacing roots of
the poplars made these holes and ravines the more dangerous, till an
appropriation, during the administration of Jackson, caused them to be
dug up and the entire avenue to be macadamized, notwithstanding a large
minority in Congress could find no authority in the Constitution for
such an unprecedented provision for the public safety. Every Congress
was packed with strict constructionists and economists, who opposed
every effort to improve the National Capital. Many, narrow, sectional
and provincial, had no comprehension of the plan of a city founded to
meet the wants of a great nation, rather than to suit the convenience of
a meagre population. A city planned to become the magnificent Capital of
a vast people could not fail through its very dimensions to be
oppressive to its citizens, if the chief weight of its improvement was
laid upon their scanty resources. A National Capital could only be fitly
built by the Nation. For many years the Congress of the United States
refused to do this to any fit degree, and the result for more than one
generation was the most forlorn city in Christendom. At a recent meeting
of the friends of Columbia College Attorney General Williams stated that
when he first visited Washington, in 1853, the “Egypt” of Indiana could
not compare in dreariness and discomfort with the Capital of the Nation.

In 1862 Washington was a third rate Southern city. Even its mansions
were without modern improvements or conveniences, while the mass of its
buildings were low, small and shabby in the extreme. The avenues, superb
in length and breadth, in their proportions afforded a painful contrast
to the hovels and sheds which often lined them on either side for miles.
Scarcely a public building was finished. No goddess of liberty held
tablary guard over the dome of the Capitol. Scaffolds, engines and
pulleys everywhere defaced its vast surfaces of gleaming marble. The
northern wing of the Treasury building was not even begun. Where it now
stands then stood the State departments, crowded, dingy and old. Even
the southern wing of the Treasury was not completed as it was begun.
Iron spikes and saucers on its western side had been used to conclude
the beautiful Greek ornamentation begun with the building. All public
offices, magnificent in conception, seemed to be in a state of crude
incompleteness. Everything worth looking at seemed unfinished.
Everything finished looked as if it should have been destroyed
generations before. Even Pennsylvania avenue, the grand thoroughfare of
the Capital, was lined with little two and three story shops, which in
architectural comeliness have no comparison with their ilk of the
Bowery, New York. Not a street car ran in the city. A few straggling
omnibuses and helter-skelter hacks were the only public conveyances to
bear members of Congress to and fro between the Capitol and their remote
lodgings. In spring and autumn the entire west end of the city was one
vast slough of impassible mud. One would have to walk many blocks before
he found it possible to cross a single street, and that often one of the
most fashionable of the city. “The water of Tiber Creek,” which in the
magnificent intentions of the founders of the city were “to be carried
to the top of Congress House, to fall in a cascade of twenty feet in
height and fifty in breadth, and thence to run in three falls through
the gardens into the grand canal,” instead stretched in ignominious
stagnation across the city, oozing at last through green scum and slime
into the still more ignominious canal, which stood an open sewer and
cess-pool, the receptacle of all abominations, the pest-breeder and
disgrace of the city. Toward the construction of this canal the city of
Washington gave $1,000,000 and Georgetown and Alexandria $250,000 each.
Its entire cost was $12,000,000. It was intended to be another artery to
bring the commerce of the world to Washington, and yet the Washington
end of it had come to this!

Capitol Hill, dreary, desolate and dirty, stretched away into an
uninhabited desert, high above the mud of the West End. Arid hill, and
sodden plain showed alike the horrid trail of war. Forts bristled above
every hill-top. Soldiers were entrenched at every gate-way. Shed
hospitals covered acres on acres in every suburb. Churches, art-halls
and private mansions were filled with the wounded and dying of the
American armies. The endless roll of the army wagon seemed never still.
The rattle of the anguish-laden ambulance, the piercing cries of the
sufferers whom it carried, made morning, noon and night too dreadful to
be borne. The streets were filled with marching troops, with new
regiments, their hearts strong and eager, their virgin banners all
untarnished as they marched up Pennsylvania avenue, playing “The girl I
left behind me,” as if they had come to holiday glory—to easy victory.
But the streets were filled no less with soldiers foot-sore, sun-burned,
and weary, their clothes begrimed, their banners torn, their hearts sick
with hope deferred, ready to die with the anguish of long defeat. Every
moment had its drum-beat, every hour was alive with the tramp of troops
going, coming. How many an American “boy,” marching to its defence,
beholding for the first time the great dome of the Capitol rising before
his eyes, comprehended in one deep gaze, as he never had in his whole
life before, _all_ that that Capitol meant to him, and to every free
man. Never, till the Capital had cost the life of the beautiful and
brave of our land, did it become to the heart of the American citizen of
the nineteenth century the object of personal love that it was to George
Washington. To that hour the intense loyalty to country, the pride in
the National Capital which amounts to a passion in the European, in the
American had been diffused, weakened and broken. In ten thousand
instances State allegiance had taken the place of love of country.
Washington was nothing but a place in which Congress could meet and
politicians carry on their games at high stakes for power and place. New
York was the Capital to the New Yorker, Boston to the New Englander, New
Orleans to the Southerner, Chicago to the man of the West. There was no
one central rallying point of patriots to the universal nation. The
unfinished Washington monument stood the monument of the nation’s
neglect and shame. What Westminster Abbey and Hall were to the
Englishman, what Notre Dame and the Tuileries were to the Frenchman, the
unfinished and desecrated Capitol had never been to the average
American. Anarchy threatened it. In an hour the heart of the nation was
centered in the Capital. The nation was ready to march to its defence.
Every public building, every warehouse was full of troops. Washington
city was no longer only a name to the mother waiting and praying in the
distant hamlet; _her boy_ was camped on the floor of the Rotunda. No
longer a far off myth to the lonely wife; _her_ husband held guard upon
the heights which defended the Capital. No longer a place good for
nothing but political schemes to the village sage; _his boy_, wrapped in
his blanket, slept on the stone steps under the shadow of the great
Treasury. The Capital, it was sacred at last to tens of thousands, whose
beloved languished in the wards of its hospitals or slept the sleep of
the brave in the dust of its cemeteries. Thus from the holocaust of war,
from the ashes of our sires and sons arose new-born the holy love of
country, and veneration for its Capital. The zeal of nationality, the
passion of patriotism awoke above the bodies of our slain. National
songs, the inspiration of patriots, soared toward heaven. National
monuments began to rise consecrated forever to the martyrs of Liberty.
Never, till that hour, did the Federal city—the city of George
Washington, the first-born child of the Union, born to live or to perish
with it,—become to the heart of the American people that which it had so
long been in the eyes of the world—truly the CAPITAL OF THE NATION.




                              CHAPTER VI.
                   THE WASHINGTON OF THE PRESENT DAY.

Hopes Realized—A Truly National City—Washington in 1873—Major L’Enfant’s
    Dream—Old and New—“Modern Improvements”—A City of Palaces—The
    Capital in All Its Glory—Traces of the War—Flowers on the
    Ramparts—Under the Oaks of Arlington—Ten Years Ago—The Birth of a
    Century—The Reign of Peace—The Capital of the Future.


And now! The citizen of the year of our Lord 1881 sees the dawn of that
perfect day of which the founders of the Capital so fondly and
fruitlessly dreamed. The old provincial Southern city is no more. From
its foundations has risen another city, neither Southern nor Northern,
but national, cosmopolitan.

[Illustration:

  THE NATIONAL CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
  It covers more than three and a half acres. Over thirteen million
    dollars have thus far been expended in its erection.
]

Where the “Slough of Despond” spread its waxen mud across the acres of
the West End, where pedestrians were “slumped,” and horses “stalled,”
and discomfort and disgust prevailed, we now see broad carriage drives,
level as floors, over which grand equipages and pony phaetons glide with
a smoothness that is a luxury, and an ease of motion which is rest.
Where ravines and holes made the highway dangerous, now the concrete and
Nicholson pavements stretch over miles on miles of inviting road. Where
streets and avenues crossed and re-crossed their long vistas of
shadeless dust, now plat on plat of restful grass “park” the city from
end to end. Double rows of young trees line these parks far as the sight
can reach. In these June days they fill the air with tender bloom.
Gazing far on through their green arcades the sight rests at last where
poor Major L’Enfant dreamed and planned that it one day would,—on the
restful river, with its white flecks of sails, upon distant meadows and
the Virginia hills. Old Washington was full of small Saharas. Where the
great avenues intersected acres of white sand were caught up and carried
through the air by counter winds. It blistered at white heat beneath
your feet, it flickered like a fiery veil before your eyes, it
penetrated your lungs and begrimed your clothes. Now where streets and
avenues cross, emerald “circles” with central fountains, pervading the
air with cooling spray, with belts of flowers and troops of children,
and restful seats for the old or the weary take the place of the old
Saharas. In every direction tiny parks are blooming with verdurous life.
Concrete walks have taken the place of their old gravel-stone paths.
Seats—thanks to General Babcock—everywhere invite to sit down and rest
beneath trees which every summer cast a deeper and more protecting
shadow. The green pools which used to distill malaria beneath your
windows are now all sucked into the great sewers, planted at last in the
foundations of the city. The entire city has been drained. Every street
has been newly graded. The Tiber, inglorious stream, arched and covered
forever from sight, creeps in darkness to its final gulf in the river.
The canal, drained and filled up, no longer breeds pestilence.
Pennsylvania avenue has outlived its mud and its poplars, to be all and
more than Jefferson dreamed it would be,—the most magnificent street on
the continent. Its lining palaces are not yet built, but more than one
superb building like that of the Daily National Republican soars high
above the lowly shops of the past, a forerunner of the architectural
splendor of the buildings of the future. Cars running every five minutes
have taken the place of the solitary stage, plodding its slow way
between Georgetown and the Capital. Capitol Hill, which had been
retrograding for more than forty years, has taken on the look of a
suddenly growing city. Its dusty ways and empty spaces are beginning to
fill with handsome blocks of metropolitan houses. Even the old Capital
prison is transformed into a handsome and fashionable block of private
dwellings. The improvements at the West End are more striking. Solid
blocks of city houses are rising in every direction, taking the place of
the little, old, isolated house of the past, with its stiff porch, high
steps, and open basement doorway. Vermont, Massachusetts and Connecticut
avenues are already lined with splendid mansions, the permanent winter
homes of Senators and other high official and military officers. The
French, Spanish, English and other foreign governments have bought on
and near these avenues for the purpose of building on them handsome
houses for their separate legations. The grounds of the Executive
Mansion are being enlarged, extending to the Potomac with a carriage
drive encircling, running along the shore of the river, extending
through the Agricultural Smithsonian and Botanical garden grounds, thus
fulfilling the original intent of connecting the White House with the
Capitol by a splendid drive. The same transformation is going on in the
Capitol grounds. Blocks of old houses have been torn down and
demolished, to make room for a park fit to encircle the Capitol, which
can never be complete till it takes in all the rolling slopes which lie
between it and the Potomac. No scaffolding and pulleys now deface the
snowy surfaces of the Capitol. Unimpeded the dome soars into mid-air,
till the goddess of liberty on its top seems caught into the embrace of
the clouds. The beautiful Treasury building is completed, and a block
further on, the click of ceaseless hammers and the rising buttresses of
solid stone tell of the new war and navy departments which are swiftly
growing beside the historic walls of the old. Even the Washington
monument has been taken into hand by General Babcock, to whom personally
the Capital owes so much, and by a fresh appeal to the States he hopes
to re-arouse their patriotism and insure its grand completion. Flowers
blossom on the ramparts of the old forts, so alert with warlike life ten
years ago. The army roads, so deeply grooved then, are grass-grown now.
The long shed-hospitals have vanished, and stately dwellings stand on
their already forgotten sites. The “boys” who languished in their wards,
the boys who marched these streets, who guarded this city, how many of
them lie on yonder hill-top under the oaks of Arlington, and amid the
roses of the Soldier’s Home. Peace, prosperity and luxury have taken the
place of war, of knightly days and of heroic men.

The mills of time grind slowly. What a tiny stroke in its cycles is a
single century. One hundred years! The year nineteen hundred! Then if
the father of his country can look down from any star upon the city of
his love he will behold in the new Washington that which even he did not
foresee in his earthly life—one of the most magnificent cities of the
whole earth.




                              CHAPTER VII.
                       WHAT MADE NEW WASHINGTON.

Municipal Changes—Necessity of Reform—Committee of One Hundred
    Constituted—Mr. M. G. Emery Appointed Mayor—The “Organic Act”
    Passed—Contest for the Governorship of Columbia District—Mr. Henry
    D. Cooke Appointed—Board of Public Works Constituted—Great
    Improvements Made—Opposition—The Board and its Work—Sketch of
    Alexander R. Shepherd—His Efforts During the War—Patriotic Example.


A sketch of the territorial government which now rules the District of
Columbia, will account for new Washington and the many beneficent
changes which have renovated the city.

As early as the winter of 1868, efforts were made to secure a united
government for the entire District, instead of the triple affair then in
operation, viz.: municipal corporations for Washington and Georgetown,
and the Levy court for the County. Under that _regime_ no system of
general improvements could be established. The District was under the
exclusive jurisdiction of Congress and was obliged to beg and plead with
that body for permission to begin and for appropriations to pay for each
improvement, as its increasing business and population imperatively
demanded. Again, the extension of the right of suffrage and the
consequent increase of the number of ignorant voters, made it apparent
that something must be done to prevent the control of the cities falling
into the power of a class of petty ward politicians of the very worst
order, who had sprung up just after the war, and who had already caused
considerable uneasiness in the minds of the solid and thinking portion
of the community, by the rapid manner in which they had managed to
increase the public debt without showing any corresponding public
benefits.

It was at first proposed to have the District governed by commissioners
to be appointed by the President, and I believe bills to that effect
were introduced into Congress by Senator Hamlin, and Mr. Morrill, of
Maine, but were defeated. Of course the proposed change was very
unpopular, and the Washington Common Council passed a series of
resolutions protesting against any interference with the government then
existing. The extravagance and venality of the administration of 1868-9,
however, awakened the sober and thoughtful minded citizens to the
absolute necessity of a radical and vigorous reform, and during the
winter of 1869-70 a committee of one hundred was constituted, to whom
was given the task of perfecting a bill granting a territorial
government to the District, and of the urging of its passage by
Congress. This bill failed to pass that Session, and there next came a
bitter political contest, resulting in the election of Hon. M. G. Emery
as Mayor of Washington.

The evils which it was supposed Mr. Emery would correct, did not seem to
lessen during his administration, and in the following winter the
project of a new government was revived and urged with so much vigor
that Congress, on the 21st of January, 1871, passed what is now known as
the “Organic Act,” establishing and defining the powers of the
territorial government of the District of Columbia. Immediately
following the passage of this act there appeared four prominent
candidates for the governorship of the young territory, viz: Messrs. M.
G. Emery, Sayles J. Bowen, Jas. A. Magruder, and Alex. R. Shepherd.
Messrs. Emery and Bowen soon subsided, and the contest narrowed to
between Messrs. Shepherd and Magruder.

It was unmistakably the popular desire that the appointment should be
given to Mr. Shepherd. He had been more prominent than any other
individual named in securing the change effected; the nucleus of the
Organic Act is said to have been drafted by him, and the energy and
sagacity he had shown in his public life pointed him out as peculiarly
fit for the position. Besides, he had gained the popular confidence by
his unvarying integrity and fearless independence, and by a quality too
rarely observed in a public man—positive manliness. Colonel Magruder,
the Georgetown candidate, was quite popular in that city, where he had
for a number of years been the collector of customs. Though at that time
he was not extensively known in Washington, those who were his friends
were ardent and untiring in their support. It soon became evident that
the appointment of either of these gentlemen would cause extreme
dissatisfaction to the supporters of his competitors, and as it was
especially desirable that the new government should commence its
operations with perfect good feeling pervading all the different
parties, a governor was sought who should harmonize all differences, and
Henry D. Cooke, of the firm of Jay Cooke & Co., a gentleman of
unimpeachable integrity, who had kept aloof from all factions and who,
in fact, was one of Mr. Shepherd’s warmest supporters, was at length
selected.

Then came the appointment of that body of men, against whom so much
abuse has been hurled, but to whose energies the existence of the new
Washington I have portrayed is wholly attributable, viz: the Board of
Public Works. This Board was at first composed of Messrs. A. R.
Shepherd, A. B. Mullett, S. P. Brown, and James A. Magruder, with the
Governor as president _ex-officio_. Since then Messrs. Mullett and Brown
have resigned, and their places have been filled by Messrs. Adolf Cluss,
and Henry A. Willard.

I may state also that the first Secretary of the District was N. P.
Chipman, and that when he was elected as the delegate to Congress, the
position was given to E. L. Stanton, the son of the late Secretary
Stanton, by whom it is now filled.

All the gentlemen I have named are men of clear intelligence, excellent
business capacity, and positive energy.

The amount of labor performed by the Board of Public Works can scarcely
be imagined by one who has not lived right here in the District, and
observed the complete and almost magical changes that have taken place.
Embarrassed at the very commencement of their career by the slipshod
manner in which improvements had been carried on under the old
corporations, they soon encountered a violent opposition from many
citizens who should have heartily supported their efforts. This
opposition was organized and persistent, leaving no artifice untried to
hinder and check the efforts of the Board, seeking injunction after
injunction in the courts, and finally appealing to Congress and
effecting an investigation which lasted for four months, and was as
searching and minute as any ever attempted by that body, but which ended
not only in the absolute acquittal of the Board of every charge alleged,
but in a cordial commendation of their acts by the committee which
conducted the inquiry.

I wish to give this Board of Public Works the credit to which they are
justly entitled. When I read the slanders that are cast upon them, I
want to ask the authors if they would prefer the dingy, straggling,
muddy, dusty Washington of two years ago to the bright, compact, clean
and beautiful city of to-day?

The “head and front” of this Board, the man who has infused a portion of
his own enthusiasm into his fellow members, the man to whose
comprehensive mind and untiring energy the success of the Board is
almost entirely due, who was made vice-president and executive officer
by his colleagues because they recognized his great abilities, and were
content to follow where he should lead, is Alexander R. Shepherd of
Washington.

He is a native of Washington, was born in 1885, and is consequently now
but thirty-eight years old. His father died when he was quite a boy, and
at the early age of ten years he began the rough struggle of life. He at
first started to learn the carpenter’s trade, but finding that
unsuitable to his tastes he entered a store, as errand boy. At seventeen
he was taken into the plumbing establishment of Mr. J. W. Thompson, as
clerk. By industry, fidelity and ability, he at length attained a
partnership in that house, and upon Mr. Thompson’s retirement, succeeded
to the full control of the business, which under his skillful management
has so rapidly grown that it now defies competition with any similar
establishment south of New York.

When the war of the Rebellion broke out, Mr. Shepherd was mainly
instrumental in forming the Union party in Washington, proving loyal
amidst the bitter hostility of many of his best friends. As early as the
15th of April, 1861, he enlisted as a private soldier, and for three
months shouldered his musket in defense of the National Capital. In the
same year he was elected a member of the Common Council, and again in
1862, when he was made president of that body. In 1867 he was appointed
a member of the Levy court, and in that capacity first developed his
ability and energy as a public man. He was president of the Citizens’
Reform Association during the Emery campaign, and was, I believe, the
prime mover of Mr. Emery’s nomination, and contributed by his efforts
largely to that gentleman’s success. At that election Mr. Shepherd was
chosen to the Board of Aldermen, which position he held when appointed
to the Board of Public Works.

In person Mr. Shepherd is a tall, noble looking man, with a large,
well-formed head, sharply-defined features, massive under jaw and square
chin, indicative of the indomitable perseverance and firmness which are
the most prominent traits in his character. Although a self-made man, he
has acquired a fund of information which many a collegian might envy.
His mind is thoroughly disciplined, his perceptions keen, his decisions
rapid, and his language vigorous and terse. In private life he is
universally respected and esteemed. His benevolence is unbounded, and
beside subscribing liberally to every public appeal, he performs
innumerable acts of private charity, which few know save the grateful
recipients.

It was believed by the majority of people that Governor Cooke would
retain his position only until the fusion of the irritated factions was
effected, and that in the event of his resignation Mr. Shepherd would be
appointed his successor. Whether Governor Cooke retires before the end
of his term or not, it is the universal belief that Mr. Shepherd will be
the second governor of the District of Columbia.

He is a representative man, embodying in his history and character more
emphatically, perhaps, than any other man, the new life of the new city
of Washington.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                         BUILDING THE CAPITOL.

George Washington’s Anxiety about it—His View of it Politically—Various
    Plans for the Building—Jefferson Writes to the Commissioners—His
    Letter to Mr. Carroll—“Poor Hallet” and His Plan—Wanton Destruction
    by the British, A. D. 1814—Foundation of the Main Building Laid—The
    Site Chosen by Washington Himself—Imposing Ceremonies at the
    Foundation—Dedicatory Inscription on the Silver Plate—Interesting
    Festivities—The Birth of a Nation’s Capital—Extension of the
    Building—Daniel Webster’s Inscription—His Eloquent and Patriotic
    Speech—Mistaken Calculations—First Session of Representatives
    Sitting in “the Oven”—Old Capital Prison—Immense Outlay upon the
    Wings and Dome—Compared with St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s—The Goddess
    of Liberty—The Congressional Library—Proposed Alterations—What Ought
    to be Done.


George Washington believed the building of the Capitol to be identical
with the establishment of a permanent seat of government. To the
consummation of this crowning building, the deepest anxiety and devotion
of his later years were dedicated. Next to determining a final site for
the city was the difficulty of deciding on a plan for its Capitol.

Poor human nature had to contend awhile over this as it seems to have to
about almost everything else. A Mr. S. Hallet had a plan: Dr. Thornton
had one, also. Jefferson wrote “to Dr. Stewart, or to all the gentlemen”
Commissioners, January 31, 1793:

  “I have, under consideration, Mr. Hallet’s plans for the Capitol,
  which undoubtedly have a great deal of merit. Doctor Thornton has also
  given me a view of his. The grandeur, simplicity and beauty of the
  exterior, the propriety with which the departments are distributed,
  and economy in the mass of the whole structure, will, I doubt not give
  it a preference in your eyes as it has done in mine and those of
  several others whom I have consulted. I have, therefore, thought it
  better to give the Doctor time to finish his plan, and for this
  purpose to delay until your meeting a final decision. Some difficulty
  arises with respect to Mr. Hallet, who, you know, was in some degree
  led into his plan by ideas which we all expressed to him. This ought
  not to induce us to prefer it to a better; but while he is liberally
  rewarded for the time and labor he has expended on it, his feelings
  should be saved and soothed as much as possible. I leave it to
  yourselves how best to prepare him for the possibility that the
  Doctor’s plans may be preferred to his.”

February 1, 1793, Jefferson writes from Philadelphia to Mr. Carroll—

  “DEAR SIR:—Doctor Thornton’s plan for a Capitol has been produced and
  has so captivated the eyes and judgments of all as to leave no doubt
  you will prefer it when it shall be exhibited to you; as no doubt
  exists here of its preference over all which have been produced, and
  among its admirers no one is more decided than him, whose decision is
  most important. It is simple, noble, beautiful, excellently
  distributed and moderate in size. A just respect for the right of
  approbation in the Commissioners will prevent any formal decision in
  the President, till the plan shall be laid before you and approved by
  you. In the meantime the interval of _apparent_ doubt may be improved
  for settling the mind of poor Hallet whose merits and distresses
  interests every one for his tranquillity and pecuniary relief.”

These quotations are chiefly interesting in connection with the fact
that poor, pushed-to-the-wall Hallet rebounded afterwards,
notwithstanding Jefferson’s enthusiasm over Thornton’s plan, and
Washington’s declaration that it combined “grandeur, simplicity and
convenience.” The architects preferred the design of Hallet and in
building retained but two or three of the features of Doctor Thornton’s
plan.

After the burning of the Capitol wings by the British, August, 1814, Mr.
B. H. Latrobe, of Maryland, began to rebuild the Capitol on Stephen
Hallet’s plan. The foundations of the main building were laid March 24,
1818, under the superintendence of Charles Bulfinch, and the original
design was completed in 1825. The site of the Capitol was chosen by
George Washington, on a hill ninety feet above tide-water, commanding a
view of the great plateau below, the circling rivers, and girdling
hills—a hill in 1663 named “Room,” later Rome, and owned by a gentleman
named “Pope.”

September 18, 1793, the south-east corner of the Capitol was laid by
Washington with imposing ceremonies. A copy of _The Maryland Gazette_,
published in Annapolis, September 26, 1793, gives a minute account of
the grand Masonic ceremonial, which attended the laying of that august
stone. It tells us that “there appeared on the southern bank of the
river Potomac one of the finest companies of artillery that hath been
lately seen parading to receive the President of the U. S.” Also, that
the Commissioners delivered to the President, who deposited in the stone
a silver plate with the following inscription:

  “This south-east corner of the Capitol of the United States of
  America, in the city of Washington, was laid on the 18th day of
  September, 1792, in the thirteenth year of American Independence; in
  the first year, second term of the Presidency of George Washington,
  whose virtues in the civil administration of his country have been as
  conspicuous and beneficial, as his military valor and prudence have
  been useful, in establishing her liberties, and in the year of
  Masonry, 5793, by the President of the United States, in concert with
  the Grand Lodge of Maryland, several lodges under its jurisdiction and
  Lodge No. 22 from Alexandria, Virginia.

                   [Signed] THOMAS JOHNSON, }
                            DAVID STEWART,  } _Commissioners, etc._”
                            DANIEL CARROLL, }

The _Gazette_ continues:—

  “The whole company retired to an extensive booth, where an ox of 500
  lbs. weight was barbecued, of which the company generally partook with
  every abundance of other recreation. The festival concluded with
  fifteen successive volleys from the artillery, whose military
  discipline and manœuvres merit every commendation.”

  “Before dark the whole company departed with joyful hopes of the
  production of their labors.”

Fifty-eight years later, near this spot another corner-stone was
deposited bearing the following inscription in the writing of Daniel
Webster:—

  “On the morning of the first day of the seventy-sixth year of the
  Independence of the United States of America, in the city of
  Washington, being the fourth day of July, eighteen hundred and
  fifty-one, this stone designed as the corner-stone of the extension of
  the Capitol, according to a plan approved by the President in
  pursuance of an act of Congress was laid by

                             MILLARD FILMORE,

                     PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,

  Assisted by the Grand Master of the Masonic Lodges, in the presence of
  many Members of Congress, of officers of the Executive and Judiciary
  departments, National, State and Districts, of officers of the Army
  and Navy, the Corporate authorities of this and neighboring cities,
  many associations, civil and military and Masonic, officers of the
  Smithsonian Institution, and National Institute, professors of
  colleges and teachers of schools of the Districts, with their students
  and pupils, and a vast concourse of people from places near and remote
  including a few surviving gentlemen who witnessed the laying of the
  corner-stone of the Capitol by President Washington, on the 18th day
  of September, 1793. If, therefore, it shall hereafter be the will of
  God that this structure shall fall from its base, that its foundation
  be upturned, and this deposit brought to the eyes of men; be it then
  known that on this day the Union of the United States of America
  stands firm, that their constitution still exists unimpaired, and with
  all its original usefulness and glory growing every day stronger and
  stronger in the affections of the great body of the American people,
  and attracting more and more the admiration of the world. And all here
  assembled, whether belonging to public life or to private life, with
  hearts devoutly thankful to Almighty God for the preservation of the
  liberty and happiness of the country, unite in sincere and fervent
  prayer, that this deposit, and the walls and arches, the domes and
  towers, the columns and entablatures, now to be erected over it may
  endure forever.

  “God Save the United States of America.

                                        DANIEL WEBSTER,
                             _Secretary of State of the United States_.”

In the speech made by Mr. Webster on this occasion he uttered the
following words:—

  “Fellow citizens, what contemplations are awakened in our minds as we
  assemble to re-enact a scene like that performed by Washington!
  Methinks I see his venerable form now before me as presented in the
  glorious statue by Houdon, now in the Capitol of Virginia.... We
  perceive that mighty thoughts mingled with fears as well as with
  hopes, are struggling with him. He heads a short procession over these
  then naked fields; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree; he
  ascends on the top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest
  stand as thick around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical
  worship and here he performs the appointed duty of the day.”

Fifty-eight years stretched between this scene and the last and already
the mutterings of civil revolution stirred in the air. Could Webster
have foreseen that the marble walls of the Capitol whose corner-stone he
then laid would rise amid the thunder of cannon aimed to destroy it and
the great Union of States which it crowned, to what anguish of eloquence
would his words have risen!

The Capitol fronting the east was set by an astronomical observation of
Andrew Ellicott. Its founders were as much mistaken in the direction
which the future city would take as they were in the future commerce of
the Potomac. They expected that a metropolis would spring up on Capitol
Hill, spreading on to the Navy Yard and Potomac. Land-owners made this
impossible by the price they set upon their city lots. The metropolis
defied them—went down into the valley and grew up behind the Capitol.

The north wing of the central Capitol was made ready for the first
sitting of Congress in Washington, November 17, 1800. By that time the
walls of the south wing had risen twenty feet and were covered over for
the temporary use of the House of Representatives. It sat in this room
named “the oven” from 1802, until 1804. At that time the transient roof
was removed and the wing completed under the superintendence of B. H.
Latrobe until its completion. The House occupied the room of the Library
of Congress. The south wing was finished in 1811.

The original Capitol was built of sandstone taken from an island in
Acquia Creek, Virginia. The island was purchased by the government in
1791 for $6,000 for the use of the quarry. The interior of both wings
was destroyed by fire when the British took the city in 1814, the outer
walls remaining uninjured. Latrobe, who had resigned in 1813, was
re-appointed after the fire to reconstruct the Capitol. The following
December, Congress passed an act leasing a building on the east side of
the Capitol, the building afterwards so famous as “Old Capitol Prison,”
and which was crowded with prisoners during the war of the Rebellion.
Congress held its sessions in this building till the rebuilt Capitol was
ready for occupation.

By act of Congress, September 30, 1850, provision was made for the grand
extension wings of the Capitol, to be built on such a plan as might be
approved by the President. The plan of Thomas C. Walter was accepted by
President Fillmore, June 10, 1851, and he was appointed architect of the
Capitol to carry his plan into execution. Walter was the architect of
Girard College, Philadelphia, and to him we owe the magnificent marble
wings and iron dome of the Capitol. The dome cost one million one
hundred thousand dollars. The wings cost six millions five hundred
thousand dollars. The height of the interior of the dome of the Capitol
from the floor of the rotunda is 180 feet and 3 inches. The height of
the exterior from the floor of the basement story to the top of the
crowning statue is 287 feet and 5 inches. The interior diameter is 97
feet. The exterior diameter of the drum is 108 feet. The greatest
exterior diameter is 135 feet, 5 inches. The Capitol is 751 feet, 4
inches long, 31 feet longer than St. Peter’s in Rome, and 175 feet
longer than St. Paul’s in London. The height of the interior of the dome
of St. Peter’s is 330 feet. The height of the interior of the dome of
St. Paul’s is 215 feet. The height of the exterior of St. Peter’s to the
top of lantern is 432 feet. The height of the exterior of the dome of
St. Paul’s is 215 feet.

The ground actually covered by the Capitol is 153,112 square feet or 652
square feet more than 3 ½ acres. Of these the old building covered
61,201 square feet and the new wings with connecting corridors, 91,311
square feet.

The dome of the Capitol is the highest structure in America. It is one
hundred and eight feet higher than Washington Monument in Baltimore;
sixty-eight feet higher than Bunker Hill Monument and twenty-three feet
higher than the steeple of Trinity Church, New York. Mr. Walter was
succeeded by Mr. Edward Clarke, the present architect of the Capitol.
Thus far Mr. Clarke’s work has consisted chiefly in finishing and
harmonizing the work of his varied and sometimes conflicting
predecessors. Under his supervision the dome has been completed, and
Thomas Crawford’s grand goddess of liberty, sixteen and one-half feet
high, has ascended to its summit while he has wrought out in the
interior the most harmonious room of the Capitol—the Congressional
Library.

The greatest work which he still desires to do is to put the present
front on the rear of the Capitol facing the city, and to draw forth the
old freestone fronts and rebuild it with marble, making a grand central
portico parallel with the magnificent marble wings of the Senate and
House extension. To rebuild the central front will cost two millions of
dollars. The face of the Capitol will never be worthy of itself till
this is accomplished. The grand outward defect of the Capitol is the
slightness and insignificance of the central portico compared with the
superlative Corinthian fronts of the wings. Between their outreaching
marble steps, beside their majestic monoliths the central columns shrink
to feebleness and give the impression that the great dome is sinking
down upon them to crush them out of sight. There is something soaring in
the proportions of the dome. Its summit seems to spring into the
empyrean. Its proud goddess poised in mid-air, caught in their swift
embrace, seems to sail with the fleeting clouds. Nevertheless its
tremendous base set upon that squatting roof threatens it with perpetual
annihilation.

From the very beginning the Capitol has suffered as a National Building
from the conflicting and foreign tastes of its decorators. Literally
begun in the woods by a nation in its infancy, it not only borrowed its
face from the buildings of antiquity, but it was built by men, strangers
in thought and spirit to the genius of a new Republic, and the unwrought
and unimbodied poetry of its virgin soil. Its earlier decorators, all
Italians, overlaid its walls with their florid colors and foreign
symbols; within the American Capitol, they have set the Loggia of
Raphael, the voluptuous ante-rooms of Pompeii, and the Baths of Titus.
The American plants, birds and animals, representing prodigal nature at
home, though exquisitely painted are buried in twilight passages, while
mythological bar-maids, misnamed goddesses, dance in the most
conspicuous and preposterous places. The Capitol has already survived
this era of false decorative art.

Congress in 1859 authorized a Commission of distinguished American
artists, comprising Messrs. Brown, Lumsden and Kensett, to study, the
decorations of the Capitol and report upon their abuses. Their
suggestions are beginning to be followed, and yet so carelessly, that
after the lapse of fourteen years they need reiteration. The Artist
Committee recommended an Art Commission, composed of those designated by
the united voice of America. Artists as competent to the office who
shall be the channels for the distribution of all appropriations to be
made by Congress for art purposes, and who shall secure to artists an
intelligent and unbiased adjudication upon the designs they may present
for the embellishment of the national buildings. When one remembers some
of the Congressional Committees who have decided on decorations for the
Capitol even within the last ten years, it is enough to make one cry
aloud for a Commission designated by artists, whose art-culture shall at
least be sufficient to tell a decent picture from a daub, a noble statue
from a pretense and a sham.

In conclusion the Commission of Artists said:—

  “The erection of a great National Capitol seldom occurs but once in
  the life of a nation. The opportunity such an event affords is an
  important one for the expression of patriotic elevation, and the
  perpetuation, through the arts of painting and sculpture, of that
  which is high and noble and held in reverence by the people; and it
  becomes them as patriots to see to it that no taint of falsity is
  suffered to be transmitted to the future upon the escutcheon of our
  national honor in its artistic record. A theme so noble and worthy
  should interest the heart of the whole country, and whether patriot,
  statesman or artist, one impulse should govern the whole in dedicating
  these buildings and grounds to the national honor.”




                              CHAPTER IX.
                          INSIDE THE CAPITOL.

A Visit to the Capitol—The Lower Hall—Its Cool
    Tranquillity—Artistic Treasures—The President’s and
    Vice-President’s Rooms—The Marble Room—The Senate Chamber—“Men
    I have Known”—Hamlin—Foote—Foster—Wade—Colfax—Wilson—The
    Rotunda—Great Historical Paintings—The Old Hall of
    Representatives—The New Hall—The Speaker’s Room—Native
    Art—“The Star of Empire”—A National Picture.


Come with me. This is your Capitol. It is like passing from one world
into another, to leave behind the bright June day for the cool, dim
halls of the lower Capitol. No matter how fiercely the sun burns in the
heavens, his fire never penetrates the twilight of this grand hall,
whose eight hundred feet measure the length of the Capitol from end to
end.

Here, in Egyptian Colonnades, rise the mighty shafts of stone which bear
upon their tops the mightier mass of marble, and which seem strong
enough to support the world. In the summer solstice they cast long, cool
shadows, full of repose and silence. The gas-lights flickering on the
walls, send long golden rays through the dimness to light us on. We have
struck below the jar and tumult of life. The struggles of a nation may
be going on above our heads, yet so vast and visionary are these vistas
opening before us, so deep the calm which surrounds us, we seem far away
from the world that we have left, in this new world which we have found.
Every time I descend into these lower regions I get lost. In wandering
on to find our way out, we are sure to make numerous discoveries of
unimagined beauty. Here are doors after doors in almost innumerable
succession, opening into departments of commerce, agriculture, etc.,
whose every panel holds exquisite gems of illustrative painting. Birds,
flowers, fruits, landscapes, in rarest fresco and color, here reveal
themselves to us through the dim light.

It would take months to study and to learn these pictures which artists
have taken years to paint. They make a department of art in themselves,
yet thousands who think that they know the Capitol well are not aware of
their existence. At the East Senate entrance, look at these polished
pillars of Tennessee marble, their chocolate surface all flecked with
white, surrounding a staircase meet for kings. They are my delight. Look
at these foliated capitals, flowering in leaves of acanthus and tobacco.
Look up to this ceiling of stained glass, its royal roses opening wide
their crimson hearts above you; these too are my delight. I am not one
of those who can sneer at the Capitol. Its faults, like the faults of a
friend are sacred. I know them, but wish to name them not, save to the
one who only can remedy. It bears blots upon its fair face, but these
can be washed away. It wears ornaments vulgar and vain, these can be
stripped off and thrown out. Below them, beyond them all, abides the
Capitol. The surface blemish vexes, the pretentious splendor offends.
These are not the Capitol. We look deeper, we look higher, to find
beauty, to see sublimity, to see the Capitol, august and imperishable!

[Illustration:

  THE MARBLE ROOM.
  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

The four marble staircases leading to the Senate Chamber and Hall of
Representatives, in themselves alone embody enough of grace and
magnificence to save the Capitol from cynical criticism. We slip through
the Senate corridor, you and I, to the President’s and Vice-President’s
rooms. Their furniture is sumptuous, their decoration oppressive.
Gilding, frescoes, arabesques, glitter and glow above and around. There
is not one quiet hue on which the tired sight may rest. Gazing, I feel
an indescribable desire to pluck a few of Signor Brumidi’s red legged
babies and pug-nosed cupids from their precarious perches on the lofty
ceilings, to commit them to nurses or to anybody who will smooth out
their rumpled little legs and make them look comfortable.

We are Americans, and need repose; let us, therefore, pass to the Marble
Room, which alone, of all the rooms of the Capitol, suggests it—

                  “The end of all, the poppied sleep.”

Its atmosphere is soft, serene, and silent. Its ceiling is of white
marble, deeply paneled, supported by fluted pillars of polished Italian
marble. Its walls are of the exquisite marble of Tennessee—a soft brown,
veined with white—set with mirrors. One whose æsthetic eyes have studied
the finest apartments of the world says that to him the most chaste and
purely beautiful of all is the Marble Room of the American Capitol.
Americans though we are, we have no time to rest, albeit we sorely need
it.

It is not for you or me to linger in marble rooms, maundering of art.
Molly, rocking her baby out on the Western prairie, wants to know all
about the Senate; baby is going to be a senator some day. Moses, on that
little rock-sown farm in New England, has his “chores all done.” He
rests in the Yankee paradise of kerosene, butternuts, apples, and cider.
Yet to make his satisfaction complete, he must know a little more about
the Capitol. Molly and Moses both expect us to see for them what they
can not come to see for themselves. So let us peep into the Senate. It
can not boast of the ampler proportions of the Hall of Representatives.
Its golden walls and emerald doors can not rescue it from
insignificance.

The ceiling of this chamber is of cast-iron, paneled with stained
glass—each pane bearing the arms of the different States, bound by most
ornate mouldings, bronzed and gilded. The gallery, which entirely
surrounds the hall, will seat one thousand persons. Over the
Vice-President’s chair, the section you see separated from the rest by a
net-work of wire, is the reporters’ gallery. The one opposite, lined
with green, is the gallery of the diplomatic corps; next are the seats
reserved for the Senators’ families. The Senators sit in three
semi-circular rows, behind small desks of polished wood, facing the
Secretary of the Senate, his assistants, the special reporters of
debates, and the Vice-President.

On a dais, raised above all, sits the Vice-President. I have seen six
men preside over the Senate. Hamlin, slow, solid, immobile, and
good-natured. Foote, silver-haired, silver-toned, the king of
parliamentarians. Foster of Connecticut, that most gentle gentleman, who
went from the Senate bearing the good will of every Senator whatever his
politics. Wade, the most positive power of all, with his high, steep
head, shaggy eyebrows, beetling perceptive brow, half roofing the
melancholy eyes, the rough-hewn nose, the dogged mouth, and broad
immovable chin. Life lines our faces according to its will and gazing on
the furrows of this one, one reads the story of the whole battle.
Looking, there was no need that its owner should tell what a warfare
life had been since the poor farmer-boy, more than half a century ago,
turned his face from the Connecticut Valley and striving with the earth
beneath his feet dug his way (on the Erie Canal) toward the West to
fortune, and to an honorable fame. Then came Schuyler Colfax, who
brought into the silent and stately Senate the habits of the bustling
noisy house. It was a hard seat for “Schuyler,” that Vice-President’s
chair, and he came at last to vacate it regularly by two o’clock that he
might write in the seclusion of the Vice-President’s room a few of those
ten thousand popular personal letters which made his chief lever of
influence with the people and which he always used to write in the
Speaker’s chair. As President of the Senate he was usually just, always
urbane, never impressive. He had not the presence which filled the seat
to the sight, nor the dignity which commanded attention, and silence.
Under his ruling the Senate changed its character perceptibly from a
grave august body to a buzzing and inattentive one. As the President of
the Senate seldom listened to a speaker, the Senators as rarely took the
trouble to listen to each other. The question discussed might be of the
gravest import to the whole nation, the speaker’s words, to himself,
might be of the most tremendous importance to the national weal, just
the same he had to empty them upon vacancy, speaking to nothing in
particular, while the Vice-President looked another way, and his
colleagues went on scribbling letters, whispering political secrets to
each other, munching apples in the aisles or smoking in the open
cloak-rooms, with feet aloft.

Vice-President Wilson, without an atom of parliamentary experience, has
already won the hearts and improved the manners of the Senate by simply
giving attention to its debates. No matter how tiresome, he steadfastly
looks and listens. The humblest speaker—seeing that he has one pair of
eyes fixed upon him, one direct immovable point toward which he may
direct his remarks—takes heart, and in spite of himself makes a better
speech than would be possible were he beating a vacuum, and speaking to
nobody in particular. Even his listening constituency and the next day’s
_Globe_ is not such an incentive to present inspiration as two steadfast
eyes and one pair of good listening ears.

We leave the Senate Chamber by the western gallery. Here in the niche at
the foot of the staircase, corresponding to Franklin’s on the opposite
side, stands the noble figure of John Hancock. The stairs are of
polished white marble and the painting above them leading to the
gentlemen’s gallery of the Senate, in its setting of maroon cloth
represents the battle of Chapultapec in all the ardor of its fiery
action. We saunter on along the breezy corridors through whose open
windows we catch delicious glimpses of the garden city, the gliding
river and the distant hills, past the Supreme Court room into the great
rotunda.

[Illustration:

  THE SENATE CHAMBER.

  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

The rotunda is ninety-five feet in diameter, three hundred feet in
circumference and over one hundred and eighty feet in height. Its dome
contains over eight millions eight hundred thousand pounds of iron,
presenting the most finished specimen of iron architecture in the world.
The panels of the rotunda are set with paintings of life-size, painted
by Vanderlyn, Trumbull and others. The Declaration of Independence; the
surrender of Burgoyne; surrender of the British Army, commanded by Lord
Cornwallis, at Yorktown, Virginia, October 19, 1781; resignation of
General Washington at Annapolis, December 23, 1783, all by Colonel
Trumbull; the baptism of Pocahontas by Chapman; landing of Columbus by
Vanderlyn; De Soto’s discovery of the Mississippi, by Powell. Like most
works of genius these paintings have many merits and many defects.
Perhaps the favorite of all is the Embarcation of the Pilgrims in the
Speedwell at Delft Haven, by Robert W. Weir. Its figures and the fabrics
of its costumes are wonderfully painted; so, too, is the face of the
hoary Pilgrim who is giving thanks to God for their safe passage across
stormy seas to the land of deliverance; but the enchantment of the
picture is the face of Rose Standish. If I were a man, I would marry
such a face out of all the faces on the earth, for the being which it
represents. These eyes, blue as heaven and as true, would never fail
you. No matter how low _you_ might fall, you could see only in them
purity, faith, devotion, tenderness, and unutterable love—and all for
you.

The group in bas-relief over the western entrance of the rotunda was
executed by Cappelano, a pupil of Canova. It represents the preservation
of Captain Smith by Pocahontas. The design was taken from a rude
engraving of the event in the first edition of Smith’s History of
Virginia. The idea is national, but you see the execution is
preposterous. Powhatan looks like an Englishman, and Pocahontas has a
Greek face and a Grecian head-dress. The alto-relievo over the eastern
entrance of the rotunda represents the Landing of the Pilgrims. The
pilgrim, his wife and child are stepping from the prow of a boat to
receive from the hand of an Indian, kneeling on the rock before them, an
ear of corn. Good Indian. He was no relation to the Modoc! Still the
little boy evidently has no faith in him for he is tugging at his
father’s arm as if to hold him back from that ear of corn or the hand
that holds it.

Over the south door of the rotunda we have Daniel Boone and two Indians
in a forest. Boone has dispatched one Indian and is in close battle with
the other. The latter is doing his best to strike Boone with his
tomahawk, but Boone averts the blow, by his rifle in one hand, while the
other drawn back holds a long knife which he is about to run through his
foe. The action is exciting enough for the _New York Ledger_, although
rendered tangled and cramped by a too narrow space. It commemorates an
occurrence which took place in the year 1773. This, as well as the
landing of the Pilgrims, was executed by Causici, another pupil of
Canova. Over the northern door of the rotunda we have William Penn
standing under an elm, in the act of presenting a treaty to the Indians.
Penn is dressed as a Quaker, and looks as benevolent as the crude stone
out of which he is made will let him. This panel was executed by a
Frenchman named Genelot.

[Illustration:

  THE HALL OF REPRESENTATIVES.

  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

We pass through the noblest room of the Capitol, the old Hall of
Representatives and through the open corridor directly into the new Hall
of Representatives. It occupies the precise place in the south wing
which the Senate Chamber does in the northern wing. Like the Senate
room, the light of day comes to it but dimly through the stained glass
roof overhead. Like that, also, it is entire, encircled by a corridor
opening into smoking apartments, committee rooms, the Speaker’s room,
etc., which monopolize all the out of door air, and every out of door
view. The air of the central chamber is pumped into it by a tremendous
engine at work in the depths of the Capitol and admitted through
ventilators one under each desk. You see these are covered with shining
brass plates which by a touch of the foot can be adjusted to admit a
current of fresh air, or shut it off, according to the wish of the
occupant of the chair above it. In former times these ventilators were
uncovered, and then were used to such an extent as spittoons by the
honorable gentlemen above them, and filled to such a depth with tobacco
quids and the stumps of cigars that the odor from them became unbearable
and they had to be covered up.

The Hall of Representatives is 139 feet long, 93 feet wide and 30 feet
high with a gallery running entirely around the Hall, holding seats for
1200 persons. Like the Senate, the ceiling is of iron work bronzed,
gilded and paneled with glass, each pane decorated with the arms of a
State. At the corners of these panels in gilt and bronze are rosettes of
the cotton plant in its various stages of bud and blossom. The Speaker’s
desk, splendid in proportion, is of pure white marble, while crossed
above his head are two brilliant silk flags of the United States. One of
the panels under the gallery at his left is filled with a painting in
fresco, by Brumidi.

The Speaker’s room, in the rear of his chair across the inner lobby, is
one of the most beautiful rooms in the Capitol. Its ornaments are not as
glaring as those of the President’s and Vice-President’s rooms, while
its mirrors, carved book-cases, velvet carpets and chairs, give it a
look of home comfort as well as of luxury. It has a bright outlook upon
the eastern grounds of the Capitol, and its walls are hung with
portraits of every speaker from the First Congress to the present one.

We pass through the private corridor looking from the Speaker’s room out
into the grand colonnaded vestibule opening upon the great portico of
the south extension. These twenty-four columns and forty pilasters have
blossomed from native soil. Athens, Pompeii, Rome, are left out at last,
and looking up to these flowering capitals we see corn-leaves, tobacco,
and magnolias budding and blooming from their marble crowns. Every
column, every pilaster bears a magnolia, each of a different form, all
from casts of the natural flower. And far below, beneath the
Representatives’ Hall, there is a row of monolithic columns formed of
the tobacco and thistle. It is above the marble staircase opposite,
leading to the ladies’ gallery, that we see painted on the wall covering
the entire landing, the great painting of Leutze, representing the
“Advance of Civilization;” “Westward the Star of Empire takes its
way”—is its motto. At the first glance it presents a scene of
inextricable confusion. It is an emigrant train caught and tangled in
one of the highest passes of the Rocky Mountains. Far backward spread
the Eastern Plains; far onward stretches the Beulah of promise, fading
at last in the far horizon. The great wagons struggling upward, tumbling
downward from mountain precipice into mountain gorge, hold under their
shaking covers every type of westward moving human life. Here is the
mother sitting in the wagon-front, her blue eyes gazing outward,
wistfully and far, the baby lying on her lap; one wants to touch the
baby’s head, it looks so alive and tender and shelterless in all that
dust and turmoil of travel. A man on horseback carries his wife, her
head upon his shoulder. Who that has ever seen it will forget her sick
look and the mute appeal in the suffering eyes. Here is the bold hunter
with his racoon cap, the pioneer boy on horseback, a coffee-pot and cup
dangling at his saddle, and oxen—such oxen! it seems as if their
friendly noses must touch us; they seem to be feeling out for our hand
as we pass up to the gallery. Here is the young man, the old man, and
far aloft stands the advance guard fastening on the highest and farthest
pinnacle the flag of the United States.

Confusing, disappointing perhaps, at first glance, this painting asserts
itself more and more in the soul the oftener and the longer you gaze.
Already the swift, smooth wheels of the railway, the shriek of the
whistle, and the rush of the engine have made its story history. But it
is the history of our past—the story of the heroic West. It is one of a
thousand which should line the walls of the Capitol, feeding the hearts
of the American people to the latest generation with the memory of our
forefathers, showing by what toilsome ways they followed the Star of
Empire and made the paths of civilization smooth for their children’s
feet.




                               CHAPTER X.
                          OUTSIDE THE CAPITOL.

The Famous Bronze Doors—The Capitol Grounds—Statue of Washington
    Criticised—Peculiar Position for “the Father of his Country”—Horace
    Greenough’s Defence of the Statue—Picturesque Scenery Around the
    Capitol—The City and Suburbs—The Public Reservation—The Smithsonian
    Institution—The Potomac and the Hights of Arlington.


We come back to the grand vestibule of the southern wing, to the
flowering magnolias, tobacco and corn-leaves of the marble capitals, and
pass out to the great portico. This is one of the famous bronze doors
designed by Rogers, and cast in Munich. How heavy, slow, and still, its
swing! The other opens and closes upon the central door of the north
wing, leading to the vestibule of the Senate.

Here, from the portico we look out upon the eastern grounds of the
Capitol in the unsullied panoply of a June morning, across the closely
shorn grass, the borders of roses and beds of flowers, through the vista
of maples with their green arcade of light and shadow, to the august
form of George Washington sitting in the centre of the grounds in a
lofty cerule chair mounted on a pedestal of granite twelve feet high.

This is the grandest and most criticised work of art about the Capitol.
The form being nude to the waist and the right arm outstretched, it is a
current vulgar joke that he is reaching out his hand for his clothes
which are on exhibition in a case at the Patent Office. It is true that
a sense of personal discomfort seems to emanate from the drapery—or lack
of it—and the _posé_ of this colossal figure. George Washington with his
right arm outstretched, his left forever holding up a Roman sword, half
naked, yet sitting in a chair, beneath bland summer skies, within a
veiling screen of tender leaves is a much more comfortable looking
object than when the winds and rains and snows of winter beat upon his
unsheltered head and uncovered form. This statue was designed in
imitation of the antique statue of Jupiter Tonans. The ancients made
their statues of Jupiter naked above and draped below as being visible
to the gods but invisible to men. But the average American citizen,
being accustomed to seeing the Father of his country decently attired in
small clothes, naturally receives a shock at first beholding him in next
to no clothes at all. It is impossible for him to reconcile a Jupiter in
sandals with the stately George Washington in knee-breeches and buckled
shoes. The spirit of the statue, which is ideal, militates against the
spirit of the land which is utilitarian if not commonplace.

Nevertheless, in poetry of feeling, in grandeur of conception, in
exquisite fineness of detail and in execution, Horatio Greenough’s
statue of George Washington is transcendently the greatest work in
marble yet wrought at the command of the government for the Capitol. It
is scarcely human, certainly not American, but it is godlike. The face
is a perfect portrait of Washington. The veining of a single hand, the
muscles of a single arm are triumphs of art.

Washington’s chair is twined with acanthus leaves and garlands of
flowers. The figure of Columbus leans against the back of the seat to
the left, connecting the history of America with that of Europe; an
Indian chief on the right represents the condition of the country at the
time of its discovery. The back of the seat is ornamented in
_basso-relievo_ with the rising sun, the crest of the American arms,
under which is this motto: “_Magnus ab integro sæculorum nascitur
ordo._” On the left is sculptured in _bas-relief_ the genii of North and
South America under the forms of the infant Hercules strangling the
serpent, and Iphiclus stretched on the ground shrinking in fear from the
contest. The motto is “_Incipe posse puer cui non risere parentes._” On
the back of the seat is the following motto: “_Simulacrum istud ad
magnum Libertatis exemplum. Nec sine ipsa duraturum._”

One of the greatest works of contemporary art, the masterpiece of a
master, it has been the subject of more rude and vulgar jests than any
other piece of American sculpture. The painful disparity which so often
exists between the judgment of the multitude and the inspiration of the
creator has never been more touchingly illustrated than in the following
words of Horatio Greenough, concerning this monument to his own genius
and to the Father of his country. He says: “It is the birth of my
thoughts, I have sacrificed to it the flower of my days, and the
freshness of my strength; its every lineament has been moistened with
the sweat of my toil and the tears of my exile. I would not barter away
its association with my name for the proudest fortune that avarice ever
dreamed of. In giving it up to the nation that has done me the honor to
order it at my hands, I respectfully claim for it that protection which
is the boast of civilization to afford art, and which a generous enemy
has more than once been seen to extend even to the monuments of its own
defeat.”

Retracing our steps to the rotunda, we turn westward through the main
hall of the Congressional Library to the lofty colonnade outside, from
whose balcony we look down upon the view which Humbolt declared to be
the most beautiful of its type in the whole world. Directly below us,
past the western terrace of the Capitol, with its open basin full of
gold fishes flashing in the sun, stretch the Capitol grounds. Many
varieties of trees already grown to forest hight spread their
interlacing roof of cool, green shadow over the malachite sward below.
Beds of flowers set in the grass, from the early March crocuses to the
November blooming roses, make the grounds fragrant and precious with
their presence. Here the dandelion spreads its cloth of gold in early
May. Here the chrysanthemums fringe the snow with pallid gold in white
December. Now the fountains are lapsing in dreamy tune through the long
June hours, and the seats under the trees are filled with visitors.
Nurses with children in their arms, old men and women leaning on their
staffs, lovers “billing and cooing” through the long twilight and
starlight seasons. Beyond spreads the city, every ugly outline hidden
and lost in a waving sea of greenery rippling and tossing above it. The
great avenues run and radiate in all directions. Pennsylvania Avenue
stretches straight on between its border of shade trees to its acropolis
one mile distant, the great Treasury gleaming in the sun, and the white
chimneys of the Executive Mansion peering above the trees; and still on,
till it joins the primitive streets of Georgetown. Massachusetts Avenue,
broad, straight, magnificent, spans the city from end to end unbroken.
Virginia Avenue to the left, goes on to meet Long Bridge, leading far
into the Old Dominion. Directly in front stretches the public
reservation yet to be made splendid as the Nation’s Boulevards, but
already holding the Congressional gardens and conservatories, the unique
towers, and picturesque grounds of the Smithsonian Institution, the
broad flower-banded terraces of the Agricultural Department, and the
incomplete Washington Monument. Beyond we see the wide Potomac, flecked
all over with snowy sails, far down old Alexandria, dingy on its farther
shore; opposite the Heights of Arlington, and amid its immemorial oaks;
Arlington House with the stars and stripes floating free from its
crowning summit.




                              CHAPTER XI.
                     ART TREASURES OF THE CAPITOL.

Arrival of a Solitary Lady—“The Pantheon of America”—Il
    Penserosa—Milton’s Ideal—Dirty Condition of the House of
    Representatives—The Goddess of Melancholy—Vinnie Ream’s Statue
    of Lincoln—Its Grand Defects—Necessary Qualifications for a
    Sculptor—The Bust of Lincoln by Mrs. Ames—General Greene and
    Roger Williams—Barbarous Garments of Modern Times—Statues of
    Jonathan Trumbull and Roger Sherman—Bust of Kosciusko—Pulling
    His Nose—Alexander Hamilton—Fate of Senator Burr—Statue of
    Baker—His Last Speech Prophetic—The Glory of a Patriotic
    Example—The Lesson which Posterity Learns—Horatio Stone, the
    Sculptor—Washington’s Statue at Richmond—Neglected Condition of
    the Capitol Statuary—Curious Clock—Grotesque Plaster Image of
    Liberty—Webster—Clay—Adams—The Pantheon at Rome—The French
    Pantheon—Bar-Maid Goddess—Dirty Customs of M. C’s—Future Glory
    of America.


A solitary lady has arrived in the old Hall of the House of
Representatives; or, as Senator Anthony eloquently calls it, “the
Pantheon of America.” “Considering her age,” (as women sweetly say of
each other,) “she looks quite young.” What her precise age may be, I am
as unable to tell you as that of any other of my friends. The daughter
of Saturn and Vesta, we may, at least, conclude that she has lived long
enough to look older than she does. Her name is “Il Penserosa,” and, “to
judge by appearances,” she seems to have flourished about twenty-five of
our mortal years. Yet Milton sung of her in his youth, before an unruly
wife and three disobedient daughters, (who perversely wished to
understand the alphabet which they read to their blind father,) had made
him crabbed and loftily sour towards women—Milton sung of this maid who
has but lately arrived in Washington:

                 “Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
                 Sober, steadfast, and demure,
                 All in a robe of darkest grain
                 Flowing with majestic train,
                 And sable stole of cypress lawn,
                 Over thy decent shoulders drawn;
                 Come, but keep thy wonted state
                 With even step and musing gait,
                 And looks commercing with the skies,
                 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.”

Now, if this maiden can keep on holding her head up, with looks
perpetually “commercing with the skies” so that it will be impossible
for her to see all the tobacco-juice and apple-cores beneath and round
about her, it will conduce greatly to her peace of mind. I am sorry that
“the Pantheon of America” is not a cleaner looking place. It’s a pity,
as we have a Pantheon, that its shabbiness and dirt should flourish to a
degree that is absolutely melancholy. I am sure it was in obedience to
the law of fitness that the committee of the Congressional Library or
some other committee, brought the Goddess of Melancholy in here, to hold
her eyes and nose aloft, and to stand supreme queen, regnant of dust and
gloom and American “expectoration.” “Hail! divinest Melancholy.” I am
glad, judging by your face, that you are of the lymphatic temperament,
and that consequently, all this dirt will afflict you less than it does
me. But the more I look at your impassive and soulless countenance the
more I fear that, after all, you are but a feeble counterfeit of
Milton’s goddess or of the divine maiden conceived and born in,

                      “Woody, Ida’s inmost grove.”

In speaking of this marble, my heart will not let me forget that it was
wrought by a hand self-taught; yet no less, standing where it does, it
must be measured—somewhat, at least—by the standards of art. The figure,
diminutive even in its femininity, suffers to insignificance by being
set almost directly behind the gaunt and elongated form of Miss Ream’s
“Lincoln;” yet it is in the figure, in its _posé_ and gentle curves, its
chaste and graceful drapery, “the stole of cypress lawn, over the decent
shoulders drawn” in the firm yet delicate hand which holds it in its
place—in these only it is that the artist has caught and fastened in
stone the aspect of the “goddess, sage and holy.” The face is
meaningless. Not a line, not a curve, not an expression indicates a
capacity for melancholy, contemplation or anything else emotional or
intellectual. No mortal woman ever really meditated for a minute who did
not get her hair pushed back further from her eyes than this, but these
regulation locks run straight down the little, senseless Greek face in a
mathematical angle, indissolubly banded by a little perked up helmet,
embossed with seven stars. Why these stars? “Il Penserosa” was not
nearly enough related to “that starred Ethiop queen” Cassiope, to have
borrowed the helmet to wear even in the old Hall of the old House of
Representatives “in the United States of America.”

As for the Ream statue of Lincoln, (like many people,) the first glance
at it is the most satisfactory that you will ever have. It will never
look as well again. Some declare this very palpable lack to be in the
subject—Mr. Lincoln’s own face and form—but many others note it to be in
this representation of them. Mr. Lincoln’s living face was one of the
most interesting ever given to man. There was more than fascination in
its rugged homeliness; there was in it the deeper attraction of
suffering and sympathy. It outrayed from every line engraven there by
human pain and love and longing. But no soul can put into a statue or
painting more than it has in itself. In this statue of Mr. Lincoln we
have his rude outward image, unilluminated by one mental or spiritual
characteristic. It is mechanical, material, opaque. Mrs. Sarah Ames, in
her bust of Lincoln, which stands just behind our friend, “Il
Penserosa,” has transfixed more of the soul of Lincoln in the brow and
eyes of his face than Miss Ream has in all the weary outline of her many
feet of marble. In the bust the lower part of the face is idealized into
weakness. Without his gauntness and ruggedness Lincoln is not Lincoln.
But any one who ever saw and felt the deep, tender, sad outlook of his
living humanity must thank Mrs. Ames for having reflected and transfixed
it in the brows and eyes of this marble.

Just outside of its alcove, at the right hand of the door which enters
the New House of Representatives, stand side by side, the two statues
from Rhode Island—one of General Green, the other of Roger Williams.
That of General Green is spirited and exquisitely fine in detail; while
that of Roger Williams is the one ideal statue in our Pantheon. Both
were executed in Rome—the first by Henry R. Brown, the second by
Franklin Simmons, of Providence, Rhode Island. No portrait of Roger
Williams being in existence, Mr. Simmons has evolved from imagination
and his inner consciousness a quaint, poetic figure and a dreamlike
face, above whose lifted eyelids seems to hover a seraphic smile. Then
it is refreshing to turn from the stove-pipe hats, shingled heads and
angular garments in which the men of our generation do penance, to the
flowing locks, puckered knee-breeches, with their dainty tassels, and
the ample ruffs in which the holy apostle of liberty represents his name
and time. He holds a book in his hand, on whose cover is inscribed the
words, “Soul Liberty,” and, with open, uplifted glance and free _posé_
seems about to step forward into air, with lips just ready to open with
words of inspiration.

Opposite, on the other side of the Hall, stand together Connecticut’s
contribution—the statues of Jonathan Trumbull and Roger Sherman. They
are of heroic size and at first glance are most imposing. When you walk
nearer, and soberly survey them, you see that Roger Sherman looks solid
and stolid, and you see also (at least, I do,) that old Jonathan
Trumbull, with his down-perked head and narrow-lidded eyes, looks like a
meditative rooster—an immense human chanticleer, who had paused in his
lording career for a minute’s meditation. Mind, I don’t say but this may
be a grand statue, in its way, I only observe that it is a very
repelling one to me.

Just round the angle of the alcove on a box set on end, covered with
tattered black cambric, stands a bust of Kosciusko, by H. D. Saunders.
Poor Kosciusko! His nose always needs wiping; and what a pedestal for a
Pantheon! A candle or a soap box, probably, half covered with black
tags; then on his nose celestial, the dust alights and lodges always. It
is so provocative—the tip of it; every bumpkin who approaches it taps or
pulls it. Thus, literally, Kosciusko’s nose is seldom clean. One day it
was. Some pitying hand had washed the entire face. If you could have
seen the difference between Kosciusko clean and Kosciusko exiled, dirty
and forlorn! A few steps from this bust stands the statue of Alexander
Hamilton, by Horatio Stone—a noble figure, spirited in posture and
beautiful in countenance. No painted portrait can give so grand an idea
of the great Federalist to posterity. It is eight feet high and
represents Hamilton in the attitude of impassioned speech. It is
persuasive rather than declamatory, for the lifted hands droop, the face
presses slightly forward, the eyes look out from under their royal
arches deep and steadfast, while the sunshine pouring down the dome
lights up every lineament with the intensity of life. The execution of
the statue is exquisite, while in _posé_ and expression it is the
embodiment of majesty and power. Burr—who presided over the Senate, who
with the pride, subtlety and ambition of Lucifer, planned and executed
to live in the future amid the most exalted names of his time—sleeps
dishonored and accursed; while the great rival that he hated, whose
success he could not bear, whose life he destroyed, comes back in this
majestic semblance to abide in the Capitol. Thus we behold in this
statue not only a “triumph of art” but also a triumph of that final
retributive compensation of justice which sooner or later crushes every
wrong. This image of Hamilton looks forth from an era which, across the
gulf of our later revolution, seems already remote. It recalls
Washington the friend, Jefferson the foe, the war of Colonist and Tory,
the war of ideas between Federalist and Republican, the struggles and
successes of a splendid career; yet how far removed seem all across the
graves of the men of our own generation whom patriotism and death have
made illustrious and immortal. Thus nearer and dearer to the hearts of
to-day must be the image of “the noblest Roman of them all.” It is a
statue of Baker, also executed by Horatio Stone, in Rome, in 1863.
Hamilton stands forth in heroic size, while the statue of Baker is under
that of life, and barely suggests the grand proportions of the man. Yet
the dignity and grandeur of his mien are here, as he stands wrapped in
his cloak, his arms folded, his head thrown back, his noble face lifted
as if he saw the future—_his future_—and awaited it undaunted and with a
joyful heart. At his side is the plumed hat of a soldier, and on the
pedestal on which he stands are graven words from his last speech in the
United States Senate, when he replied to Breckenridge, “There will be
some graves reeking with blood, watered by the tears of affection. There
will be some privation. There will be some loss of luxury; there will be
somewhat more need of labor to procure the necessaries of life. When
that is said, all is said. If we have the country, the whole country,
the Union, the constitution, free government—with these will return all
the blessings of a well ordered civilization. The path of the country
will be a course of grandeur and glory such as our fathers in the olden
time foresaw in the dim visions of years to come—such as would have been
ours to-day, had it not been for the treason for which the senator too
often seeks to apologize.”

Thus to the land he loved he gave his life—a life so rich in every
quality that rounds and completes the highest manhood.

At sight of this mute marble, what memories are stirred! Again, in and
around Union Square throbs the vast human mass. Banners wave, cannons
boom, drums beat, men march. Every pulse of the air thrills with the
cry, “To Arms!” Amid all the orators of that hour, whose voice uttered
such burning words as Baker—he who left the seat of a senator for the
grave of a soldier. Thank God for our dead who yet live. No land has a
more priceless legacy. No soil was ever planted with richer blood. No
freedom ever bought with a costlier victory. Let me tell you, public
men, amid all your lavish expenditures of money wrung from the people,
never begrudge the price you pay for the fit statue of a great
character. Line the corridors of the Capitol with the images of the
noble and the good, that, by suggestion and semblance, they may arouse
to a purer purpose the emulation of the living. In these halls where
lobbyists congregate, where money-changers stand with shameless faces
offering their venal price for truth and honor, buying and selling the
integrity of manhood, give to our eyes at least the memories of high
example. If men in the rush of affairs and the absorption of their
ambitions take no time to study them, thoughtful women will pause and
ponder, and then teach the children who are to rule after us to love and
remember.

I look on these statues and think of the man who wrought them—think of
him as I saw him every day six years ago, a pale, dissatisfied, restless
man, whose hands were busy with uncongenial tasks, but whose brain was
haunted with noble ideals, to which he was powerless to give form or
substance. Opportunity, the ultimate test of all power, came to him and
at last Congress voted ten thousand dollars to Horatio Stone to execute
the statue of Alexander Hamilton in Rome. And, lo! the intangible vision
of the weary man is embodied in imperishable marble—the most majestic
statue beneath the dome of the Capitol. A little way before it is a
plaster cast, mounted high on a wooden block, of Houdin’s bronze figure
of Washington, the original of which is in the State Capitol at
Richmond, Virginia. Such a peaked-headed, idiotic-looking Washington I
never saw elsewhere. If he looked like this, it is perfectly plain why
he passed through life without ever once having done anything naughty.
But if he did look like this he was a stupid mortal to live with. Most
of the marbles of our Pantheon are poorly set. Even the seraphic apostle
of “soul liberty” stands on a box covered with cinnamon-colored cambric,
and his martial brother does likewise. Abraham Lincoln is ensconced
within an unpainted wooden fence, and the great lawgivers of Connecticut
stand in their big cloaks upon cotton covered boxes. Mrs. Ames’ bust of
“Lincoln” is poised on a handsome pedestal of Scotch granite; but, with
few exceptions, though not utterly barren of fine marbles, the present
aspect of the American Pantheon is chiefly suggestive of crudeness,
shabbiness, and—the exorbitant necessity of spittoons. Over the entrance
is a clock, having for its dial the wheels of a winged car, resting on a
globe. In this car sits a lady called History, with a scroll and pen in
hand. Oh! the story she could tell if she could tell the truth.
Opposite, twenty-four Corinthian columns of variegated Potomac marble
shoot to the roof, and shadow what was once the gallery of the Old Hall
of Representatives. In the centre stands a horrid-looking plaster image
of Liberty, modeled by Cansici; and under it the American bird, modeled
from life and cut in sandstone by Volaperti. Besides, scattered about
are portraits of Henry Clay, a mosaic portrait of Lincoln, by Signor
Salviato of Venice, of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, and of Joshua
Giddings.

I have meant to pass nothing over that graces or disgraces our American
Pantheon, that you, afar, may see it as it is. In itself it is the most
majestic room in the Capitol. Set apart to enshrine the sculptured forms
of illustrious dead, already its arches and alcoves are fraught with
their living memoirs. Here Webster spoke, here Clay presided, here Adams
died.

It is modeled from the Roman Pantheon, and its roof, at least, is like
it. We have no proof that the Roman Pantheon was set apart for such a
purpose as that to which our own is dedicated; indeed, in the beginning
it was supposed to be connected with the Roman baths. To-day it is
chiefly sacred to art as the burial-place of Raphael. The French
Pantheon, also, was comparatively poor in statues, though boasting of
immense compositions in painting, by David and Gros. Herein the great
men who have illustrated France appear in the forms of Fenelon,
Malesherbes, Mirabeau, Voltaire, Rousseau, Lafayette, and others; while
at their feet, as befits their sex, sit History and Liberty, properly
employed making wreaths for the heads of these masculine heroes. From
the dome look down Clovis, Charlemagne, St. Louis, Louis XIV., XVI.,
XVII., Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, with a central glory to
represent Deity. The dome of our own rotunda is a florid imitation of
this. We have Franklin, Washington, and troops of goddesses, who look
like bar-maids; but from the focal apex we have omitted God, whose eye
is needed for such an assembly.

The magnificent facade which leads to the Houses of Parliament in
Westminster Palace is nine hundred feet long, paneled with tracery and
decorated with rows of majestic statues of the kings and queens of
England, from the conquest to the present time. Let us hope that it will
never be defiled from beginning to end, as our own magnificent
legislative halls, with tobacco-juice from the mouths of demoralized
men. The earth has never had but one absolutely perfect building, in
itself the final consummate flower of art—the Parthenon—consecrated
first to woman, the Virgin House, sacred to Athena. Beneath its pure and
perfect dome there was nothing to divert the gazer’s contemplation from
the simplicity and majesty of mass and outline. The whole building,
without and within, was filled with the most exquisite pieces of
sculpture, executed under the guidance of Phidias. The grand central
figure was the colossal statue of the Virgin Goddess, wrought by the
hand of Phidias himself. The weight of gold which she carried, says
Thucydides, was forty talents. Could a wooden fence guard so much gold
in our Christian Pantheon to-day? It was a happy thought which dedicated
this old hall of the nation to national art, but it far outleaped its
century. That which shall truly be the Pantheon of America is not for
us. The children of later generations, a far-off procession, may come up
hither to worship the diviner forms of the future, the majestic statues
of the nation’s best—its sons grand in manhood, its daughters divine in
womanhood; but, with here and there a rare exception, our eyes who live
to-day will see them not.




                              CHAPTER XII.
                           WOMEN WITH CLAIMS.

The Senate Reception Room—The People Who Haunt It—Republican “Ladies in
    Waiting”—“Women with Claims”—Their Heroic Persistency—A Widow and
    Children in Distress—Claim Agents—The Committee of Claims—A
    Kind-hearted Senator’s Troubles—Buttonholing a Senator—A Lady of
    Energy—Resolved to Win—An “Office Brokeress”—A Dragon of a Woman—A
    Lady who is Feared if not Respected—Her Unfortunate Victims—Carrying
    “Her Measure”—The Beautiful Petitioner—The Cloudy Side of her
    Character—Her Subtle Dealings—Her Successes—How Government Prizes
    are Won.


The room itself means only grace, beauty and silence. The moment had not
come for dis-illusion, thus I went forth without a word regarding its
human aspect.

To-day, dear friends, we will go in and face that. We sit down in the
shadow of this Corinthian pillar, and, looking out see the most
noticeable fact is that this lofty apartment is thronged with women. A
number are conversing with senators; others are gazing toward the doors
which lead into the Senate. Some seem to be waiting with eager eyes and
anxious faces; others are leaning back upon the sofas in attitudes of
luxurious listlessness. Do you ask why they are here? Are they studying
the stately proportions and exquisite _finesse_ of the ante-room? Not at
all. It is not devotion to the aesthetic arts nor the inspiration of
patriotism, which brings these women thither. They are a few, only a
very few, of the women—with “claims,” who, through the sessions of
Congress haunt the departments, the White House and the Capitol.

[Illustration:

  THE LADIES’ RECEPTION ROOM.

  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

The dejected looking woman on the sofa opposite is a widow, with
numerous small children. You may be certain by the unhopeful expression
of her face that it is her own claim which, almost unaided and alone,
she is trying to “work through” Congress. Her home is far distant. She
borrowed money to come here, she borrows money to support her children,
money to pay her own board; borrows money to pay the exorbitant fees of
the claim-agent, who, constantly fanning the flame of “great
expectations,” assures her every day that Congress will pay her the
thousands which she demands for her losses—will pay her this very
session. Meantime the session is almost ended, and the widow’s claim, on
which hangs such a heavy load of debt and fear, lies hidden and
forgotten in the pigeon-hole of the Committee of Claims. While it lies
there, gathering dust, she a cheaply clad, care-faced woman, no longer
young, and never pretty, has grown to be most burdensome to Senator ——,
especially to the chairman of that committee. Irksome, not to be
desired, is the importunate presence of this forlorn woman. No less
irksome to these functionaries is the sight of her hundred sisters in
distress—more or less; poor widows, with small children, with personal
claims upon the Government. The chairman dreads the sight of this woman
and of her like. He dreads it the more that he is perfectly certain that
her case is not reached, and will not be this session. A kind-hearted
man, he is unwilling to set the seal of despair on her face by telling
her the truth. She finds it out at last, and then remembering all his
evasions, in her disappointment and hopeless poverty, she denounces him
as “deceitful and heartless,” whereas the honorable gentleman was only
trying to be kind. Meanwhile the Senate is too much interested in
immense claims involving millions, to be paid out of the National
Treasury, too much absorbed in the discussion of the universal, to be
able to come down to the small particular of a poor widow, with hungry
children, whose only heritage was lost in the war. In time, whose cycles
may be as long as those of the Circumlocution Office and the Court of
Chancery—but _some_ time, when the widow has borrowed and spent more
money than the whole claim is worth, it may be investigated, and full or
partial justice done. In either case, it will take more than she
receives to pay the many expenses which she has incurred during her long
years of waiting. Do you wonder that her face looks doleful while she
waits for Senator —— to come in to answer her card, sent into the Senate
Chamber. Here he is and we can hear what he says, “I am very sorry,
Madame; but it has grown to be too late. I fear that your case can not
be reached this session.” Poor woman. It would have been better for you
to have staid at home, kept out of debt, worked with your hands to have
supported your children. That would have been a hard life, but not so
hard as the mortification, suspense, and defeat of this, and the long
years of labor after all.

See that sharp-faced woman, with darting, prying eyes. She rushes in one
door and out of another. She hurries back. She meets a senator, and
“button-holes him,” after the fashion of men, and begins conversing in
the most importunate manner. He makes a retreat. Lo! in a moment she
attacks another, leading him triumphantly to a sofa, where we witness a
_teté-a-teté_, on the feminine side, carried on with marked emphasis and
much gesticulation. This woman not only has one claim in Congress, she
has many, and not one her own. She is a claim-agent, an
office-brokeress. She buys claims, and speculates in them as so much
stock. She takes claims on commission, deluding many a poor victim into
the belief that “my influence” and “my friends,” Senator So-and-So and
Secretary P. Policy, will insure it a triumphant passage and a
remunerative end, “without _fail_.” It is not strange, through sheer
pertinacity and by dint of endless worrying, she often succeeds. She is
purely feline in her tactics—ever alert, watchful, wary, cunning, and so
she worries her victims and wins. She is one of the world’s
disappointed, dissatisfied ones; so, more than all else, we will be
sorry for her. What God meant to be a fair life has been striven away in
one weary struggle for the worldly honor and conventional _prestige_
lying just above her reach. And to her the most pleasurable excitement
in all the claim profession is the delusion that it affords her of
personal power and of association with the great!

Pardon me, good friends, for calling a name. I _must_ call it, for it is
true. Here comes a very dragon of a woman. I am as afraid of her as if
she had horns. I was going to say that she was a man-woman, which is the
greatest monstrosity of the genus feminine. But I honor my brethren too
much for such a comparison, and so will simply say-in manners, she is a
dragon. The men whom she seizes must think so; they give her her way,
because they are afraid of her. Too well they know that, if they do not
yield her point—if they do not at least promise her their influence—if
they do not assure her that they will do all in their power to carry
“_her measure_”—that she will attack them in the street, in the
legislative lobbies, in the quiet of their lodgings, everywhere,
anywhere, till they do. She is no covert power. She proclaims aloud that
she has come to Washington to carry a measure through Congress to
establish some man in power. And she does it because her tongue is a
scourge and her presence a fear.

Leaning back in a chair, no one near her, you see a fair woman, whose
beautiful presence seems at variance with the many anxious and angular
and the few coarse women around her. The calmness of assured position,
the serene satisfaction of conscious beauty, envelop her and float from
her like an atmosphere. We feel it even here. Plumes droop above her
forehead, velvet draperies fall about her form. We catch a glimpse of
laces, the gleam of jewels. Look long into her face; its splendor of
tint and perfection of outline can bear the closest scrutiny. Look long,
and then say if a soul saintly as well as serene looks out from under
those penciled arches, through the dilating irises of those beguiling
eyes. Look, and the unveiled gaze which meets yours will tell you, as
plainly as a gaze can tell, that adulation is the life of its life, and
seduction the secret of its spell. This beauty would not blanch before
the profanest sight; it is the beauty of one who tunes her tongue to
honeyed accents, and lifts up her eyelids to lead men down to death. She
comes and goes in a showy carriage. She glides through the corridors,
haunts the galleries and the ante-rooms of the Capitol—everywhere
conspicuous in her beauty. All who behold her inquire, Who is that
beautiful woman? Nobody seems quite sure. Doubt and mystery envelop her
like a cloud. “She is a rich and beautiful widow,” “She is unmarried,”
“She is visiting the city with her husband.” Every gazer has a different
answer. There are a few, deep in the secrets of diplomacy, of
legislative venality, of governmental prostitution, who can tell you she
is one of the most subtle and most dangerous of lobbyists. She is but
one of a class always beautiful and always successful. She plays for
large stakes, but she always wins. The man who says to her, “Secure my
appointment, make sure my promotion, and I will pay you so many
thousands,” usually gets his appointment, and she her thousands. Does
she wait like a suppliant? Not at all. She sits like an empress waiting
to give audience. Will she receive her subjects in promiscuous
assemblage? No; if you wait long enough you will see her glide over
these tessellated floors, but not alone. Far from the ears of the crowd,
in rooms sumptuous enough for the Sybarites, this woman will dazzle the
sight of a half-demented and wholly bewildered magnate, and then tell
him what prize she wants. With alluring eyes and beguiling voice she
will besiege his will through the outworks of his senses, and so charm
him on to do her bidding. He promises her his influence; he promises her
his power; her favorite shall have the boon he demands, whether it be of
emolument or power.

Thus some of the highest prizes in the Government are won. Unscrupulous
men pay wily women to touch the subtlest and surest springs of
influence, and thus open a secret way to their public success. No longer
the question is: Shall women participate in politics? shall they form a
controlling element in the Government? But, as there are women who will
and do exert this power, shall it remain abject, covert, equivocal,
demoralizing, base? Or shall it be brave and pure and open as the sun?




                             CHAPTER XIII.
                       THE CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

Inside the Library—The Librarian—Sketch of Mr. Spofford—How
    Congressional Speeches are Manufactured—“Spofford” in Congress—The
    Library Building—Diagram—Dimensions of the Hall—The Iron Book
    Cases—The Law Library—Five Miles of Book Shelves—Silent
    Study—“Abstracting” Books—Amusing Adventure—A Senator
    in a Quandary—Making Love under Difficulties—Library
    Regulations—Privileged Persons—Novels and their Readers—Books of
    Reference—Cataloguing the Library—The New Classification—Compared
    with the British Museum—Curious Old Newspapers—Files of Domestic and
    Foreign Papers—One Hundred Defunct Journals—Destruction of the
    Library by English Troops—An Incident of the War of 1814—Putting it
    to the Vote—“Carried Unanimously”—Wanton Destruction—Washington in
    Flames—A Fearful Tempest—The Second Conflagration—35,000 Volumes
    Destroyed—Treasures of Art Consumed—Congressional Grants—The New
    Library—Extensive Additions—The Next Appropriation—The Grand Library
    of the Nation.


The most remarkable fact of the present connected with the Congressional
Library, is its Librarian, Mr. Ainsworth R. Spofford.

Mr. Spofford was appointed Assistant Librarian by President Lincoln,
December 31, 1864, and upon the resignation of Mr. Stephenson the same
month succeeded him as Librarian. Mr. Spofford was formerly connected
with the secular press of Cincinnati, Ohio, and was also engaged in the
book trade in the same city. But neither fact accounts for his almost
unlimited practical knowledge of books of every age and in every
language. He is himself a vast library in epitome. If you wish to inform
yourself upon any subject under the sun, if you have any right or
privilege to inform Mr. Spofford of that fact, in five minutes you will
have placed before you a list, written down rapidly from memory, of the
best works extant upon the subject named, and in as few moments as it
will take to find them, and draw them forth from their dusty nests, you
will have them all heaped on a table before you, ready for your search
and research, and all the headaches they will be sure to give you.

Mr. Spofford has the credit among experts of writing many Congressional
speeches for honorable gentlemen whose verbs and nominatives by chronic
habit disagree, and whose spelling-books were left very far behind them,
but who nevertheless are under the imperative necessity of writing
learned speeches of which their dear constituents may boast and be
proud. By the way, a lady in private life in Washington,—a scholar and
caustic writer,—used to earn all her pin money, before her ship of
fortune came in, by writing, in the solitude of her room, the learned,
witty and sarcastic speeches which were thundered in Congress the next
day, by some Congressional Jupiter, who could not have launched such a
thunder-bolt to have saved his soul had it not been first forged and
electrified by a woman. The Librarian of Congress is too much absorbed
by his routine labors to have much time or strength to spare for the
writing out of Congressional speeches. But daily and almost hourly he
suggests and supplies the materials for such speeches. When a member
whose erudition is not remarkable, stands up in his seat, backing every
sentence he utters on finance, law or politics, by great authority, more
than one mentally exclaims, “Spofford!” We know where he has been. Mr.
Spofford is a slight gentleman in the prime of life, of nervous
temperament with very straight, smooth hair, classic features and a
placid countenance. Always a gentleman, his patience and urbanity are
inexhaustible, if you have the slightest claim upon his care. If you
have not, and he has no intention of being “bothered,” his “shoo fly”
capabilities are equally effectual. Like most book-people, Mr.
Spofford’s nervous life far outruns his material forces. He needs more
sunshine, air and out-of-door existence, as most Americans do. Therefore
I here cast him a crumb of sisterly counsel, born of gratitude and
selfishness. Spend more time on the Rock Creek and Piney Branch roads,
on the hills and by the sea, Mr. Spofford. Then may you live long,
prosper, and grow wiser, for the sake of my books, and everybody’s!

The halls of the Library of Congress are among the most chaste, unique
and indestructible of all the halls of the Capitol. The Library occupies
the entire central portion of the western front of the original Capitol.
The west hall extends the entire length of the western front flanked by
two other halls, one on the north the other on the south side of the
projection.

                  DIAGRAM OF THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.

           ┌────────┐                              ┌────────┐
           │        │          Vestibule.          │        │
           │        │                              │        │
           │        ├─────────── Door. ────────────┤        │
           │ North  │                              │ South  │
           │ Hall.  │                              │ Hall.  │
           │                                                │
           │             West Hall of Liberty.              │
           │        │                              │        │
           │        │                              │        │
           │        │                              │        │
           └────────┴──────────────────────────────┴────────┘

The west hall which a few years since made the whole Library, is 91 feet
6 inches in length, 34 feet wide and 38 feet high, the other two halls
of the same hight are 29 feet 6 inches wide and 95 feet long. The halls
are lighted by windows looking out upon the grounds of the Capitol and
by roof lights of stained glass. The ceiling is iron and glass, and
rests on foliated iron brackets each weighing a ton. The pilasters and
panels are of iron painted a neutral hue tinged with pale green and
burnished with gold leaf. The floors are of tessellated black and white
marble. The iron book-cases on either side rise story on story, floored
with cast-iron plates, protected by railings, and traversed by light
galleries. Including the Law Library, these halls contain 26,148 feet,
or nearly five miles of book-shelving, and contain over 210,000 volumes.
The iron floors are covered with _kamptulicon_ floor cloth, a compound
of India-rubber and cork, which possesses the triple advantage of being
clean, light and cheap. The leg of every chair has a pad of solid
India-rubber under it. Nobody is allowed to speak above a whisper; thus
the stolid turning, or the light flutter of leaves make the only sound
which stirs the silence. Alcove after alcove line the halls, but with
the exception of two devoted to novels and other light reading, left
open for the ladies of members’ families, they are all securely locked
and protected by a net-work of wire, and thus the chance of pilfering
and of flirting are both shut in behind that securely fastened little
padlock.

[Illustration:

  THE CENTRAL ROOM, CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY.

  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

Before the era of locking up, many books were “abstracted” from the
Library and never returned. And it is said that the alcoves were used
during the sessions of Congress by the belles of the Capitol for
reception rooms in which they received homage and listened to marriage
proposals. The story is told of “a wealthy Southern representative
gleaning materials for a speech in an upper section,” who was suddenly
stopped in his pursuit after knowledge above by the knowledge ascending
from below that “a penniless adventurer” was that moment persuading his
pretty daughter to elope in the alcove under him. It did not take the
parent long to descend into that alcove. The daughter did not elope.

The halls are lined with wide tables and arm-chairs provided for all who
wish to make use of the treasures of the Library. Tickets with blanks
can be filled with the name of any book desired, over the signature of
the applicant, who retains the book while remaining in the Library. On
the back of those tickets are printed the following regulations of the
Library:

  1. Visitors are requested to remove their hats.

  2. No loud talking is permitted.

  3. No readers under sixteen years of age are permitted.

  4. No book can be taken from the Library.

  5. Readers are required to present tickets for all books wanted, and
  to return their books and take back their tickets before leaving the
  Library.

  6. No reader is allowed to enter the alcoves.

No books can be taken out of the Library except on the responsibility of
a member of Congress. Till within a very few years, books were allowed
to be taken by strangers who presented a written permit to do so from a
Congressional official. This courtesy resulted in the destruction and
loss of so many valuable works, it had to be abolished and the stringent
rules of the present time established and strictly enforced. An act of
Congress provided that books can be taken out of the Library only by the
President of the United States, Members of the Cabinet, Judges of the
United States Supreme Court, Members of the Senate and House of
Representatives, Secretary of the Senate, Clerk of the House and members
of the Diplomatic Corps. This privilege of course includes the families
of these official gentlemen.

Forgetting this fact, the long list of story-books and new novels often
“charged” to these State names would be something ridiculous. Dealers in
light literature suffer somewhat from this privilege. The copyright law
and the Congressional Library together provide society and State with
all the surface literature that they want during their sojourn in
Washington. For reference the books are most extensively and thoroughly
used by all seekers after knowledge. American and foreign authors line
the tables in these quiet halls daily, and the results of their research
are usually given to the world. Legal, political, and historical works
are the ones most constantly called for and searched.

From 1815 to 1864 the Library was catalogued on the system adopted by
Mr. Jefferson according to Bacon’s Division of Science. This
classification adapted to a small library was inadequate to the
necessities of thousands of consulting readers. Mr. Spofford, on his
advent as Librarian, went to work to simplify the system. The result was
a complete catalogue of all the books in the great Library arranged
alphabetically under the heads of authors. A proof of the perfection of
this arrangement is, that any book hidden in the farthest corner of the
most distant alcove is handed to a reader at the tables within five
minutes after his application, while in the British Museum he would do
well if he got it in the space of half an hour.

Till the reign of Mr. Spofford, newspapers, as valuable documentary
history, had almost been ignored by the guardians of the Library. This
great defect Mr. Spofford has done much to eradicate and remedy. Files
of all the leading New York dailies are now regularly kept. Some
unbroken files have been secured, including those of the _New York
Evening Post_, from its beginning in 1801, the _London Gazette_ from
1665, the French _Moniteur_ (Royal, Imperial, and Republican,) from
1789, the _Illustrated London News_, the _Almanac de Gotha_ from 1776,
and a complete set of every newspaper ever published in the District of
Columbia, including over one hundred now no more. Before the last
progressive regime, even after Congress had appropriated $75,000 for the
replenishing of the Library, the entire national collection did not
contain a modern encyclopedia, or a file of a New York daily newspaper,
or of any newspaper except the venerable _Washington National
Intelligencer_. _De Bow’s Review_ was the only American magazine taken,
“but the _London Court Journal_ was regularly received, and bound at the
close of each successive year!”

The Congressional Library is the only one in the world utterly
fire-proof, without an atom of wood or of any combustible material in
its miles of shelving. Before it attained to this indestructible state
it suffered much. First from the British. On the evening of August 24,
1814, after the battle of Bladensburg, General Ross led his victorious
troops into the Federal City. As they approached the Capitol a shot was
fired by a man concealed in a house on Capitol Hill. The shot was aimed
at the British general, but only killed his horse. The enraged Britons
immediately set fire to the house which contained the sharp-shooter,
who, it is said, was a club-footed gardener-barber Irishman. The
unmanageable troops were drawn up in front of the unfinished Capitol, a
wooden scaffolding, occupying the place of the Rotunda, joining the two
wings. They first fired a volley into the windows and then entered the
building to prepare it for destruction. Admiral Cockburn ascended to the
Speaker’s chair, and derisively exclaimed:

“Shall this harbor of Yankee Democracy be burned? All for it say ‘Aye!’”

It was carried unanimously, and the torch of the Englishman applied to
the hard-earned treasures of the young Republic. The Library of
Congress, used as lighting paper, was entirely destroyed. With it, two
pictures of national value were burned; portraits of Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette, which, richly framed, had been sent to the United
States Government in Philadelphia, by the unfortunate French King.

While the Capitol was burning, clouds and columns of fire and smoke were
ascending from the President’s house and all the other public buildings
of the young city. The conflagration below was dulled by the
conflagration above; one of the most dreadful storms of thunder and
lightning ever known in Washington, met and lighted on the British
invaders, dimming and quenching their malicious fires.

In 1851 the magnificent new library-room of the Central Capitol, which
now held 55,000 volumes and many works of art, was discovered to be on
fire. The destruction was immense. Thirty-five thousand volumes were
destroyed. Among the valuable pictures burned at the same time were
Stuart’s paintings of the first five Presidents; an original portrait of
Columbus; a second portrait of Columbus; an original portrait of Peyton
Randolph; a portrait of Boliver; a portrait of Baron Steuben; one of
Baron de Kalb; one of Cortez, and one of Judge Hanson, of Maryland,
presented by his family. Between eleven and twelve hundred bronze medals
of the Vattemare Exchange, some of them more than two centuries old,
were destroyed; also, an Apollo in bronze, by Mills; a very superior
bronze likeness of Washington; a bust of General Taylor, by an Italian
artist; and a bust of Lafayette, by David.

The divisions of Natural History, Geography, and Travels, English and
European History, Poetry, Fiction, and the Mechanic Arts and Fine Arts
were all burned. The whole of the Law Library escaped the fire.

It indicates the intellectual vitality of the nation that an
appropriation of $10,000 was immediately made for the restoration of the
Library, and by the close of the year $75,000 more for the same purpose.

Like most beginnings, that of the Congressional Library was humble in
the extreme. The first provision for this great National collection was
made at Philadelphia by an act of the Sixth Congress, April 24, 1800,
appropriating $5,000 for a suitable apartment and the purchase of books
for the use of both Houses of Congress. The first books received were
forwarded to the new seat of Government in the trunks in which they had
been imported. President Jefferson, from its inception, an ardent friend
of the Library, called upon the Secretary of the Senate, Samuel Allyne
Otis, to make a statement on the first day of the session, December 7,
1801, respecting the books, the act of Congress having provided that the
Secretary of the Senate, with the Clerk of House of Representatives,
should be the purchasers of the books. The Congressional provision for
the Library in 1806 was $450.00.

In a report made by Doctor Samuel Latham Mitchell from New York to the
House, January 20, 1806, he says:

  “Every week of the session causes additional regret that the volumes
  of literature and science within the reach of the National Legislature
  are not more rich and ample. The want of geographical illustration is
  truly distressing, and the deficiency of historical and political
  works is scarcely less severely felt.”

President Madison always exercised a fostering care over the Library and
an act approved by him, December 6, 1811, appropriates, for five
additional years, the sum of one thousand dollars annually for its use.

The whole number of books accumulated in fourteen years, from 1800 to
1814, amounted only to about three thousand volumes. The growth of the
Library may be traced in the relative sums appropriated to its benefit
by successive Congresses. In 1818, $2,000 were appropriated for the
purchase of books. From 1820 to 1823, $6,000 were voted to buy books.

In 1824, $5,000 were appropriated for the purchase of books under the
Joint Committee; also $1,546 for the purchase of furniture for the new
Library in the centre building of the Capitol.

The yearly appropriation for the increase of the Library, for many
successive years after the accession of General Jackson, was $5,000;
these were exclusive of the appropriations made for the Law Department
of the Library. In 1832 an additional appropriation of $3,000 was made
for Library furniture and repairs. In 1850 the annual appropriation of
$1,000 to purchase books for the Law Library was increased to $2,000.
Within a year of the burning of the Library in 1851, $85,000 had been
voted by Congress for the restoration of the Library and the purchase of
books.

The west hall of the New Library was completed and occupied July 1,
1853. It was designed by Thomas A. Walter, the architect of the Capitol.
The appropriation for miscellaneous books alone in the years 1865 and
1866 amounted to $16,000. In 1866, $1,500 were set apart for procuring
files of leading American newspapers, and the sum of $4,000 was voted
June 25, 1864, to purchase a complete file of selections from European
periodicals from 1861 to 1864 relating to the Rebellion in the United
States. July 23, 1866, the amount of $10,000 was voted by Congress for
furniture for the two wings of the extension. The present magnificent
halls of the Library of Congress were built at an expense of $280,500.
The main hall cost $93,500, and the other two halls $187,000. The last
two have been built under the superintendence of Mr. Edward Clark.
Beautiful and ample as these three halls are in themselves, they are
already too small to hold the rapidly accumulating treasures of the
Library.

The next appropriation will take the Congressional Library out of the
Capitol altogether into a magnificent building, built expressly for and
devoted exclusively to the uses of the Grand Library of the Nation.




                              CHAPTER XIV.
                    A VISIT TO THE NEW LAW LIBRARY.

How a Library was Offered to Congress—Mr. King’s Proposal—An Eye to
    Theology—The Smithsonian Library Transferred—The Good Deeds of Peter
    Force—National Documents—“American Archives”—Congress Makes a Wise
    Purchase—Eliot’s Indian Bible—Literary Treasures—The Lawyers Want a
    Library for Themselves—Their “Little Bill” Fails to Pass—They are
    Finally Successful—The Finest Law Library in the World—First Edition
    of Blackstone—Report of the Trial of Cagliostro, Rohan and La
    Motte—Marie Antoinette’s Diamond Necklace—A Long Life-Service—The
    Law Library Building—An Architect Buried Beneath his own
    Design—“Underdone Pie-crust”—“Justice” Among the Books—Reminiscence
    of Daniel Webster and the Girard Will.


A little more than a month after the burning of the Library by the
British in 1814, a letter was read in the Senate, from Thomas Jefferson
at Monticello, tendering to Congress the purchase of his library of nine
thousand volumes.

The collection of this library had been the delight of Mr. Jefferson’s
life, and, long before, he had written of it as “the best chosen
collection of its size probably in America.” Pecuniary embarrassments
had already begun to cloud his closing years, and the double hope of
relieving these, and of adding to the treasures of his beloved Republic,
impelled him to this personal sacrifice. In his letter to the Committee
he said:

  “I should be willing indeed to retain a few of the books to amuse the
  time I have yet to pass, which might be valued with the rest, but not
  included in the sum of valuation until they should be restored at my
  death, which I would cheerfully provide for.”

The sum of $23,950 in Treasury notes, of the issue ordered by the law of
March 4, 1814, was paid him. The actual number of volumes thus acquired
was 6,700. Although a Mr. King, of Massachusetts, more burdened with
zeal than knowledge, made a motion which called out a loud and long
debate, that all books of an atheistical, irreligious, and immoral
tendency should be extirpated from the Library and sent back to Mr.
Jefferson, the department of Theology in his library was found to be
large, sound, and valuable.

In 1866 the custody of the Library of the Smithsonian Institution, with
the agreement of the Regents, was transferred to the Library of
Congress. It brought forty thousand additional volumes to the
Congressional Library.

When you come to Washington, you will see in the gallery of the
Smithsonian Institution the bust of a noble man standing on a simple
plaster column, bearing the name PETER FORCE. He, during his life, did
more than any one American to rescue from oblivion the early documentary
history of the United States. He came from his native city, New York, to
Washington, as a printer, in 1815. In 1820 he began the publication of
the _National Calendar_, an annual volume of national statistics, and
also published the _National Journal_, the Administration organ during
the Presidency of John Quincy Adams. In 1833 the Government entered into
a contract with Mr. Force to prepare and publish a “Documentary History
of the American Colonies.” Nine volumes subsequently appeared under the
title of the “American Archives.” In preparing this work, Mr. Force
gathered a collection of books, manuscripts, and papers relating to
American History, unequalled by any private collection in the world. At
the request of the Joint Library Committee of the Thirty-ninth Congress,
Mr. Spofford, the Librarian, entered into a thorough examination of the
Force Library. After spending from two to three hours per day on it for
two months, he presented to Congress an exhaustive classified report of
its treasures, which resulted in the purchase of the entire Force
Library by the Joint Library Committee for the sum of one hundred
thousand dollars, the sum offered by the New York Historical Society for
the same collection. It occupies the South Hall of the Congressional
Library.

Before this purchase, the largest and most complete collection of books
relating to America was tucked away on the shelves of the British
Museum. Among the treasures of the Force Library is a perfect copy of
Eliot’s Indian Bible, the last copy of which sold brought $1,000;
forty-one different works of Cotton and Increase Mather, printed at
Boston and Cambridge, from 1671 to 1735; complete files of the leading
journals of Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and other
States, from 1735 to 1800, with 245 bound volumes of American newspapers
printed prior to 1800; and these make but a small proportion of its
priceless historical wealth.

February 18, 1816, a bill was introduced in the Senate to establish a
Law Library at the Seat of Government, for the use of the Supreme Court
of the United States. It passed that body, but never went into effect,
from the non-action of the House of Representatives on the bill. July
14, 1832, [Andrew Jackson, President,] a bill was approved, entitled,
“An Act to increase and improve the Law Department of the Library of
Congress,” which, in its four sections, contained the following
provisions:

  “For the present year a sum not exceeding five thousand dollars, and a
  farther annual sum of one thousand dollars for the period of five
  years, to be expended in the purchase of law books.”

The number of law books owned by the Library at that time was 2,011; 639
of these belonged to the Jefferson collection. From this beginning,
within forty years has grown the finest law library in the world. It
contains every volume of English, Irish and Scotch reports, besides the
American; an immense collection of case law, a complete collection of
the Statutes of all civilized countries since 1649, filling one hundred
quarto volumes. It includes the first edition of Blackstone’s
Commentaries, an original edition of the report of the trial of
Cagliostro, Rohan and La Motte, for the theft of Marie Antoinette’s
diamond necklace—that luckless bauble which fanned to such fury the
fatal flames of the Revolution. When Andrew Jackson became President, in
1829, he appointed John S. Meehan, a printer of Washington, the first
editor and publisher of the _Columbia Star_ and _United States
Telegraph_, Librarian of Congress. He continued in that office till the
accession of Mr. Lincoln—a period of thirty-two years. His son, Mr. C.
H. W. Meehan, relinquished his boy pageship under his father, in 1832,
to be transferred to the new Law Library. The lapse of forty years finds
this gentleman still the special custodian of the Law Library. In 1835
he was entrusted with the choice of all books purchased for the Library,
which trust he continues to hold. He adds another to the many faithful
and learned lives whose entire span is measured by devoted service to
the State, under the shadow of the Capitol. In December, 1860, the Law
Library was removed into the basement room of the Capitol, just vacated
by the Supreme Court. This room is unique and beautiful. Its vestibule
is supported by pillars in clusters of stalks of maize, with capitals of
bursting ears of corn, the design of Mr. Latrobe. The chamber itself is
of semi-circular form seventy-five feet in length. The arches of the
ceiling rest upon immense Doric columns. The spandrels of the arches are
filled in with solid masonry—blocks of sandstone, strong enough to
support the whole Capitol. Their tragic strength springs from the fact
that the arch above fell once, burying and killing beneath it its
designer, Mr. Lenthal. The plan of his arch in proportion to its height
was pronounced unsafe by all who examined the drawing, except himself.
To prove his own faith in his theory he tore away the scaffolding before
the ceiling was dry. It fell, and he was taken out hours after, dead and
mangled, from its fallen ruins. It will never fall again. The tremendous
masonry which now supports a very light burden makes it impossible. The
Doric columns diverge from the centre to the circumference like the
radii of a circle. From this centre diverge the alcoves lined with books
in the regulation binding, likened by Dickens to “underdone pie-crust.”
On the western wall near the ceiling is a group in plaster, representing
Justice holding the scales, and Fame crowned with the rising sun,
pointing to the Constitution of the United States, the work of Franzoni,
the sculptor of the History-winged clock, in the old Hall of
Representatives. In this room, Daniel Webster made his great speech in
the Dartmouth College case, and Horace Binney his argument in the case
of the Girard Will. The Librarian’s semi-circular mahogany desk, with
its faded green brocade draperies, once stood in the old Senate Chamber
and re-echoed to the gavel of every Vice-President who reigned in the
Senate from 1825 to 1860.




                              CHAPTER XV.
                THE HEAVEN OF LEGAL AMBITION—THE SUPREME
                              COURT ROOM.

Memories of Clay, Webster and Calhoun—Legal Giants of the Past—Stately
    Serenity of the Modern Court—“Wise Judgment and Wine-Dinners”—The
    Supreme Court in Session—Soporific Influences—A Glimpse of the
    Veritable “Bench”—The Ladies’ Gallery—The Chief Justices of the
    Past—Taney Left Out in the Cold—His Apotheosis—Chief Justice
    Chase—Black Robed Dignitaries—An Undignified Procession—The “Crier”
    in Court—Antique Proclamation—The Consultation Room—Every Man in his
    Proper Place—Gowns of Office—Reminiscence of Judge McClean—“Uncle
    Henry and his Charge”—Fifty Years in Office.


One of the few rooms in the Capitol wherein harmony and beauty meet and
mingle, is the Old Senate Chamber, now the Supreme Court Room of the
United States.

Here Clay, and Webster, and Calhoun,—those giants of the past, whom
octogenarians still deplore with all their remembered and forgotten
peers,—once held high conclave. Defiance and defeat, battle and triumph,
argument and oratory, wisdom and folly once held here their court. It is
now the chamber of peace. Tangled questions concerning life, liberty and
the pursuit of personal happiness are still argued within these walls,
but never in tones which would drown the sound of a dropping pin. Every
thought is weighed, every word measured that is uttered here. The judges
who sit in silence to listen and decide, have outlived the tumult of
youth and the summer of manhood’s fiercer battles. They have earned
fruition; they have won their gowns—which, while life lasts, can never
be worn by others. Theirs is the mellow afternoon of wise judgment and
wine-dinners.

In the Court room itself we seem to have reached an atmosphere where it
is always afternoon. The door swings to and fro noiselessly, at the pull
of the usher’s string. The spectators move over a velvet carpet, which
sends back no echo, to their velvet cushioned seats ranged against the
outer-walls. A single lawyer arguing some constitutional question,
drones on within the railed inclosure of the Court; or a single judge in
measured tones mumbles over the pages of his learned decision in some
case long drawn out. Unless you are deeply interested in it you will not
stay long. The atmosphere is too soporific, you soon weary of absolute
silence and decorum, and depart. The chamber itself is semi-circular,
with snow white walls and windows crimson-curtained. It has a domed
ceiling studded with stuccoed mouldings and sky-lights. The technical
“bench” is a row of leather backed arm-chairs ranged in a row on a low
dais. Over the central chair of the Chief Justice a gilt eagle looks
down from a golden rod. Over this eagle, and parallel with the bench
below, runs a shallow gallery, from which many fine ladies of successive
administrations have looked down on the gods below. At intervals around
the white walls are set brackets on which are perched the first four
Chief Justices—John Jay, John Rutledge, Oliver Ellsworth and John
Marshall. There have been but six Chief Justices of the Supreme Court
since its beginning. Chief Justice Taney’s bust for years was left out
in the cold on a pedestal within a recess of one of the windows of the
Senate wing. It was voted in the Senate that it should there wait a
certain number of expiatory years until in the fulness of time it should
be sufficiently absolved to enter the historic heaven of its brethren.

One more is yet to be added—the grand head and face of Chief Justice
Chase. The May flowers have scarcely faded since he held high court here
alone. As ever his was the place of honor. A crown of white rose-buds
shed incense upon his head—placed there by the beautiful daughter who
crowned him in death, as in life, the first of men. Crosses, anchors and
columns of stainless blossoms were heaped high above his head. Here in
the silence of death, for one day and night, the great Chief Justice
held Supreme Court alone.

During the session of the Supreme Court, the hour of meeting is 11 A. M.
Precisely at that hour a procession of black-robed dignitaries, kicking
up their long gowns very high with their heavy boots, may be seen
wending their way from the robing-room to the Supreme Court room. They
are preceded by the Marshal, who, entering by a side-door, leads
directly to the Judges’ stand, and, pausing before the desk, exclaims:

“The Honorable the Chief Justice and Associate Justices of the Supreme
Court of the United States.”

With these words all present rise, and stand to receive the Justices
filing in. Each Justice passes to his chair. The Judges bow to the
lawyers; the lawyers bow to the Judges; then all sit down. The Crier
then opens the Court with these words:

  “O, yea! O, yea! O, yea! All persons having business with the
  honorable the Supreme Court of the United States are admonished to
  draw near and give their attendance, as the Court is now sitting. God
  save the United States and this honorable Court.”

At the close of this antique little speech, the Chief Justice motions to
the lawyer whose case is to be argued, and that gentleman rises,
advances to the front, and begins his argument.

The chairs of the Judges are all placed in the order of their date of
appointment. On either side of the Chief Justice sit the senior Judges,
while the last appointed sit at the farther ends of each row. In the
robing-room, their robes, and coats and hats, hang in the same order. In
the consultation-room, where the Judges meet on Saturday to consult
together over important cases presented, their chairs around the table
are arranged in the same order, the Chief Justice presiding at the head.
Both the robing and consultation-rooms command beautiful views from
their windows of the city, the Potomac, and the hills of Virginia. In
the former, the Judges exchange their civic dress for the high robes of
office. These are made of black silk or satin, and are almost identical
with the silk robe of an Episcopal clergyman. The gown worn by Judge
McClean still hangs upon its hook as when he hung it there for the last
time—years and years ago. The consultation-room is across the hall from
the Law Library, whose books are in constant demand by the lawyers and
Judges of the Supreme Court. This room is in charge of “Uncle Henry,” a
colored man, who has held this office for fifty years, and, at the age
of eighty, still fulfils his duties with all the alacrity and twice the
devotion of a much younger man.




                              CHAPTER XVI.
                      THE “MECCA OF THE AMERICAN.”

The Caaba of Liberty—The Centre of a Nation’s Hopes—Stirring
    Reminiscences of the Capitol—History Written in Stone—Patriotic
    Expression of Charles Sumner—Ruskin’s Views of Ornament—Building
    “for all Time”—“This our Fathers Did for Us”—The Parthenon and the
    Capitol Compared—The Interest of Humanity—A Secret Charm for a
    Thoughtful Mind—An Idea of Equality—The Destiny of the Stars and
    Stripes—A Mother’s Ambition—Recollections of the War—The Dying
    Soldier—“The Republic will not Perish.”


The Capitol of his country should be the Mecca of the American. It is
_his_ Capitol, and his country’s, through such extreme cost, that he
should make pilgrimages hither to behold with his own eyes the Caaba of
Liberty. This august building should gather and concentrate within its
walls the holy love of country.

In our vast land the passion of nationality has become too much
diffused. It has been broken into the narrower love bestowed upon a
single State. It has been bruised by faction. It has been broken by
anarchy. But within the walls of the Capitol, every State in the Union
holds its memories, and garners its hopes. Every hall and corridor,
every arch and alcove, every painting and marble is eloquent with the
history of its past, and the prophecy of its future. The torch of
revolution flamed in sight, yet never reached this beloved Capitol. Its
unscathed walls are the trophies of victorious war; its dome is the
crown of triumphant freemen; its unfilled niches and perpetually growing
splendor foretell the grandeur of its final consummation. Remembering
this, with what serious thought and care should this great national work
progress:

                “The hand that rounded Peter’s dome,
                And groined the aisles of ancient Rome,
                Wrought with a sad sincerity.”

Let no poor artist, no insincere spirit, assume to decorate a building
in whose walls and ornaments a great nation will embody and perpetuate
its most precious history. The brain that designs, the hand that
executes for the CAPITOL, works not for to-day, but for all time. It was
with a profound consciousness, not only of what this building is, but of
all that it must yet be to the American people, that Charles Sumner,
that profound lover of beauty, said, with so much feeling: “Surely this
edifice, so beautiful and interesting, should not be opened to the rude
experiment of untried talent. It ought not to receive, in the way of
ornamentation, anything which is not a work of art.” In every future
work added to the Capitol, let the significant words of Ruskin, the
great art critic, be remembered:

  “There should not be a single ornament put upon a great civic
  building, without an intellectual intention. Every human action gains
  in honor, in grace, in all true magnificence, by its regard to things
  to come. There is no action nor art whose majesty we may not measure
  by this test. Therefore, when we build a public building, let us think
  that we build it for ever. Let us remember that a time is to come when
  men will say: ‘See, this our fathers did for us.’ ”

Phidias created the Parthenon. Beneath his eyes it slowly blossomed, the
consummated flower of Hellenic art. It has never been granted to another
one man to create a perfect building which should be at once the marvel
and the model of all time. Many architects have wrought upon the
American Capitol, and there are discrepancies in its proportions wherein
we trace the conflict of their opposing idiosyncrasies. We see places
where their contending tastes met and did not mingle, where the harmony
and sublimity which each sought was lost. We see frescoed fancies and
gilded traceries which tell no story; we see paintings which mean
nothing but glare. But a human interest attaches itself to every form of
noble building. Its very defects the more endear it to us, for, above
all else, these are human. We love our Capitol, not that it is perfect,
but because, being faulty, it still is great, and worthy of our
reverence. Its wondrous possibilities, its inadequate fulfilment, its
very incompleteness, but make it nearer kin to ourselves. Like the
friend tantalizingly and delightfully faulty, its many shaded humanity
is full of varied charm. It has all the secret ways of a profound
nature. We fancy that we know it altogether, that we could never be lost
in its labyrinths; yet we are constantly finding passages that we
dreamed not of, and confronting shut and silent doors which we may not
enter. But the deeper we penetrate into its recesses, the more
positively we are pervaded by its nobleness, and the more conscious we
become of its magnitude and its magnificence.

No matter how we condemn certain proportions of the Capitol, it grows
upon the soul and imagination more and more, as does every great object
in art or nature. Beside, the Capitol is vastly more than an object of
mere personal attachment to be measured by a narrow individual standard.
To every American citizen it is the majestic symbol of the majesty of
his land. You may be lowly and poor. You may not own the cottage which
shelters you, nor the scanty acres which you till. Your power may not
cross your own door-step; yet these historic statues and paintings,
these marble corridors, these soaring walls, this mighty dome, are
yours. The highest man in the nation owns nothing here which does not
belong equally to you. The Goddess of Liberty, gazing down from her
shield, bestows no right upon the lofty which she does not extend
equally to the lowliest of her sons.

The temple of Pallas Athena, the stones of Venice, the mighty mementos
of a mightier Mexico do not tell to any human gazer one-half so grand a
story as the Capitol of America will yet proclaim to the pilgrim of
later ages. In far-off time I see it stand forth the conqueror of the
forgetfulness and the indifference of men. A solemn teacher, with stern,
watchful, yet silent sympathy, it will impart to a proud people the
profound lesson of their past. A loving mother, it will hold before her
living children the sacred faces of her dead for the emulation, the
reverence, the love, of all who came after. In its halls will stand the
sculptured forms of famed men, and of women great in goodness, great in
devotion, great in true motherhood. Through sight and sympathy, through
the inspiration of grand example, the living woman as she lays her
moulding hand upon the budding heart and tender brain of the boy-man,
will rise to the true dignity of the wife and mother of the Republic.

With psychical sight we see what the Capitol will one day be, to later
generations; by our own heart-throbs, we know what it is to ourselves.
Strength and depth are in its foundations, power and sublimity in its
dome, and these are ours. Its mighty masses of gleaming marble, all
veined with azure; its Corinthian capitals, flowering at the top like a
palm in nature; its tutelary statue of freedom, are joys to our eyes
forever. Serene Mother of our liberties, she watches always and never
wearies. When the whole land lay in shadow, when the blood of her sons
ran in rivers, when her heart was pierced nigh unto death, in moveless
calm she held her steadfast shield; and gazing into her eyes, through
the dimness of tears, we read the promise of peace. No matter where
darkness fell, she bore the sunlight upon her crest. The dying statesman
asked to be lifted up that his eyes might behold her last. The soldier,
who gave his all, to perish in her name, watched for the sight of her
from afar, and beheld her first with the shout of joy. When the slow
river bore him back wounded from battle, he strained his eyes to catch a
glimpse of Freedom on the dome, and looking up, was content to know that
he was dying for her sake.

Factions will fight and fall. Political parties will struggle and
destroy each other. The passions of men are but the waves which beat and
break on her feet. Above, beyond them all Freedom lives for evermore.
Because she lives, Truth and Justice must survive, and the Republic will
not perish.




                             CHAPTER XVII.
                 THE CAPITOL—MORNING SIGHTS AND SCENES.

The Capitol in Spring—A Magic Change—“More Beautiful than Ancient
    Rome”—Arrival of Visitors—A New Race—“Billing and Cooing”—Lovers at
    the Capitol—A Dream of Perpetual Spring—Spending the Honeymoon in
    Washington—Charmingly “Vernal” People—New Edition of David
    Copperfield and Dora—“Very Young”—Divided Affections: the New
    Bride—Jonathan and Jane—Memories of a Wedding Dress—An Interview
    With a Bride—“Two Happy Idiots”—A Walk in the City—Utilitarian
    Projects—President Grant—The Foreign Ambassadors—“Beau” Hickman—An
    Erratic Genius—Walt Whitman, the Poet—A “Loafer” of Renown—Poets at
    Home—Piatt—Burroughs—Harriet Prescott Spofford—Sumner and
    Chase—Foreign _Attachés_ “on the Flirt”—Tiresome Men—Lafayette
    Square in the Morning—How to Love a Tree—“He Never Saw Washington.”


We rarely have spring in this latitude. Full panoplied, summer springs
from under the mail of long lingering winter. We had a fine yesterday.
From my window this morning lo! the miracle! my dear long-timed friend,
the maple across the street, amazes me once more, though I declared to
it last year I never would be amazed again. It beckons me, its myriad
little wands all aquiver with the tenderest green, and says: “There now,
you can’t help it! Again I am a beauty and a wonder!” No long waiting
and watching for slow budding blossoms here. Some night when we are all
asleep there is a silent burst of bloom; and we wake to find the trees
that we left here, when we shut our blinds on them the night before, all
tremulous with new life, and the whole city set in glowing emerald.

I invite you to the western front of the Capitol, to stand with me in
the balcony of the Congressional Library, to survey the city lying at
our feet within the amphitheatre of hills soaring beyond, the river
running its shining thread between. I am quite ready to believe what
Charles Sumner said when pleading against the mooted depot site on its
Central Avenue, that this city is more beautiful than ancient Rome. In
itself it is absolutely beautiful, and that is enough; and it grows more
and more so as the sea of greenery, which now waves and tosses about its
housetops, rises each year higher and higher. The Capitol in early
spring and summer is in no wise the Capitol of the winter. Every door
swings wide; from the doors in the under-ground corridors to the
wondrous doors, designed in Rome and cast in Munich, which open into the
rotunda. What long, cool, green vistas run out from every angle. You
stand beneath the dome; but your eyes find rest in the far shadow of the
Virginia hills.

And so many people seem to have come under the great dome to rest. You
wonder where they could all have appeared from. They are not at all the
people who crowd and hurry through the corridors in winter—the
claimants, the lobbyists, the pleasure-seekers from great cities who
come to spend the “season” in Washington. Nearly all are people from the
country, the greater proportion brides and grooms, to whom the only
“season” on earth is spring—the marriage season. Pretty pairs! They seem
to be gazing out upon life through its portal with the same mingling of
delight and wonder with which they gaze through the great doors of the
Capitol upon the unknown world beyond. Early summer always brings a
great influx of bridal pairs to Washington. Whence they all come no
mortal can tell; but they do come, and can never be mistaken. Their
clothes are as new as the spring’s, and they look charmingly vernal. The
groom often seems half to deprecate your sudden glance, as if, like
David Copperfield, he was afraid you thought him “very young.” And yet
he invites you to glance again, by his conscious air of proud
possession, which says: “Behold! I may be young—very. But I have gotten
me a wife; she is the loveliest creature upon earth.” The affections of
the lovely creature seem to be divided between her new lord and her new
clothes. She loves him, she is proud of him; but this new suit, who but
she can tell its cost. What longing, what privation, what patient toil
has gone into its mouse or fawn-like folds; for this little bride, who
regretfully drags her demi-train through the dust of the rotunda in
summer, is seldom a rich man’s daughter. You see them everywhere
repeated, these two neophytes—in the hotel-parlor, in the street-cars,
in the Congressional galleries.

When Jonathan read to Jane, in distant Mudville, the record of
Congressional proceedings in Washington, in the _Weekly Tribune_, both
imagined themselves deeply interested in the affairs of their country;
but here, on the spot, how small seem Tariff, Amnesty, Civil Rights, and
Ku-Klux bills beside the ridiculous bliss of these two egotists. They do
not even pretend to listen. But they have some photograph cards, and
seek out their prototypes below. On the whole, Jane is disappointed. She
was not prepared for so many bald heads, or for so much of bad manners.
After all, not one of these men, in her mind, can compare with the small
law-giver, the newly-found Lycurgus by her side. Before she became calm
enough to reach this judicial decision, she visited the ladies’
dressing-room and shook out her damaged plumes.

“Is Washington _always_ so dusty?” she asked, with a sigh, looking down
on her pretty mouse-colored dress, with its piping decidedly grimed.

“Nearly always,” I answered.

“Then how _can_ people live here?” she exclaimed.

When she goes home, she will tell that the dome of the Capitol is very
high; that Conkling looks thus, and Sumner so. But what she will tell
oftenest and longest—perhaps to her children’s children—will be that it
was in Washington she ruined her wedding dress.

“I was married yesterday, and see how I look!” said Jane, ruefully.

“You look very pretty,” I said. “It will all shake off.” Wherewith Jane
proceeded to shake, to wash her face, and brush her curls over her
fingers. I helped her re-drape her lace shawl, and was repaid a moment
later by her graceful _posé_ in the front seat of the Senate Gallery,
her hand in Jonathan’s. It was refreshing, in the face of such a
conglomeration of doubtful wisdom, to see two happy idiots, if they did
not know it. The city is full of Janes and Jonathans.

The Capitol grounds are lovely as the gardens of the blessed, these
hours.

The armies of violets which swarmed its green slopes a month ago are
gone, and the dandelions have gone up higher, and are now sailing all
around us through the deep, still air. There is a ripple in the grass
that invites the early mower. The fountains toss their spray into the
very hearts of the old trees that bend above them, and on the easy seats
beneath their shadow, sit black and white, old and young, taking rest.

These grounds, perfect in themselves, utter but one reproach to the men
legislating within yonder walls, and that, because they are not larger
and meet in proportion to the august Capitol which they encircle. We
pass through them out into Pennsylvania avenue—this great and yet to be
fulfilled expectation. Broadway cannot compare with it in magnificent
proportions. It is as wide as two Broadways, and at this hour of the
afternoon its turn-outs are metropolitan. Nevertheless, judged by its
trees and houses, it has a rural, second-rate look. Though here and
there a lonesome building shoots up above its fellows, its average shops
are shabby and small, and do not compare favorably with those of Third
avenue in New York. The idealistic Statesmen of Washington and
Jefferson’s time modelled it to repeat the _Unter den Lindens_ of
Berlin. As a result, the ample rows of Lombardy poplars are defunct, and
the Gradgrind politicians of to-day have voted to dump down a railroad
“depot” in its very centre, because Mr. Thomas Scott wants it, and
because they have free railroad-passes, and a few other little
perquisites in their pockets. This, of course, is very shocking to say;
but then it is much more shocking to be true. Excepting Mr. Sumner, Mr.
Morrill, Mr. Thurman and a few others, who really care for the future of
Washington and who love this Capital, the remainder would, for a
sufficient price, sell out the entire city, Capitol and all, to
monopolies and corporations. But this broad thoroughfare, stretching
straight for a mile between Treasury and Capitol, with its double drive,
smooth as a floor, its borders of bloom, its gay promenades and flashing
turn-outs has a certain splendor of its own, of which no monopoly can
wholly rob it.

Here is the Grant carriage, with its plain brown linings, and in it Mrs.
Grant and her father. A light buggy flies past, drawn by superb horses,
driven by a single occupant. He is the President—small, slight, erect,
smoking a cigar. The courtly equipages of the Peruvian, Argentine,
Turkish and English Ministers, with liveried outriders and beautiful
women occupants, with the no less elegant establishments of American
Senators, Members and citizens, swell the gay cavalcade on this truly
splendid Corso.

Standing on the curb-stone, gazing on it with an expression which would
have made Dickens wild till he had reproduced it, stands Beau Hickman,
long a character of Washington. He is an old man, long and lean, with a
face corrugated like a wizened apple and a complexion like parchment or
an Egyptian mummy. His aspect is a strange compound of gentility and
meanness. His stove-pipe hat, which evidently has survived many a
battering, is carefully brushed; his standing collar is very stiff and
very high. His vest is greyish white, his coat is dingy and shiny. His
faded pantaloons have been darned, and need darning again. His toes are
peering through his shoes, and they are down at the heels; yet he
carries a foppish cane and wears his hat in a rakish manner. Beau
Hickman was born a Virginia gentleman, insomuch as he still manages to
live without labor, it being the pride of his heart that he never did
anything useful in his life. He ekes out a wretched existence by
filching small sums from friends and strangers for telling stories and
relating experiences, for which he invariably demands a drink or a
supper. One of the most miserable objects I ever beheld is Beau Hickman
hungry, hobbling through the Senate restaurant, gazing at one table and
then at another, at the comfortable people sitting by them, filling
their stomachs, not one alas! asking him to partake.

Here with a sweep and swing, with head thrown back, and arms at rest,
comes a man as supremely indifferent to all this show as the other is
abjectly enthralled by it. This man, slowly swinging down the Avenue, is
a “cosmos” in himself. Locks profuse and white, eyes big and blue,
cheeks ruddy, throat bare, wide collar turned back, slouched felt hat
punched in, a perfect lion apparently in muscle and vitality—this is
Walt Whitman. Every sunshiny day he “loafs” and invites his soul on the
Avenue, and there are other poets who do likewise. Here sometimes may be
seen John James Piatt, now Librarian of the House of Representatives,
with his blonde hair and brown-eyed wife, who is quite as much a poet as
he is; and John Burrough the Thoreau of the Treasury Department, gentle
as one of his own birds; and William O’Connor whose poetical fires burn
undimmed within the same dim old walls; and, clad in mourning, Harriet
Prescott Spofford, sweet poet and sweeter woman. Here of old were seen
the gigantic forms of Charles Sumner and of Chief Justice Chase. When
the Supreme Court is in session, at a certain hour, a company of immense
gentlemen doff their long black silk gowns, and slowly and ponderously
wend their way along the Avenue, in mild, dignified pursuit of exercise
and dinner. Here, before the sun grows too hot, may be seen the
moustached, gesticulating, voluble young _attachés_ of the foreign
embassies with the pretty girls of the West End, who they like to flirt
with but rarely marry—which is fortunate for the girls.

I cannot divorce myself long enough from this divine day to write about
men. There is not a man on the face of the earth that would not be
tiresome if one had to think of him, to the exclusion of this weather.
To think that there are any to be written about when I want to sit in
the sun and do nothing, stirs up a perfect rumpus between desire and
duty. I am not so fond of my duty that I always spell it with a big “D,”
or in every emergency put it foremost. I would like to put it out of
sight some times. Wouldn’t you? But then I cannot. “It’s too many for
me,” as poor Tulliver said of his enemy. It won’t go out of sight, much
less stay there. Something clever might have come to me about tedious
men if I had not reached Lafayette Square this morning. There is that in
this new bloom so tender, so unsullied, which makes politicians seem
paltry, and all their outcry a mockery and an impertinence. To be sure,
these green arcades in their outer bound touch another world. Beyond,
and above them, floats the flag on the Arlington House. Below, the
windows of Charles Sumner’s home hint of art and beauty within. The
abodes of famous men and of beautiful women encircle all the square. On
one side the white cornices of the Executive Mansion peer above the
trees.

Almost within call are men and women whose names suggest histories and
prophecies, all the tangled phenomena of individual life. Yet how easy
to forget them all on these seats, which Gen. Babcock has made so
restful—thank him. The long summer wave in the May grass; the low,
swaying boughs, with their deep, mysterious murmur, that seems instinct
with human pleading; the tender plaint of infant leaves; the music of
birds; the depth of sky; the balm, the bloom, the virginity, the peace,
the consciousness of life, new yet illimitable, are all here, just as
perfectly as they are yonder in God’s solitude, untouched of man. If you
need help to love a tree read the diary of Maurice de Guerin. No one
else, not even Thoreau, (whose nature lacked in depth and breadth of
tenderness perhaps in the deepest spiritual insight,) ever came so near
or drew forth with such deep feeling the very soul of inanimate Nature.
He felt the soul of the tree, heard it in the moaning of its voice as it
stood with its roots bound in the earth and its arms outstretched with a
never-ceasing sigh towards infinity. But why do I speak of him? He lived
and died and never saw Washington.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.
               FAIR WASHINGTON—A RAMBLE IN EARLY SPRING.

Washington Weather—Sky Scenery—Professor Tyndall Expresses an
    Opinion—A Picture of Beauty—“A City of Enchantment”—“My Own
    Washington”—Prejudiced Views—Birds of Rock Creek—The Parsonage—A
    Scene of Tranquil Beauty—A Washington May—Charms of the
    Season—Mowers at Work—The Public Parks—Frolics of the Little
    Ones—Strawberry Festivals—“Flower Gathering.”


The climate of Washington has a villainous reputation, and at certain
times and seasons it deserves it Yet it tantalizes us with days which
prelude Paradise. Under their azure arch, through their beguiling air,
with reluctant steps we enter winter—the oozy, clammy, coughing winter,
which waits us just the other side of the gate of January. But they
linger long—the preluding days. They seem reluctant to yield us to our
impending foes—society and wet weather.

These are the days of days, swathed in masses of lights and color
unfathomable. It is one of the wonders of Washington too rarely
noted—its sky-scenery. So few people take the trouble to look at the sky
save to see if “it looks like rain.” All that New York can afford to
give to tired mortals is a scanty slice of light through which to let a
glimpse of glory down upon its palaces and catacombs of humanity. But
across these banding hills, this broad amphitheatre of space, mass and
sweep on, in the empyrean, wave on wave of polarized light, with a
delicacy of tint, a depth of hue, an immensity of volume, which no words
can portray. This vast sea of color (in its deeps of orange, purple and
gold, which now transfigure the twilight sky, till the Virginia hills
look like open gates to the city of gold) Professor Tyndall, in one of
his lectures on light, in this city, said that he had never seen
approached on the other side of the Atlantic, save by the intense
refractions of light on the Alpine glaciers.

In the autumnal days, and in the advancing spring, through the blue
spaces steals a tremulous, ever hovering purple, like opaline doves’
necks’ lustre, penetrating all the atmosphere like the purple haze above
the hills of Rome, till the yellow walls of Arlington House, and the
snowy masses of the Capitol seem actually to shimmer through waves of
amethystine mist. Under such a light, some morning, spring suddenly
spreads forth its whole panoply, with a vividness of green, a
prodigality of foliage never seen in a more northern latitude. One wide
wilderness of unbroken bloom sends up its fragrance through waves of
purple yellow and azure light, and then, till the day when, without
warning, summer suddenly transmutes all into molten brass, Washington in
light and color, in bloom and fragrance, is a city of enchantment.

Thus I have a Washington of my own, dear friends. I never find it till
some March day, when in walking down the Capitol grounds I discover that
the shining runlets on either side of the Avenue have broken loose and
are racing free through their sluices of stone, and that all the
crocuses in the broad beds under the trees are pushing their little
yellow noses out of the ground. To be sure, they almost always draw them
back again to get them out of the snow which falls after; nevertheless
on that day I find my Washington. Then it is, that just as the grey
lenten veil has covered and extinguished the gay season of the “German,”
we come unaware upon another Washington, which I vainly essay to portray
for you. My season is not fashionable. No portrayer of costumes is
“liberally paid” by “the most enterprising of publishers” to describe
the transcendent suit which decks this season of mine. _My_ Washington
has no chronicler. The scribes are all so busy abusing the Capitol,
depicting its follies and its crimes, that, though they have eyes, they
see not, and ears, they hear not, the sights and sounds of this other
Washington—fair Washington, outlying, above and beyond all.

If I could only paint for you the fathomless purples in which the hills
enfold themselves, the wide glimmering rosy spaces, reaching on and on;
or tell you of the nations of birds in the Rock Creek woods, which have
made there a supreme haunt for naturalists; of its nations of flowers,
which beckon and nod from the Rock Creek and Piney Branch roads; the
anemones, the arbutus, the honeysuckle, the laurel, the violets, the
innocents, covering wide acres with color and perfume; of the shy Rock
Creek parsonage, built of brick brought from England more than a century
ago, above whose trees the Capitol gleams, yet within whose porch you
seem shut in peace away from this loud world, with the bees droning in
the still warm air, and humming-birds drinking from the lilac cups; with
the gentle Christian hearts which abide beneath its roof and minister
beneath the shadow of its venerable church; if I could paint all these
as they are, you would care for my Washington, but as I cannot, I fear
that you never will.

A Washington May is the June of the north, with a pomp of color, an
exuberance of foliage, an allurement of atmosphere which a northern June
has not.

It is May now. All the ugly outlines and shabby old houses are softened
and covered with beneficent foliage. Already the mowers are at work in
the Capitol grounds and in the little public parks, and the sweetness of
the slain grass pervades the atmosphere. The children are everywhere
pretty things. Washington is full of them, tumbling amid the flowers and
in the dirt. It is May, yet June, impatient, has reached across her
sister, dropping her roses everywhere. Washington is one vast garden of
roses. It is the hour of strawberry festivals and of

                           FLOWER GATHERING.

         Miles away from the dusty town,
           Out in the beautiful June-time weather,
         The wind of the south is rippling down,
           And over the purple hills of heather.

         Dim, in the distance, the city walls
           Rise, like the walls of a dreary prison;
         On the healing sward where the sunshine falls,
           We stand ’mid the flowery folk arisen.

         We watch their innocent eyelids ope,
           And below we hear the river flowing;
         While wilting sweet on the upland slope
           Lies the grass of the early mowing.

         On through the bees and butterflies,
           The grass and the flowers, the hours are walking;
         And we seem to catch their low replies
           To the flowing waters forever talking.

         We listen and question the fathomless space,
           In the deeps of its emerald silence lying,
         While we watch the leaves turning face to face,
           And their lovers—the winds—wooing and sighing.

         And still, like a dream, fades the dusty town,
           And dumb on our ear dies its distant murmur;
         But the speech, in the stilly air steals down,
           And the fainting heart grows calmer and firmer.

         Hearts that ache with a wounding smart,
           Wander out from the heedless city;
         The human yearning on Nature’s heart
           Is a thing that God in his love must pity.

         Sorrow and sin are in the mart,
           And greed and gain killing tender feeling;
         Here we draw close to the god Pan’s heart,
           And feel on _our_ hearts his touch of healing.

         Often we ask, is there room to grow
           ’Neath the bands of the earth, so hard and binding?
         The wisdom of life we are fain to know;
           Does it ever pay for the pain of finding?

         So, far away from the dissonant town,
           Out in the marvellous June-time weather,
         We climb the hills to their blossoming crown,
           And rest and gather our flowers together.

         Lo! we gather our flowers to-day,
           We are like thee, O restless river—
         We loiter for play on our endless way—
           While life, our life, rolls on forever.




                              CHAPTER XIX.
              INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE—SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

Haunted Houses—Shadows of the Past—Touching Memories—The Little Angels
    Born There—Building of the Presidential Mansion—A State of
    Perpetual Dampness—Dingy Aspect of a Monarch’s Palace—Outside the
    White House—A Peep Inside the Mansion—The Emperor of Japan
    Supersedes the Punch-Bowl—The Unfinished “Banqueting Hall”—Glories
    of a _Levée_—Magnificent Hospitalities—A Comfortable
    Dining-Room—Interesting Labors of Martha Patterson—A Lady of
    Taste—An American “Baronial Hall”—The Furniture of Another
    Generation—A Valuable Steward—A Professor of Gastronomy—Paying the
    Professor and Providing the Dinner—Feeding the Celebrities—Mrs.
    Lincoln’s Unpopular Innovations—Fifteen Hundred Dollars for a
    Dinner—How Prince Arthur, of England, was Entertained—Domestic
    Economy—“Not Enough Silver”—A Tasty Soup—The Recipe for an
    Aristocratic Stew—Having a “Nice Time”—Mrs. Franklin Pierce
    Horrified—“Going a Fishing on Sundays”—Hatred of Flummery—An
    Admirer of Pork and Beans and Slap-jacks—A Presidential
    Reception—Ready for the Festival—“Such a Bore!”—Splendor,
    Weariness, and Indigestion—Paying the Penalty—In the
    Conservatory—Domestic Arrangements—The Library—Statue of
    Jefferson—Pleasant Views—Reminiscence of Abraham Lincoln.


            “All houses wherein men have lived and died
              Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
            The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
              With feet that make no sound upon the floors.”

            “There are more guests at table, than the hosts
              Invited; the illuminated hall
            Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
              As silent as the pictures on the wall.”

These lines were never truer of any human habitation than of the White
House at Washington.

The Nation’s House! The procession of families which the people have
sent to inhabit it, in moving on to make place for others, have left
memories behind which haunt these great rooms and fill staircase,
alcove, and pictorial space with historic recollections. Here human life
has been lived, enjoyed, suffered and resigned, just as it is lived
every day in any house wherein human beings are born, wherein they live
and die. Within its walls children have first opened their eyes upon
this tantalizing life, and here children have died, leaving father and
mother desolate amid all the pomp of place and state. In this room the
hero Taylor laid his earthly burdens and honors down; here, by this
eastern window, stood a girl-bride crowned with beautiful youth and
marriage flowers. In this east room the supreme martyr of freedom,
white, still and cold, received the nation who wept at his feet; in this
dim chamber a woman-saint read her Bible and communed with God, while
pardon crokers crept into secret door-ways, and passion and treason ran
riot in the great rooms which she never entered.

The first child born in the White House was the grandson of
Jefferson—James Madison Randolph; and the last child who died here was
“Willie” Lincoln. Here, also, President Harrison, President Taylor, and
Mrs. Tyler passed through death unto life.

[Illustration:

  THE RED ROOM.

  INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE.—WASHINGTON.
]

The corner stone of the President’s house was laid October 13, 1792. We
have seen how anxious Jefferson was that it should be modelled after
some famous modern palace of Europe. The one, at last selected, was the
country house of the Duke of Leinster. It was designed by James Hoban,
and open, though not ready for occupancy, in the summer of 1800. The
house is built of porous Virginia freestone, which accounts for the fact
of its perpetual dampness, and the more expensive fact that no amount of
money and white-lead can make it a dry and desirable abode. And yet it
is always pleasant and restful to the sight when the eyes fall upon its
Ionic columns, peering pure and softened through the sea of greenery
which sways and dips around it. One front alone of Buckingham Palace,
cost more than the entire White House. Yet, to behold it, the palace is
a black and ugly pile, and in simplicity and purity of outline bears no
comparison with the Nation’s White House. This is 170 feet broad and 86
feet deep. Its north front has a lofty portico with four Ionic columns
and a projecting screen of three columns. Between these columns pass the
carriages which form a perpetual line moving on and round forever
through the gay season. The house is three high stories, with the
rusticated basement which reaches below the Ionic ordonnance.

The portico opens upon a spacious hall forty by fifty feet. It is
divided by a row of Ionic columns, through which we pass to the
reception-room opposite. This is the Red Room. Its light is dim and
rosy. Its form is elliptical, and its bow window in the rear looks out
on the park and away to the Potomac, as do the windows of all the corner
parlors. In this room the President receives foreign ministers and the
officers of the republic. The space over the marble mantel is entirely
occupied with a life size painting of President Grant and his family. We
pass through the Red Room into the Blue Room. All is cool azure here.
The chairs, the sofas, the carpet, the paper on the wall, all are tinged
with the celestial hue, flushed here and there with a tint of rose. In
the Blue Room the President’s wife holds her morning receptions. Here,
with the daylight excluded, soft rays falling from the chandelier above,
flowers in mounds and vases everywhere pouring out fragrance, surrounded
by a group of ladies, chosen and invited to “assist,” decked in jewels
and costly raiment. One day of each week of the season, from three to
five P. M., the President’s wife receives her critic—the public.

The Blue Room opens into the Green Room, the most cosy and home-like of
all the public parlors. It is vividly emerald, softly malachite, all
touched and gleaming with gold. A large mirror covers the space above
the mantel. Beside vases in the centre of the marble mantel-piece stands
an exquisite clock of ebony and malachite; tall vases filled with fresh
flowers rise from the carpet. On the centre table used to stand the
immense punch-bowl, presented to the White House by the Emperor of
Japan. It is now supplanted by a statue in bronze. The furniture is of
rose-wood, cushioned with brocatelle of green and gold, while the same
in heavy hangings are looped back from the lace curtains on the windows.

From the Green Room we enter the famous East Room, extending the entire
eastern side of the house. It is eighty-six feet long, forty feet wide,
and twenty-eight feet high. Three immense chandeliers hang from the
ceiling. It has already taken on the mellowness, not of age but of use,
and in aspect bears no kin to the unfinished “Banqueting Hall” in which
Mrs. Adams dried the family linen, and Mrs. Monroe’s little daughters
played. Now, on a _levée_ night, the East Room presents a sight never to
be forgotten. The enormous chandeliers seem to pour the splendor of noon
upon the glittering and moving host below. Satins, velvets, diamonds,
plumes and laces rise and fall, and sway beside the gleaming gold lace
of American officers, and the jewelled decorations of Foreign ministers.
Eight mirrors repeat the glory of the sights. Eight Presidents, from
their golden frames on the wall, seem to gaze out of the past upon the
feverish splendor of a new generation. The most exquisite carpet ever on
the East Room was a velvet one, chosen by Mrs. Lincoln. Its ground was
of pale sea green, and in effect looked as if ocean, in gleaming and
transparent waves, were tossing roses at your feet.

Coming back to the Red Room, we pass into a narrow corridor, at the
opposite end from which, on either side, open the family and state
dining-room. The state dining-room is a staid and stately apartment,
touched equally with new grace and old time grandeur. Martha Patterson,
the daughter of President Johnson, redeemed it from wreck, and instead
of ruin, adorned it with the harmony of her own artistic nature. The
neutral-tinted walls and carpet, the green satin damask hangings on the
windows, and covering of the quaint furniture, are all her choice. An
antique clock and grim candlesticks, from the Madison reign, stand
stiffly on the marble mantels. With the exception of a pair of modern
sideboards, the furniture of this “baronial hall,” solid and sombre, has
descended from the eras of Washington and Jefferson.

The state dining-room, and its state dinners, are controlled entirely by
“Steward Melah, the silver-voiced Italian,” who was graduated from the
Everett House, the Astor House, and the St. Charles, New Orleans, to the
higher estate of superintending “goodies” for the palates of
Diplomatists, Princes, and Members of Congress in the White House at
Washington. The government pays Professor Melah for his services, but
the President pays for the dinners, and he is expected to continue
giving them till every foreign dignitary and home functionary, from the
highest Diplomat to the most obscure Member of Congress, is invited.
Mrs. Lincoln’s presuming to abolish the time-honored but costly
state-dinner of the White House, increased her personal unpopularity to
an intense degree.

The average state-dinner costs about seven hundred dollars, the special
state dinner may cost fifteen hundred dollars. The one given to Prince
Arthur, of England, cost that sum, without including the wines and other
beverages. The dinner proper consisted of twenty-nine courses. The
President puts a sum of money into the hands of the steward, and his
expenditure is supposed to be in proportion to the official rank and
grandeur of the invited guests. It is said that Professor Melah wrings
his hands in distress when he is about to set the State table for a
supreme occasion, and exclaims to the lady of the White House, who may
be looking on: “Why Madam, there is not silver enough in the White House
to set a respectable free-lunch table.”

At a state dinner the table is always profusely decorated with flowers,
and the “first course” is invariably a soup of French vegetables, which
Miss Grundy says has “never been equalled by any other soup, foreign or
domestic.” “It is said to be a little smoother than peacock’s brains,
but not quite so exquisitely flavored as a dish of nightingales’
tongues; and Professor Melah is the only man in the nation who holds in
his hands the receipt for this aristocratic stew.” No general
conversation prevails at the state dinner. If the lady and gentleman
elected to go in together happen to be agreeable to each other, they
have a “nice time.” If not, they have a stiff and tiresome one.
Exquisite _finesse_ is needed to fitly pair these mentally incongruous
diners. Mike Walsh once horrified the shrinking and saintly Mrs.
Franklin Pierce at a state-dinner by the story of his going “a fishing
on Sunday;” while Hon. Mr. Mudsill, of Mudtown, has been known to regale
dainty Madame Mimosa, of Mignonnette Manor, between the courses, with
his hatred of flummeries and French dishes, and his devotion to pork and
beans and slapjacks.

The President and his wife receive the guests in the Red Room at seven
o’clock. Mrs. President is always attired in full evening dress, with
laces and jewels, and her lady guests likewise, while each gentleman
rejoices in a swallow-tail, white or tinted gloves, and white necktie.
The President leads the way to the state-table with the wife of the
senator the oldest in office, while Mrs. President brings up the rear of
the small procession with the senatorial husband of the President’s lady
companion. Six wine glasses and a _bouquet_ of flowers garnish each
plate. From twelve to thirty courses are served, and the middle of the
feast is marked by the serving of frozen punch. After hours of sitting,
serving and eating, the procession returns to the Red Room in the order
that it left it. Then, after a few moments of conversation, it
disperses,—its honored individuals more than once heard to say in
private, “Such a bore.” Yet what an ado they would make if not invited
to discover for themselves the tiresome splendor and fit of indigestion
attendant upon a state-dinner.

Leaving the state dining-room behind, we pass through the western wing
into the conservatory, one of the largest in the country. It is a
favorite resort for lady and gentlemen promenaders on reception days,
lined, as it is, on either side with the bloom and fragrance of rare
exotics. A large aquarium stands at one end, and a short passage and
flights of steps lead down to a greenhouse and grapery filled with
flowers and luscious fruit. Three other greenhouses flourish in the
gardens west of the mansion.

The White House contains thirty-one rooms. Excepting the family
dining-room, every one on the first floor is devoted to state purposes.
The basement contains eleven rooms, used as kitchens, pantries and
butler’s rooms. These are open, spacious, comfortable and cheerful to
the sight. On the second floor, the six rooms of the north front are
used as chambers by the Presidential family. The south front has seven
rooms—the ante-chamber, audience room, cabinet room, private office of
the president, and the ladies’ parlors. The ladies’ or private parlor is
furnished with ebony, covered with blue satin, with hangings of blue
satin and lace. The daughter of the house has a blue boudoir lined with
mirrors—its pale blue carpet strewn with rose-buds. The state bedroom of
this floor is a grand apartment, furnished with rose-wood and crimson
satin; its walls hang with purple and gold. The bedstead is high,
massive, carved and canopied, its damask curtains hanging from a gilded
hoop near the ceiling. Before the bed lie cushions for the feet; against
the walls stand two stately wardrobes, with full length mirrors lining
their doors, while arm-chairs and couches, deeply cushioned, are
scattered over the velvet carpet. Its articles of furniture are stained
with purple devices—national, historical scenes, and have for their arms
the American Eagle. The ceiling is profusely frescoed, and hung with a
central chandelier, while in the winter a coal fire, under the marble
mantle, suffuses the sumptuous room with a genial glow. One of the
curiosities of the chamber is a cigar-case, inlaid with pearls and
mosaics of wood from China, presented to President Grant by Captain
Ammon, of the United States Navy.

[Illustration:

  THE CONSERVATORY.

  INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE.—WASHINGTON.
]

The Secretaries’ room, on this floor, is a large airy apartment, with
mahogany furniture, set there in Martin Van Buren’s time, with green
curtains, twenty-five years old, on the windows. The President’s
business and reception-room is a large apartment, looking out on the
southern grounds, and carpeted with crimson and white. A large black
walnut table, surrounded with chairs, stands in the centre of the room.
It is furnished with black walnut desks and sofas. On the mantel stands
a clock which tells the time of day and the day of the month, and which
is a thermometer and barometer besides. The walls are high, and frescoed
on a yellow ground tint. Tapestry and lace curtains are looped back from
the windows, which look down upon the lovely southern grounds, and to
the river, gleaming at intervals through the foliage beyond.

The stateliest room on this floor is the library, used in Mrs. John
Adams’ time as a reception-room, furnished then in crimson. It was
almost bookless till Mr. Filmore’s administration, when it was fitted up
as a library, and many books were added during the administration of
President Buchanan. It is now lined with heavy mahogany book-cases,
finished with solid oak, covered with maroon. It is sometimes used by
the President as an official reception-room, and sometimes as an evening
lounging-place for the Presidential family and their guests.

On the north lawn of the President’s house, which in Jefferson’s time
was a barren, stony, unfenced waste, under the green arcade made by
glorious trees, now stands a bronze statue of Jefferson. It was
presented to the government by Captain Levy, of the United States’ army,
who in 1840 owned Monticello.

From the great portico, we look beyond this statue, across Pennsylvania
avenue, to an equestrian image of Jackson, rearing frantically and
preposterously in the centre of Lafayette square. Lovely Lafayette
square, laid out by Downing—perfect in blending tint and outline, flower
of mimic parks! Beyond its trees we catch a glimpse of its encircling
historic houses, and of the brown ivy-hung walls of St. John’s venerable
church, its tiny and old time tower showing so picturesquely against the
evening sky.

The avenue of lofty trees on the west side of the President’s
house—beneath whose shade, in the dimness of the night, Lincoln used to
take his solitary walk, and carry his heavy heart to the War
Department—were planted by John Quincy Adams. No swelling tree-crowned
knolls, no grassy glades could be more restful to the sight than the
southern grounds of the President’s house. From its height it looks down
upon this rolling park, reaching now to the Potomac, bounded by its
gleaming waters, on which so many white sails drift, and doze, and dream
in the languid summer weather.




                              CHAPTER XX.
                       LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE.

A Morning Dream—Wives and Daughters of the Presidents—Memories of Martha
    Washington—An Average Matron of the 18th Century—Educational
    Disadvantages—Comparisons—A Well-Regulated Lady—A Useful Wife—Warm
    Words of Abigail Adams—Advantages of Having a Distinguished
    Husband—A Modern Lucretia—Washington’s Inauguration Suit—An Awkward
    Position for a Lady—A Primitive _Levée_-Festivities in Franklin
    Square!—Decorous Ideas of the Father of His Country—The Government
    on Its Travels—Transporting the Household Gods—Keeping Early
    Hours—Primitive Customs—A Dignified _Congé_—Much-Shaken
    Hands—Remembrances of a Past Age—An English Manufacturer “Struck
    with Awe”—Very Questionable Humility—The Room in which Washington
    Died—Days of Widowhood—A Wife’s Congratulations—A True
    Woman—Domestic Affairs at the White House—An Unfinished
    Mansion—Interesting Details—A Woman’s Influence—A Monument
    Wanted—Devotion of a Husband—The “Single Life”—Theodocia Burr and
    Katherine Chase—“_Levées_” Summarily Abolished—Disappointed
    Belles—An Extraordinary Reception—Blacked His Own Boots—A Dignified
    Foreigner Shocked—Governmental Enquiries—Womanly Indignation—The
    Poet Pardoned—“The Sweetest Creature in Virginia”—A Daughter’s
    Affection.


Sitting in the lovely Blue Room this June morning, the breezes from the
Potomac floating through the closed blinds and lace curtains, drifting
over the mounds of flowers which, rising high above the great vases,
fill all the air with fragrance, I evoke from the past a company of fair
and stately women who have dwelt under this roof, or influenced the life
and happiness of men who have ruled the nation.

First, Martha Washington. To be sure, she never reigned in the Blue
Room; but who can recall the wives of the Presidents and not see the
very first, the serenely beautiful old lady whose face is so familiar to
us all.

In herself, Martha Washington was in no wise a remarkable woman.
Personally, she was a fair representative of the average American matron
of the eighteenth century. I say American, for whatever may be her right
to boast of superior educational advantages to-day, in the time of
Martha Washington and Abigail Adams, New England ignored utterly the
education of her women. They were shut out even from the Boston
High-School, because they had flocked to it in such numbers in pursuit
of knowledge. While her brother went to Harvard, the girl of
Massachusetts, if taught at all, was self-taught. Massachusetts had no
right to boast over Virginia in that day. The daughters of the cavalier
probably were oftener taught to dance and to play the spinnet than the
daughters of the Puritans; but neither could spell, nor many more than
barely read. But had Martha Washington enjoyed the highest mental
privileges, she would never have been known to the world as an
intellectual woman, or as a woman who, by any impulse of her unassisted
nature, would ever have risen above the commonplace. She could spin, but
she could not spell. She could bask in the warmth of the bountiful home
whose heavy cares were all carried by her illustrious husband. She could
pack the family coach with delicacies, and go through storm and mud once
a year to his camp, when the perils of his country had made him its
deliverer; but it is doubtful if any impulse of her soul would ever have
roused her to the majestic eloquence of Abigail Adams, who, when she
read the English King’s proclamation to his rebellious colonies, with
her little children about her in the depth of the night, wrote to her
absent husband: “This intelligence will make a plain path for you,
though a dangerous one. I could not join to-day in the petition of our
worthy pastor for a reconciliation between our no longer parent state,
but tyrant state, and these colonies. Let us separate; they are unworthy
to be our brethren. Let us renounce them, and instead of supplications
as formerly for their prosperity and happiness; let us beseech the
Almighty to blast their counsels and bring to naught all their devices.”

Abigail Adams comes down to posterity, independently of all relations to
others, as one of the grandest women of her time. Martha Washington’s
only claim to veneration is because she was the wife of Washington. As
his wife, her homely virtues and moral rectitude show to unclouded
advantage. Personally, her most marked characteristics were her strong
natural sense of propriety and fitness and high moral qualities. In
these, if she never added lustre to it, she always honored the name of
Washington. We see the former characteristic in the fact, that during
the Revolution she never wore foreign or costly attire. While all the
outer affairs of the estate, to their minutest detail, were
superintended by General Washington, in addition to the mighty burdens
of state which he bore, Mrs. Washington superintended her handmaidens
and spinning-wheels. Looms were constantly plying in her house, and
General Washington wore, at his first inauguration, a full suit of fine
cloth woven in his own house. At a ball given in New Jersey, in honor of
herself, Martha Washington appeared in “simple russet gown,” with a
white handkerchief about her neck. To the state _levées_ of New York and
Philadelphia she carried the same stately simplicity. A lady of the
olden time, a daughter of Virginia, her ideas of court forms and
etiquette had all been received from the mother country. Hers was the
difficult task to harmonize aristocratic exclusiveness with republican
plainness. She was never to forget that she was the wife of the
President of a Republic,—and also never to forget that she was to
command the respect of the old monarchies who were ready to despise
everything poor and crude in the efforts of the new government to
maintain itself in poverty, difficulty and inexperience. Thus the social
_levées_ of the first President of the United States, at No. 3, Franklin
square, New York, were held under the most rigorous and exclusive rules.
They were only open to persons of privileged rank and degree, and they
could not enter unless attired in full dress. The receptions of Mrs.
Washington merely reproduced, on a smaller plan, the customs and
ceremonies of foreign courts.

The first President and his wife never forgot their personal dignity,
and never forgot that they represented a republic which was already an
object of interested scrutiny to the whole civilized world. President
Washington wrote to his friend Mrs. Macaulay: “Mrs. Washington’s ideas
coincide with my own as to simplicity of dress and everything which can
tend to support propriety of character without partaking of the follies
of luxury and ostentation.”

In the second year of Washington’s administration, the government was
removed to Philadelphia, there to remain for the next ten years. The
household furniture of the Washingtons was moved thither by slow and
weary processes of land and water, the President, in addition to his
public cares, superintending personally the preparation and embarkation
of every article himself. Mrs. Washington was sick at the time, but the
following year, the house of Robert Morris having been taken by the
corporation, as the President’s house, Mrs. Washington again opened her
drawing-rooms from seven to ten P. M. Sensible woman! No haggard and
faded beauties dancing all night, faded and old before their time, owed
their wasted lives and powers to _her_. In Philadelphia and New York,
when the clock’s hand pointed to ten, she arose with affable dignity,
and, bowing to all, retired, leaving her guests to do likewise. With
this action, it was unnecessary to repeat the announcement which she
made at the first _levée_ held by her in New York, viz.: “General
Washington retires at ten o’clock, and I usually precede him.
Good-night.”

At these _levées_ Mrs. Washington sat. The guests were grouped in a
circle, round which the President passed, speaking politely to each one,
but _never shaking hands_. It was reserved to a later generation to
shake that poor member till it has to be poulticed after official
greetings. It was the habit of Mrs. Washington to return the calls of
those who were privileged to pay her visits. A Philadelphia lady who, as
a child, remembered her, wrote: “It was Mrs. Washington’s custom to
return visits on the third day. In calling on my mother she would send a
footman over, who would knock loudly and announce Mrs. Washington, who
would then come over with Mr. Lear. Her manners were very easy, pleasant
and unceremonious, with the characteristics of other Virginia ladies.”

An English manufacturer, who breakfasted with the President’s family in
1794, says:

  “I was struck with awe and veneration when I recollected that I was
  now in the presence of the great Washington, the noble and wise
  benefactor of the world.... Mrs. Washington herself, made tea and
  coffee for us. On the table were two small plates of sliced tongue and
  dry toast, bread and butter; but no broiled fish, as is the custom
  here. She struck me as being somewhat older than the President, though
  I understand both were born the same year. She was extremely simple in
  her dress, and wore a very plain cap, with her gray hair turned up
  under it.”

It is as the wife of Washington, through sentiments called out by the
greatness of his character and the love which she bore him, that the
moral capacity of Martha Washington’s nature ever approaches greatness.
In her reply to Congress, who asked that the body of George Washington
might be placed beneath a monument in the capitol which his patriotism
had done so much to rear, her words rise to the patriotic grandeur of
Abigail Adams, they could not rise higher. She says:

  “Taught by that great example, which I have so long had before me,
  never to oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent
  to the request made by Congress, which you have had the goodness to
  transmit to me, and in doing this, I need not, I cannot say what a
  sacrifice of individual feeling I make to a sense of public duty.”

But it is in the little room at Mount Vernon, in which she died, that
Martha Washington, as a woman, comes nearest to us. Here one can realize
how utterly done with earth, its pangs and glory, was the soul who shut
herself within its narrow walls, there to take on immortality. The rooms
of Washington below, a thrifty mechanic of the present day would think
too small and shabby for him. Here he died. And when the great soul went
forth to the unknown, as a human presence to inhabit it never more, the
wife also went forth, and never again crossed its threshold. Here, in
this little room, scarcely more than a closet, surrounded only by the
simplest necessaries of existence, Martha Washington lived out the
lonely days of her desolate widowhood—and here she died.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Abigail Adams was the first wife of a President who ever presided at the
White House—the President’s house, as it was so fitly called in those
days. Only in this latter time of degenerate English has it swelled into
the “Executive Mansion.”

In February, 1797, John Adams was elected President of the United
States, to succeed President Washington. From her country home in
Massachusetts, Mrs. Adams sent to her husband the following recognition
of his exaltation to be chief ruler of the United States:

  “You have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. ‘And now, O
  Lord, my God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people, give
  unto him an understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and to
  come in before this great people; that he may discern between good and
  bad. For who is able to judge this, thy so great a people?’ were the
  words of a royal sovereign, and not less applicable to him who is
  invested with the chief magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a
  crown nor the robes of royalty. My thoughts and meditations are with
  you, though personally absent; and my petitions to heaven are, that
  the things which make for your peace may not be hidden from your eyes.
  My feelings are not those of pride or ostentation upon the occasion.
  They are solemnized by a sense of the obligations, the important
  trusts, and numerous duties connected with it. That you may be enabled
  to discharge them with honor to yourself, with justice and
  impartiality to your country, and with satisfaction to this great
  people, shall be the daily prayer of yours—”

In such exaltation of spirit, and with such grandeur of speech, did the
wife of the second President receive the fact of her husband’s
elevation. As devout as Deborah, her utterance is equally marked by its
comprehensiveness of view, its devotion and self-forgetfulness. No
visions of personal finery, of fashionable entertainments and show,
gleam through the grand utterances of this majestic woman. And yet no
pictures of the White House, no sketches of the social life of her time
begin to be as graphic, frequent and “telling,” as those of Abigail
Adams. Nothing has been more quoted than her sketch of the White House
as she found it.

  “The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty
  servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and
  perform the ordinary business of the house and stables—an
  establishment very well proportioned to the President’s salary. The
  lighting the apartments from the kitchen to parlors and chambers, is a
  tax indeed, and the fires we are obliged to keep to secure us from
  daily agues is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this
  castle, and render less attendance necessary, bells are wholly
  wanting, not one single one being hung through the whole house, and
  promises are all you can obtain. This is so great an inconvenience
  that I know not what to do or how to do. The ladies from Georgetown
  and in the city have many of them visited me. Yesterday I returned
  fifteen visits. But such a place as Georgetown appears! Why, our
  Milton is beautiful. But no comparisons; if they put me up bells, and
  let me have wood enough to keep fires, I design _to be pleased_. But
  surrounded with forests, can you believe that wood is not to be had,
  because people cannot be found to cut and cart it.... We have indeed
  come into a new country.

  “The house is made habitable, but there is not a single apartment
  finished, and all within side, except the plastering, has been done
  since B. came.... If the twelve years in which this place has been
  considered as the future seat of government, had been improved as they
  would have been in New England, very many of the present
  inconveniences would have been removed. It is a beautiful spot,
  capable of any improvement, and the more I view it the more I am
  delighted with it.

                  *       *       *       *       *

  “The ladies are impatient for a drawing-room: I have no
  looking-glasses but dwarfs, for this house; and a twentieth part lamps
  enough to light it. My tea-china is more than half missing.... You can
  scarcely believe that here in this wilderness city I should find my
  time so occupied as it is. My visitors, some of them, came three or
  four miles. The return of one of them is the work of one day.... We
  have not the _least fence, yard, or other conveniences without_, and
  the great unfinished audience-room—(the East room) I make a
  drying-room of to hang my clothes in. Six chambers are made
  comfortable; two lower rooms, one for a common parlor and one for a
  ball-room.”

Abigail Adams is an illustrious example of the grandeur of human
character. She proved in herself how potent an individual may be, and
that individual a woman, in spite of caste, of sex, or the restrictions
of human law or condition. She never went to school in her life, yet her
thoughtful utterances will live where the labored utterances of her
scholarly husband are forgotten. She was less than a year the mistress
of the President’s house, yet she has lived ever since in memory a grand
model to all who succeed her. The daughter of a country clergyman, the
wife of a patriotic and ambitious man, whether she gathered her children
about her or sent them forth across stormy seas, while she left herself
desolate; whether she stood the wife of the Republican Minister before
the haughty Charlotte in the stateliest and proudest court of Europe;
whether she presided in the President’s house in the new Capital or in
the wilderness, or wrote to statesmen and grandchildren in her own lowly
house in Quincy, in prosperity or sorrow, in youth and in age, in life
and in death, always she was the regnant woman, devout, wise, patriotic,
proud, humble and loving.

Her pictures of the social life of her time are among the most acute,
lively and graphic on record. While in her letters to her son, to her
husband, to Jefferson and other statesmen, we find some of the grandest
utterances of the Revolutionary period. Cut off by her sex from active
participation in the struggles and triumphs of the men of her time, not
one of them would have died more gladly or grandly than she, for
liberty; denied the power of manhood, she made the most of the
privileges of womanhood. She instilled into the souls of her children
great ideas; she inspired her husband by the hourly sight of a grand
example; she gave, through them, her life-long service to the State, and
she gave to her country and to posterity her spotless and heroic memory.
Tardy Massachusetts! You build monuments to your sons, and ignore the
fame of your illustrious daughters. When in the Pantheon of the States
you shall place the sculptured forms of two of your patriots, honor your
ancient fame by giving to posterity the majestic lineaments of the great
woman of the Revolution—Abigail Adams.

In her portrait, Stuart gives us Minerva in a lace cap. Dainty and
delicate, it softens without veiling her august features. The exquisite
lace ruff about the throat, the lace shawl upon the shoulders, all
indicate the finest of feminine tastes, while the broad brow, wide eyes,
keenly cut nose, firm chin and slightly imperious mouth, proclaim the
proud and powerful intellect, and the high head the commanding moral
nature of the woman.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The wife of Jefferson died in her youth. His love for her was the
passion of his life. In his love, and in his existence, she was never
supplanted. Ever after, he lived in his children, his grand-children,
his books and the affairs of State.

Jefferson had two daughters, the only two of his children who survived
to mature life. One of these, Maria, who in childhood went to Paris in
the care of Mrs. Adams, and who was remarkable for her beauty and the
loveliness of her nature, died in early womanhood. She was indifferent
to her own beauty, and almost resented the admiration which it called
forth, exclaiming, “You praise me for _that_ because you can not praise
me for better things.” She set an extraordinary value upon talent,
believing that the possession of it alone could make her the worthy
companion of her father. She was most tenderly beloved by him, and, at
the time of her early death, he wrote to his friend, Governor Page:
“Others may lose of their abundance; but I, of my want, have lost even
the half of that I had. My evening prospects now hang on the slender
thread of a single life.” This “single” life was that of Martha
Jefferson Randolph. She lived to be not only the domestic comforter, but
the intellectual companion of her father. She was one of that type of
daughters, of which, in our own country, Theodocia Burr and Katherine
Chase have been such illustrious examples. These women, equally
beautiful, intellectual, and charming, identified themselves not only
with the private interests, but with the public life and political
ambitions of their fathers.

Had Martha Jefferson been less womanly and domestic, she might have made
herself famous as a _belle_, a wit, or a scholar. Married at seventeen,
the mother of twelve children, seven of whom were daughters, the fine
quality of her intellect, and the nobility of her soul were all merged
into a life spent in their guidance, and in devotion and service to her
husband and father. The mother of five children at the time of her
father’s inauguration as President of the United States, separated from
Washington by a long and fatiguing journey, which could only be
performed by coach and horse-travel, Mrs. Randolph never made but two
visits to the President’s house, during his two terms of office. Her
son, James Madison Randolph was born in the “White House.”

Jefferson began his Presidency with a certain ostentation of democracy.
One of the first declarations of his administration was, “_Levées_ are
done away.” Remembering what importance was attached to these assemblies
by Washington and Adams, and what grand court occasions they were made,
we can imagine the disapprobation with which this mandate was received
by the “_belles_ of society.” A party of these gathered in force, and,
all gaily attired, proceeded to the President’s house. On his return
from a horseback ride he was informed that a large number of ladies were
in the “_Levée_ room” waiting for him. Covered with dust, spurs on, and
whip in hand, he proceeded to the drawing-room. Shade of Washington! He
told them he was glad to see them, and asked them to remain. These
_belles_ and beauties received his polite salutations with how much
delight we may fancy. They never came again.

A Virginian accustomed to the service of slaves, as the President of the
United States, Jefferson blacked his own boots. A foreign functionary, a
stickler for etiquette, paid him a visit of ceremony one morning, and
found him engaged in this pleasing employment. Jefferson apologized,
saying, that being a plain man, he did not like to trouble his servants.
The foreign grandee departed, declaring that no government could long
survive, whose head was his own shoe-black. Jefferson gave great offense
to the English Minister, Mr. Merry, because he took Mrs. Madison, to
whom he happened to be talking, into dinner instead of Mrs. Merry. Mr.
Merry made it an official offense which was reported to his government.
Mr. Madison wrote to Mr. Monroe, who was then Minister to England, that
he might be ready to answer the call of the British government for
explanations. Mr. Monroe wrote back that he was glad of it, for the wife
of a British under-secretary had recently been given precedence to Mrs.
Monroe, in being escorted to the dinner table. Nevertheless, Mrs.
Merry’s nose never came down from the air, and she never again crossed
the threshold of the President’s house.

The same year Jefferson aroused the ire of Thomas Moore, then
twenty-four years of age, and without fame, save in his own country. The
President, from his altitude of six feet two-and-a-half inches, looked
down on the curled and perfumed little poet, and spoke a word and passed
on. This was an indignity that London’s and Dublin’s darling never
pardoned, and he went back to lampoon, not only America, but the
President. One of his attacks came into the hands of Martha Randolph,
who, deeply indignant, placed it before her father in his library. He
broke into an amused laugh. Years afterwards, when Moore’s Irish
melodies appeared, Jefferson, looking them over, exclaimed: “Why, this
is the little man who satirized me so! Why, he is a poet after all.” And
from that moment Moore had a place beside Burns’ in Jefferson’s library.

John Randolph, her father’s political foe, said of Martha Jefferson:
“She is the sweetest creature in Virginia,” and we all know that John
Randolph believed that nothing “sweet” or even endurable existed outside
of Virginia. In adversity and sorrow, in poverty and trial, in age as in
youth, the steadfast sweetness of character, and elevation of nature,
which made Martha Jefferson remarkable in prosperity, shone forth with
transcendent lustre when all external accessories had fled. The daughter
of a man called a free-thinker, she all her life was sweetly, simply,
devoutly religious. In her letters to her daughter, “Septimia,” she
draws us nearer to her tender soul in its heavenly love and charity.
This daughter, to his latest breath, was to Jefferson, the soul of his
soul. After his retirement she not only entertained his guests, and
ministered to his personal comforts, but shared intellectually all his
thoughts and studies. Six months before her death, Sully painted her
portrait. Her daughter says:

  “I accompanied her to Mr. Sully’s studio, and, as she took her seat
  before him, she said playfully: ‘Mr. Sully, I shall never forgive you
  if you paint me with wrinkles.’

  “I quickly interrupted, ‘Paint her just as she is, Mr. Sully, the
  picture is for me.’

  “He said, ‘I shall paint you, Mrs. Randolph, as I remember you twenty
  years ago.’

  “The picture does represent her younger—but failed to restore the
  expression of health and cheerful, ever-joyous vivacity which her
  countenance then habitually wore. My mother’s face owed its greatest
  charm to its expressiveness, beaming, as it ever was, with kindness,
  good humor, gayety and wit. She was tall and very graceful; her
  complexion naturally fair, her hair of a dark chestnut color, very
  long and very abundant. Her manners were uncommonly attractive from
  their vivacity, amiability and high breeding, and her conversation was
  charming.”




                              CHAPTER XXI.
            WIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS—LIFE AT THE WHITE HOUSE.

A Social Queen—“The Most Popular Person in the United States”—“Dolly
    Madison’s” Reign—The Slow Days of Old—A Young Lady Rides Five
    Hundred Miles on Horseback—Travelling Under Difficulties—Political
    Pugnacity—A Peaceful Policy—Formality _versus_ Hospitality—Big
    Dishes Laughed at—A Foreign Minister Criticises—Advantages of a Good
    Memory—Funny Adventure of a Rustic Youth—A Strange Pocketful—Putting
    Him at his Ease—Doleful Visage of a New President—Getting Rid of a
    Burden—A Brave Lady—She Writes to Her Sister—Waiting in
    Suspense—Taking Care of Cabinet Papers—“Disaffection Stalks Around
    Us”—“Col. C.” very Prudently “Skedaddles”—One Hundred “Braves”
    Skedaddle with Him—“French John” Makes a Proposition—He Desires to
    “Blow up the British”—John “Doesn’t See It”—Watching and
    Waiting—Flight—Unscrewing the Picture—After the War—Brilliant
    Receptions—Mrs. Madison’s Snuff Box—Clay Takes a Pinch—“This is My
    Polisher!”—“_Tempora Mutantur_”—Two Plain Old Ladies from the
    West—“If I Jest Kissed you”—They Depart in Peace—Days of Trouble and
    Care—Manuscripts Purchased by Congress—The “Franking Privilege”
    Conferred upon Mrs. Madison—Honored by Congress—Last Days of a Good
    Woman—Mrs. Monroe—A Serene and Aristocratic Woman—“_La Belle
    Americaine_”—Madame Lafayette in Prison—Fennimore Cooper Expresses
    an Opinion—Grotesque Anomalies at a Reception—The Crown and the
    Eagle.


President Jefferson showed his personal appreciation as well as his
official recognition of Mrs. Madison, both in his letters to his
daughters and in the fact that Mrs. Madison, when the wife of the
Secretary of State, presided at Jefferson’s table during the absence of
his own family. But it was as the wife of the fourth President of the
United States that she inaugurated the golden reign of the President’s
house.

She was the only woman of absolute social genius, who ever presided in
this house. Thus the beneficence and brilliancy of her reign was never
approached before her time, and has never been equalled since.

It is a rare combination of gifts and graces which produces the
pre-eminent social queen, in any era or in any sphere. Mrs. Madison
seemed to possess them all. During the administration of her husband she
was openly declared to be “the most popular person in the United
States;” and now, after the lapse of generations, after hosts of women,
bright, beautiful and admired, have lived, reigned, died, and are
forgotten, “Dolly Madison” seems to abide to-day in Washington, a living
and beloved presence. The house in which her old age was spent, and from
which she passed to heaven, is every day pointed out to the stranger as
her abode. Her face abides with us as the face of a friend, while her
words and deeds are constantly recalled as authority, unquestioned and
benign.

When she began her reign in Washington, steamboats were the wonder of
the world; railroads undreamed of; turnpike roads scarcely begun; the
stagecoach slow, inconvenient, and cumbersome. The daughter of one
senator, who wished to enjoy the delights of the new capital, came five
hundred miles on horseback by her father’s side. The wife of a member
rode fifteen hundred miles on horseback, passed through several Indian
settlements, and spent nights without seeing a house in which she could
lodge. Under such difficulties did lovely women come to Washington, and
out of such material were blended the society of that conspicuous era.

When Mrs. Madison entered the President’s house, the strife between the
democratic and republican parties was at its highest. Washington, above
all party, had yet declared himself the advocate of the unity and force
of the central power. Jefferson had been the President of the
opposition, who wished the supremacy of the masses to overrule that of
the higher classes. On these contending factions Mrs. Madison shed
equally the balm of her benign nature. Not because she was without
opinions, but because she was without malignity or rancor of spirit.
Born and reared a “Friend,” she brought the troubled elements of
political society together in the bonds of peace. She possessed, in
pre-eminent degree, the power of intuitive adaptation to individuals,
however diversified in character, and the exquisite tact in dealing with
them, which always characterizes the true social queen. She loved human
beings and delighted in their fellowship. She never forgot an old
friend, and never neglected the opportunity of making a new one. She
banished from her drawing-room the stately forms and ceremonials which
had made the receptions of Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Adams very elegant
and rather dreadful affairs. She was very hospitable, and a table
bountifully loaded was her delight and pride. The abundance and size of
her dishes were objects of ridicule to a Foreign Minister, even when she
entertained as the wife of the Secretary of State, he declaring that her
entertainments were more like “a harvest home supper than the
entertainment of a Cabinet Minister.”

Mrs. Madison never forgot the name of any person to whom she had been
introduced, nor any incident connected with any person whom she knew.
Able to summon these at an instant’s notice, she instinctively made each
individual, who entered her presence, feel that he or she was an object
of especial interest. Nor was this mere society-manners. Genial and
warm-hearted, it was her happiness to make everybody feel as much at
ease as possible. This gentle kindness, the unknown and lowly shared
equally with the highest in worldly station. At one of her receptions
her attention was called to a rustic youth whose back was set against
the wall. Here he stood as if nailed to it, till he ventured to stretch
forth his hand and take a proffered cup of coffee. Mrs. Madison,
according to her wont, wishing to relieve his embarrassment, and put him
at his ease, walked up and spoke to him. The youth, astonished and
overpowered, dropped the saucer, and unconsciously thrust the cup into
his breeches pocket. “The crowd is so great, no one can avoid being
jostled,” said the gentle woman. “The servant will bring you another cup
of coffee. Pray, how did you leave your excellent mother? I had once the
honor of knowing her, but I have not seen her for some years.” Thus she
talked, till she made him feel that she was his friend, as well as his
mother’s. In time, he found it possible to dislodge the coffee cup from
his pocket, and to converse with the Juno-like lady in a crimson turban,
as if she were an old acquaintance.

Like Amelia Opie, and other beautiful “Friends,” who have shone amid
“the world’s people,” Mrs. Madison delighted in deep warm colors, the
very opposite of the silver grays of a demure Quakeress. At the
inauguration ball, when Jefferson, the outgoing President, came to
receive Madison, his successor, Mrs. Madison wore a robe of buff-colored
velvet, a Paris turban with a bird of paradise plume, with pearls on her
neck and arms. A chronicler of the event says that she “looked and moved
a queen.” Jefferson was all life and animation, while the new President
looked care-worn and pale. “Can you wonder at it?” said Jefferson. “My
shoulders have just been freed from a heavy burden—his just laden with
it.”

When a manager brought Mrs. Madison the first number in the dance, she
said, smiling: “I never dance; what shall I do with it?”

“Give it to the lady next to you,” was the answer.

“No, that would look like partiality.”

“Then I will,” said the manager, and presented it to her sister.

This lady, who filled every hour of prosperity with the rare sunshine of
her nature, in the hour of trial was not found wanting, and in the face
of danger rose to the dignity of heroism. Her gallant stay in the White
House, while her husband had gone to hold a council of war, and in spite
of every entreaty to leave it, is a proud fact of our history. In vain
friends brought a carriage to the door. She refused to enter it. The
following well-known letter to her sister, proves how bravely, womanly
was this heroine of the President’s house.

                                           TUESDAY, August 23, 1814.

  DEAR SISTER:—My husband left me yesterday to join General Winder. He
  enquired anxiously whether I had the courage or firmness to remain in
  the President’s house until his return, on the morrow, or succeeding
  day, and on my assurance that I had no fear but for him and the
  success of our army, he left me, beseeching me to take care of myself
  and of the Cabinet papers, public and private.

  I have since received two dispatches from him, written with a pencil;
  the last is alarming, because he desires that I should be ready at a
  moment’s warning, to enter my carriage and leave the city; that the
  enemy seemed stronger than had been reported, and that it might happen
  that they would reach the city with intention to destroy it.... I am
  accordingly ready; I have pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks
  as to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed, as
  it is impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am
  determined not to go myself, until I see Mr. Madison safe, and he can
  accompany me—as I hear of much hostility toward him.... Disaffection
  stalks around us. My friends and acquaintances are all gone, even
  Colonel C. with his hundred men, who were stationed as a guard in this
  enclosure.... French John (a faithful domestic) with his usual
  activity and resolution offers to spike the cannon at the gate, and
  lay a train of powder which would blow up the British, should they
  enter the house. To the last proposition, I positively object, without
  being able, however, to make him understand why all advantages in war
  may not be taken.

  _Wednesday morning, twelve o’clock._—Since sunrise, I have been
  turning my spy-glass in every direction and watching with unwearied
  anxiety, hoping to discover the approach of my dear husband and his
  friends; but, alas, I can descry only groups of military wandering in
  all directions, as if there was a lack of arms, or of spirits, to
  fight for their own firesides.

  _Three o’clock._—Will you believe it, my sister? we have had a battle,
  or a skirmish, near Bladensburg, and I am still here within sound of
  the cannon! Mr. Madison comes not; may God protect him! Two
  messengers, covered with dust, came to bid me fly; but I wait for
  him.... At this late hour a wagon has been procured; I have filled it
  with the plate and most valuable portable articles belonging to the
  house; whether it will reach its destination, the Bank of Maryland, or
  fall into the hands of British soldiery, events must determine. Our
  kind friend, Mr. Carroll, has come to hasten my departure, and is in a
  very bad humor with me because I insist on waiting until the large
  picture of General Washington is secured; and it requires to be
  unscrewed from the wall. This process was found too tedious for these
  perilous moments; I have ordered the frame to be broken and the canvas
  taken out; it is done, and the precious portrait placed in the hands
  of two gentlemen of New York for safe-keeping. And now, dear sister, I
  must leave this house or the retreating army will make me a prisoner
  in it, by filling up the road I am directed to take. When I shall
  again write to you, or where I shall be to-morrow, I cannot tell!

On their return, the President and Mrs. Madison occupied a private house
on Pennsylvania avenue till the White House was repaired. After it was
rebuilt and the treaty of peace signed, the _levées_ given in the East
Room, in the winter of 1816, are said to have been the most resplendent
ever witnessed in Washington. At these, congregated the Justices of the
Supreme Court in their gowns, the Diplomatic Corps in glittering
regalia, the Peace Commissioners and the officers of the late war in
full dress, and the queen of the occasion in gorgeous robes and turban
and bird of paradise plumes.

At one of these Presidential banquets Mrs. Madison offered Mr. Clay a
pinch of snuff from her beautiful box, taking one herself. She then put
her hand in her pocket, took out a bandanna handkerchief, applied it to
her nose and said: “Mr. Clay, this is for rough work,” and this,
touching the few remaining grains of snuff with a fine lace
handkerchief, “is my polisher.” This anecdote is an emphatic comment on
the change of customs, even in the most polished society. If Mrs. Grant,
to-day, were to perpetrate such an act at one of her _levées_, the fact
that it stands recorded against the graceful, gracious and glorious
Dolly Madison would not save her from the taunt of being “underbred” and
suggestive of the land of “snuff dippers.”

Another story of Mrs. Madison illustrates the real kindness of her
heart. Two plain old ladies from the West, halting in Washington for a
single night, yet most anxious to behold the President’s famous and
popular wife before their departure, meeting an old gentleman on the
street, timidly asked him to show them the way to the President’s house.
Happening to be an acquaintance of Mrs. Madison, he conducted them to
the White House. The President’s family were at breakfast, but Mrs.
Madison good-naturedly came out to them wearing a dark gray dress with a
white apron, and a linen handkerchief pinned around her neck. Not
overcome by her plumage, and set at ease by her welcome, when they rose
to depart one said: “P’rhaps you wouldn’t mind if I jest kissed you, to
tell my gals about.”

Mrs. Madison, not to be outdone, kissed each of her guests, who planted
their spectacles on their noses with delight, and then departed.

Poverty compelled Martha Jefferson to part with Monticello after her
father’s death, and the same cruel foe forced Mrs. Madison to sell
Montpelier in her widowhood.

A special message of President Jackson to Congress, concerning the
contents of a letter from Mrs. Madison, offering to the government her
husband’s manuscript record of the debates in Congress of the convention
during the years 1782-1787, caused Congress to purchase it of her, as a
national work, for the sum of thirty thousand dollars. In a subsequent
act Congress gave to Mrs. Madison the honorary privilege of copyright in
foreign countries. The degree of veneration in which she was held may be
judged by the fact that Congress conferred upon Mrs. Madison the
franking privilege and unanimously voted her a seat upon the Senate
floor whenever she honored it with her presence; two privileges never
conferred upon any other American woman.

The last twelve years of her life were spent in Washington, in a house
still standing on Lafayette square. Here, on New Year’s day and Fourth
of July, she held public receptions, the dignitaries of the nation,
after paying their respects at the White House, passing directly to the
abode of the venerable widow of the fourth President of the United
States—a woman who had honored her high station by her high qualities
more than it could possibly honor her.

She died at her home, Lafayette square, Washington, July, 1849, holding
her mental faculties unimpaired to the last. In her later days, while
suffering from great debility, she took extreme delight in having old
letters read to her, whose associations were so remote that they were
unknown to all about, but yet which brought back to her her own beloved
past. She delighted, also, in listening to the reading of the Bible—and
it was while hearing a portion of the gospel of St. John that she passed
in peace into her last sleep.

Mrs. Madison was not the last President’s wife whom the dangers of war
exalted to heroism. Yet, with a few exceptions, she has been followed by
a line of ladies of average gifts and graces, whose domestic virtues and
negative characters are seen but dimly through the reflected glory of
their President husbands’ administrations. The faint outline which we
catch of Mrs. Monroe is that of a serene and aristocratic woman, too
well bred ever to be visibly moved by anything—at least in public. She
was Elizabeth Kortright, of New York—an ex-British officer’s daughter, a
_belle_ who was ridiculed by her gay friends for having refused more
brilliant adorers to accept a plain member of Congress.

During Mr. Monroe’s ministry to Paris, she was called “_la belle
Americaine_,” and entertained the most stately society of the old
_régime_ with great elegance. The only individual act which has survived
her career, as the wife of the American minister to France, is her visit
to Madame Lafayette in prison. The indignities heaped on this grand and
truly great woman, were hard to be borne by an American, to whom the
very name of Lafayette was endeared. The carriage of the American
minister appeared at the jail. Mrs. Monroe was at last conducted to the
cell of the emaciated prisoner. The Marchioness, beholding the stranger
sister woman, sank at her feet, too weak to utter her joy. That very
afternoon she was to have been beheaded. Instead of the messenger
commanding her to prepare for the guillotine, she beheld a woman and a
friend! From the first moment of its existence the American Republic had
_prestige_ in France. The visit of the American ambassadress changed the
minds of the blood-thirsty tyrants. Madame Lafayette was liberated the
next morning,—she gladly accepted her own freedom, that she might go and
share the dungeon of her husband.

The same quiet splendor of spirit and bearing reigned through Mrs.
Monroe in the unfinished “White House.” Mrs. Madison maintained the
courtly forms copied from foreign courts—but the richness of her
temperament and the warmth of her heart pervaded all the atmosphere
around her with a genial glow. Mrs. Monroe mingled very little in the
society of Washington, and secluded herself from the public gaze, except
when the duties of her position compelled her to appear. Her love was
for silence, obscurity, peace, not for bustle, confusion, or glare. Yet,
even in her courtly reign, “the dear people” were many and strong enough
to arise and push on to their rights in the “people’s house.”

James Fennimore Cooper has left on record a letter describing a state
dinner and _levée_, during Mr. Monroe’s time, and any one who has
survived a latter-day jam at the President’s house, will say it was
precisely what a Presidential reception was in the stately Monroe day.
Says Mr. Cooper:

  The evening at the White House, or drawing-room, as it is sometimes
  pleasantly called, is in fact, a collection of all classes of people
  who choose to go to the trouble and expense of appearing in dresses
  suited to an evening party. I am not sure that even dress is very much
  regarded, for I certainly saw a good many there in boots....Squeezing
  through a crowd, we achieved a passage to a part of the room where
  Mrs. Monroe was standing, surrounded by a bevy of female friends.
  After making our bow here, we sought the President. The latter had
  posted himself at the top of the room, where he remained most of the
  evening, shaking hands with all who approached. Near him stood the
  Secretaries and a great number of the most distinguished men of the
  nation. Besides these, one meets here a great variety of people in
  other conditions of life. I have known a cartman to leave his horse in
  the street, and go into the reception room, to shake hands with the
  President. He offended the good taste of all present, because it was
  not thought decent that a laborer should come in a dirty dress on such
  an occasion; but while he made a mistake in this particular, he proved
  how well he understood the difference between government and society.

It is very doubtful, however, if a cartman would have found it possible
to have paid his respects to the government in the person of Washington,
in such a plight. Such a visitor in the Blue Room, to-day, would make a
sensation. In spite of the “cartman,” we read that at Mrs. Monroe’s
drawing-rooms “elegance of dress was absolutely required.” On one
occasion, Mr. Monroe refused admission to a near relative, who happened
not to have a suit of small-clothes and silk hose, in which to present
himself at a public reception. He was driven to the necessity of
borrowing.

When the Monroes entered the White House, it had been partly rebuilt
from its burning in 1814, but it could boast of few comforts, and no
elegance. The ruins of the former building lay in heaps about the
mansion; the grounds were not fenced, and the street before it in such a
condition that it was an hourly sight to see several four-horse wagons
“stalled” before the house. In the early part of the administration, the
East Room was the play-room of Mrs. Monroe’s daughters. It was during
her reign here that the stately furniture, which now stands in the East
Room, was bought by the government in Paris. Each article was surmounted
by the royal crown of Louis XVIII. This was removed, and the American
Eagle took its place. These chairs and sofas have more than once been
“made over, good as new,” but the original eagles remain, more brightly
burnished than ever. May they gleam forever, and let no “modern
furniture,” with surface gilding and thin veneering, take the place of
this historic furniture, in the Nation’s house, fraught, as it is, with
so many memories of the illustrious dead.




                             CHAPTER XXII.
             NOTED WOMEN OF WASHINGTON—A CHAPTER OF GOSSIP.

Quaint Habiliments—Portrait of a President’s Wife—A Travelling Lady—Life
    in Russia—A Model American Minister—A Long and Lonely Journey—When
    Napoleon Returned from Elba—The Court of St. James—“Mrs. Adams’
    Ball”—Mr. John Agg’s Little “Poem”—Verses which Our Fathers
    Endured—Peculiar Waists—Costume of an Ancient _Belle_—Fearful and
    Wonderful Attire of a _Beau_—“A Suit of Steel”—“Smiling for the
    Presidency”—Attending Two Balls the Same Evening—An Ascendant Star—A
    Man who Hid his Feelings—The Candidate at a Cattle Show—“She Often
    Combed Your Head”—“I Suppose She Combs Yours Now”—Giving “Tone” to
    the Whole Country—A Circle of “Rare” Women—A “Perpetual Honor to
    Womanhood”—Charles’s Opinion of His Mother—How a Lady “Amused” Her
    Declining Days—Lafayette’s Visit to Washington—His Farewell to
    America—“A Species of Irregular Diary”—“For the Benefit of My
    Grandfather”—Mrs. Andrew Jackson—A Woman’s Influence—Politics and
    Piety Disagree—Why the General Didn’t Join the Church—A Head “Full
    of Politics”—Swearing Some—The President Becomes a Good Boy—Domestic
    Tendencies—His Greatest Loss—Sad News from the Hermitage.


The portrait which Leslie gives us of Louisa Catharine Johnson, the wife
of John Quincy Adams, reminds us in outline and costume of the Empress
Josephine and the Court of the first Napoleon.

She wears the scanty robe of the period, its sparse outline revealing
the slender elegance of the figure, the low waist and short sleeves
trimmed with lace and edged with pearls. One long glove is drawn nearly
to the elbow, the other is held in the hand, which droops carelessly
over the back of the chair. There is a necklace round the throat. From
over one shoulder, and thrown over her lap, is a mantle of exquisite
lace. The close bands of the hair, edged with a few deft curls, and
fastened high at the back with a coronet comb, reveals the classic
outline of the small head; the face is oval, the features delicate and
vivacious; the eyes, looking far on, are beautiful in their clear,
spiritual gaze. This is the portrait of a President’s wife, whose early
advantages of society and culture far transcended those of almost any
other woman of her time.

The daughter of Joshua Johnson, of Maryland, she was born, educated and
married in London. As a bride she went to the court of Berlin, to which
her husband was appointed American Minister on the accession of his
father to the Presidency. In 1801 she went to Boston, to dwell with her
husband’s people, but very soon came to Washington as the wife of a
senator. On the accession of Madison, leaving her two elder children
with their grandparents, she took a third, not two years of age, and
embarked with her husband for Russia, whither he went as United States
Minister.

Nothing could be more graphic than the diary which she kept on this
voyage. It consumed three months. Summer merged into winter before the
little wave-and-wind-beaten bark touched that then inhospitable shore.
The first American Minister to Russia, Mr. Adams lived in St. Petersburg
for six years, “poor, studious, ambitious and secluded.” Happily for
him, his wife possessed mental and spiritual resources, which lifted her
above all dependence on surface or conventional attention from the
world, and made her in every respect the meet companion of a scholar and
patriot.

In the wake of furious war, through storm and snow-drifts, through a
country ravaged by passion and strife, she traveled alone, with her only
child, from St. Petersburg to Paris, whither she went to meet her
husband. Here she witnessed the storm of delight which greeted Napoleon
on his return from Elba. Mr. Adams was appointed Minister to the Court
of St. James, and after a separation of six years Mrs. Adams was
re-united to her children.

In 1817 Mr. Monroe, on his accession to the Presidency, immediately
appointed John Quincy Adams Secretary of State, when Mrs. Adams returned
with him to Washington. For eight years she was the elegant successor of
Mrs. Madison, who filled the same position with so much distinction. No
one was excluded from her house on account of political hostility—all
sectional bitterness and party strife were banished from her
drawing-rooms.

As the wife of the Secretary of State, Mrs. Adams gave a famous ball,
whose fame still lives in Washington. “Mrs. Adams’s Ball” lives in
history as well as in the memories of a few still living. It was given
January 8th, 1824, in commemoration of General Jackson’s victory at New
Orleans. It was announced in advance by the newspapers, and on the
morning before its occurrence its splendor was anticipated and
celebrated by the following lines written by Mr. John Agg, who has
passed into oblivion, although his early poems in his native England
were said to have been taken for Byron’s, and although he was one of the
first of newspaper correspondents and the first short-hand reporter ever
in Washington.

The ladies referred to in the following lines were among the most
celebrated beauties of their day, many of whose descendants still live
in Washington.

                           MRS. ADAMS’S BALL.

[From the Washington _Republican_, Jan. 8th, 1824.]

          Wend you with the world to-night?
          Brown and fair, and wise and witty,
          Eyes that float in seas of light,
          Laughing mouths and dimples pretty,
          _Belles_ and matrons, maids and madams,
          All are gone to Mrs. Adams’s.
          There the mist of the future, the gloom of the past,
          All melt into light at the warm glance of pleasure;
          And the only regret is, lest melting too fast,
          Mammas should move off in the midst of a measure.

          Wend you with the world to-night?
          Sixty grey, and giddy twenty,
          Flirts that court, and prudes that slight,
          Stale coquettes and spinsters plenty.
          Mrs. Sullivan is there
          With all the charms that nature lent her;
          Gay M’Kim, with city air,
          And charming Gales, and Vandeventer;
          Forsyth, with her group of graces;
          Both the Crowninshields in blue;
          The Peirces, with their heavenly faces,
          And eyes like suns, that dazzle through;
          _Belles_ and matrons, maids and madams,
          All are gone to Mrs. Adams’s.

          Wend you with the world to-night?
          East and West, and South and North,
          Form a constellation bright,
          And pour a blended brilliance forth.
          See the tide of fashion flowing,
          ’Tis the noon of beauty’s reign;
          Webster, Hamiltons are going,
          Eastern Lloyd and Southern Hayne;
          Western Thomas, gaily smiling;
          Borland, nature’s _protégé_;
          Young De Wolfe, all hearts beguiling;
          Morgan, Benton, Brown and Lee;
          _Belles_ and matrons, maids and madams.
          All are gone to Mrs. Adams’s.

          Wend you with the world to-night?
          Where blue eyes are brightly glancing,
          While to measures of delight
          Fairy feet are deftly dancing;
          Where the young Euphrosyne
          Reigns, the sovereign of the scene,
          Chasing gloom and courting glee
          With the merry tambourine.
          Many a form of fairy birth,
          Many a Hebe yet unwon;
          Wirt, a gem of purest worth,
          Lively, laughing Pleasanton,
          Vails and Taylor will be there;
          Gay Monroe, so _débonnaire_,
          Helen, pleasure’s harbinger,
          Ramsay, Cottringers, and Kerr;
          _Belles_ and matrons, maids and madams,
          All are gone to Mrs. Adams’s.

          Wend you with the world to-night?
          Juno in her court presides,
          Mirth and melody invite,
          Fashion points and pleasure guides!
          Haste away then, seize the hour,
          Shun the thorn and pluck the flower.
          Youth, in all its spring-time blooming,
          Age, the guise of youth assuming,
          Wit, through all its circle gleaming,
          Glittering wealth, and beauty beaming;
          _Belles_ and matrons, maids and madams,
          All are gone to Mrs. Adams’s.

The picture of this celebrated entertainment is still extant, and shows
the _belles_ in the full dress of the period, when the dress waists
ended just under the arms, and its depth, front and back, was not over
three or four inches. The skirts, narrow and plain, were terminated by a
flounce just resting on the floor. The gloves reached to the elbow, and
were of such fine kid that they were often imported in the shell of an
English walnut. Slippers and silk stockings of the color of the dress
were worn, crossed and tied with gay ribbons over the instep. The hair
was combed high, fastened with a tortoise-shell comb—the married ladies
wearing ostrich feathers and turbans. While the _belles_ were thus
attired, their _beaux_ were decked in blue coats, and gilt buttons, with
white or buff waistcoats, white neck-ties and high “chokers,” silk
stockings and pumps.

In this picture Daniel Webster, Clay and Calhoun are conspicuous in this
dress. General Jackson, wearing bowed pumps, with Mrs. Adams on his arm,
make the central figures of the assembly. Mrs. Adams wore “a suit of
steel.” The dress was composed of steel llama; her ornaments for head,
throat and arms, were all of cut steel, producing a dazzling effect.
General Jackson’s entire devotion to her, during the evening, was the
subject of comment. After the manner of to-day, it was declared that he
was “smiling for the Presidency.” He was the lion of the evening. All
the houses of the first ward were illuminated in his honor. Bonfires
made the streets light as day, and the “sovereign people” shouted his
name and fame. The same evening, he attended a ball given by the famous
dancing-master, Carusi, and finished the festivities, celebrating his
glory by the side of the reigning lady, the wife of the Secretary of
State.

That night fixed his presidential star in the ascendency. A few days
later the name of Calhoun was withdrawn as the nominee of his party, and
that of Jackson put in its place. The house, a double one, in which this
famous ball was given, still stands unaltered, on F street, opposite the
Ebbitt House. A portion of it was long occupied as lodgings by Hon.
Charles Sumner.

Through fiery opposition, John Quincy Adams was elected President. From
the time she became mistress of the President’s house, failing health
inclined Mrs. Adams to seek seclusion, but she still continued to
preside at public receptions. Her vivacity and pleasing manners did much
to warm the chill caused by Mr. Adams’ apathy or apparent coldness.
Those who knew him, declared that he had the warmest heart and the
deepest sympathies, but he had an unfortunate way of hiding them. It is
told that when he was candidate for the Presidency, his friends
persuaded him to go to a cattle show. Among the persons who ventured to
address him, was a respectable farmer who impulsively exclaimed: “Mr.
Adams, I am very glad to see you. My wife, when she was a gal, lived in
your father’s family; you were then a little boy, and she has often
combed your head.”

“Well,” said Mr. Adams, in a harsh voice, “I suppose she combs yours
now?”

The poor farmer slunk back extinguished. If he gave John Quincy his
vote, he was more magnanimous than the average citizen of to-day would
be to so rude a candidate.

A writer of her time speaks of Mrs. Adams’ “enchanting, elegant and
intellectual _régime_,” declaring that it should give tone to the whole
country. Her fine culture, intellectual tastes, and charming social
qualities, combined to attract about her a circle of rare and
distinguished women. Among these were Mrs. Richard Rush, Mrs. Van
Rensselaer, the wife of the Patroon, and Mrs. Edward Livingston.
Notwithstanding the opposition of her husband’s politics, Mrs.
Livingston was Mrs. Adams’ most intimate friend; a lady whom any land
might be proud to claim, and whose memory lives a perpetual honor to
womanhood.

Mrs. Adams’ son, Charles Francis Adams, writing of his mother in 1839,
says:

  “The attractions of great European capitals, and the dissipations
  consequent upon high official stations at home, though continued
  through that part of her life when habits become the most fixed, have
  done nothing to change the natural elegance of her manners, nor the
  simplicity of her tastes.... To the world, Mrs. Adams presents a fine
  example of the possibility of retiring from the circles of fashion,
  and the external fascinations of life, in time still to retain a taste
  for the more quiet, though less showy attractions of the domestic
  hearth.

  A strong literary taste, which has caused her to read much, and a
  capacity for composition in prose and verse, have been resources for
  her leisure moments; not with a view to that exhibition which renders
  such accomplishments too often fatal to the more delicate shades of
  feminine character, but for her own gratification, and that of a few
  relatives and friends.

  The late President Adams used to draw much amusement, in his latest
  years at Quincy, from the accurate delineation of Washington manners
  and character, which was regularly transmitted, for a considerable
  period, in letters from her pen. And if, as time advances, she becomes
  gradually less able to devote her sense of sight to reading and
  writing, her practice of the more homely virtues of manual industry,
  so highly commended in the final chapter of the book of Solomon, still
  amuses the declining days of her varied career.”

Mrs. Adams was the “lady of the White House” when, in 1825, Lafayette
visited the United States, and, at the invitation of the President,
spent the last weeks of his stay at the “Executive Mansion,” from which,
on the seventh of September, he bade his pathetic farewell to the land
of his adoption.

Notwithstanding the rare qualities of mind and heart which she brought
to it, and the popularity which she attained in it, her son writes:

  “Her residence in the President’s house I have always considered as
  the period she enjoyed the least during the public career of my
  father. All this appears more or less in her letters, and especially
  in a species of irregular diary which she kept for some time at
  Washington, for the benefit of my grandfather, John Adams, then living
  at Quincy, and of her brother, who was residing in New Orleans.”

Mrs. Adams died May 14, 1852, and was buried beside her husband, in the
family burying ground at Quincy, Massachusetts.

                  *       *       *       *       *

In mental attainments, there was an absolute contrast between Mrs. Adams
and Rachel Donaldson, the next President’s wife.

Mrs. Andrew Jackson never entered the President’s house in visible form,
for she had passed from earth before her husband became the Chief
Magistrate of the Nation. Yet it is doubtful if the wife of any other
President ever exerted so powerful and positive an influence over an
administration in life as did she in death.

Born and reared on the frontiers of civilization, her educational
advantages had been most scanty, and she never mastered more than the
simplest rudiments of knowledge. Yet, looking on her pictured face, it
is easy to fathom and define the power which, through life and beyond
the grave, held the master will of the husband who loved her in sweet
abeyance. It was a power purely womanly—the affectional force of a woman
of exalted moral nature and deep affections. It was impossible that such
a woman should use arts to win love, and equally impossible that she
should not be loved. Men would love her instinctively, through the best
and highest in their natures.

With the wound of her loss fresh and bleeding, President Jackson entered
upon his high office. Thus in death Rachel Jackson became the tutelary
saint of the President’s house. Wherever he went, he wore her miniature.
No matter what had been the duties or pleasures of the day, when the man
came back to himself, and to his lonely room, her Bible and her picture
took the place of the beloved face and tender presence which had been
the one charm and love of his heroic life.

No other President’s wife looks down upon posterity with so winsome and
innocent a gaze as Rachel Jackson. A cap of soft lace surmounts the dark
curls which cluster about her forehead, falling veil-like over her
shoulders. The full lace ruffle around her neck is not fastened with
even a brooch, and, save the long pendants in her ears, she wears no
ornaments. Her throat is massive, her lips full and sweet in expression,
her brow broad and rounded, her eye-brows arching above a pair of large,
liquid, gazelle-like eyes, whose soft, feminine outlook is sure to win
and to disarm the beholder. This remarkable loveliness of spirit and
person was the source of fatal sorrow to Rachel Jackson. It won her
reverence, amounting almost to adoration, but it made her also the
victim of jealousy, envy and malice. These made the shadow always flung
athwart the sunshine of love which made her life.

She was a woman of deep personal piety, and longed for nothing so much
as the time when her husband would be done with political honors, as he
had assured her that then, and not till then, could he “be a Christian.”
The following anecdote, told by the late Judge Bryan of Washington,
illustrates the piety of her character and the profound personal
influence she held over the moral nature of her husband:

The father of Judge Bryan, an intimate friend of Mrs. Jackson, was on a
visit to the Hermitage. Mrs. Jackson talked to him of religion, gave him
a hymn to read that was sung at a late funeral, and said the General was
disposed to be religious, and she believed would join the church but for
the coming presidential election; that his head was now full of
politics. While they were conversing, the General came in with a
newspaper in his hand, to which he referred as denouncing his mother as
a camp follower. “This is too bad!” he exclaimed, rising into a passion
and swearing terribly as our “army in Flanders.” When nearly out of
breath, his wife approached him and, looking him in his face, simply
said: _Mr._ Jackson. He was subdued in an instant, and did not utter
another oath.

In the same presidential contest this gentle being did not herself
escape calumny. When her husband was elected President of the United
States, she said: “For Mr. Jackson’s sake, I am glad; for my own, I
never wished it.” To an intimate friend she said in all sincerity: “I
assure you I would rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God than
to dwell in that palace in Washington.” Dearer to her heart was the
Hermitage, with the little chapel built by her husband for her own
especial use, than all the prospective pomp of the President’s house.

She was a mother to every servant on the estate, and anxious to make
every one comfortable during her absence in Washington. She made
numerous journeys to Nashville, to purchase, for all left behind, their
winter supplies. Worn out, after a day’s shopping, she went to the
parlor of the Nashville Inn to rest. While she waited there for the
family coach which was to convey her back to the Hermitage, she heard
her own name spoken in the adjoining room. She was compelled to hear,
while she sat there, pale and smitten, the false and cruel calumnies
against herself which had so recklessly been used during the campaign to
defeat her husband, and which he had zealously excluded from her sight
in the newspapers. Here the arrow came back from the misfortune of her
youth, when she married a man intellectually and morally her inferior,
from whom she was afterwards divorced, and it entered her gentle heart
too deep to be withdrawn. She was seized almost immediately with
spasmodic disease of the heart. Everything possible was done for her
relief without avail. A few nights afterwards she exclaimed: “I am
fainting,” was lifted to her bed, and in a few moments had breathed her
last sigh.

The grief of her husband amounted to agony. It seemed for a time that
his frame must break under such grief, but he lived to worship and serve
her memory for many years. December 23, 1828, a great ball and banquet
was to have been given in Nashville, in honor of General Jackson’s
victory at New Orleans. The whole city was gay with preparations, when
the word came from the Hermitage: “The President’s wife is dead!”

From that hour her husband seemed to live to avenge her wrongs and to
honor her memory. Probably into no other administration of the
government, from its first to the present, has personal feeling had so
much to do with official appointments as in the offices emptied and
filled by Andrew Jackson. It had only to enter his suspicion that a man
had failed to espouse the cause of the beloved Rachel, and his unlucky
official head immediately came off. It was told him that Mr. Watterson,
the Librarian of Congress, had told, or listened to something to the
detriment of Mrs. Jackson, and Mr. Watterson was immediately deposed.
Thus she was avenged at times, probably in acts of personal injustice,
but in her own pure tones she spoke through him in all the higher acts
of his administration. Thus it was in spirit that Rachel Jackson lived
and reigned at the White House.

The “lovely Emily” Donelson, wife of Andrew Jackson Donelson, Mrs.
Jackson’s nephew and adopted son, with Mrs. Andrew Jackson, Jr., the
wife of another adopted son, shared together the social honors of the
White House during the administration of President Jackson. The delicate
question of precedence between them was thus settled by him. He said to
Mrs. Jackson: “You, my dear, are mistress of the Hermitage, and Emily is
hostess of the White House.”

This Emily was of remarkable beauty, strongly resembling Mary, Queen of
Scots. Her manners were of singular fascination, and she dressed with
exquisite taste. The dress she wore at the first inauguration is still
preserved. It is an amber-colored satin, brocaded with _bouquets_ of
rose-leaves and violets, trimmed with white lace and pearls. It was a
present from General Jackson, and even at that day, before “Jenkins”
supposed birth, it was described in every paper of the Union. General
Jackson always called her “my daughter.” She was the child of Mrs.
Jackson’s brother, and married to her cousin. She was quick at repartee,
and possessed the rare gift of being able to listen gracefully. A
foreign minister once said: “Madame, you dance with the grace of a
Parisian. I can hardly realize that you were educated in Tennessee.”

“Count, you forget,” was the spirited reply, “that grace is a
cosmopolite, and, like a wild flower, is found oftener in the woods than
in the streets of a city.”

Her four children were all born in the White House. But in the midst of
its honors, in the flower of her youth, “the lovely Emily” went out from
its portals to die. She sought the softer airs of “Tulip Grove,” her
home in Tennessee, where she died of consumption, December, 1836. A lady
gives the following picture of an evening scene at the White House, in
the early part of Jackson’s administration:

  “The large parlor was scantily furnished; there was light from the
  chandelier, and a blazing fire in the grate; four or five ladies
  sewing around it; Mrs. Donelson, Mrs. Andrew Jackson, Jr., Mrs. Edward
  Livingston. Five or six children were playing about, regardless of
  documents or work-baskets. At the farther end of the room sat the
  President, in his arm-chair, wearing a long loose coat, and smoking a
  long reed pipe, with bowl of red clay—combining the dignity of the
  patriarch, monarch, and Indian chief. Just behind, was Edward
  Livingston, the Secretary of State, reading a dispatch from the French
  Minister for Foreign Affairs. The ladies glance admiringly, now and
  then, at the President, who listens, waving his pipe toward the
  children, when they become too boisterous.”




                             CHAPTER XXIII.
            SCENES AT THE WHITE HOUSE—MEN AND WOMEN OF NOTE.

Widows “at par”—Four Sonless Presidents—Supported by Flattery—A Delicate
    Constitution—Living to a Respectable Age—Teaching Her Grandsons How
    to Fight—Inheriting Religion—“Another Sensitive, Saintly Soul”—A
    Pathetic Reminiscence—A Perfect Gentlewoman—A Stately Black-eyed
    Matron—A Lady of the Old School—Obeying St. Paul—A Woman Who “Kept
    Silence”—“Sarah Knows Where It Is”—Commanding “Superlative
    Respect”—An English Lady “Impressed”—Three Queens in the
    Background—A Very Handsome Woman—Retiring from Active Life—A Lady’s
    Heroism—“My Home, the Battle-field”—A Man Who Kept to His Post—A
    Life in the Savage Wilderness—A Life’s Devotion—The Colonel’s Brave
    Wife—The Conquering Hero from Mexico—Objecting to the
    Presidency—“Betty Bliss”—The Reigning Lady—An Overpowering
    Reception—“A Bright and Beaming Creature, Dressed Simply in
    White”—An Inclination for Retirement—The Penalty of Greatness—Death
    in the White House—A Wife’s Prayers—A New _Regime_—The Clothier’s
    Apprentice and the School Teacher—The Future President Builds His
    Own House—Becomes a Lawyer—Chosen Representative—Domestic
    Happiness—Twenty-seven Years of Married Life—“A Matron of Commanding
    Person”—A Scarcity of Books—Home “Comforts” at the White House—The
    Memory of a Loving Wife—A Well Balanced Young Lady.


Three of the first four Presidents of the United States married widows.
Jefferson, Jackson, Martin Van Buren, and Tyler, were all widowers while
occupying the White House. Neither Washington, Jefferson, Madison, or
Monroe, left sons to succeed them. The wife of Martin Van Buren died in
her youth, long before he had grown to high political honors. She had
been dead seventeen years when, as the eighth President of the United
States, he entered the White House. During his administration, its
social honors were dispensed by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Abram Van
Buren, born Angelica Singleton, of South Carolina, who entered upon her
duties and pleasures as a bride. She was of illustrious lineage,
possessed finely cultivated powers, and “is said to have borne the
fatigue of a three hours’ _levée_ with a patience and pleasantry
inexhaustible.” Doubtless she shared some of the help which bore Mr.
Monroe triumphantly through a similar scene.

“Are you not completely worn out?” inquired a friend.

“O, no,” replied the President. “A little flattery will support a man
through great fatigue.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

Anna Symnes, the wife of President Harrison, a lady of strong
intelligence and deep piety, never came to the White House. Her delicate
health forbade it, when her husband made his presidential journey to
Washington. In a little more than a month he was borne back to her,
redeemed by death. She survived, almost to the age of ninety, to bid
sons and grandsons Godspeed when they went forth to fight for their
country—as she had bidden her gallant husband the same, when he left her
amid her flock of little ones, in the days of her youth, for the same
cause. From time to time sons and grandsons came from the field of
battle to receive her blessing anew. She said to one: “Go, my son. Your
country needs your services. I do not. I feel that my prayers in your
behalf will be heard, and that you will return in safety.” And the
grandson did come back to receive her final blessing, after many
hard-fought battles. Her only surviving son writes: “That I am a firm
believer in the religion of Christ, is not a virtue of mine. I imbibed
it at my mother’s breast, and can no more divest myself of it, than of
my nature.”


Mrs. Letitia Christian Tyler, wife of the tenth President of the United
States, was another sensitive, saintly soul, whose children rise up
to-day, and call her blessed. She died in the White House, September 10,
1842. Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Robert Tyler, writing of the event,
says:

  “Nothing can exceed the loneliness of this large and gloomy mansion,
  hung with black, its walls echoing only sighs and groans. My poor
  husband suffered dreadfully when he was told his mother’s eyes were
  constantly turned to the door, watching for him. He had left
  Washington to bring me and the children, at her request. She had every
  thing about her to awaken love. She was beautiful to the eye, even in
  her illness; her complexion was clear as an infant’s, her figure
  perfect, and her hands and feet were the most delicate I ever saw. She
  was refined and gentle in every thing that she said and did; and,
  above all, a pure and spotless Christian. She was my _beau ideal_ of a
  perfect gentlewoman.

  “The devotion of father and sons to her was most affecting. I don’t
  think I ever saw her enter a room that all three did not spring up to
  lead her to a chair, to arrange her footstool, and caress and pet
  her.”

Mrs. Robert Tyler presided at the White House till June, 1844, when
President Tyler was married to Julia Gardiner, of Gardiner’s Island, New
York, a youthful beauty and _belle_. After many vicissitudes Mrs. Tyler
entered the Catholic church, and now resides in Georgetown. Like Mrs.
Madison, she has returned to the scenes of her early triumphs, and
during the sessions of Congress may often be seen in the diplomatic
gallery of the senate chamber, a stately black-eyed matron dressed in
deep mourning.

Mrs. Polk, intellectually, was one of the most marked women who ever
presided in the White House. A lady of the old school, educated in a
strict Moravian Institute, her attainments were more than ordinary, her
understanding stronger than that of average women; but she obeyed St.
Paul, and held her gifts in silence. She never astonished or offended
her visitors by revealing to them the depth or breadth of her
intelligence; nevertheless she used that intelligence as a power—the
power behind the throne. Never a politician, in a day when politics, by
precedent and custom, were forbidden grounds to women, she no less was
thoroughly conversant with all public affairs, and made it a part of her
duty to inform herself thoroughly on all subjects which concerned her
country, or her husband.

She was her husband’s private secretary, and, probably, was the only
lady of the White House who ever filled that office. She took charge of
his papers, he trusting entirely to her memory and method for their safe
keeping. If he wanted a document, long before labeled and “pigeonholed,”
he said: “Sarah knows where it is;” and it was “Sarah’s” ever ready hand
that laid it before his eyes. At the age of twenty she came to
Washington as the wife of Mr. Polk, then a Member of Congress from
Tennessee. Many years of her youth and prime were spent at the Capital,
and, as she had no children, she had more than ordinary opportunity to
devote herself exclusively to the service of her husband. She was the
wife of the Speaker of the House before she was the wife of the
President of the United States, and in every position seems to have
commanded superlative respect and admiration on her own behalf, aside
from the honor always paid to the person holding high station. Many
poems in the public prints were addressed to her—one, while she was the
wife of a Member of Congress, by Judge Story. When her husband became
the President, Mrs. Polk was deemed the supreme ornament of the White
House, and the public journals of the land broke forth into gratulation
that the domestic life of the Nation’s house was to be represented by
one who honored American womanhood. Mrs. Polk was tall, slender, and
stately, with much dignity of bearing, and a manner said to resemble
that of Mrs. Madison. The stateliness of her presence was conspicuous,
and so impressed an English lady, that she declared that “not one of the
three queens whom she had seen, could compare with the truly feminine,
yet distinguished presence of Mrs. Polk.”

Mrs. Polk was considered a very handsome woman. Her hair and eyes were
very black, and she had the complexion of a Spanish donna. Without being
technically “literary,” she was fond of study, and of intellectual
pursuits, and possessed a decided talent for conversation. In her youth,
she became a member of the Presbyterian church, and through a long life
her character has been eminently a Christian one. Always devout, her
piety in later years is said to have merged into austerity; but even in
the prime of her beauty and power, she never gave her smile or presence
to the dissipation, the insidiously corrupting influence of what is
termed “gay life in Washington,” whose baleful exponent to-day is the
all-night “German” so destructive to freshness of beauty and purity of
soul.

Mrs. Polk still lives at “Polk Place,” Nashville, Tennessee, a stately
and noble home, like the Hermitage in this respect, that the mortal
remains of its master, amid verdure and flowers, beneath the shadow of
its trees, await the final call. The inscription on the monument, to the
memory of President Polk, is in Mrs. Polk’s own words; and here, in this
home, consecrated by his death, the venerable widow of the eleventh
President of the United States peacefully awaits the summons which will
recall her to the Soul whose life and name it has been her chief earthly
glory to embellish and to represent.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Taylor, the wife of General Taylor, the twelfth President of the
United States, was one of those unknown heroines of whom fame keeps no
record. Her life, in its self-abnegation and wifely devotion, under
every stress of privation and danger on the Indian’s trail, amid
fever-breeding swamps, and on the edge of the battle-field, was more
heroic than that ever dreamed of by Martha Washington—or continuously
lived by any Presidential lady of the Revolution—yet time will never
give her a chronicler.

When General Taylor received the official announcement that he was
elected President of the United States, among other things he said: “For
more than a quarter of a century my house has been the tent, and my home
the battle-field.” This utterance was simply true, and through all these
years, this precarious house and home were shared by his devoted wife.
He was one of the hardest worked of fighting officers. Intervals of
official repose at West Point and Washington never came to this young
“Indian fighter.” His life was literally spent in the savage wilderness,
but whether in the swamps of Florida, on the plains of Mexico, or on the
desolate border of the frontier, the young wife persistently followed,
loved and served him. Thus all her children were born, and kept with her
till old enough to live without her care; then, for their own sakes, she
gave them up, and sent them back to “the settlements,” for the education
indispensable to their future lives—but, whatever the cost, she stayed
with her husband.

The devotion to duty, and the cheerfulness under privation of this
tender woman—the wife of their chief,—penetrated the whole of his
pioneer army. It made every man more contented and uncomplaining, when
he thought of her. Her entire married life had been spent thus; but when
her husband, as Colonel Taylor, took command against the treacherous
Seminoles, in the Florida war, when the newspapers heralded the new-made
discovery, that the wife of Colonel Taylor had established herself at
Tampa Bay, it was considered unpardonably reckless, that she should thus
risk her life, when the odds of success seemed all against her husband.
Nothing could move her from her post. As ever, she superintended the
cooking of his food; she ministered to the sick and wounded; she upheld
the _morale_ of the little army by the steadfastness of her own
self-possession and hope, through all the long and terrible struggle.
Time passed, and the brave Colonel of the Border became the conquering
hero from Mexico, bearing triumphantly back to peace the victories of
Palo Alto, Monterey, and Buena Vista, inscribed upon his banners. The
obscure “Indian fighter” was at once the hero and idol of the Nation.
The long day of battle and glory was ended at last, the wife
thought,—and now she, the General, their children, in a four-roomed
home, were to be kept together at last, in peace unbroken.

It is not difficult to imagine what a home so hardly earned, so nobly
won, was to such a woman. Nor is it hard to realize that when that home
was almost immediately invaded by a nomination of its chief to the
Presidency of the Nation, the woman’s heart at last rebelled. The wife
thought no new honor could add to the lustre of her husband’s renown.
She declared that the life-long habits of her husband would make him
miserable under the restraints of metropolitan life, and the duties of a
civil position. From the first, she deplored the nomination of General
Taylor to the Presidency as a misfortune, and sorrowfully said: “It is a
plot to deprive me of his society, and to shorten his life by
unnecessary care and responsibility.”

When, at last, she came to the White House, as its mistress, she
eschewed the great reception-rooms and received her visitors in private
apartments. She tried, as far as possible, to establish her daily life
on the routine of the small cottage at Baton Rouge, and she essayed
personally to minister to her husband’s comforts, as of old, till her
simple habits were ridiculed and made a cause of reproach by the
“opposition.”

The reigning lady of the White House, at this time, was General and Mrs.
Taylor’s youngest daughter, Elizabeth, or, as she was familiarly and
admiringly called, “Betty Bliss.” She entered the White House at the age
of twenty-two, a bride, having married Major Bliss, who served
faithfully under her father as Adjutant-general. Perhaps no other
President was ever inaugurated with such overwhelming enthusiasm as
General Taylor—and the reception given his youngest child, who greatly
resembled him, and who, at that time, was the youngest lady who had ever
presided at the White House, was almost as overpowering. The vision that
remains of her loveliness, shows us a bright and beaming creature,
dressed simply in white, with flowers in her hair. She possessed beauty,
good sense and quiet humor. As a hostess she was at ease, and received
with affable grace; but an inclination for retirement marked her as well
as her mother. Formal receptions and official dinners were not to their
taste. Nevertheless, these are a part of the inevitable penalty paid by
all who have received the Nation’s highest honor. Society, in its way,
exacts as much of the ladies of the White House, as party politics do of
the men who administer state affairs in it. A lack of entertainment
caused part of the universal discontent, already voiced against the hero
President, whose heroic ways were naturally not the ways of policy or
diplomacy.

The second winter of President Taylor’s term, the ladies of his family
seemed to have assumed more prominently and publicly the social duties
of their high position. A reception at the President’s house, March 4,
1850, was of remarkable brilliancy. Clay, Calhoun, Webster, Benton and
Cass, with many beautiful and cultured women, then added their splendor
to society in Washington. The auguries of a brilliant year were not
fulfilled. Amid the anguish of his family, President Taylor died at the
White House, July 9, 1850. When it was known that he must die, Mrs.
Taylor became insensible, and the agonized cries of his family reached
the surrounding streets.

Dreadful to the eyes of the bereaved wife were the pomp and show with
which her hero was buried.

After he became President, General Taylor said, that “his wife had
prayed every night for months that Henry Clay might be elected President
in his place.” She survived her husband two years, and to her last hour
never mentioned the White House in Washington, except in its relation to
the death of her husband.

She was succeeded by a woman of superior intellect, who in a different
sphere had proved herself an equally devoted wife. Mrs. Abigail Filmore,
the daughter of a Baptist clergyman, grew up in Western New York, when
it was a frontier and a wilderness. Yearning for intellectual culture,
with all the drawbacks of poverty and scanty opportunity, she obtained
sufficient knowledge to become a school-teacher. It was while following
this avocation that she first met her future husband, the thirteenth
President of the United States, then a clothier’s apprentice, a youth of
less than twenty years, himself, during the winter months, a teacher of
the village school. They were married in 1826, and began life in a small
house built by her husband’s hands. In this little house the wife added
to her duties of maid-of-all-work, house-keeper, hostess and wife, the
avocation of teacher. She bore full half of the burden of life, and the
husband, with the weight of care lifted from him by willing and loving
hands, rose rapidly in the profession of law, and in less than two years
was chosen a member of the State Legislature. Thus, side by side, they
worked and struggled, from poverty to eminence.

Strong in intellect and will, her delights were all feminine. Her tasks
accomplished, she lived in books and music, flowers and children. At her
death, her husband said: “For twenty-seven years, my entire married
life, I was always greeted with a happy smile.” She entered the White
House a matron of commanding person and beautiful countenance. She was
five feet six inches in height, with a complexion extremely fair and
pure, blue, smiling eyes, and a wealth of light-brown curling hair. A
personal friend of Mrs. Filmore, writing from Buffalo, says:

  “When Mr. Filmore entered the White House, he found it entirely
  destitute of books. Mrs. Filmore was in the habit of spending her
  leisure moments in reading, I might almost say, in studying. She was
  accustomed to be surrounded with books of reference, maps, and all the
  other requirements of a well furnished library, and she found it
  difficult to content herself in a house devoid of such attractions. To
  meet this want, Mr. Filmore asked of Congress, and received an
  appropriation, and selected a library, devoting to that purpose a
  large and pleasant room in the second story of the White House. Here
  Mrs. Filmore surrounded herself with her little home comforts; here
  her daughter had her own piano, harp, and guitar, and here Mrs.
  Filmore received the informal visits of the friends she loved, and,
  for her, the real pleasure and enjoyments of the White House were in
  this room.”

Mrs. Filmore was proud of her husband’s success in life, and desirous
that no reasonable expectation of the public should be disappointed. She
never absented herself from the public receptions, dinners, or _levées_,
when it was possible to be present; but her delicate health frequently
rendered them very painful. She sometimes kept her bed all day, to favor
that weak ankle, that she might be able to endure the fatigue of the two
hours she would be obliged to stand for the Friday evening _levées_.

Mrs. Filmore was destined never to see again her old home in Buffalo,
with mortal eyes. She contracted a cold on the day of Mr. Pierce’s
inauguration, which resulted in pneumonia, of which she died, at
Willard’s Hotel, Washington, 1853. What she is in the memory of her
husband, may be judged by the fact—that he has carefully preserved every
line that she ever wrote him, and has been heard to say that he could
never destroy even the little notes that she sent him on business, to
his office.

The child of this truly wedded pair, Mary Abigail Filmore, was the
rarest and most exquisite President’s daughter that ever shed sunshine
in the White House. She survived her mother but a year, dying of
cholera, at the age of twenty-two, yet her memory is a benison to all
young American women, especially to those surrounded by the allurements
of society and high station. She was not only the mistress of many
accomplishments, but possessed a thoroughly practical education. She was
taught at home, at Mrs. Sedgwick’s school, in Lenox, Massachusetts, and
was graduated from the State Normal School of New York, as a teacher,
and taught in the higher departments of one of the public schools in
Buffalo. She was a French, German, and Spanish scholar; was a proficient
in music; and an amateur sculptor. She was the rarest type of woman, in
whom were blended, in perfect proportion, masculine judgment and
feminine tenderness. In her were combined intellectual force, vivacity
of temperament, genuine sensibility, and deep tenderness of heart. She
saw clearly through the forms and shows of life, her views of its duties
were grave and serious; yet, in her intercourse with others, she
overflowed with bright wit, humor and kindliness. Her character was
revealed in her face, for her soul shone through it. Words cannot tell
what such a nature and such an intelligence would be, presiding over the
social life of the Nation’s House. She used her opportunities, as the
President’s daughter, to minister to others. She clung to all her old
friends, without any regard to their position in life; her time and
talents were devoted to their happiness. She was constantly thinking of
some little surprise, some gift, some journey, some pleasure, by which
she could contribute to the happiness of others. After the death of her
mother, she went to the desolate home of her father and brother, and,
emulating the example of that mother, relieved her father of all
household care; her domestic and social qualities equalled her
intellectual power. She gathered all her early friends about her; she
consecrated herself to the happiness of her father and brother; she
filled her home with sunshine. With scarcely an hour’s warning, the
final summons came. “Blessing she was, God made her so,” and in her
passed away one of the rarest of young American women.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.
                    THE WHITE HOUSE DURING THE WAR.

Under a Cloud—“A Woman Among a Thousand”—Revival of By-gone Days—Another
    Lady of the White House—A “Golden Blonde”—Instinct Alike with Power
    and Grace—A Fun-Loving Romp—Harriet with her Wheelbarrow of Wood—A
    Deed of Kindness—The Wheel Turns Round—An Impression Made on Queen
    Victoria—In Paris and on the Continent—An American Lady at
    Oxford—Gay Doings at the Capital—Rival Claims for a Lady’s
    Hand—Reigning at the White House—Doing Double Duty—Visit of the
    Prince of Wales—Marriage of Harriet Lane—As Wife and Mother—Mrs.
    Abraham Lincoln—Standing Alone—A Time of Trouble and
    Perplexity—Conciliatory Counsels Needful—Rumors of War—the Life of
    the Nation Threatened—Whispers of Treason—Awaiting the
    Event—Peculiar Position of Mary Lincoln—A Life-long Ambition
    Fulfilled—The Nation Called to Arms—Contagious Enthusiasm—What the
    President’s Wife Did—Nothing to do but “Shop”—Sensational Stories
    Afloat—Stirring Times at the Capital—What Came from the River—The
    Dying and the Dead—Churches and Houses Turned into Hospitals—Arrival
    of Troops—“Mrs. Lincoln Shopped”—The Lonely Man at the White
    House—Letters of Rebuke—An Example of Selfishness—Petty
    Economies—The Back Door of the White House—An Injured
    Individual—Death of Willie Lincoln—Injustice which Mrs. Lincoln
    Suffered—The Rabble in the White House—Valuables Carried Away—Big
    Boxes and Much Goods—Going West—Mrs. Lincoln Disconsolate—False and
    Cruel Accusations—Considerable Personal Property—Missing
    Treasures—Mrs. Lincoln as a Woman—Tears and Mimicry—The Faults of a
    President’s Wife.


Mrs. Franklin Pierce entered the White House under the shadow of
ill-health and sore bereavement, having seen her last surviving child
killed before her eyes on a railroad train, after the election of her
husband to the Presidency of the United States.

Mrs. Pierce was remarkable for fragility of constitution, exquisite
sensitiveness of organism, and deep spirituality of nature. She
instinctively shrank from observation, and nothing could be more painful
to her in average life than the public gaze. She found her joy in the
quiet sphere of domestic life, and herein, through her wise counsels,
pure tastes, and devoted life, she exerted a powerful influence. One who
knew her writes:

  “Mrs. Pierce’s life, as far as she could make it so, was one of
  retirement. She rarely participated in gay amusements, and never
  enjoyed what is called fashionable society. Her natural endowments
  were of a high order. She inherited a judgment singularly clear, and a
  taste almost unerring. The cast of her beauty was so dream-like; her
  temper was so little mingled with the common characteristics of woman;
  it had so little of caprice, so little of vanity, so utter an absence
  of all jealousy and all anger; it was so made up of tenderness and
  devotion, and yet so imaginative and fairy-like in its fondness, that
  it was difficult to bear only the sentiments of earth for one who had
  so little of life’s clay.”

It was but natural that such a being should be the life-long object of a
husband’s adoring devotion. Nor is it strange that the husband of such a
wife, reflecting in his outer life the urbanity, gentleness, and
courtesy which marked his home intercourse, in addition to his own
personal gifts, should have been, what Franklin Pierce was declared to
be, the most popular man, personally, who ever was President of the
United States. Notwithstanding her ill health, her shrinking
temperament, and personal bereavement, Mrs. Pierce forced herself to
meet the public demands of her exalted station, and punctually presided
at receptions and state dinners, at any cost to herself. No woman, by
inherent nature, could have been less adapted to the full blaze of
official life than she, yet she met its demands with honor, and departed
from the White House revered by all who had ever caught a glimpse of her
exquisite nature. She died December, 1863, in Andover, Massachusetts,
and now rests, with her husband and children, in the cemetery at
Concord, New Hampshire.

                  *       *       *       *       *

During the administration of Mr. Buchanan, the White House seemed to
revive the social magnificence of old days. Harriet Lane brought again
into its drawing-rooms the splendor of courts, and more than repeated
the elegance and brilliancy of fashion, which marked the administration
of Mr. John Quincy Adams.

Harriet Lane, the adopted daughter of James Buchanan, and “lady of the
White House” during his administration, was one of those golden blondes
which Oliver Wendell Holmes so delights to portray. “Her head and
features were cast in noble mould, and her form which, at rest, had
something of the massive majesty of a marble pillar, in motion was
instinct alike with power and grace.” Grace, light and majesty seemed to
make her atmosphere. Every motion was instinct with life, health and
intelligence. Her superb _physique_ gave the impression of intense,
harmonious vitality. Her eyes, of deep violet, shed a constant, steady
light, yet they could flash with rebuke, kindle with humor, or soften in
tenderness. Her mouth was her most peculiarly beautiful feature, capable
of expressing infinite humor or absolute sweetness, while her classic
head was crowned with masses of golden hair, always worn with perfect
simplicity.

As a child she was a fun-loving, warm-hearted romp. When eleven years of
age she was tall as a woman, nevertheless Mr. Buchanan, one day looking
from his window, saw Harriet with flushed cheek and hat awry, trundling
through the leading street of Lancaster a wheelbarrow, full of wood. He
rushed out to learn the cause of such an unseemly sight, when she
answered in confusion, “that she was on her way to old black Aunt
Tabitha with a load of wood, because it was so cold.” A few years later
this young domestic outlaw, having been graduated with high honor from
the Georgetown convent, was shining at the Court of St. James, at which
her uncle was American Minister. Queen Victoria, upon whom her
surpassing brightness and loveliness seemed to make a deep impression,
decided that she should rank not as niece or daughter, but as the wife
of the United States Minister. Thus the youthful American girl became
one of the “leading ladies” of the diplomatic corps of St. James.

On the continent and in Paris she was everywhere greeted as a
girl-queen, and in England her popularity was immense. On the day when
Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Tennyson received the degree of Doctor of Civil
Laws at the University of Oxford, her appearance was greeted by loud
cheers from the students, who arose _en masse_ to receive her. From this
dazzling career abroad, she came back to her native land, to preside
over the President’s House. She became the supreme lady of the gayest
administration which has marked the government of the United States.
Societies, ships of war, neck-ties were named after her. Men, gifted and
great, from foreign lands and in her own, sought her hand in marriage.
Such cumulated pleasures and honors probably were never heaped upon any
other one young woman of the United States.

At White House receptions, and on all state occasions, the sight of this
golden beauty, standing beside the grand and gray old man, made a unique
and delightful contrast, which thousands flocked to see. Her duties were
more onerous than had fallen to the share of any lady of the White House
for many years; the long diplomatic service of Mr. Buchanan abroad
involving him in many obligations to entertain distinguished strangers
privately, aside from his hospitalities as President of the United
States. During his administration the Prince of Wales was entertained at
the White House, who presented his portrait to Mr. Buchanan and a set of
valuable engravings to Miss Lane, as “a slight mark of his grateful
recollection of the hospitable reception and agreeable visit at the
White House.”

During the last troubled months of Mr. Buchanan’s administration, he
always spoke with warmth and gratitude of Miss Lane’s patriotism and
good sense. Neither he nor her country ever suffered from any
conversational lapse of hers, which, in a day so rife with passion and
injustice, is saying much. In 1863, Miss Lane was confirmed in the
Episcopal church at Oxford, Philadelphia, of which her uncle, Rev.
Edward L. Buchanan, was the rector.

In 1866, Miss Lane was married, at Wheatland, to Mr. Henry Elliott
Johnston of Baltimore, a gentleman who had held her affections for many
years. The congenial pair now abide in their luxurious home in
Baltimore, and in private life, as wife and mother, she is as beautiful
and more beloved than when, as Miss Lane, she was the proud lady of the
President’s House.

                  *       *       *       *       *

It was the misfortune of Mrs. Lincoln to be the only woman personally
assailed who ever presided in the White House. She entered it when
sectional bitterness was at its height, and when the need of her country
for the holiest and highest ministry of women was deeper than it had
been in any era of its existence, even that of the Revolution. In that
troubled hour, the White House needed a woman to preside over it of
lofty soul, of consecrated purpose, of the broadest and profoundest
sympathies, and of self-forgetting piety.

The life of the Nation was threatened. The horror of war was imminent.
The capital was menaced, as it had never been before, by the treason of
its own children. Wives, mothers and daughters, in ten thousand homes,
were looking into the faces of husbands, sons and fathers, with
trembling and with tears, and yet with sacrificial patriotism. They
knew, they felt that the best-beloved were to be slain on their
country’s battle-fields. With what supreme devotion and consecration
would Abigail Adams, or a thousand women of her heroic type, have
approached the Nation’s House as the wife of its President in such an
hour. It was the hour for self-forgetting—the hour of sacrifice.
Personal vanity and elation, excusable in a more peaceful time, seemed
unpardonable in this. Yet, in reviewing the character of the Presidents’
wives, we shall see that there was never one who entered the White House
with such a feeling of self-satisfaction, which amounted to personal
exultation, as did Mary Lincoln. To her it was the fulfillment of a
life-long ambition, and with the first low muttering of war distinctly
heard, on every side, she made her journey to Washington a triumphal
passage.

A single month, and the President’s call for troops to protect the
capital had penetrated the remotest hamlet of the land. All the manly
life-blood of the Nation surged toward its defence. All the heart of its
womanhood went up to God, crying for its safety. In the distant
farm-house women waited, breathless, the latest story of battle. In the
crowded cities they gathered by thousands, crying, only, “Let me work
for my brother: he dies for me!”

With the record of the march and the fight, and of the unseemly defeat,
the newspapers teemed with gossip concerning the new lady of the White
House. While her sister-women scraped lint, sewed bandages, and put on
nurses’ caps, and gave their all to country and to death, the wife of
its President spent her time in rolling to and fro between Washington
and New York, intent on extravagant purchases for herself and the White
House. Mrs. Lincoln seemed to have nothing to do but to “shop,” and the
reports of her lavish bargains, in the newspapers, were vulgar and
sensational in the extreme. The wives and daughters of other Presidents
had managed to dress as elegant women, without the process of so doing
becoming prominent or public. But not a new dress or jewel was bought by
Mrs. Lincoln that did not find its way into the newspapers.

Months passed, and the capital had become one vast hospital. The
reluctant river every hour laid at the feet of the city its priceless
freight of lacerated men. The wharves were lined with the dying and
dead. One ceaseless procession of ambulances moved to and fro. Our
streets resounded with the shrieks of the sufferers which they bore.
Churches, halls and houses were turned into hospitals. Every
railroad-train that entered the city bore fresh troops to the Nation’s
rescue, and fresh mourners seeking their dead, who had died in its
defence. Through all, Mrs. Lincoln “shopped.”

At the White House, a lonely man, sorrowful at heart, and weighed down
by mighty burdens, bearing the Nation’s fate upon his shoulders, lived
and toiled and suffered alone. His wife, during all the summer, was at
the hotels of fashionable watering-places. Conduct comparatively
blameless in happier times, became culpable under such exigencies and in
such shadow. Jarred, from the beginning, by Mrs. Lincoln’s life, the
Nation, under its heavy stress of sorrow, seemed goaded at last to
exasperation. Letters of rebuke, of expostulation, of anathema even,
addressed to her, personally, came in to her from every direction. Not a
day that did not bring her many such communications, denouncing her mode
of life, her conduct, and calling upon her to fulfil the obligations,
and meet the opportunities of her high station.

To no other woman of America had ever been vouchsafed so full an
opportunity for personal benevolence and philanthropy to her own
countrymen. To no other American woman had ever come an equal chance to
set a lofty example of self-abnegation to all her countrywomen. But just
as if there were no national peril, no monstrous national debt, no
rivers of blood flowing, she seemed chiefly intent upon pleasure,
personal flattery and adulation; upon extravagant dress and ceaseless
self-gratification.

[Illustration:

  THE CABINET ROOM.
  INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE.—WASHINGTON.
]

Vain, seeking admiration, the men who fed her weakness for their own
political ends were sure of her favor. Thus, while daily disgracing the
State by her own example, she still sought to meddle in its affairs. Woe
to Mr. Lincoln if he did not appoint her favorites. Prodigal in personal
expenditure, she brought shame upon the President’s House, by petty
economies, which had never disgraced it before. Had the milk of its
dairy been sent to the hospitals, she would have received golden praise.
But the whole city felt scandalized to have it haggled over and peddled
from the back door of the White House. State dinners could have been
dispensed with, without a word of blame, had their cost been consecrated
to the soldiers’ service; but when it was made apparent that they were
omitted from personal penuriousness and a desire to devote their cost to
personal gratification, the public censure knew no bounds.

From the moment Mrs. Lincoln began to receive recriminating letters, she
considered herself an injured individual, the honored object of envy,
jealousy and spite, and a martyr to her high position. No doubt some of
them were unjust, and many more unkind; but it never dawned upon her
consciousness that any part of the provocation was on her side, and
after a few tastes of their bitter draughts she ceased to open them.
Even death did not spare her. Willie Lincoln, the loveliest child of the
White House, was smitten and died, to the unutterable grief of his
father and the wild anguish of his mother. She mourned according to her
nature. Her loss did not draw her nearer in sympathy to the nation of
mothers that moment weeping because their sons were not. It did not lead
her in time to minister to such, whom death had robbed and life had left
without alleviation. She shut herself in with her grief, and demanded of
God why he had afflicted _her_! Nobody suffered as she suffered. The
Nation’s House wore a pall, at last, not for its tens of thousands of
brave sons slain, but for the President’s child. The Guests’ Room, in
which he died, Mrs. Lincoln never entered again; nor the Green Room,
wherein, decked with flowers, his fair young body awaited burial.

In the same way, Mrs. Lincoln bewept her husband. And there is no doubt
but that, in that black hour, she suffered great injustice. She loved
her husband with the intensity of a nature, deep and strong, within a
narrow channel. The shock of his untimely and awful taking-off, might
have excused a woman of loftier nature than hers for any accompanying
paralysis.

It was not strange that Mrs. Lincoln was not able to leave the White
House for five weeks after her husband’s death. It would have been
stranger, had she been able to have left it sooner. It was her
misfortune, that she had so armed public sympathy against her, by years
of indifference to the sorrows of others, that when her own hour of
supreme anguish came, there were few to comfort her, and many to assail.
She had made many unpopular innovations upon the old, serene and stately
_régime_ of the President’s house. Never a reign of concord, in her best
day, in her hour of affliction it degenerated into absolute anarchy. I
believe the long-time steward had been dethroned, that Mrs. Lincoln
might manage according to her own will. At-any-rate, while she was shut
in with her woe, the White House was left without a responsible
protector. The rabble ranged through it at will. Silver and dining-ware
were carried off, and have never been recovered. It was plundered, not
only of ornaments, but of heavy articles of furniture. Costly sofas and
chairs were cut and injured. Exquisite lace curtains were torn into
rags, and carried off in pieces.

While all this was going on below, Mrs. Lincoln, shut up in her
apartments, refused to see any one but servants, while day after day,
immense boxes, containing her personal effects, were leaving the White
House for her newly-chosen abode in the West. The size and number of
these boxes, with the fact of the pillaged aspect of the White House,
led to the accusation, which so roused public feeling against her, that
she was robbing the Nation’s House, and carrying the national property
with her into retirement. This accusation, which clings to her to this
day, was probably unjust. Her personal effects, in all likelihood,
amounted to as much as that of nearly all other Presidents’ wives
together, and the vandals who roamed at large through the length and
breadth of the White House, were quite sufficient to account for all its
missing treasures.

The public also did Mrs. Lincoln injustice, in considering her an
ignorant, illiterate woman. She was well-born, gently reared, and her
education above the average standard given to girls in her youth. She is
a fair mistress of the French language, and in English can write a more
graceful letter than one educated woman in fifty. She has quick
perceptions, and an almost unrivalled power of mimicry. The only
amusement of her desolate days, while shut in from the world in Chicago,
when she refused to see her dearest friends and took comfort in the
thought that she had been chosen as the object of pre-eminent
affliction, was to repeat in tone, gesture and expression, the words,
actions and looks of men and women who, in the splendor of her life in
Washington, had happened to offend her. Her lack was not a lack of keen
faculties, or of fair culture, but a constitutional inability to rise to
the action of high motive in a time when every true soul in the nation
seemed to be impelled to unselfish deeds for its rescue. She was
incapable of lofty, impersonal impulse. She was self-centred, and never
in any experience rose above herself. According to circumstance, her own
ambitions, her own pleasures, her own sufferings, made the sensation
which absorbed and consumed every other. As a President’s wife she could
not rise above the level of her nature, and it was her misfortune that
she never even approached the bound of her opportunity.




                              CHAPTER XXV.
                          THE WHITE HOUSE NOW.

After the War—The Home of President Johnson—Shut Up in the Mountains—Two
    Years of Exile—A Contrast—Suffering for their Country—Secretly
    Burying the Dead—A Wife of Seventeen Years—Midnight Studies—Broken
    Down—A Party of Grandchildren—“My Dears, I am an Invalid”—“God’s
    Best Gift to Man”—The Woman Who Taught the President—A “Lady of
    Benign Countenance”—Doing the Honors at the White House—“We are
    Plain People”—The East Room Filled with Vermin—Traces of the
    Soldiers—A State of Dirt and Ruin—Mrs. Patterson’s Calico Dress—In
    the Dairy—A Nineteenth Century Wonder—How the Old Carpets were
    Patched—The Greenbacks are Forthcoming—How $30,000 were Spent—Buying
    the Furniture—Working in Hot Weather—“Wrestling with Rags and
    Ruins”—“Renovated from Top to Bottom”—What the Ladies Wore, and What
    They Didn’t—The Memory of Elegant Attire—Impressing the Public
    Mind—How Unperverted Minds are Affected—“Bare-necked Dowagers”—“A
    Large Crowd of Bare Busts”—Elderly Ladies with Raven Locks—The
    Opinion of a Woman of Fashion—Very Good Dinners—Obsequious to the
    Will of “the People”—Doors Open to the Mob—Sketching a
    Banquet—Sentimental Reflections on the Dining Room—The Portraits of
    the Presidents—The Impeachment Trial—Peace in the Family—The Grant
    Dynasty—Looking Home-like—Mrs. Grant at Home—What Might Be Done,
    if—What Won’t Work a Reformation—A Pity for Miss Nellie Grant—How
    She Suddenly “Came Out”—“A Full Fledged Woman of Fashion”—A “Shoal
    of Pretty Girls”—How a Certain Young Lady was Spoilt—Brushing Away
    “the Dew of Innocence”—Need of a Centripetal Soul—Society in the
    Season—Rare Women with no Tastes—The Wives of the Presidents Summed
    Up.


Mrs. Lincoln was succeeded in the White House by three women, who
entered its portals through the fiery baptism of suffering for their
country’s sake.

While President Johnson was performing his duties as Senator in
Washington, his family were shut up in the mountains of East Tennessee,
where the ravages of war were most dreadful. For more than two years he
was unable to set eyes on either wife or child. While many of the
mushroom aristocracy, who afterwards looked upon them so superciliously,
were coining their ill-gotten dollars out of the blood of their country,
these brave, loyal women were being “hunted from point to point, driven
to seek refuge in the wilderness, forced to subsist on coarse and
insufficient food, and more than once called to bury with secret and
stolen sepulture those, whom they loved, murdered because they would not
join in deeds of odious treason to union and liberty.”

President Johnson’s youngest daughter entered the White House a widow,
recently bereaved of her husband, who fell a soldier in the Union cause.
His wife, who at seventeen was his teacher, when “in the silent watches
of the night the youthful couple studied together,” when their weary
tasks were done, came to the White House broken in health and spirits,
through the suffering and bereavements through which she had passed. She
was never seen but on one public occasion at the White House, that of a
children’s party, given to her grandchildren. At that time she was
seated in one of the republican court-chairs of satin and ebony. She did
not rise when the children or guests were presented, but simply said,
“My dears, I am an invalid,” and her sad, pale face and sunken eyes
proved the expression. She is an invalid now; but an observer would say,
contemplating her, “A noble woman, God’s best gift to man.” It was that
woman who taught the President, after she became his wife; and in all
their early years she was his assistant counsellor and guide.

Liable to be arrested for the slightest offense; ofttimes insulted by
the rabble, Mrs. Johnson performed the perilous journey from Greenville
to Nashville. Few who were not actual participators in the civil war can
form an estimate of the trials of this noble woman. Invalid, as she was,
she yet endured exposure and anxiety, and passed through the extended
lines of hostile armies, never uttering a hasty word, or, by her looks,
betraying in the least degree her harrowed feelings. She is remembered
by friend and foe as a lady of benign countenance and sweet and winning
manners.

During her husband’s administration, the heavy duties and dubious honors
of the White House were performed by her oldest daughter, Martha
Patterson, the wife of Senator Patterson of Tennessee. That lady’s
utterance, soon after entering the White House, was a key to her
character, yet scarcely a promise of her own distinguished management of
the President’s house. She said: “We are plain people from the mountains
of Tennessee, called here for a short time by a national calamity. I
trust too much will not be expected of us.” The career of Mrs. Lincoln
had chilled the people to expect little from the feminine administrator
of the White House; but from Martha Patterson they received much, and
that of the most unobtrusive and noble service.

The family of the new President arrived in June. Here was a new field
entirely for the diffident woman who was compelled to do the honors, in
lieu of her mother—a confirmed invalid. The house looked anything but
inviting. Soldiers had wandered unchallenged through the entire _suites_
of parlors. The East Room, dirty and soiled, was filled with vermin.
Guards had slept upon the sofas and carpets till they were ruined, and
the immense crowds who, during the preceding years of war, filled the
President’s house continually had worn out the already ancient
furniture. No sign of neatness or comfort greeted their appearance, but
evidences of neglect and decay everywhere met their eyes. To put aside
all ceremony and work incessantly, was the portion of Mrs. Patterson
from the beginning. It was her practice to rise very early, don a calico
dress and spotless apron, and then descend to skim the milk and attend
to the dairy before breakfast. Remembering this fact, of a President’s
daughter, in the President’s house, in the nineteenth century, for a
brief moment, let us cease to bemoan the homely virtues of our
grandmothers as forever dead and buried.

At the first reception of President Johnson, held January 1, 1866, the
White House had not been renovated. Dingy and destitute of ornament
Martha Patterson had by dint of covering its old carpets with pure
linen, and hiding its wounds with fresh flowers, and letting her
beautiful children loose in its rooms, given it an aspect of purity,
beauty and cheer, to which it had long been a stranger.

[Illustration:

  THE BLUE ROOM.

  INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE.—WASHINGTON.
]

In the spring, Congress appropriated thirty thousand dollars to the
renovation of the White House. After consulting various firms, Mrs.
Patterson found that it would take the whole amount to furnish simply
the parlors. Feeling a personal responsibility to the government for the
expenditure of the money, unlike her predecessor, she determined not to
surpass it. She made herself its agent, and superintended the purchases
for the dismantled house herself. Instead of seeking pleasure by the
sea, or ease in her own mountain home, the hot summer waxed and waned
only to leave the brave woman where it found her, wrestling with rags
and ruins that were to be reset, repolished, “made over as good as new.”
For herself? No, for her country; and all this in addition to caring for
husband, children and invalid mother.

The result of this ceaseless industry and self-denial was, the
President’s house in perfect order and thoroughly renovated from top to
bottom. When it was opened for the winter season, the change was
apparent and marvelous, even to the dullest eyes, but very few knew that
the fresh, bright face of the historic house was all due to the energy,
industry, taste and tact of one woman, the President’s daughter. The
warm comfort of the dining room, the exquisite tints of the Blue Room,
the restful neutral hues meeting and blending in carpets and furniture
in many rooms of the White House still remain harmonious witnesses of
the pure taste of Martha Patterson. The dress of the ladies of the White
House was equally remarkable. The public had grown to expect loud
display in the costume of its occupants. But all who went to see the
“plain people from Tennessee” overloaded with new ornaments, were
disappointed. Instead, they saw beside the President a young,
golden-haired woman, dressed in full mourning,—the sad badge still worn
for the gallant husband slain by war,—and a slender woman with a single
white flower in her dark hair. Instead of the bare bosom and arms, the
pronounced hues and glittering jewels which had so long obtained in that
place, they saw soft laces about the throat ending the high corsage; a
robe of soft tints and a shawl of lace veiling the slender figure. It
was like a picture in half tints, soothing to the sight; yet the dark
hair, broad brow and large eyes were full of silent force and reserved
power. Little was expected, even in dress, of these “plain people from
Tennessee,” yet the chaste elegance of their attire was never surpassed
by any ladies of the White House, and its memory remains an example
which it is a pity that ladies of society are so slow to imitate.

The impression made upon the public mind by the tone and spirit of their
attire is significant as gathered from the utterance of contemporaneous
newspapers. It betrays how dress of an opposite character always affects
unperverted minds. A journal of the day says: “Mrs. Patterson, who stood
at the right of the President, wore a black Lyons velvet, a shawl of
white thread lace falling over her dress. The simple, unaffected grace
of this lady, and her entire freedom from pretension, either in garb or
manner, attracted highly favorable comment. Mrs. Patterson is quite a
young lady, and when some of the bare-necked would-be juvenile dowagers
were presented to her, the contrast was entirely in favor of the
President’s daughter.”

  “Mrs. Stover assisted the President, and won golden opinions from
  sensible people for her faultless taste, and high-necked costume in a
  large crowd of bare busts. Elderly ladies, whose truthful wrinkles,
  despite their raven locks, betrayed their years, stood about her in
  low bodices, exposing to view shoulders long ago bereft of beauty and
  symmetry. Mothers, whose daughters walked beside them, in similar
  attire, gathered about her in their flashing diamonds and expensive
  apparel, but no peer of hers eclipsed her rich simplicity. Alone she
  stood, so tastefully arrayed that the poor who came were not abashed
  by her presence, nor the rich offended by her rarer _toilette_. The
  perfect harmony of her appearance pleased the eyes of all.”

The spirit of these comments redeems them from the faintest touch of
Jenkinsism. In this connection, it is easy to understand the comment of
a woman of fashion, on Mrs. Stover. She said: “She has very fine points,
which would make any woman a _belle_, if she knew how to make the most
of them.”

The state dinners given by President Johnson, were never surpassed in
any administration. They were conducted on a generous, almost princely
scale, and reflected lasting honor upon his daughter, to whom was
committed the entire care and arrangement of every social entertainment.
Simple and democratic in her own personal tastes, Mrs. Patterson had a
high sense of what was due to the position, and to the people, from the
family of the President of a great Nation. This sense of duty and
justice led her to spare no pains in her management of official
entertainments, and the same high qualities made her keep the White
House parlors and conservatories open and ready for the crowds of people
who daily visited them, at any cost to her own taste or comfort.

The following sketch of the last state dinner given by President
Johnson, written by a personal friend, is so vivid and life-like,
bringing the historic house so near, in the closing hours of an
administration, I am constrained to give it to you:

  “Late in the afternoon, I was sitting in the cheerful room occupied by
  the invalid mother, when Mrs. Patterson came for me to go and see the
  table. The last state dinner was to be given this night, and the
  preparation for the occasion had been commensurate with those of
  former occasions.

  “I looked at the invalid, whose feet had never crossed the apartment
  to which we were going, and by whom the elegant entertainments, over
  which her daughters presided, were totally unenjoyed. Through the
  hall, and down the stairway, I followed my hostess, and stood beside
  her in the grand old room.

  “It was a beautiful, and altogether a rare scene, which I viewed in
  the quiet light of that closing winter day. The table was arranged for
  forty persons, each guest’s name being upon the plate designated on
  the invitation list. In the centre stood three magnificent _ormolu_
  ornaments, filled with fadeless French flowers, while, beside each
  plate, was a _bouquet_ of odorous greenhouse exotics. It was not the
  color or design of the Sévres China, of green and gold, the fragile
  glass, nor yet the massive plate, which attracted my admiration, but
  the harmony of the whole, which satisfied and refreshed. From the
  heavy curtains, depending from the lofty windows, to the smallest
  ornament in the room, all was ornate and consistent. I could not but
  contrast this vision of grandeur with the delicate, child-like form of
  the woman who watched me with a quiet smile, as I enjoyed this
  evidence of her taste, and appreciation of the beautiful. All day she
  had watched over the movements of those engaged in the arrangement of
  this room, and yet so unobtrusive had been her presence, and so
  systematically had she planned, that no confusion occurred in the
  complicated domestic machinery. For the pleasure it would give her
  children, hereafter, she had an artist photograph the interior of the
  apartment, and he was just leaving with his trophy, as we entered. All
  was ready and complete, and when we passed from the room, there was
  still time for rest before the hour named in the cards of invitation.

  .... “It was almost twilight, as we entered the East Room, and its
  sombreness and wondrous size struck me forcibly. The hour for
  strangers and visitors had passed, and we felt at liberty to wander,
  in our old-fashioned way, up and down its great length.”

  “It was softly raining, we discovered, as we peered through the
  window, and a light fringe of mist hung over the trees in the grounds.
  The feeling of balmy comfort one feels in watching it rain, from the
  window of a cozy room, was intensified by the associations of this
  historic place, and the sadness of time was lost in the outreachings
  of eternity. Its spectral appearance, as we turned from the window and
  looked down its shadowy outlines, the quickly succeeding thoughts of
  the many who had crowded into its now deserted space, and the
  remembrance of some who would no more come, were fast crowding out the
  practical, and leaving in its place mental excitement, and
  spiritualized nervous influences. Mrs. Patterson was the first to note
  the flight of time, and, as we turned, to leave with the past the hour
  it claimed, her grave face lighted up with a genuinely happy
  expression, as she said: ‘I am glad this is the last entertainment; it
  suits me better to be quiet, and in my own home. Mother is not able to
  enjoy these things. Belle is too young, and I am indifferent to
  them—so it is well it is almost over.’

  “As she ceased speaking, the curtains over the main entrance parted,
  and the President peered in, ‘to see,’ he said, ‘if Martha had shown
  me the portraits of the Presidents.’ Joining him in his promenade, we
  passed before them, as they were hanging in the main hall, he dwelling
  on the life and character of each, we listening to his descriptions,
  and personal recollections.

  “At the dinner, afterwards, not the display of beautiful _toilettes_,
  nor the faces of lovely women, could draw from my mind the memory of
  that afternoon. More than ever, I was convinced that the best of our
  natures is entirely out of the reach of ordinary events, and the
  finest fibres are rarely, if ever, made to thrill in sympathy with
  outward influences. Grave statesmen, and white-haired dignitaries
  chatted merrily with fair young ladies, or sedate matrons; but turn
  where I would, the burden of my thoughts were the remarks of Mrs.
  Patterson, whose unselfish devotion to her father, deserves a more
  fitting memorial than this insignificant mention. With her opposite
  him, and by her proximity, relieving him of much of the necessity of
  entertaining, he enjoyed and bestowed pleasure, and won for these
  social entertainments a national reputation.

  “During the impeachment trial of her father, unflinchingly Mrs.
  Patterson bent every energy to entertain, as usual, as became her
  position, wearing always a patient, suffering look. Through the long
  weeks of the trial, she listened to every request, saw every caller,
  and served every petitioner, (and only those who have filled this
  position, know how arduous is this duty,) hiding from all eyes the
  anxious weight of care oppressing herself. That she was sick after the
  acquittal, astonished nobody who had seen her struggling to keep up
  before.”

But no matter what the accusations against Andrew Johnson, they died
into silence without touching his family. If corruption crossed the
outer portals of the White House, the whole land knew that they never
penetrated into the pure recesses of the President’s home. Whatever
Andrew Johnson was or was not, no partisan foe was bitter or false
enough to throw a shadow of reproach against the noble characters of his
wife and daughters. There was no insinuation, no charge against them.
There was no furniture or ornaments gone; nor could any one say that
they had received costly presents:—no expensive plate, no houses,
horses, or carriages. No family ever left Washington more respected by
the powerful, more bewept by the poor. From the Nation’s House, which
they had redeemed and honored, they went back empty-handed to their own
dismantled home, followed by the esteem and affection of all who knew
them. The White House holds the record of their spotless fame.
Generations will pass before, from its grand old rooms, will fade out
the healing and saving touches of one President’s daughter.

The life of the White House under the administration of President Grant
is a purely domestic one. It is the remark of all who have known its
past, that the White House never looked so home-like as at the present
time. It took on this aspect under the reign of Martha Patterson. But
since then, pictures and ornaments have been added, one by one, till all
its old-time stiffness seems to have merged into a look of grand
comfort. Its roof may leak occasionally, and it certainly was built
before the day of “modern conveniences,” and may be altogether
inadequate to be the President’s house of a great Nation; nevertheless,
that Nation has no occasion to be ashamed of its order or adornment
to-day.

As in the Johnson administration, the house is brightened by
ever-blooming flowers, and the presence of happy children. Mr. Dent, the
venerable father of Mrs. Grant, also makes a marked feature of its
social life, and is the object not only of the ceaseless devotion of his
family, but of the respect of all their visitors.

Mrs. Grant is now, as she always has been, devoted to her family. Her
chief enjoyment is in it, in its cares and pleasures; the latter,
however, in her present life, largely preponderating. Born without the
natural gifts or graces which could have made her a leader of other
minds, even in the surface realm of society, she is, nevertheless, very
fond of social entertainments, and enters into them with a good nature,
and visible enjoyment, which at times goes far to take the place of
higher and more positive characteristics. If to the affectionate
domestic life of the White House could be added a finer culture and
higher intellectual quality as the highest social centre of the land,
giving exclusive tone to the official society, it might do more than
words could tell to redeem from frivolity and vicious dissipation the
fashionable life of the capital. Mere good nature, good clothes, and
unutterable commonplace are not forces sufficient to, in themselves,
work out this reformation.

On the whole it is a sad sight to see a President’s daughter, an only
daughter, at an age when any thoughtful mother would shield her from the
allurements of pleasure, and shut her away in safety to study and grow
to harmonious and beautiful womanhood, suddenly launched into the wild
tide of frivolous pleasure. Thus, while the daughters of Senators and
Cabinet ministers, far from Washington, under faithful teachers, were
learning truly how to live, and acquiring the discipline and
accomplishments which would fit them to adorn their high estate, Ellen
Grant, a gentle girl of seventeen, with mind and manners unfed and
unformed, suddenly “came out” a full-fledged young woman of fashion,
spoken of almost exclusively as the driver of a phaeton, and the leader
of the all-night “German.”

As a result, Washington is crowded with a shoal of pretty girls, bright
and lovely as God had made them; by a false life, late hours, voluptuous
dances, made already hard, old, _blasé_, often before their feet have
touched the first verge of womanhood. I think of one, but one, amid
hundreds, the daughter of a high officer, graceful, tasteful, the queen
of dancers, and of all night revels, but empty of mind, hard of heart,
brazen of manners! Who looking on her face can fail to see that the dew
of innocence is brushed from it forever.

The prevailing lack of fashionable society in Washington, to-day, is
high motive, purity of feeling, a more varied and brighter intelligence.
These all exist, and in no meagre proportion, but as scattered elements,
they wait the supreme social queen, the centripetal soul which shall
draw them into one potent and prevailing power that shall lift the whole
social life of the capital to a higher plane of æsthetic attire,
culture, and amusement. Fortunately, Mrs. Grant has been surrounded by
numerous ladies in official life of superior mental endowment and
culture, and true social grace. This is especially true of a portion of
“the ladies of the Cabinet,” of the Senators’ wives from several States,
and of no small number among the wives of Representatives. Many ladies,
whose husbands are in Congress, bring the most exquisite tastes in art,
music and literature, and the loveliest of womanhood to grace the life
of Washington. For what is termed its “society” in the “season,” the
pity is these rare women have no taste, it is to them a burden, or an
offence, and they have never yet combined in organized force (which
alone is power) to uplift and redeem it.

Nevertheless, Washington is rapidly becoming an intellectual as well as
social centre. The large and varied interests which concentrate in a
national capital tend more and more to draw the highest intellectual as
well as social forces into its life. These need but assimilation,
fusion, unity and purpose to develop into the most superb manifestation
of civilization. In looking back upon the wives of the Presidents, we
discover, with but two or three exceptions, they were women of
remarkable powers and exalted character.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.
           RECEPTION DAY AT THE WHITE HOUSE—GLIMPSES OF LIFE.

Mrs. Grant at Home—A Reception—Feeling Good-Natured—Looking After One’s
    Friends—Ready to Forgive—Mr. Grant’s “Likeable Side”—The East Room
    on a Reception Day—“The Nation’s Parlor”—Rags and Tatters
    Departed—The Work of Relic-hunters—Internal Arrangements—Eight
    Presidents, All In a Row—“As Large as Life”—Shadows of the
    Departed—A Present from the Sultan of Turkey—A List of Finery—A
    Scene Not Easily Forgotten—How They Wept for Their Martyr—Tales
    which a Room Might Tell—David, Jonathan and Sir Philip Sidney
    Superseded—Underneath the Gold and Lace—“Into the Ear of a Foolish
    Girl”—“The Census of Spittoons”—“A Horror in Our Land”—An Under-bred
    People—“We Talk too Loud”—Preliminaries to Perfection—“More Than
    Shakespeare’s Women”—The Shadow of Human Nature—Two “Quizzing”
    Ladies—Nothing Sacred to Them—An Illogical Dame—Her “Precarious
    Organ”—A “Vice that Thrives Amid Christian Graces”—How some Pious
    People “Avenge their Defrauded Souls”—A Lady of Many Colors—“A New
    Woman”—A Vegetable Comparison—What “a Good Little Girl” was Allowed
    To Do—The Lady of the Manor—Women Who are Not Ashamed of
    Womanhood—Observed and Admired of All—Another “Reigning
    _Belle_”—Sketch of a Perfect Woman—After the Lapse of
    Generations—The “German”—“You Had Better Be Shut Up”—The “Withering”
    of Many American Women—Full Dress and No Dress—What the Princess
    Ghika Thinks—A Young Girl’s Dress—“That Dreadful Woman”—“_My_
    Wife’s” Dress—The Resolution of a Young Man.


It is Tuesday—Mrs. Grant’s day—and all the gay world is going to the
White House, besides a portion of that world which is not gay.

Mrs. Grant’s morning receptions are very popular, and deservedly so.
This is not because the lady is in any sense a conversationalist, or has
a fine tact in receiving, but rather, I think, because she is thoroughly
good-natured, and for the time, at least, makes other people feel the
same. At any rate, there was never so little formality or so much
genuine sociability in the day-receptions at the White House as at the
present time. General Babcock pronounces your name without startling you
out of your boots by shouting it, as on such occasions is usually done.
He passes it to the President, the President to Mrs. Grant, Mrs. Grant
to ladies receiving with her. After exchanging salutations with each,
you pass on to make room for others, and to find your own personal
friends dispersed through the great rooms. They are in each of them;
loitering in the Blue Room, where the receiving is going on; chatting in
the Green Room; promenading in the East Room. You may go through the
long corridor into the state dining-room, into the conservatories, full
of flowers and fragrance, and back, if you choose, to your
starting-point, where the President and Mrs. Grant are still receiving.

This is one of the pleasantest facts of these morning receptions—the
informal coming down of the President to receive with Mrs. Grant. I have
never been accused of over enthusiasm for him, but find myself ready to
forgive in him the traits which I cannot like, when I see him, with his
daughter, beside Mrs. Grant. _Then_, it is so perfectly evident that,
whatever the President may or may not be, “Mr. Grant” has a very true
and likeable side, with which nobody is so well acquainted as Mrs.
Grant.

Here is the East Room, that you have read about so long. It never looked
so well before. There are flaws in the harmony of its decorations which
we might pick at; but we won’t, as we are not here to-day to find fault.
Besides, it is too pleasant to see that the nation’s parlor, erst so
forlorn, has absolutely taken on a look of home comfort. In proportions
it is a noble room, long and lofty. It has seven windows—three in front,
facing Pennsylvania avenue and Lafayette square; three looking out upon
the presidential grounds and the Potomac; and a stately bay window
overlooking the Treasury. It has four white marble mantel-pieces, two on
each side. It has eight mirrors, filling the spaces over the mantels and
between the windows. Richly wrought lace curtains have taken the place
of the tatters left there a few years ago, when the curtains of the
White House windows were scattered over the country in tags, taken home
by relic-hunters. Over these hang draperies of crimson brocatelle,
surmounted by gilt cornices, bearing the arms of the United States. The
walls and ceilings are frescoed, and from the latter depend three
immense chandeliers of cut glass, which, when lighted, blaze like mimic
suns. On the walls hang the oil portraits, in heavy gilt frames, of
eight Presidents of the United States. Opposite the door, as you enter,
is the portrait of Filmore. On the other side of the mantel, that of
Lincoln. Next beyond the bay window, that of Washington; all of life
size. Beyond the further mantel is that of Franklin Pierce. Above the
door opposite, one of John Adams. Above the next door, of Martin Van
Buren; the next, of Polk; the last above the entrance door, of John
Tyler.

[Illustration: THE GREAT EAST ROOM.]

[Illustration:

  THE GREEN ROOM.

  INSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE.—WASHINGTON.
]

The carpet on the East Room, last year, was presented to the United
States by the Sultan of Turkey. It seemed like one immense rug, covering
the entire floor, and filled the room with an atmosphere of comfort,
grand, soft, and warm. The chairs and sofas are of carved wood, crimson
cushioned. A handsome bronze clock ticks above one of the mantels, the
others are adorned with handsome bronzes. The air is summer warm. On the
whole, isn’t the people’s parlor a pleasant place? I never enter it, but
comes back to me that tearful April morning when, in the centre of this
floor, under the white catafalque, lay the body of Abraham Lincoln,
dead. The crowd pressing in then, how different from this one! Rugged
soldiers bent down and kissed his face and wept, women scattered flowers
upon his breast, with their tears. Rich and poor, old and young, black
and white, all crowded round his coffin, and wept for him,—one, _only
one_, if the most august, of the martyrs of liberty.

Think what tales the room could tell, since the day when Abigail Adams
dried her clothes from the weekly wash, in it, if it but had a tongue.
Stand here, and see the stately procession move by. Believe in your own
day, my dears. You need not go back to Sir Philip Sidney, to find a
perfect gentleman, nor to David and Jonathan, to find faith and love
between man and man, passing the love of woman, nor to the days of
chivalry, to find true knights who would die for you. Here are men
bearing, under all this glitter of gold and lace, bodies battered and
maimed in their country’s cause. There, is a man, pouring foolish
nothings into the ear of a foolish girl, who would die for the truth.

We are far from being a thorough-bred people. The census of spittoons is
a horror in our land. We talk too loud, and too long; we gesticulate too
much; we can not keep quiet. We need, at least, more capacity for
repose, more unselfish consideration for the sensibilities of others,
more of the golden rule, before we can flower into the perfection of
fine breeding. Yet, no less here, are men at once strong and gentle,
brave and tender, gallant and yet true. Here are all and more than
Shakespeare’s women: Juliet, searching for her Romeo; Miranda, looking
through her starry eyes for a “thing divine” even in the Red Room;
tender Imogen; fair Titania; Portia, with hair of golden brown; and
Desdemona, imprudent, fond, yet truth itself. Here is not only the
beauty and the _belle_, but the sibyl, whose divining eyes beyond
volition, strike below every sham and every falsehood.

Yet here, too, falls the shadow of human nature. There stand two ladies,
whose supreme enjoyment here is “quizzing.” Among their thousand “dear
friends” here, not one is too sacred to be ridiculed. One of these
ladies, at least, would feel as if she had forfeited “her soul’s
salvation,” if she were to go to the theatre, or to give countenance to
a dance; but it does not occur to her, that she puts that precarious
organ in the slightest peril, when she stands in a public assembly, and
ridicules her friends.

These ladies are merely yielding to a vice which has grown with their
years, strengthened with their strength, the vice that thrives amid
Christian graces, the vice paramount of the Christian church. The most
unkind people whom I have ever known, have been distinguished for an
ostentatious sort of piety. The most uncharitable conclusions, the most
pitiless judgments, the most merciless ridicule, that I have ever
listened to, of poor human beings, I have heard from people high in the
church, not from people of the so-called “world.” This, not because the
normal human nature in either differs, but because the people of the
world have a thousand outlets and activities which draw them away from
microscopic inspection of the flaws in their neighbors; while ascetic
pietists, denied legitimate amusements, shut out from innocent
recreation, avenge their defrauded souls by feeding them on small vices.
I offer no defence for a life of folly; there is nothing I should dread
more, save a life of sin. Yet, if I were to make a choice, I would
choose foolishness rather than meanness.

This lady, flashing by in many hues, represents what one sees
continually in Washington—a new woman. Not new to the city merely, but
new to position and honor. These are but slight external accidents to a
nature that has ripened from within, drawing culture, refinement, and
dignity out of the daily opportunities of retired life. But, when the
public position is _all_ that gives the honor, how easy to tell it!
There is all the difference in the quality of the put-on, puckering
manner, and the simple dignity of real ladyhood, that there is between
the quality of a persimmon and a pomegranate. All she has is new. She,
herself, is new. Her bearing and her honors do not blend. There is no
soft and fine shading of thought, of manner, of accent, of attire. The
sun of prosperity may strike down to a rarer vein, and draw it outward,
to tone down this boastful commonplace; but we must bear the glare, the
smell of varnish, and the crackle of veneering, during the process.

When I was a very good little girl, I was allowed to read Mrs.
Sherwood’s Lady of the Manor, on Sunday. I read, and thought that heaven
on earth must be shut up in a manor house. When I grew to be a somewhat
bigger girl, sailing down the Hudson, a manor house, rich in historic
recollections, was pointed out to me. And here, in my summer-time, comes
the lady of this manor house, drops her gentle courtesy, and gives me
her hand, making more than real the enchanted story of childhood. The
lady of the manor in crude Washington revives the stately graces of old
days.

How quaint and rare they are! How I look and long for it; how glad I am
when I find it,—that indefinable, yet ever-felt presence of fine
womanliness, a thing as precious as the highest manliness,—each the
rarest efflovescence of human nature. I confess to a clinging adoration
for it, whether felt in the lady of the manor or in the sad-eyed woman
who cleans my gloves. The womanliness that is not ashamed nor
dissatisfied with womanhood, nor yet vain of it; the womanliness that
gives us the gracious, blending dignity and sweetness of wisdom and
humility, of self-respect and reticence, of spirituality and
tenderness—that ineffable charm of femininity, which is the counterpart
and crown of manhood, in very distinction equal with it, each together
maintaining in equilibrium the brain and soul of the human race.

Even while I write word comes: The lady of the manor is dead. The quaint
hood, the stately grace, the winning smile we shall see no more. All
have gone into the darkness of death. And who was the lady of the manor,
who for three winters in Washington has been the observed and admired of
all who met her in the circles of society? She was Cora Livingston
Barton, the reigning _belle_ of Jackson’s administration. She was the
daughter of Edward Livingston, who served his country as Member of
Congress and Senator from Louisiana, as Secretary of State during
Jackson’s administration, and as United States Minister to France. Her
father was as distinguished for goodness as he was for noble intellect
and exalted public service, and her mother was one of the most
remarkable women who ever graced the National Capital. She was a social
queen of the rarest endowments. She was the chosen friend and dear
counsellor of two persons as opposite in nature and temperament as
General Jackson and Mrs. John Quincy Adams. She was a very queen of
entertainers, as the wife of the Secretary of State, entertaining
foreigners and Americans and political foes, with an ease, elegance and
fascination of manner, which annihilated alike all prejudice and
animosity. She was a classical scholar, familiar with the best ancient
and modern thoughts. The chosen counsellor of her husband in the gravest
affairs of State,—a self-abnegating mother,—a devout Methodist, she
having chosen that communion as her own on account of the simplicity and
fervor of its mode of worship.

Of this rare woman, our “lady of the manor” was the only child. “Upon
her she lavished extraordinary maternal devotion, hardly ever suffering
her to be out of her sight. Her daughter had hardly reached girlhood
when her beautiful mother assumed the simplest matronly attire. Ever
afterwards she seemed rather displeased than flattered when allusions
were made to her own still remarkable appearance.”

Cora Livingston was worthy to be the child of such a mother. She was the
most famous _belle_ of the Jackson administration. She married Thomas
Barton, who went as Secretary of Legation with her father, the Minister
to France, and who remained as _Chargé d’Affaires_ when Edward
Livingston returned.

In the course of time, mother and daughter, both widows, spent their
winters in New York and their summers at Montgomery Place, that grand
old manor on the Hudson, of which we catch glimpses through its
immemorial trees, as we sail by on the river. Here, beautiful and
saintly, that mother died, October, 1860, at the age of seventy-eight.

Warned by physicians to seek a softer climate, after the lapse of
generations, in the winter of 1871 the daughter returned to Washington,
the scene of her childish home and early triumphs. She did not belong to
things gone by. With her two stately and beautiful nieces she became at
once the centre of a rare group of friends, of the attention and
reverence of the first men in the State, and an object of admiring
comment wherever she appeared. She appeared at many morning receptions.
I see her now as I saw her the first time stepping from her carriage
into the great portico of the White House, across its corridor to the
Blue Room, with the light, springing step of a girl; and yet, the soft
clinging black dress, the quaint hood of black silk, with its inside
snowy _ruche_, all told that she made not the slightest pretence to
youth. And now, in these summer days, comes the word: “While packing
some books in a trunk to go to Montgomery Place, she bent down, burst a
blood vessel in the head, and without warning died.”

They have all been morning receptions to which I have asked you,—the
“morning” ending at 5 P. M. I cannot invite you to go to the “German,”
which begins at 11 P. M. and ends at daybreak. I have too deep a care
for your physical and spiritual health to ask you to do any such thing.
When you read of the gay doings and bright assemblies here, perhaps you
think it hard sometimes that you must stay away in a quiet place to work
or study. You feel almost defrauded because you are shut out from the
splendor and mirth and flattery of fashion. You long for the pomp and
glory of the world, and sigh that so little of either falls on your
life-path. Thus I shall seem cruel to you when I say that you had better
be shut up for the next five years, even in a convent, silently growing
toward a noble life in the world afterward, than to be caught and
carried on by its follies now, before you have learned how to live.

Are you young? Then you should be more beautiful at twenty-five, at
thirty, at thirty-five, than you are now. Not with the budding bloom of
first youth, that is as evanescent as it is exquisite. What a pity that
it is beauty’s only dower to so many American women. They waste it, lose
it, then wilt and wither. I want you so to feed the sources of life
to-day that you may grow, not wither; that you may bloom, not fade, into
the perfect flower of womanhood.

Terpsichore is a sad sight to me; not because Terpsichore dances, for
dancing in itself may be as innocent as a bird’s flying; not because she
loves beautiful attire, for exquisite dress is a feminine fine art, as
meet for a woman as the flower’s tint, or the bird’s plumage. I sigh at
the sight of my pretty Terpsichore, because the first bloom of her
exquisite youth is being exhaled and lost forever in a feverish, false
atmosphere of being. Something of delicate sensibility, something of
unconscious innocence, something of freshness of feeling, of purity of
soul is wasted with the fresh young bloom of her cheeks in the midnight
revel, lengthened into morning; wasted in the heated dance, in the
indigestible feast, in the wild, unhealthy excitement through which she
whirls night alter night. Terpsichore, in her tattered tarletan dress,
creeping to bed in the gray morning, after having danced all night, is a
sad sight to see to any one who can see her as she is. Terpsichore’s
mother would be a sadder sight still, if she were not a vexatious one.
She brought back from Europe the notion, which so many of our
countrywomen think it fine to bring, that “full dress” is necessarily
next to no dress. She tells you, in a supreme tone, that admits no
denial, that you would not be admitted into the drawing-room of a court
in Europe unless in full dress, viz., semi-nakedness. She would be
nothing, if not European in style. Thus, night after night, this mother
of grown-up daughters and sons appears in crowded assemblies in attire
that would befit in outline a child of eight years of age. If we venture
to meet her _ipse dixit_ on European style, with the assurance of the
Princess Helena, Ghika, Dora D’Istria, one of the most learned and
beautiful women of this world, that the conventional society dress of
Europe is more immodest than any she saw while traveling over the
mountains and valleys of the East, she will tell you that Princess Ghika
“is not an authority on dress in Paris,” which is doubtless true.

Thus, in republican Washington, in glaring drawing-rooms, we are treated
to a study of female anatomy, which is appalling. Don’t jump to the
conclusion that I want every lady to go to a party in a stuff dress,
drawn up to her ears; nor that I am so prudish as to think no dress can
be modestly, as well as immodestly low. No matter how it be cut, the
_way_ in which a dress is worn is more impressive than the dress itself.
I have seen a young girl’s shoulders rise from her muslin frock as
unconsciously and as innocently as the lilies in the garden; and I have
come upon a wife and mother, in a public assembly, so dressed for
promiscuous gaze that I have involuntarily shut my eyes with shame.

I never saw Lydia Thompson; but from what I have heard of her, have come
to the conclusion that her attire is just as modest as that of many
ladies whom I meet at fashionable parties. They cast up their eyes in
horror at the name of poor Lydia Thompson. _They_ go to see Lydia
Thompson! No, indeed! How could their eyes endure the sight of that
dreadful woman? No less they themselves offer gratis, to a promiscuous
company, every evening, a sight, morally, quite as dreadful. The men,
who pay their money to Lydia Thompson and her _troupe_, know that their
dress and their burlesque, however questionable, make at once their
business and their livelihood. They cannot make the same excuse for
their wives, their sisters, and their sweethearts, if they see them
scarcely less modestly attired in some fashionable ball-room. Remember
this; if you ever find yourself in such a place, the best men in that
room, at heart, are not delighted with such displays. Being men, they
will look at whatever is presented to their gaze; more, many will
compliment and flatter the very woman, whose vanity at heart they pity
or despise; but it will always be with the mental reservation: “_My
wife_ should never dress like that!” “I don’t want to see my sister
dancing round dances for hours in the arms of a man whom even I cannot
think of without horror; and if —— dances with him again, I’ll not go to
another ‘German;’” said a young man to his mother, this very winter.

This is perpetually the fact; and it is the danger and the shame of the
round dances. Young girls guarded, from babyhood, from all contact with
vice, from all knowledge of men as they exist, in their own world of
clubs and dissipation, suddenly “come out” to whirl, night after night,
and week after week, in the arms of men whose lightest touch is
profanation. It would be long before it would dawn upon the girl to
dream of the evil in that man’s heart; far longer to learn the evil of
his life; yet no less, to her, innocent and young, in the very
association and contact there is unconscious pollution. There is a
sacredness in the very thought of the body which God created to be the
human home of an immortal soul. Its very beauty should be the seal of
its holiness. Every where in Scripture its sacredness is recognized and
enforced. Therein we are told that our bodies are the temples of God. We
are commanded to make them meet temples for the indwelling of the Holy
Spirit; and our very dress, in its harmony and purity, should
consecrate, not desecrate, the beautiful home of the soul.




                             CHAPTER XXVII.
                    INAUGURATION DAY AT WASHINGTON.

My Own Private Opinion—Sublime Humanity in the Lump—The Climate
    Disagrees—The Little “Sons of War” Feeling Bad—“Think of the
    Babies”—Brutal Mothers—The “Boys in Blue”—“Broke their Backs and
    Skinned their Noses”—Our Heroes—Later Festivities—“Devoted to
    Art”—Scene in “the Avenue”—A Lively Time—The Mighty Drum-Major—West
    Point Warriors Criticised—Faultlessly Ridiculous—Pitilessly
    Dressed—“Taken for a Nigger”—Magnificent Display—The Oldest Regiment
    in the States—The President—The Senators—Invitation of the
    Coldstream Guards—The Strangers—Generals Sherman and
    Sheridan—Admiral Porter—Sketches of Well-known Men—The Diplomatic
    Corps—Blacque Bey—Full Turkish Costume—Sir Edward Thornton—The
    Japanese Minister—Senator Sumner Appears—The Supreme Court—Senator
    Wilson—Cragin, Logan, and Bayard—Vice-President Colfax—Enter, the
    President—Congress Alive Again—The Valedictory—Taking the Oaths—“The
    Little Gentleman in the Big Chair”—His Little Speech—His Wife and
    Family Behind—The New President—Memories of Another Scene—Grand
    Jubilation—The Procession—The Curtain Falls.


I don’t like Inauguration day, but I hope you do, or will, when I have
told you what a gala day it is to many—to all who stay at home, and
catch the splendor which it sheds, through lines of printer’s ink.

Surely, there is something inspiriting and uplifting in the sight of
massed humanity, in throbbing drums and soaring music, in waving pennons
and flashing lances, all laden with heroic memories, all bristling with
intelligence and the conscious power of human freedom; but, in our
climate, and at the inauguration season of the year, enthusiasm and
patriotism demand a fearful price in nerve, muscle, and human endurance.
If you doubt it, think of the West Point Cadets—those young sons of war,
inured to martial training—who sank to the pavements in the ranks, at
the last inauguration of President Grant, overcome, and insensible with
the bitter cold which chilled and benumbed even the warm currents of
their strong young hearts. Think of the babies who shuddered and cried
in their mothers’ arms, who _would_ see the sight, if baby died!

No less the second inaugural procession of President Grant transcended,
in civic and military splendor, any sight seen in Washington since the
great review when the boys in blue, fresh from the victory of bloody
battle-fields, broke their backs and skinned their noses, in the June
sun of 1865, for the sake of shouting thousands who came hither to
behold them. Oh what a sight was that! when the bronzed and haggard, and
aged-in-youth faces of the boys before us, made our hearts weep afresh
at the thought of the upturned faces of the boys left behind—some in the
cruel wilderness, some in half dug graves on solitary hill-sides, and
lonely plains—all left behind forever, for freedom’s sake. Who that knew
old Washington can forget it? This is another Washington. But here they
come! Safe from cold and wind, thanks to—I look up. From this window, on
Fifteenth street, you can see Pennsylvania avenue past the Treasury
building, (whose marble steps are boarded in from the advancing people,)
to the Executive Mansion, glittering white through the leafless trees
just beyond. Opposite is Lafayette square, the prettiest little park of
its size in the United States. Above, you see the towering mansard of
Corcoran’s building, “Devoted to Art,” and just this side, the lofty
brown front of the Freedman’s Savings Bank. The avenue opens before
you—a broad, straight vista, with garlands of flags, of every nation and
hue, flung across from roof to roof. Above glitters an absolutely
cloudless sky, dazzlingly blue, and pitilessly cold. The very
tree-boughs swing like crystals glittering and freezing in the sun. The
air seems full of rushing fiends, or rushing locomotives running into
each other with hideous shrieks, whichever you please (on the whole, I
prefer locomotives, being fresher). Your imagination need not be Dantean
to make you feel that there is a dreadful battle going on in the air,
above you and about you. The imps come down and seize an old man’s hat,
and fly off with a woman’s veil, and blow a little boy into a cellar.
The bigger air-warriors, intent on bigger spoil, sweep down banners,
swoop off with awnings, concentrate their forces into swirling cyclones
in the middle of the streets, and bang away at plate-glass windows till
they prance in their sockets.

Before such unfriendly and tricksy foes, through the biting air, comes
the great procession. First, a battalion of mounted police; then West
Point, with its band and drum-major. Not a sprite of the air has caught
the baton of its drum-major. Not a sting of zero, has stiffened that
fantastic arm as he lifts and swings the symbol of his foolishness. He
is as inimitable in the bleak and dusty street as when I saw him last,
on the velvet sward of West Point, that delicious evening in October.
Something utterly ridiculous to look at, _is_ refreshing, and anything
more faultlessly ridiculous than the drum-major of West Point I never
saw.

I believe it is fashionable to find fault with West Point; but I
wouldn’t give much for anybody who could see these boys and not admire
them. They have their faults (their caste and their army exclusiveness
sometimes reaches an absurd pitch) but look at them! What faces, what
muscle, what manhood! Their movement is the perfect poetry of motion; a
hundred men stepping as one. What marching, and at what odds! They are
so pitilessly dressed! Thousands of men come behind, warmly muffled; but
the West Point Cadets have on their new uniforms, single jackets. More
than one will receive through it the seeds of death this morning. What
wonder, that two while standing in line sank insensible with the cold
not an hour ago. But, dear me! to think that more than one of them
should be taken for a “nigger!” The colored Cadet is whiter than a dozen
of his class-mates, and has straight hair.

In the distance rises, wave on wave, a glittering sea of helmets;
bayonets flash, plumes wave, bands play; all tell one story—the love of
military pomp and parade, the pride and patriotism which brings these
soldiers back to celebrate the second inauguration of their chief; and
at what cost of suffering to many of them. What cold and hunger, and
delay on the way, and now! what nerve and will it takes to march in a
wind like this!

After West Point comes Annapolis. Pretty “Middies,” young and slender,
in their suits of dark blue! As a body, they are younger than the West
Pointers, and slighter. Nor can any comparison be drawn between their
marching, for the Middies drag their howitzers. They look true sons of
their class; and for intelligence, chivalric manners, and gentle
manhood, the true officer of the American navy is unsurpassed.

The Midshipmen are followed by the famous United States Marine Corps,
then the Old Guard of New York with Dodworth’s band, the Washington
Light Infantry, the Corcoran Zouaves, the Washington Grenadiers, the St.
Louis National Guard. The Philadelphia City Troop, in navy-blue jackets,
tight knee-breeches, white braid trimming, high boots, bearskin helmets
with silver mountings—the oldest regiment in the United States, two
years older than the government, organized in 1774, and furnished men to
every war of this country since. It was in the battles of Trenton and
Princeton, in the Revolutionary War, and has in its armory a letter from
General Washington thanking the regiment for its services.

Now, the President’s mounted guard, in dark blue, yellow-trimmed
uniform, regulation-hat and black feathers. Now, the President in open
barouche, drawn by four horses, with the Senate Committee, Senators
Cragin, Logan and Bayard. The President looks decidedly cooler than
usual, and less indifferent; at least he has just lifted his hat to the
shouting crowd in the street, which requires an impulse of self-denial
this morning.

Now come the Boston National Lancers. They have left their milk-white
steeds there, and to their chagrin, no doubt, are mounted on sorry
Virginian roans instead,—old road and car horses, who act dazed and daft
under their light unwonted burdens. The Lancers are the oldest cavalry
regiment of Massachusetts, organized in 1836, under Governor Edward
Everett. This dashing looking squadron, which has the reputation of
being one of the most perfect military organizations of the United
States, is dressed in scarlet cloth coats, faced with a light blue and
trimmed with gold lace, sky-blue pants with yellow stripes on sides,
Polish dragoon cap, gold trimmings, flowing white feathers and
_aiguillette_, cavalry boots with patent leather tops, white belts and
shoulder straps; red epaulettes, with blue trimmings for the privates,
and gold for the officers, and armed with cavalry sabre and lance, on
which is appended a small red flag.

The Albany Burgess Corps, another famous regiment, led by Capt. Henry B.
Beecher, son of the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, make a splendid appearance.
They are uniformed in scarlet coats, trimmed with white, light blue
pants, buff stripe, and bearskin shakoes, with gold clasp—similar to the
celebrated English Coldstream Guards.

But we shall not reach the capitol till next week, unless we leave the
rest of this splendid procession,—the “orphans of soldiers and sailors,”
the burnished and flower-garlanded fire-engines, the brave firemen,
black and white, and the civic societies. The strangers who rushed on to
inauguration, swarm the galleries till they overflow as they did on
_Credit Mobilier_ days. Generals Sherman, and Sheridan and Admiral
Porter; the first tall and red; the second, little, round, red and
bullet-headed; the third, tall, straight and black, are all being
intently gazed at.

The Diplomatic Corps enter the chamber by the main entrance, led by
Blacque Bey, the dean of the Corps, a tall, dark, gray-haired, handsome
man, wearing scarlet fez and full Turkish court regalia; next, the
English Minister, Sir Edward Thornton, a white-haired, ruddy-faced,
black-eyed, shrewd-looking gentleman; next, the Peruvian Minister,
Colonel Freerye, followed by the Italian and French Ministers, with all
the representatives of foreign governments, in order of seniority—over
fifty ministers, secretaries and _attachés_ in full uniform, excepting
Mr. Mori, Minister from Japan, in citizen’s dress. Just now Mr. Sumner
appears, for the first time in months. He looks pale, and shows the
traces of the acute suffering through which he has passed. His
appearance creates a buzz on floor and in gallery, and many senators go
over to him and exchange friendly greetings. Now the Supreme Court
appear, in their robes of office, kicking them high up behind, as usual,
and take their seats in front of the Vice-President’s desk. At fifteen
minutes to twelve o’clock, Vice-President elect Wilson, escorted by
Senators Cragin, Logan, and Bayard, comes down the centre aisle and
takes his seat at the right of Vice-President Colfax.

At three minutes before twelve, the President appears, leaning on the
arm of Senator Cragin, followed by Logan and Bayard, and takes the seat
assigned him, in front of the Secretary’s table. A deep hush falls on
the throng, as if something awful were about to happen. It’s a sort of
Judgment-Day atmosphere, yet nothing more terrific follows than the
pleasant voice of Vice-President Colfax, beginning the words of his
valedictory. (My! I forgot to say that the dying Congress has come to
life again, and is comfortably, and perforce quietly seated between the
Senate and Diplomatic Corps.) Now comes the new Vice-President’s little
speech. Then the oaths of office, the swearing in of new senators, the
proclamation of the President convening an extra session of the Senate,
to begin this minute, when all start for the back door—no, it’s the
front door of the Capitol, the Supreme Court leading, kicking up their
gowns worse than usual.

On the eastern portico, what do we see? Below, a vast mass of human
beings, line on line of soldiers—cavalry, artillery and infantry; a line
of battle flags at the base of the steps—shot-riddled, battle-torn, all
shuddering or numb in the freezing air. Before us, a little gentleman
sits down in a big chair—Washington’s inaugural chair, we are told. (Oh!
no, we’re not at all sentimental.)

A big gentleman, the Chief Justice, who has most unaccountably fringed
out in a long grey beard and a muffling moustache, holds forth with
solemnity a big Bible. The little gentleman kisses it—kisses these words
from the eleventh chapter of Isaiah:

  “‘And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom
  and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of
  knowledge and of the fear of the Lord.

  “‘And shall make him of quick understanding in the fear of the Lord;
  and he shall not judge after the sight of his eyes, neither reprove
  after the hearing of his ears.’

Then he rises, and, with manuscript in his hands, begins to “battle with
the breeze,” and to read his inaugural, which nobody hears. Behind him
sits his wife and daughter, the ladies of the Cabinet, the Diplomatic
Corps. What a compound of the ornamental and comfortable? Yet nobody is
comfortable—not here. We can catch no word through the outbearing wind,
yet know that for the second time Ulysses S. Grant has sworn to the oath
of office, according to the constitution, and for four more years is
made President of the United States. It seems but yesterday we saw a
loftier head, a sadder face, bowed above that book, within one little
month of its eternity; when, amid the booming of cannon and the huzzas
of the people, Abraham Lincoln for the second time was pronounced the
people’s President, and by the same lips which now utter the same words
for another, a happier, a more fortunate man.

Now the carnival of salute; the Middies fire their howitzers,
thirty-seven guns; the Second Artillery fire twenty-one salvos; the
Firemen ring the bells of their engines; ten thousand men warm their
hands with hat swinging, and make their throats sore with shouting. Amid
all, the multitude and the procession surge back towards the Executive
Mansion. Between the latter and Lafayette square, the review, the return
march, the military pageant culminates. The President, with lady
friends, enters the pavilion built for the purpose, and the troops march
by, encircling two solid squares; the West Point Cadets appear below
Corcoran’s building, marching downward, as the magnificent New York
Regiment—a thousand men—just arrived after an all night’s freezing
delay, have reached Fifteenth street, marching up. The entire body of
soldiery march and mass, till as far as the eyes can reach through the
glittering sunshine, one only sees gleaming helmets, flashing bayonets,
glancing sabers, the Cadets on double quick, the Middies firing their
howitzers, officers displaying fine horses and uniforms, drum-majors
tossing their batons, bands playing, and cannon thundering.

Amid all these the four horses dashing before the Presidential barouche,
bear the President to the Executive door, which now mercifully shuts
them from our sight.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.
                    A PEEP AT AN INAUGURATION BALL.

How Sixty Thousand Dollars were Spent—Something wrong: “’Twas ever
    Thus”—Recollection of another Festival—How “the dust” was Raised—A
    Fine Opportunity for a Few Naughty Words—Lost Jewels—The Colored
    Folks in a Fix—Overpowered by Numbers—Six Thousand People Clamoring
    for their Clothes!—“Promiscuous” Property—A Magnificent
    “Grab”—Weeping on Window-ledges—Left Desolate—Walking under
    Difficulties—The Exploits of Two Old Gentlemen—Horace Greeley Loses
    his Old White Hat—He says Naughty Words of Washington—Seeking the
    Lost—Still Cherished by Memory—Some People Remind General
    Chipman—“Regardless of Expense”—A Ball-Room Built of Wooden Laths
    and Muslin—A Little Too Cold—Gay Decorations—How “Delicate” Women
    can Endure the Cold—Modesty in Scanty Garments—The President
    Frozen—The “Cherubs, Perched up Aloft,” Refuse to Sing—On the
    Presidential Platform—Ladies of Distinction—Half-frozen
    Beauties—“They did not Make a Pretty Picture”—Why and Wherefore?—A
    Protest against “Shams”—A Stolid Tanner who Fought his Way.


Untold time, and trouble, and sixty thousand dollars were expended on
the last inauguration ball building, and yet there was something the
matter with the inaugural ball. There is always something the matter
with every inauguration ball.

When I wish to think of a spot especially suggestive of torments, I
think of an inauguration ball. There was the one before the last, held
in the Treasury Building. The air throughout the entire building was
perforated with a fine dust ground till you felt that you were taking in
with every breath a myriad homœopathic doses of desiccated
grindstone. The agonies of that ball can never be written. There are
mortals dead in their grave because of it. There are mortals who still
curse, and swear, and sigh at the thought of it. There are diamonds, and
pearls, and precious garments that are not to their owners because of
it. The scenes in those cloak and hat rooms can never be forgotten by
any who witnessed them. The colored messengers, called from their posts
in the Treasury to do duty in these rooms, received hats and wraps with
perfect facility, and tucked them in loop-holes as it happened. But to
give them back, each to its owner, that was impossible. Not half of them
could read numbers, and those who could soon grew bewildered,
overpowered, ill-tempered and impertinent under the hosts that advanced
upon them for cloaks and hats.

Picture it! Six or more thousand people clamoring for their clothes! In
the end they were all tumbled out “promiscuous” on the floor. Then came
the siege! Few seized their own, but many snatched other people’s
garments—anything, something, to protect them from the pitiless morning,
whose wind came down like the bite of death. Delicate women, too
sensitive to take the property of others, crouched in corners, and wept
on window ledges; and there the daylight found them. Carriages, also,
had fled out of the scourging blast, and the men and women who emerged
from the marble halls, with very little to wear, found that they must
“foot it” to their habitations. One gentleman walked to Capitol Hill,
nearly two miles, in dancing pumps and bare-headed; another performed
the same exploit, wrapped in a lady’s sontag.

Poor Horace Greeley, after expending his wrath on the stairs and cursing
Washington anew as a place that should be immediately blotted out of the
universe, strode to his hotel hatless. The next day and the next week
were consumed by people searching for their lost clothes, and General
Chipman says that he still receives letters demanding articles lost at
that inauguration ball.

Well, our latest brought discomfort, and discomfiture of another sort.
Neither money, time nor labor were stinted in this leviathan, that still
lifts up its broken and propped up back in Judiciary square. The
building was 350 feet long. The ball-room 300 by 100 feet. All this was
temporary, built of light boards, lined with lighter muslin. You might
as well have attempted to have warmed Pennsylvania avenue as such a
place on such a night. Twenty-four hours before the ball the wind-devils
went at it. If a host from the pit had received full power to move and
dismember it, it could scarcely look more forlorn than it did one Monday
morning. They had sat on its spine in one place till it curved in,
punched it up in another till it was hunchbacked. They had inflated its
sides till they swelled out like an inflated balloon, while the air was
black with the tar-rags, seaming its roof, which flying imps were
carrying up to high heaven.

No less the official report said of the inside: “The mighty American
Eagle spreads his wings above the President’s platform. He has
suspended, from his pinions, streamers one hundred feet in length,
caught up on either side by coats of arms. The circumference of this
vast design is one hundred and eighty feet. The President’s reception
platform is sixty feet long, and thirty feet wide. Twelve pilasters
support alternate gold-figured, red and blue stands, on which are pots
of blooming flowers. The platform and steps are richly carpeted. In the
rear of the balcony, are immense festoons of flags, banners, shields,
radiating from a huge illuminated star of gas-lights.”

What were all those white and rosy walls of cambric, to the
all-pervading polar wave that froze sailors’ fingers, and struck West
Point Cadets to the pavements, in congestive chills, at noonday? Why,
they were nothing but an immense sieve, to strain that same polar wave
through on to the persons of delicate (?) women, who, without money, and
without price, for the sake of dubious admiration and commend, in
promiscuous assemblies, outvie Lydia Thompson in paucity of attire.

But the ball. My intention was to say, that the President was so near
frozen in the day-time, he was not sufficiently thawed out to appear
under that spreading eagle, until half-past eleven o’clock, when the
north wind swooped in from behind, and he congealed again immediately.
The President’s platform was at the north end, and all the muslin
splendors of the presidential dressing and waiting-room could not, and
did not, warm that polar wave. The thousands of canary-birds perched
aloft, who were expected to burst into simultaneous song at the sight of
him, and to trill innumerable preludes in honor of Miss Nelly, instead,
poor wretches, had, one and all, gone to bed, with their toes tucked in
their feathers, and their bills buried in their breasts, in dumb effort
to keep them from freezing. Not a canary-bird sang. No, they were as
paralyzed with cold as the bipeds below.

On the presidential platform, the President and Mrs. Grant sat, the
central figures. A little in the rear, sat Mrs. Fish—stately, lovely,
and serene as ever; and just behind her, the Secretary of State. Next,
were Mrs. Boutwell and Miss Boutwell, and the Secretary of the Treasury;
then came, dream-like, Mrs. Creswell, handsome Mrs. Williams, and
motherly Mrs. Delano. Ellen Grant stood beside her mother, and Edith
Fish hovered beside her’s—both winsome and unaffected girls, though the
girlish grace of the latter shows, already, the fine intellectual
quality of her mother. The Governor of the District, with his wife and
daughter, and numerous other officials, filled the platform.

Back of the Cabinet stood the Foreign Ministers, bereft of their court
attire, but glittering with decorations. Tall Lady Thornton bent like a
reed in the blast; and Madame Flores, the beautiful young wife of the
Minister from Equador, glowed in her warm rich beauty, even at zero.
Alas! that all those wondrous tints of blue and gold, of royal purple
and emerald, of lavender and rose, all the gleam of those diamonds, all
the show of necks and arms, which was to have made the glory of this
“court circle,” alas! that they were all held in eclipse, by layers on
layers of wrappings, till, at a little distance, the whole platform
seemed to be filled with a crowd of animated mummies, set upright, whose
motions were as spasmodic and jerky as those of Mrs. Jarley’s wax works.
It was very sensible—the only refuge from certain death—that all those
necks and arms, diamonds, pearls, velvets and satins, should hide away
under ermine capes, cloaks and shawls; but, lumped in aggregate, they
did not make a pretty picture (the wraps, I mean). Indeed, the polar
wave submerged the presidential platform, and made anything but a
picturesque success. And how unlucky, when for the first time in the
history of inauguration balls, there was a “cubby” for every hat and
wrap, that every man and woman should be obliged to keep them on.

But why a “presidential platform,” and why a private presidential
“supper room” at an inauguration ball? Both are vulgarly pretentious.
Both are preposterous, in the representatives of a republican people, in
a national assembly. I am not a universal leveller. I respect the
inevitable distinctions begotten of personal taste and condition. I make
this remark to add a little force to my protest against meretricious,
and fictitious pretence and shams. The President, as an individual, is
not under the slightest obligation to invite anybody that he does not
want, to his private dinner table. But when the President, _as_ the
President, comes into the presence of a promiscuous assembly of the
people, through whose gift he holds all the honor he possesses,—a
citizen uplifted by citizens to the chief magistracy of their
government, how false to republican fact is the feeling that perches him
up, and hedges him about, with a mock heroic exclusiveness, as if he
were a king, or demi-god, instead of a stolid tanner, who fought his way
to place and power, conferred on him by a nation of stavers and fighters
like himself.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.
                THE UNITED STATES TREASURY—ITS HISTORY.

The Responsibilities and Duties of the Secretary of the Treasury—“The
    Most Remarkable Man of His Time”—Three Extraordinary Men—Hamilton
    Makes an Honest Proposal—How to Pay the National Debt—The New
    Secretary at Work—Laying the Foundation of Financial Operations—The
    Mint at Philadelphia—A Little Personal Abuse—The Secretary Borrows
    Twenty Dollars—Modern Greediness—The Genius Becomes a Lawyer—Burning
    of Records—Hunting for Blunders and Frauds—The Treasury
    Building—Treasury Notes go off Nicely—Mr. Crawford Under a Cloud—He
    Comes out Gloriously—A Little Variety—A Vision of Much Money—Fidgety
    Times—Lighting the Mariner on His Way—Old Debts Raked Up—Signs of
    the Times—Under Lincoln—S. P. Chase as Secretary—The National
    Currency Act—Enormous Increase of the National Debt—Facts and
    Figures—The Credit of the Government Sustained—President Grant’s
    Rule—George S. Boutwell made Secretary—Great Expectations—Mr.
    Boutwell’s Labors, Policy and Success—The Great and Growing
    Prosperity of the Nation.


After the Declaration of Independence, the first thing that the
Continental Congress did was to organize a Treasury Department for the
new government of the colonies.

[Illustration: UNITED STATES TREASURY.—WASHINGTON.]

Michael Hilligas and George Clymer were appointed Joint-Treasurers of
the United Colonies. They were to reside in Philadelphia, and to receive
each a salary of five hundred dollars the first year, and to give bonds
in the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. The second year their salary
was raised to eight hundred dollars each. In a short time George Clymer
was sent to Congress as a delegate from Pennsylvania, and Michael
Hilligas remained Treasurer for the Colonies to the close of the
Revolution.

In six months after the resignation of Mr. Clymer, a committee of five
persons was appointed to assist him to superintend the small Treasury.
Three months after, an office was created in which to keep the Treasury
accounts. That office was an itinerant, like Congress, following it to
whatever place it assembled. Acts were passed for the establishment of a
National Mint. Alas! the poor Continentals had no precious ore to coin,
and never struck off a dollar or cent. An Auditor General’s office was
organized, and John Gibson appointed, with an annual salary of one
thousand and sixty-six dollars and sixty-seven cents.

The office of Comptroller of the Treasury was created November 3, 1778,
and Jonathan Trumbull, Jr., appointed, with a salary of four thousand
dollars. Money was painfully scarce. That made it the more imperative
that this poor little empty Treasury should have some supreme
responsible head who, by the adroit magic of financial genius, should
create a way to fill it, and by some way provide cash for the
unprovided-for emergencies which were perpetually imminent. Thus in
September, 1781, Congress repealed the act appointing five
Commissioners, and in their stead appointed a single supreme
“Superintendent of Finance.”

The first high functionary of the Treasury was Robert Morris, of
Philadelphia. He had already distinguished himself for his remarkable
financial talents as a merchant, and for his devoted patriotism.
Besides, he was the intimate friend and confidential adviser of
Washington. He was the man for the place and the hour. He kept the
credit of the struggling Colonies afloat in their direst moment. He gave
from his private fortune without stint, and added thereto the
contributions of the infant nation. When even Washington was ready to
give up in despair, because he had no money to pay his troops, and the
troops were ready to surrender and disband from sheer misery and
suffering, Robert Morris applied to “the purser of our allies, the
French,” and saved the perishing army and the struggling republic. He
proved then, what has been proved so conspicuously since during a still
greater struggle, that he who preserves the credit of his country in the
hour of its peril is as truly a patriot as he who dies for her sake on
the battle-field.

Notwithstanding his benefactions, at the close of the Revolution, the
jealousy among foremost men was so great, it was found to be impossible
to give to one man the precedence and power in so responsible a place.
The claims of the three contending sections were acknowledged by the
appointment of three Commissioners: one from the Eastern, one from the
Middle, and one from the Southern districts, in the persons of Samuel
Osgood, Walter Livingston and Arthur Lee. Robert Morris became a member
of the Convention which framed the Constitution of the United States,
and concluded his public services to his country as United States
Senator.

At the end of three years, the administration of the three Commissioners
of Finance had proved so inharmonious and unsuccessful that the country
was nearly bankrupt, and the Union of States ready to break into ruins,
for lack of money to pay its expenses and hold it together.

The Constitution of the United States went into effect March 4, 1789,
and Congress went into its first session in the City of New York. Two
subjects moved it to its depths at once—the impending bankruptcy of the
country, and the location of the National Capital. The prevention of the
first depended upon the establishment of the latter. The Nation was
impoverished by a long and harassing war, and depressed by an enormous
debt which that war had caused. The Nation possessed no statistics
indicating the resources of the country, and there was no department
organized through which fiscal operations could be carried on.

The strife between the Northern and Southern States, concerning the
location of the Capital, made harmonious financial legislation
impossible during the opening session of the first Congress. But the
committee appointed to organize a system for the collection of the
revenue, were equal to its accomplishment. After four months’
deliberation, July 31, 1789, the first important act connected with the
Treasury Department was passed, entitled “An act to regulate the
collection of the duties imposed by law on the tonnage of ships or
vessels, and on goods, wares and merchandise.” September 2, 1789, the
fundamental act establishing the Treasury Department was enrolled as a
whole, and passed.

The new Department consisted of a Secretary of the Treasury, a
Comptroller, an Auditor, a Treasurer, a Registrar, and an assistant to
the Secretary of the Treasury. It was decided that the settlement of all
public accounts should be in the Treasury Department, making the
Secretary of the Treasury the head of the Fiscal Department of the
Government, placing him, however, under the authority and requirements
of either House of Congress. He superintends the collection and
disbursement of the revenue of the United States, from every source
derived, except that of the Post Office. He receives the returns of the
revenue in general, and reports to Congress all plans of finance, and
the final results of his own official action, and that of his
subordinates.

The first popular candidate for the position of chief of the Treasury
Department was Oliver Wolcott, a son of a signer of the Declaration of
Independence, and his own services to his country, both under the
Colonial Government and the Union, were acknowledged to have been
important. Meanwhile Washington, who was more anxious to find out how he
was to get money to pay the public debt, than to find a man to pay it,
invited his intimate and tried friend, Robert Morris, to give him the
benefit of his advice. In one of their interviews, the great chief
groaned out: “What is to be done with this heavy national debt?” “There
is but one man,” said the astute financier, “who can help you, and that
man is Alexander Hamilton. I am glad that you have given me the
opportunity to disclose the extent of the obligation I am under to him.”

In ten days after the establishment of the Treasury Department,
Alexander Hamilton was appointed its chief. He was still in the flower
of his youth, but had already proved himself, not only in practical
action, but in the rarest gifts of pure intellect, to be the most
versatile and remarkable man of his time. Of good birth, yet, at twelve
years of age, dependent upon his own exertions for support, he bore, at
that tender age, the entire responsibility of a large shipping house. He
seemed endowed with the quality of intellect which amounts to
inspiration—unerring in perception, sure of success. The boy-manager of
the shipping house earned his bread in the day time, and in the night
wrote articles on commercial matters, equally remarkable for their
comprehensiveness and practical knowledge. A native of St. Croix, West
Indies, at fourteen he came to the United States; at eighteen, entered
Kings, now Columbia College, where he at once attracted attention by his
brilliant essays on political subjects. At the beginning of the
Revolution, he raised and took command of a company of artillery. The
same transcendent intuition which made him supreme as a financier, made
him remarkable as a soldier. In Washington’s first interview with him,
he made him his _aide-de-camp_, and through the entire Revolutionary
war, he was called “the right arm” of the Commander-in-chief.

At the close of the war he returned to New York, and stepped at once to
the very front of his profession. A more remarkable and interesting
group of men probably never discussed and decided the fate of a nation,
than Washington, Morris, and Hamilton. Morris, wise, experienced,
analytic; Washington, grave, thoughtful, far-seeing, slow to invent, but
ready to comprehend, and quick to follow the counsel which his judgment
approved; Hamilton, young, impetuous, impassioned, prophetic, yet
practical; in comprehension and gifts of creation, the supreme of the
three. Never was a nation more blessed than this, in the united quality
of the men who decided its financial destiny.

The first official act of Hamilton, as Secretary of the Treasury, was to
recommend that the domestic and foreign war debt be paid, dollar for
dollar. When the paper containing this recommendation was read before
Congress, it thought that the new Secretary of the Treasury had gone
mad. How was a nation of less than four millions of people to
voluntarily assume a debt of seventy-five millions of dollars! Hamilton
thought that this aggregated debt, created for the support of the
national cause, should be assumed by the individual States; the
outstanding Continental money to be funded at the rate of one dollar in
specie for each hundred in paper, and the whole united to make the
national resources available for the security of the public creditors.

The long strife in Congress over this great fundamental financial
question is a matter of history. There appeared to be no national
resources to meet such a demand. There was not money enough in the
Treasury to pay current expenses, to say nothing of paying a debt of
tens of millions. Probably no body of legislators in the world ever
represented wisdom, statesmanship, pertinacity of opinion so tried in
the fiery crucible of war, poverty and suffering, as did this first
Congress; yet it was left to the untried minister of finance of
thirty-three to save the national credit against mighty odds, and to
foresee and to foretell the future resources of a vast, consolidated
people. This inspiration of enthusiasm and faith, combined with
practical administrative force, and a broad financial policy, averted
the horrors of national bankruptcy, preserved the credit of the
government, and gave to the sufferings of Valley Forge and the surrender
at Yorktown their final fruition.

The young financier, bearing his burden alone, seemed to hold in himself
the guarantee of future triumph. He gave to the most despairing a
security of success when they remembered that, at the age of nineteen,
this same young prophet and patriot was the “right hand” of Washington.

The long struggle ended in the adoption of Hamilton’s great financial
scheme of funding the domestic debt.

When the government was removed to Philadelphia, the Treasury was
established in a plain building in Arch street, two doors east from
Sixth. Here Morris, Hamilton and Washington were united in the closest
bonds of personal friendship. Then followed, in rapid succession, those
great state-papers on finance from Hamilton, whose embodiment into laws
fixed the duties on all foreign productions, and taxed with just
distinction the home luxuries and necessities of life. From these were
evolved in gradual development the entire system of the Treasury
Department of the United States. Time has proved how perfect were the
plans which sprang without precedent from the brain of Alexander
Hamilton.

First, from his suggestions came the act which established the routine
by which customs were to be collected. Then came the acts for the
levying of taxes and the accumulation of the revenue. Then the
imposition on ships and our commercial marine, foreign and domestic.
Next, a bank was established for the depository of collected funds, and
their distribution throughout the country. Then was needed the crown of
the grand financial structure—a legalized institution for the coinage of
gold and silver. To accomplish this great design, Hamilton recommended
for the adoption of Congress the establishment of a mint for the
purposes of national coinage, and the act was passed April 2, 1792,
fixing the establishment at the then seat of government, Philadelphia,
from whence, through later legislation, it has never been transferred.

While consuming himself for his country, Hamilton was harassed by the
abuse of personal and political enemies, and suffering for the adequate
means to support his family. While building up the financial system
which was to redeem his country, the state of his own finances may be
judged by the following letter from him to a personal friend, dated
September 30, 1791:

  “DEAR SIR:—If you can conveniently let me have twenty dollars for a
  few days, send it by bearer.

                                                              A. H.”

The amount of personal toil he performed for the government was
enormous. Talleyrand, who was at this time a refugee in Philadelphia,
after his return to France, spoke with admiring enthusiasm of the young
American patriot. In speaking of his experience in America, he once
said:

  “I have seen in that country one of the wonders of the world—a man,
  who has made the future of the Nation, laboring all night to support
  his family.”

Nobody believes that any servant of his country should be compelled to
this, to-day, yet had not long-sufficed selfishness made them insensible
to it, the over-greedy legislator of to-day might learn from the example
of Alexander Hamilton a salutary lesson.

After six years of personal service in the Treasury, amid personal and
political opposition, greater than has ever assailed any one statesman;
after seeing his financial system a part of the governmental policy of
his country, Hamilton resigned his office, and resumed the practice of
law in the city of New York.

Established in that day of small things, in human judgment it seems
impossible that the brain of one man could have devised a monetary
system that would anticipate all the varied, conflicting and unexpected
demands of a country as large and swiftly developed as ours. Yet, with
slight modifications, the system of Hamilton has met all exigencies,
saved the national credit, and assured the national prosperity through
the deepest trials. It paid the national debt of the Revolution, and of
1812, and in the War of the Rebellion, when the governmental expenses of
a single day were more than the national income for a whole year in
Hamilton’s time, the foresight and genius of this man of thirty-three
had suggested ways for the vast accumulation and disbursement.
Personally, Hamilton was under middle size, slight, well-proportioned,
erect and graceful. His complexion was white and pink, his features
mobile, his expression vivacious, his voice musical, his manner cordial,
his entire appearance attractive and refined.

Alexander Hamilton was succeeded by Oliver Wolcott, Jr., as Secretary of
the Treasury. The great act of Mr. Wolcott’s administration was the
revision and completion of the laws relative to the collection of the
revenue. He carried out, through his administration, the great
fundamental principles of national finance established by Hamilton, and
was re-appointed by John Adams.

When, in 1800, the Treasury Department performed its six days’ journey
from Philadelphia to Washington, it went into a plain, three-story
building, facing Fifteenth street, erected for the Treasury. It was near
the unfinished White House, and, like all the first Federal buildings,
plain and small. It was so small, when first taken possession of, that
it did not even afford sufficient room for the clerical force, then
fifty in number. Its cramped space made it necessary to deposit all the
official records brought from Philadelphia in a house known as Sears’
store, and the records, which would now be invaluable, were all
consumed.

The first official act of the Treasury Department of national interest,
dated at the national capital, directed that the Secretary should make
an annual report to Congress of the state of the finances of the nation,
containing estimates of the public revenue and expenditure, as well as
plans for improving and increasing the revenues. Hamilton had done this
voluntarily, and his example, of a Cabinet officer making communications
with Congress, was now made imperative by the action of law. May 10,
1800, Samuel Dexter, another signer of the Declaration of Independence,
was appointed Secretary of the Treasury in place of Oliver Wolcott. On
the election of Jefferson, the foe of the Hamiltonian financial policy,
the Washingtonian era of the Federal Government ended, and Mr. Dexter
found himself out of harmony with the Government. After the lapse of a
year, President Jefferson set the precedent of removal, and, January 26,
1802, appointed Albert Gallatin, Secretary of the Treasury.

Albert Gallatin was born in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1761. After
receiving a liberal education, he came to this country at the age of
eighteen. He became a tutor in Harvard College, but removing to
Philadelphia, then the national capital, rose so high in public esteem
that in 1790, at the age of thirty, he was elected to Congress, and
afterwards to the Senate. In this body, his reports on matters of
finance attracted universal attention, and, as a result, he was made
Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. President Jefferson, on
handing him his commission, said: “Mr. Gallatin, your most important
duty will be to examine the accounts, and all the records of your
department, in order to discover the blunders and frauds of Hamilton,
and to ascertain what changes will be required in the system. This is a
most important duty, and will require all your industry and acuteness.
To do it thoroughly, you may employ whatever extra service you require.”

Gallatin was an ardent partisan of the President, and declares, himself,
that he undertook his task of exposing Hamilton, and bringing his lofty
head low, with great zest and thoroughness. But his hunt for “blunders”
and venality merged soon into a labor of love. Upon his just and
comprehensive mind, Hamilton’s perfect system, day by day, revealed
itself. By the time he had mastered its details, and measured its
completeness, he was filled with admiration. “In the honest enthusiasm
of a truly great mind he went to Mr. Jefferson and said: ‘Mr. President,
I have, as you directed, made a thorough examination of the books,
accounts and correspondence of my department, from its commencement. I
have found,’ said the conscientious Secretary, ‘the most perfect system
ever formed. Any change under it would injure it.’ Hamilton made no
blunders, committed no frauds; he did nothing wrong.”

Albert Gallatin marked his administration by a series of reports
regarding the best method of canceling the national debt, the proper
policy of disposing of the public lands, and the legality and necessity
of establishing a national bank. Thus, contrary to his original
intention, he associated himself with Morris and Hamilton as one of the
three founders of the financial policy of the nation.

By the year 1804, the business of the Treasury had so increased, that an
effort was made toward the erection of a building, to become the
especial depository of the records. An idea may be given of the demands
of the infant government and its notions of economy, in the facts that
this vaunted fire-proof public building is much smaller than an
unpretentious private dwelling of the present time, and that it cost
less than the sum of twelve thousand dollars.

Mr. Madison, on his accession to the Presidency, retained Mr. Gallatin
at the head of the Treasury.

On March 1, 1809, an act of Congress directed that all warrants drawn on
the Treasury by the Secretaries of the different executive departments,
should designate the appropriation to which they were charged.

June 18, 1812, war was declared, and Congress was convened in special
session, to consider the necessities of the Treasury. Out of the
legislation which followed, came our present internal revenue laws. Mr.
Gallatin, after having held his office longer than any of his
predecessors, resigned, and went on a foreign mission. A period of
extreme money depression succeeded his resignation. August 24, 1814, the
British troops entered Washington, and, with the Capitol and other
public buildings, burned the Treasury. The business of the Treasury, for
a considerable time afterwards, was carried on in what was known as “the
Seven Buildings,” in the western part of the city.

George N. Campbell, of Tennessee, Mr. Gallatin’s successor, attempted to
negotiate a loan of twenty-five millions of dollars, but failed, and
resigned his office. The national credit was at its lowest ebb.

When the need of a great man is absolute, Providence usually has one
ready for the emergency. He appeared at this crisis, in the person of
Alexander J. Dallas, of Pennsylvania. On entering upon his office, as
head of the Treasury, he replied to the request of Congress, that he
should suggest ways for the restoration of the public credit, in one of
the most powerful documents extant in the archives of the Treasury. Mr.
Dallas so inspired the faith of the capitalists of the country, that the
national credit was at once restored. “The Treasury notes, issued on the
universal opinion that they would be a drug in the market, rose to a
premium.”

Mr. Monroe made W. H. Crawford, of Georgia, Secretary of the Treasury.
Under him, the routine of the Department was improved by the appointment
of a second Comptroller and four additional Auditors. Charges of
malfeasance were brought against him toward the close of his term of
office. They were examined by a committee consisting of John Randolph,
Edward Livingston, and Daniel Webster, who pronounced the charges false.
President John Quincy Adams recalled Richard Rush, of Pennsylvania, then
Minister to England, and made him Secretary of the Treasury.

Under Andrew Jackson’s Presidency, the conservative management of the
Treasury Department changed into “the anti-bank period.” His
administration was marked by five different Secretaries, and a
prevailing state of excitement. The first Secretary of the Treasury,
under Jackson, was Samuel D. Ingham, of Pennsylvania, whose trust ended
in a violent breaking up of the Cabinet. He was succeeded by William J.
Doane, of Pennsylvania, who refused to remove the national deposits from
the United States Bank, and was dethroned by Roger B. Taney, of
Maryland. The Senate refused to confirm his appointment, and Levi
Woodbury, of New Hampshire, was installed in the office, holding it to
the end of Jackson’s administration.

April 1, 1833, the Treasury Building was for the third time destroyed by
fire, and a large amount of valuable public documents destroyed.
Afterwards, the business of the Department was carried on in a row of
brick buildings opposite Willard’s Hotel. At this time the “Agent of the
Treasury,” was changed to Solicitor of the Treasury, and a sixth Auditor
was created. Jackson’s administration closed with an “apparent plethora
of money among the people, and the glorious consummation of paying off
the national debt.”

Mr. Woodbury continued at the head of the Treasury, under President Van
Buren. It was his fate to be its director “in the times of unparalleled
plenty, speculation and extravagance, and two years afterwards, to
witness a pecuniary revulsion that had no precedent in financial
history.” In 1837, financial ruin dismayed the Nation. Congress was
convened by special proclamation, to devise ways and means to relieve
the people. Specie payments were suspended, and all business involved in
apparent ruin. Binding laws were passed, divorcing the Government from
all banking institutions, and a new policy was created for the control
of our national finances.

Under Presidents Harrison and Tyler there were five Secretaries of the
Treasury: Thomas Ewing, of Ohio; Walter Howard, of Pennsylvania; John C.
Spencer, of New York, and George M. Beble, of Kentucky. President Polk
made Robert J. Walker the head of the Treasury. He was known as “the
apostle of free trade.” His administration was marked by the
introduction of the present warehousing system, based upon English
precedent; by his reciprocity system between Canada and the United
States abolishing all customs and imports, and the establishment of an
“Interior Department” upon the old overgrown Land Office, with a Cabinet
officer to administer its affairs, under the title of Secretary of the
Interior.

The Secretary of the Treasury, under President Taylor, was William M.
Meredith, of Pennsylvania; who was succeeded, under President Fillmore,
by Thomas Corwin, of Ohio. Secretary Corwin established the present
lighthouse department and wrote the instructions regarding
light-vessels, beacons and buoys. This beneficent legislation gave over
six hundred lights to protect the hitherto neglected mariner on his way.

The Chief of the Treasury under President Pierce, was James Guthrie, of
Kentucky. He is remembered as a strict and efficient officer, carrying
out in minutiæ, the duties and laws of the department. He discovered
outstanding balances against the Treasury, which, if collected, would
more than pay the national debt. Of this sum he collected hundreds of
millions into the Treasury, and raised the standard of efficiency in the
Treasury service by demanding monthly, instead of quarterly reports,
from all its _employés_.

Three Secretaries of the Treasury served under James Buchanan—Howell
Cobb, of Georgia; Philip F. Thomas, of Maryland; and John A. Dix, of New
York. A monetary crisis, almost as severe as that of 1837, marked this
administration. The throes of Secession shook the Union to its
foundation, and the Secretaries of the Treasury, like all other public
servants, were occupied with the “signs of the times,” the swiftly
advancing portents of revolution, more than with the mere financial
duties of the public Treasury.

Abraham Lincoln began his troubled administration by the appointment of
Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio, as Secretary of the Treasury. Never was man
asked to help steer the ship of state through more overwhelming
breakers. With the dissolution of the Union imminent, the national debt
had increased to three times the amount it was at the close of the
previous administration. The number of clerks which, in 1861, was three
hundred and eighty-three, in 1864 was two thousand. Such a demand was
without precedent, and arose from the immense labor of examining
accounts, and of preparing and supervising the national currency and
securities.

The first important measure of Mr. Chase’s administration was the
“Internal Revenue Act,” which, in four years, increased the income of
the Government from forty-one millions to three hundred and nine
millions. Next came the great “National Currency Act,” which, though
severely criticised, and probably not free from defects, nevertheless
established a paper currency of equal value in every part of the Union,
and was, at least, in keeping with the principles of our Government, and
freer from chances of corruption and abuse than any other system yet
adopted. It met the awful demand of the hour, and offered the guarantee
of redemption, rather than of loss and ruin.

In a single month, the tax upon the income of the Treasury became
stupendous. In one day, it paid out for quartermasters’ stores alone,
forty-six millions of dollars—more than were needed to support the
entire National Government during the first year of Washington’s
administration. In four years, the public debt, from ninety millions,
had grown to be two thousand six hundred millions—yet under this mighty
demand, with two millions of its sons withdrawn from productive labor,
the exports of the country were double what they had ever been before,
and the credit of the Government of the United States day by day
increased.

When Mr. Chase was appointed Chief Justice by Mr. Lincoln, his high seat
in the Treasury was taken by Hon. William Pitt Fessenden, whose brief
career as Secretary of the Treasury was marked by a single State paper
of great ability. He was succeeded by Hugh McCulloch, of Indiana, who
dispensed the duties of his office creditably till the close of
Johnson’s administration.

President Grant, upon his accession to the Presidency, chose George S.
Boutwell, of Massachusetts, to be Secretary of the Treasury. Mr.
Boutwell had already served as Commissioner of Internal Revenue, and now
on him devolved the huge task of reducing the high impost and revenue
tax created by the war debt, and borne as a mighty burden by the people.
He had to lighten the load on the people’s shoulders, and yet keep the
national tax high enough to meet the interest, and reduce the amount of
the national debt—in fine, he was expected to relieve the Nation, and to
pay the national debt at the same time. A more conflicting demand never
rested on a Financial Minister. How ably he met it, the “monthly
statement” of the perpetual ebb of the war debt, with the constant
legislation to reduce all revenue taxation to the luxuries of life, were
ample proof.

Before the election of Mr. Boutwell, as United States Senator from
Massachusetts, to succeed Vice-President Henry Wilson, the President
appointed Judge Richardson, Acting Assistant Secretary, to be Secretary
of the Treasury. Judge Richardson stepped from comparative obscurity,
and an opposite sphere of labor, to his present high official position.
There are many who challenge his claim to it, and his fitness for it.
Time may prove one, and disprove the other. As Secretary of the
Treasury, his official record is yet to be made—until his administration
has been marked by an act of national importance, it is too early to
pronounce a verdict.

In the statistics of the Treasury Department, we read the marvellous
financial history of our country. In them we trace the material progress
of the Nation from its beginning. In the accounts current business of
the country, we learn that in the years 1793, ’94, ’95, ’96, the Nation
imported productions valued at one hundred and seventy-four millions of
dollars. In the years 1866, ’67, ’68, ’69, the United States exported
values to the amount of nineteen hundred millions. The value between
these sums marks the growth of population, territory, and material
resources in the space of seventy years—surely, a narrow span in the
life of a nation!




                              CHAPTER XXX.
              INSIDE THE TREASURY—THE HISTORY OF A DOLLAR.

A Washington Tradition—“Old Hickory” Erects his Cane—“Put the Building
    Right Here”—Treasury Corner-Stone Laid—Robert Mills’ Discolored
    Colonnade—Where “Privileged Mortals” Work—A Very Costly
    Building—Rapid Extension of Business—Splendid Situation of the
    Building—The Workers Within—The Government Takes a Holiday—The
    Business of Three Thousand People—The Mysteries of the
    Treasury—Inside the Rooms—Mary Harris’s Revenge—The “Drones” in the
    Hive—Making Love in Office Hours—Flirtations in Public—A Vast Refuge
    for the Unfortunate—Two Classes of _Employés_—A List of Miserable
    Sinners—A Pitiful Ancient Dame—A _Protégé_ of President
    Lincoln—Women’s Work in the Treasury—The Bureau of Printing and
    Engraving—A very Hot Precinct—Rendering a Strict Account—Not a Cent
    Missing—The “Chief’s” Report—Dealing in Big Figures—The Story of a
    Paper Dollar—In the Upper Floor—The Busy Workers—Night Work—Where
    the Paper is Made—The “Localized Blue Fibre”—_The_ Obstacle to the
    Counterfeiter—The Automatic Register—Keeping Watch—The Counters and
    Examiners—Supplying the Bank Note Companies—“The American” and “The
    National”—An Armed Escort—No Incomplete Notes Possible—Varieties of
    Printing—The Contract with Adams’ Express—Printing the Notes and
    Currency—Internal Revenue Stamps—Thirty Young Ladies Count the
    Money—Manufacturing the Plates—The Engraving Division—“The Finest
    Engravers in the Country”—The Likeness of Somebody—Transferring a
    Portrait—“Men of Many Minds”—The Division of Labor—Delicate
    Operations—A Pressure of Five or Six Tons—The Plate
    Complete—“Re-entering” a Plate—An “Impression”—How Old Plates are
    Used up—A Close Inspection—Defying Imitation—The Geometric
    Lathe—Tracing “Lines of Beauty” for More than Forty Years.


It is one of the traditions of Washington that Andrew Jackson decided
the exact site of the present Treasury Building.

After the third destruction by fire, in 1833, of the early Treasury
Buildings, a great strife came up concerning the location of the new
Treasury. Worn out with the claims of “rival factions,” it is said that
President Jackson walked out a few rods from the White House one
morning, and thrusting his cane into the ground, exclaimed: “Put the
building right here!” This ended all disputes, and the end of the “old
hero’s” cane marked the north-east corner of the present site of the
Treasury of the United States.

Though nearly approached by the Patent Office, the Treasury Building, in
architectural splendor, ranks next to the Capitol. Its corner-stone was
laid in 1834 by Levi Woodbury, then Secretary of the Treasury. The
original building was designed by Robert C. Mills, whose long and
discolored colonnade on Fifteenth street is still visible. It was built
of the freestone brought from near Acquia Creek, Virginia, which has
touched with premature dinginess too many of the Federal buildings of
the Capital. But in the Treasury its long line of smut is lost in the
marble splendor of the extensions. The extension of the building was
authorized in 1835, and built from the designs of Thomas W. Walter. It
embodies the most perfect Grecian architecture, adapted to modern uses.
It surrounds a hollow square, on which its inner offices look out on
green grass and cooling fountain through the summer heats. Instead of
cooped-up cells, the lower stories of the Treasury are filled with airy
apartments, in which privileged mortals serve their country and earn
their bread and butter. The new Treasury is built of gleaming granite
brought from Dix Island, on the coast of Maine.

The walls of the extension are composed of pilasters, resting on a base
which rises some twelve feet above the ground on the southern or lower
side. Between the pilasters are _antæ_ or belt-courses, nobly moulded;
the facings of the doors and windows bear mouldings in harmony. The
southern, western and northern fronts present magnificent porticoes. Its
lofty pillars are of the Ionic order, and the entire building is at last
surmounted by a massive balustrade. The south wing was completed and
occupied in 1860. The west wing was completed in 1863—the north in
1867—the whole at a cost of $6,750,000. The exterior is four hundred and
sixty-four feet by two hundred and sixty-four feet.

The Treasury was begun and consummated on a truly magnificent scale, and
with the expectation that it would meet every demand of its own branch
of the public service for at least a century. Like every one of the
public buildings, it is already too small to accommodate the
over-crowded bureaus of its own departments, several of which, for want
of room in the Treasury Building, already occupy other houses in
different parts of the city; and yet there is not space left for those
who remain. Before the year 1900, another Treasury Building as
magnificent as the one now our pride, will be indispensable to the
ever-increasing demand of the departments of the financial service.

The Treasury borrowed its face from the Parthenon; and, as it turns it
toward the Potomac this May morning, it is one of the fairest sites in
Washington. From the southern portico we look across sloping tree-shaded
meadows. Beyond, we see the shimmering river, with its girdle of green,
and above, “the flush and frontage of the hills.” When flowers, and
trees and soft lights shall have taken the place of all this glare—how
beautiful it will be to the eyes of generations to come. But even now
the bright grass, flower-parterres and lapsing fountains are pleasant to
behold, while the southern front of the Treasury is an object upon which
the eyes must always rest with a sense of satisfaction.

The Capitol lords it over the east, but the Treasury reigns over the
west end. To be sure, it stands upon the poorest make-believe of an
Acropolis, but coming along Pennsylvania avenue we look up to its noble
façade and fair Ionic columns gleaming before us, as a compensation for
the poverty of beauty in the streets which we travel. The western
windows overlook the grounds of the presidential mansion, now gay with
flowers and dazzling with sunshine, their trees decked in the vivid
foliage of a southern June-time.

How many pairs of weary human eyes look up from their tasks within these
walls, and, without knowing it, thank God for this fair outlook. The
breeze-blown grass, the fragrant winds, the lavish light of these open
windows—to dusty lips and tired eyes which take them in—are God’s own
benedictions. Hundreds of such look up from their desks. Past the great
fountain, tossing its diamonds below, past the sunny knolls and mimic
mounds of newly-cut grass, above the bloom-burdened trees and all the
tender verdure of early spring and summer, they see the windows of the
presidential reception-room, whose doors, through all the winter months,
are besieged by an army of office and favor seekers, but which are shut
and silent and deserted now, while “the Government” drives among the
hills or loiters by the sea.

But I began to talk about the Treasury, and no matter how I wander for
ever so many pages, I must come back to it again.

It is easier to comprehend the outside than the inside of it. One might
as well try to snatch up a city and portray it in a sitting, as even to
outline the Treasury of the United States in a single chapter.

It holds a metropolis within its walls. It affords daily employment to
over three thousand persons, and thousands more daily throng its halls.
Just a glimpse into this vast human hive makes us long for a Dickens to
embody the romance and reveal the mysteries of the Treasury. The story
of the Circumlocution Office and the Court of Chancery pale before the
revelations and undreamed of human experiences which it holds. Before
you, behind you, and on either side stretch out the great marble paved
halls. Out of these open numberless rooms, whose shut doors stare
blankly, or whose half-open blinds wink and blink at each other through
the gleaming cross lights.

Over these doors you read significant inscriptions, such as First
Comptroller’s Office, First Auditor’s Office, etc. You ascend the great
stairs and find other halls, such as those below, and like them lined on
each side by doors. Over these you read, “Loan Branch,” “Redemption
Branch,” “Office of the Register,” “Office of Secretary of the
Treasury,” etc. Many of the open doors reveal to you large airy
apartments filled with busy men and women. Many more show you narrow,
one-windowed apartments, each containing a desk, or desks, with its
scribe, or scribes.

Here we see men who have grown gray, weak-limbed and wizened in those
rooms beside those desks. They have grown to be as automatic as their
pens, and as narrow as their rooms. Here also are thousands of men in
their prime and in their youth representing every phase of character. In
this hall, just by this door, Mary Harris watched for the man who had
robbed and ruined her—and just here she shot him. Poor thing! With her
blighted face she is a maniac, now in the Asylum across the river. These
halls are as thronged as Broadway, and their denizens are as
cosmopolitan. People of all nations and costumes come and go along their
vast vistas.

There are drones in this hive. These are office hours, yet here and
there may be seen a young man and maiden whose in-door costume marks
them as _employés_ of the Treasury, loitering in the shadow of pillar or
alcove, lingering by stair or doorway, saying very pleasant things to
each other, doubtless, after the manner of young maidens and men.
Flirting or making love in the flare of the public must always be a
desecration of the heart’s best sanctities. Beside, Sassafras and
Sacharissa, you ought to be at work. It is precisely such as you who
have brought discredit even upon the faithful and unfortunate, and
sometimes rebuke upon the whole Treasury Department. For, as a rule, the
Treasury, like all the other departments of Washington, is a vast refuge
for the unfortunate and the unsuccessful. The only exceptions are found
in two classes, viz.: those who use departmental life as the ladder by
which to climb to a higher round of life and service, and those who seek
it without half fulfilling its duties, because too inefficient to fill
any other place in the world well. Unpractical authors, sore-throated,
pulpitless clergymen, briefless lawyers, broken down merchants, poor
widows, orphaned daughters, and occasionally an adventurer, masculine
and feminine, of doubtful or bad degree,—all are found within the
Treasury.

I remember an aged woman, with bent back and long, wasted fingers,
sitting behind the door in the Redemption Bureau. Her dim eyes peered
through her spectacles and her poor fingers trembled, as she tried to
count the dirty, ragged currency. “Alas! sad eyes,” I thought, “by this
time rest from toil should have come to you.” “It is pitiful,” I said,
to the kind gentleman who reigned over the division, “that one so old
should have to come through rain and snow to fulfil a daily task. Is she
not too old to do her duty well!”

“No,” was the answer, “she does it very well. But if not, she would
never be removed. She is a _protégé_ of President Lincoln.”

But any one who fancies that even woman’s work in the Treasury
Department is a sinecure, should climb to the Bureau of Printing and
Engraving. You may climb, but you cannot enter unless you hold a written
“sesame” from the Secretary of the Treasury; so sacred and guarded is
this very hot precinct in which Uncle Samuel creates his “Almighty
Dollar.” The business of this Bureau is to engrave, print, and perfect
for delivery to the United States Treasurer, all United States notes,
Treasury checks, gold notes, drafts, fractional currency notes, all
bonds and revenue stamps issued by the Government of the United States.

At the close of each day, every fraction which has passed through the
division for the last twelve hours must be accounted for. If a cent is
missing, all the workers of the Bureau are detained until the missing
fraction is certainly found and safely deposited in the vault of the
Treasury. The vast monetary responsibility resting on the Chief of this
Bureau may be judged from a statement made, in his own report, for the
fiscal year ending June 30, 1872.

  “There has been finished and delivered to the proper officers of the
  Government by this Bureau, during the fiscal years ending June 30,
  1870, 1871, 1872, in notes, bonds and securities, $2,050,141, and
  331,273,955 stamps, and not a note, nor a sheet, nor a portion of a
  sheet or note has been lost to the Government.”

But I hold the “open sesame;” so come with me and begin the story of a
paper dollar. Walking through the long, cool corridors and the airy
saloons of the lower Treasury, who would dream that afar up, close under
its clinging roof, ceaseless fires burn, engines play, eager shuttles
fly, and patient hands ply through all the nights and days to make the
people’s dollar! Here in these low, close rooms, these crowded halls,
whose roofs press down so low that even a child, in many places, could
not stand erect beneath it, patient men and women,—weary, gray, and
old,—and youth, with its first tints yet unbleached by the burning
atmosphere in which it toils,—all are at work making the paper dollar.

Sometimes in the dark night, down the granite colonnades, athwart the
great trees dimly waving in mid-air, across the lapsing fountains,
stream long gleams of light shooting from the tiny loop-hole windows
high up under the Treasury roof. They dart from the Printing Bureau of
the Nation. While the Nation sleeps, its servants, through the long,
still hours, go on making the people’s money!

First, the paper! It is all manufactured at “Glen Mills,” near
Philadelphia, by the Messrs. Wilcox, who own the mills, and are the
patentees of the “localized blue fibre,” made of jute, which runs
through the right-hand end of the fractional currency and United States
notes, and on the back of the bonds, etc. This fiber is _the_ obstacle
to the counterfeiter, and can only be overcome by oiling or soiling the
spurious paper, so that its absence cannot be discovered. The paper is
chemically prepared, and the application of an acid will change the tint
to one color, and an alkali, to another. Thus any attempt to alter the
filling-in or denomination of the stamped check, is defeated.

A Government superintendent resides at Glen’s Falls, who, with a corps
of assistants, receives the paper from the contractors, counts,
examines, holds it carefully guarded night and day, until delivered to
the Treasury of the United States. To each paper-making machine is
attached an automatic register, by which the mill-owners account to the
Government for every square inch and sheet recorded by this register,
the register being locked, and the key held securely in the pocket of a
Government officer, who watches the work. During its manufacture and
storage at the mills, this paper is guarded, by day and night, by a
regularly organized “watch.” The Government Superintendent has a corps
of counters and examiners under his direction, who examine and count the
paper, as received from the makers, before it is packed away for
shipment. The account is sent to the Department, and paid each day by
the Secretary.

The paper is supplied the Bank Note Companies only upon requisition from
the Bureau at Washington. Mr. Bemis, the Superintendent, makes a report
to the Printing Bureau, also to the Secretary of the Treasury, of all
the paper delivered to him. The first journey made by this governmental
infant, is to the Bank Note Companies—two of them, one in New York, the
other in Philadelphia—the American and the National—that there may not
be any dangerous monopoly of priceless charms. It is borne to the depot
by an armed escort, and conveyed on the cars by Adams’ Express. The New
York Company, printing tints, must turn over to the Company printing
backs, notes equivalent to the paper, and the second Company must
similarly account to the Government for every incomplete note
received—thus neither can possess itself wholly of this beloved child.
One Company prints the tints of one denomination, and the back of the
other, no Company executing on the same note both printings.

The national bank notes, hitherto engraved and printed entirely in New
York, coming only to the Government Printing Bureau for numbering and
sealing, hereafter will be exclusively engraved and printed in the
Treasury. The jute-fibred paper will also be used in their making, as it
is in the United States notes. The face of the Treasury notes is printed
in black and green, the back in green. The National Bank Note face dares
to be printed in black, and its back in black and green.

This tinted and outlined paper is conveyed to the Treasury by Adams’
Express, who have the contract for carrying all the Government moneys
and securities.

When it reaches the Treasury, the work yet to be done by the Printing
and Engraving Bureau, before the paper is complete as Government money,
is to print the face upon the United States notes, and hereafter, on the
National Bank notes, to plate-seal, to number, trim, and cut them into
single notes; to trim, surface-seal, and cut into single notes the ten,
fifteen, and twenty-five, fractional currency notes; to print the face
of, trim, surface-seal, and separate the fifty cent notes; trim,
surface-seal, and number the “funded loan bonds;” to trim, number, and
surface-seal, the national bank notes; and to print the faces upon all
the tints for internal revenue-stamps, already printed in New York.
Besides all this work, the following are entirely engraved and printed
in the Bureau of the Treasury: All strip-tobacco and snuff-stamps, stub
and sheet snuff-stamps, domestic and customs cigar-stamps, compound
liquor-stamps, crew lists ships’ registers, brewers’ permits, all the
new special tax-paid stamps, (sixteen in number,) all miscellaneous
bonds, gold notes, checks, drafts, etc.

When this precious paper, with its black and green lines and tints,
fresh from the Bank Note Companies, arrives at the Treasury, it is
placed into the hands of thirty young ladies for counting, one lady
counting it twice, then passing it to another, for verification.

The next act in the process of making a dollar, is the manufacture of
the plates used in printing. They are made in the engraving division of
the Bureau, under the supervision of Mr. Casilear, a gentleman
distinguished in his profession, who presides over a corps of the finest
engravers in the country. Their work upon the plate of the United States
note, is the engraving of its different parts. First, the face which it
is to bear. This is always noticeably a perfect likeness of the person
whom it represents. A daguerreotype or photograph is used. On the
metallic plate of the daguerreotype the features are drawn lightly, the
artist following accurately the lines of the portrait. If a photograph
is used, gelatine is laid over it, and the picture is traced. From this
outline on the plate, an impression is printed. This impression, by a
chemical process, is transferred to a steel plate covered with wax. The
outlines are then traced on steel, the wax removed, and the face, in
outline, is then on the steel. The shading is then completed.

So many phases of consummate skill are necessary to the completion of a
single dollar note, that “many men of many minds” are required to
perfect a single plate. One has a genius for landscape, another for
portraits, another for animal figures. The portrait is given to one, the
lettering to another, the ornamental work to a third, and on and on.
These fragments of the perfect picture to be, are executed upon separate
bits of soft steel. When the lines on them are completed, these
different bits of soft steel are put into an iron box, case-hardened and
annealed in a crucible of intense heat, then suddenly cooled by dipping
them in oil, which utterly hardens the soft steel. Rolls of soft steel
are then prepared. By the application of a powerful press, the various
pictures and lines, that the artists have engraved, are taken up by the
soft steel rollers from the hard steel plate. The intaglio work appears
on the roll, just as it afterwards appears on the note.

Now, the note-face is in fragments on the surface of the separate rolls.
Next, the rolls are hardened, and placed in a transfer press over a flat
plate of soft steel. Upon this plate, the operator of the press, by
applying the lever, can, if necessary, impose a pressure equal to five
or six tons. This pressure transfers the fragmentary picture to the
plate. Then its counterpart picture is set in exact juxtaposition. The
operator uses his steady hand, and skilled eyes, to set like a mosaic,
each fragment of the complete design. Then moving the roller softly, to
and fro, to equalize the pressure on every part of the picture, he
continues to do so till the plate is hardened. He then passes a soft
roll over it, and the entire note-face is taken up. In turn, this roll
is hardened, and the note-face transferred from it to a soft steel
plate. This final plate, hardened and polished, is the plate from which
the note is at last printed.

After this plate has been used for thirty thousand impressions, its
fading lines are restored by “re-entering” the plate with a roll. It is
then used for thirty thousand impressions more. When finally “used up,”
these plates are destroyed in the presence of a mixed committee of
Treasury officers and members of Congress.

Look closely at the United States notes, the fractional currency bonds,
and the most valuable revenue stamps, and you will see many lines
involved and intricate, running to and fro in the most marvellous
manner. These lines defy imitation. They are the best tantalizer and
detective of the most accurate counterfeiter. The most absolute
imitation, made by hand, can be instantly perceived under a glass. These
involuting lines are the work of the geometric lathe, an instrument
whose complicated wheels can be set to work out any combination of
curved lines which the human mind can possibly conceive. The
counterfeiter, with the same lathe, would be powerless to produce the
same complications—“he would grow gray in endless and useless
experiments, and even with a record of the combination, he could not so
exactly re-produce it, that an expert could not detect the imposition.”

The geometric lathe of the Treasury of the United States, is worked by
Mr. Tichenor, who has been a skilled artist in such machinery for more
than thirty years. There are no more interesting objects in the
Treasury, than the line of clear-eyed men who sit bent over their tasks,
their subtle lines tracing the exquisite vignettes which have made the
engravings of the United States Treasury so famous. Here is one who has
been tracing these lines of beauty for more than forty years: his hair
is white, but his keen, strong sight—drawing harmony, poetry, nature,
and life, out of barest outline—remains undimmed.




                             CHAPTER XXXI.
           THE WORKERS IN THE TREASURY—HOW THE MONEY IS MADE.

The Dollar with the Counters—In the Tubs—Getting a Wetting—Servants of
    Necessity—That Scorching Roof—Brown Paper Bonnets—Earning their
    Daily Dollar—The Work Progressing—In the Press—A State of
    Dampness—Squaring Accounts—Calling for a Thousand Sheets—Accounting
    for Them—Superintending the Work—The Face-printing Division—The
    United States “Sealer”—One Hundred and Thirty-five Presses at
    Work—Printing Cigar-Stamps and Gold-Notes of Many Colors—Presses
    “Flying”—Quick with Dangerous Motion—With a Begrimed Face—The
    “Help-mate” of his Toil—The Fiery Little Brazier—What the Man
    Does—The Woman’s Work-The Automatic Register—An Observer Without a
    Soul—Our Damp Little Dollar—The Drying Room—The First
    Wrinkles—Looking Wizened and Old—Rejuvenating a Dollar—Underneath
    Two Hundred and Forty Tons—Smooth and Polished—Precious to the
    Touch—A Virgin Dollar—The “Sealer” at Work—Mutilated Paper—What the
    Women are Paid—The Surface-Sealing Division—Seal Printing—The
    Aristocratic Green Seal—The Numbering Division—Attended Solely by
    Women and Girls—Critically Examined—A Lady Charged with
    Errors—Securing Adequate Care—Dividing the Dollars—To Start
    Alone—Ladies Serene at Work—Snowy Aprons and Delicate
    Ribbons—Needling the Sheet—A Blade that Does Not Fail—Sorting the
    Notes—The Manipulation of the Ladies—The Dollar “in its Little
    Bed”—Dollar on Dollar—“Awaiting the Final Call”—The Mandate of Uncle
    Sam—Fourteen Divisions—Making up Accounts—Tracing a Note—A Perfect
    System of “Checks”—The Safeguards—The Chief of the Bureau.


O my! that dollar! I left far back, flying through the fair hands (more
or less) of thirty lovely “counters,” to find it here, sopped in the
tubs of the “wetters.”

Long trough-like tubs run down the middle of an attic-room, at whose
sides the roof slopes so low, a child could not stand under it. Even at
its apex, a slender girl beside her tub can scarcely stand upright. At
either side of the long troughs are rowed maids and matrons, some fair
and young, some old and worn, all bearing unmistakably the mark of the
servant of necessity. So near and hot to the brain is the scorching
roof, each woman wears upon her head a covering of brown paper, for
protection. Who will say these lowly servants of the Government do not
earn the scanty pittance of their daily dollar?

In the “wetting division” is received, counted, and “wet down,” all the
paper that is to be plate printed. Here, in different stages of
progression, we see blank sheets wetted for first printing, and sheets
in preparation for second, third, and even fourth printing. The counters
of this division put every twenty sheets in the hands of the wetters,
who place them between cloths and submerge them in the liquid of the
tubs before them. Every one thousand sheets, thus wetted, are placed
between wooden boards, under the pressure of two hundred and fifty
pounds. In these cerements they remain for three or four hours, when
they are taken out, the top sheets made to change places with the middle
ones, that uniform dampness may be secured. The sheets are then laid
again between the weights, to remain till the next morning, when they
are taken out, piled up under damp cloths to wait the call of the
plate-printers. All this systematic saturation is indispensable to the
securing of a fine print impression.

[Illustration: MAKING MONEY.—THE ROOM IN THE TREASURY BUILDING WHERE THE
GREENBACKS ARE PRINTED]

A distinct account is kept with each printer, which must be “all right”
before he goes home. For example, a plate-printer calls at the wetting
division for a thousand sheets. These are given him, and charged at once
on the books of the division. As fast as he prints his work, he sends it
to the office of his printing division, and is credited with all the
work that he has accomplished. At the close of the day, if he has any
sheets left unprinted, he returns them to the wetting division, and is
credited with them as sheets returned. His work performed and work
returned must then be ascertained, and his account strictly balanced,
before he can leave the Treasury.

The wetting division is superintended by Mr. J. H. Lamb, who, with Mr.
Ward Morgan, the head of the face-printing division, Mr. Edgar of the
examining division, and Mr. Evans, the United States Sealer, have all
been chosen to preside over their distinct divisions on account of their
practical experience in plate-printing, gained by personal toil at the
press itself.

Now we come to the Face-printing Room of the troublesome little dollar.
One hundred and thirty-five presses are flying in this room and another;
the latter printing the seals and tints of cigar-stamps, gold-notes,
etc., in hues as varied as the leaves in autumn. Standing in this door,
looking down this long apartment, we see seventy-five presses flying at
once. The air is quick with dangerous motion. Great shuttle-like fans
flap above our heads. At every angle, presses, eager and accurate, seem
ready to strike you, as well as the dollar, with unerring skill and
execution. Beside each one stands a man, with face begrimed. Beside each
man stands a woman, the helpmate of his toil. Between each flames a
fiery little brazier, holding the gleaming plate to keen heat. The face
printer runs his roller, wet with ink over the face of the absorbing
plate. A cloth in his hand comes swiftly after, leaving only the fine
lines of the plate traced with ink. The ready woman lays the moist paper
on the warm ink-lined plate. The printer touches the wheel, turns it,
the sheet flies up. Lo! at last, the beautiful new dollar! The girl
takes it instantly, lays it, face down, on top of its new-born brethren.
Already the roller is passing again over the polished plate, and her
hands are outstretched to lay another sheet upon the waiting plate. In
less than a minute another dollar is made.

An automatic register is connected with each press; thus every sheet,
note, or stamp printed, is recorded, and serves as a check on the
counter and printer. The register is locked, and the key kept with the
keeper of the registers, appointed by the Secretary.

After leaving the press and being heaped a few moments by its side, the
next thing that happens to our damp little dollar, is to be dried. The
moist sheets, spread upon racks, are carried to the drying room until
the next morning. The drying process leaves the sheets with a rough,
wrinkled surface. The little dollar comes forth from its first bed,
looking wizened and old, and is immediately sent to the “pressing
division” to be rejuvenated. Here every thousand sheets, for six
minutes, are subjected to a slow, steady pressure of two hundred and
forty tons, from which every sheet issues smooth, soft, polished, and
precious to the touch, as every soul will say who has been the first
possessor of a virgin dollar.

The pressing division is superintended by Mr. Rallon, the “Nestor” of
the Bureau. Mr. Edgar, superintendent of the examining division,
assisted by thirty young ladies, takes care of the face-printed work.
Mr. Evans, the United States Sealer, examines all the seal and tint
prints. All mutilated, are carried to the counting division before being
sent to the Secretary for destruction. Each printer is allowed a small
percentage for unavoidable mutilation. If at the end of the month his
number of mutilated exceeds this allowance, he is obliged to pay for the
excess. Each printer works by “the piece,” and pays the woman who helps
him—the price being regulated by the Bureau—one dollar per day.

After coming forth from the hydraulic presses, softly polished, every
exquisite line and figure embossed in keen relief, the United States
note sheets pass to the surface-sealing division. The process of
seal-printing is the same as the first, and each sheet has to go through
the same process the second time. Under the superintendence of Mr. Gray,
six “Gordon” and six “Campbell” presses print the beautiful pink
surface-seals. Here the small currencies, the national bank notes, the
new special tax-paid stamps, receive the internal revenue seal. The
“funded loan bond” alone is stamped with the aristocratic green seal.

Having been sealed, the dollar must now be numbered, and for that
purpose passes into the numbering division, where it receives the last
touch of printing from machines attended solely by women and girls. This
machine works on the same principle as the famous paging machine. The
numbers are set on the surface of a small wheel, and with every stroke
of the stamp the next consecutive number flies up into its place; with
the same stroke, a small roller, taking the red ink from the plate and
feeding it to the type. These machines are regulated to change the
numbers for a whole series. Two red numbers on each bill are put on by
these machines. Intense care is necessary in this work, to prevent
mistakes, and each bill is critically examined to ascertain its
correctness. If mistakes are discovered at once, they can be rectified;
but the red ink soon hardens and becomes indelible. If the mistake is
discovered too late to correct it, it is charged to the lady who made
it. This has been found to be the only way to secure adequate care on
the part of the numberers.

The last line of printing is received in the red number set at top and
bottom; all that remains for the dollar, before starting on its journey
into the wide, wide world, is to be divided from its brethren, that it
may start alone. Thus the United States note sheet is carried into the
separating and trimming room. This used to be done by scissors, and gave
to women, I believe, their first work in the Treasury. This room is one
of the largest and busiest in the Bureau, and second only to the
printing-room in interest. The wheels, straps and pulleys reaching to
the ceiling, with which its air is perforated, give it, at first glance,
a complicated atmosphere, till the eyes rest upon the many ladies
sitting serenely at work below.

[Illustration: AMONG THE GREENBACKS.—THE CUTTING AND SEPARATING ROOM IN
THE TREASURY BUILDING.—WASHINGTON]

This work being all clean, and some of it dainty in its character, the
result is visible in the tasteful attire of the workers, whose snowy
aprons and delicate ribbons are in direct contrast to the worn and
soiled raiment of the weary sisterhood of the tubs, and the inky presses
of the wetting and printing divisions. Part of the woman’s work of this
room is to needle the sheets, which must be done so accurately, that
when hundreds together are laid in the cutting machine, the glittering
blade will strike through a single line, not wavering a hair’s width
through two hundred sheets. The room is thronged with those little
guillotines, whose gleaming blades are in constant execution. Each
Treasury note sheet which passes under them is cut into four notes at
once, each sliding down, correctly sorted, into its own little box
waiting below. Excepting the fractional currency cutters, all these
exquisite machines are worked by ladies, who manipulate them with
unerring accuracy.

In this Bureau but one more thing remains for our dollar, that it should
be laid “in its little bed,” before it goes down to the Treasurer. This
is speedily done, and its bed is a very dainty affair,—a pretty box,
made in an adjoining room by pretty hands; and pretty hands lay our
dollar away; indeed dollar on dollar, so many in a box, which shuts them
in—fair, tempting, tantalizing—out of sight, to await the call of the
Treasurer and the mandate of Uncle Samuel.

There are fourteen divisions in the Printing and Engraving Bureau. Yet
it is its unyielding rule that not a sheet of paper can pass from the
hands of one superintendent to his operatives without a verified count
and a written receipt, which is made a permanent record in a book kept
for the purpose. At the close of each day’s labor, the operatives in
every room report to its superintendent, before they leave the building,
how much paper they have received, how much finished, returning the
balance. The superintendent of each room makes a report, on a printed
form, at the end of each day, showing the amount of paper received,
delivered up to the morning, through the day, the amount delivered that
day, the amount on hand. This report is delivered to the Chief of the
Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and a duplicate sent to the Secretary.
From these reports the Secretary compiles his report of the work of the
entire Bureau, which must correspond with the report made by the Chief
of the Bureau.

When any given issue of notes or bonds is completed, the Secretary of
the Treasury holds a report, which is a complete history of the issue
through all its stages of growth, from beginning to end. The test of the
utter thoroughness of this system, is that every note printed in this
department from its beginning, if returned to superintendents, could be
traced, through every stage, back to blank paper; the books showing the
date of its arrival, and by whom it was printed, sealed, numbered,
separated, and delivered to the Treasurer of the United States.

The system of checks used by the Bureau of Printing and Engraving is so
perfect that it is almost impossible for the Government to lose a
fraction from it. The paper is registered at the mills—every sheet
accounted for. Every sheet manufactured is accounted for every day. To
perfect a fraudulent issue, there would have to be a universal collusion
between all the superintendents of all the divisions and all the
operatives, and between the superintendents and operatives. Several high
officers of the Printing Bureau are appointed by the Secretary,
independent of the Chief of the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, which
is another security against danger. These are but a part of the
safeguards within which the United States Treasury holds its dollars.

Mr. McCartee, the present Chief of the Bureau of Printing and Engraving
of the United States Treasury, is so utterly the master of the momentous
machinery which he “runs,” that you cannot ask him a question concerning
the labor in detail of his eleven hundred _employés_, that he cannot
answer more perfectly than the person doing the work.

Beside his own practical knowledge of the business committed to his
charge in minutiæ, he employs only men trained from their youth up in
the art of plate engraving, to perform the skilled labor, or to
superintend the divisions of this most important Governmental Bureau.
The responsibilities and mental anxieties of its chief are so
inexorable, that he must be at his post by a little past seven in the
morning, and remain till five P. M. He must return about seven P. M.,
and remain until ten at night. Often the wheels and presses, and patient
hands of this department, go from day to day to be able to meet the
enormous demand of the country upon its resources. No added comment is
necessary to prove how honorable is its lowliest toil, or how
indispensable to its chief are the highest mental and moral qualities.




                             CHAPTER XXXII.
                       THE LAST DAYS OF A DOLLAR.

The Division of Issues—Ready for the World—Starting Right—Forty
    Busy Maids and Matrons—Counting Out the Money—Human Machines—A
    Lady Counting for a Dozen Years—Fifty Thousand Notes in a
    Day—Counting Four Thousand Notes in Twenty Minutes—Travelling
    on Behalf of Uncle Sam—In Need of a Looking-Over—“Detailed”
    for the Work—What has Passed Through _Some_ Fingers—Big
    Figures—Packing Away the Dollars—The Cash Division—The Marble
    Cash-Room—The Great Iron Vault—Where Uncle Sam Keeps His
    Money—Some Nice Little Packages—Taking it Coolly—One Hundred
    Millions of Dollars in Hand—Some Little White Bags—The Gold
    Taken from the Banks of Richmond—Anxious to Get Their Money
    Back—A Little Difficulty—Not yet “Charged”—A Distinction
    without a Difference—Charming Variety—A Nice Little Hoard—Five
    Hundred Millions Stored Away—The Secret of the Locks—The
    Hydraulic Elevator—Sending the Money off—How the Money is
    Transported—Begrimed, Demoralized, and Despoiled—Where is our
    Pretty Dollar?—The Redemption Division—Counting Mutilated
    Currency—Women at Work—Sorting Old Greenbacks—Three Hundred
    Counterfeit Dollars Daily—Detecting Bad Notes—“Short,” “Over,”
    and “Counterfeit”—Difficulty of Counterfeiting Fresh
    Notes—Vast Amounts Sent for Redemption—Thirty-one Million
    Dollars in One Year—The Assistant Treasurer at New York—The
    Cancelling Room—The Counter’s Report—The Bundle in a
    Box—Awkward Responsibility—“Punching” Old Dollars—They are
    Chopped in Two—Paying for Mistakes—The Funeral of the
    Dollar—The Burning, Fiery Furnace—“The Burning Committee”—What
    They Burn Every Other Day—The End of the Dollar.


Following our dollar, we come this soft summer morning to the Division
of Issues. It is in the Treasurer’s Bureau, and here, crisp, new and
ready for its adventures, our dollar has arrived. The fate that may
await it out in the world, the wildest fancy cannot foretell; but before
it starts on its long pilgrimage, it must be again manipulated by fair
fingers, to see that it starts “all right.”

We enter a long, light, airy room; and here at a table sit forty or more
maids and matrons, counting the new notes. Pretty maidens! Pretty
dollars! Our dollar among the rest. Crinkling, fluttering, flying, the
dollars! Serene, silent, swift, the maidens! That anything can be
counted so rapidly and yet so accurately, defies belief. It is the
marvel of this counting, that it is as infallible as it is flying. The
fingers of forty women play the part of perfected machinery, the
numbered notes passing through them with the celerity and regularity of
automatic action.

This perfection of mathematical movement is acquired only by long
practice and by one order of intellect. There are persons who can never
acquire this unerring accuracy of mind and motion combined. There is a
lady sitting here who has been in this division since it was organized,
in 1862, who can, upon demand, count fifty thousand notes in one day. As
the department hours of work are from nine to three o’clock, and half an
hour is taken at noon for lunch, these fifty thousand notes must all be
counted in the space of five and a half hours. This is at a rate of nine
thousand and ninety notes each hour, one hundred and fifty each minute
and two and a half each second. The same lady will count four thousand
legal tender notes in twenty minutes. These lady counters, with a number
of their sister peers from the Redemption Division, perform numerous
journeys for Uncle Samuel whenever the Treasury Offices in other cities
need a “looking over.” At such times they are “detailed” to go and count
the Government funds there.

Through the fingers of these ladies has passed every note—legal tender
or fractional—which has been issued by the United States since the
beginning of the war of the rebellion. Every note, ever touched or seen,
with all the gold-notes and the millions of imperfect bonds and notes
never put in circulation—every one has passed through these same deft
fingers. The total value of this vast amount, up to July, 1872, was
about two thousand nine hundred million dollars, more than two hundred
and twenty-three millions of which was in postal and fractional
currency.

As soon as the new money is counted, it is again put away—the legal
tenders in strong paper wrappers, the fractional currency in paper
boxes. All are sealed, put on a hand-cart, and rolled off to the vaults
of the cash division, whither we still, you and I, pursue our little
dollar.

Passing through the cashier’s office and the superb Marble Cash-room (to
which we will soon return), at the opposite end we reach one almost
exclusively occupied by the iron vault of the United States Treasury.
The double iron doors swing slowly back, and we stand in the money vault
of the nation. It looks light and airy as a china-closet. The sealed
packages, lining the shelves to the ceiling, are full of money. I hold a
small package in my hand of crisp, stamped paper, tied with common
twine, and “take it coolly” when the keeper of these coffers tells me
that the string ties in one hundred millions of dollars. It doesn’t seem
much!

On the shelf of a cosy closet are piled some little white bags which
have done a deal of travelling. They hold the gold captured from
Jefferson Davis’s fleeing trains, taken from the banks of Richmond. You
know the banks of Richmond have been very anxious to get their money
back, and have sent numerous messengers after it. A small obstacle, in
the shape of a fact, separates them from the object of their desire.
This gold was rifled from the mint in New Orleans, and before it came to
the banks of Richmond belonged to the Treasury of the United States.

In this vault is packed away all the money not needed for circulation. A
large portion of the money which lines these shelves has never been
charged to the Treasurer on the books of the department, therefore,
technically, is not yet money, although all ready for use. Every kind of
note which the ingenuity of Uncle Sam and his servants ever devised, is
here packed and guarded. The compartments of the safe not affording
sufficient space, the floor is piled—and as carelessly, apparently, as
if with potato or apple bags; but not in fact. The value of every bag
and package is known, and not one cent could be taken without being
swiftly discovered and pursued. Piles on piles of little bags and
packages! this is all, and yet they hold five hundred millions of
dollars. Little bags and packages these are, all, and yet for them men
toil, struggle, sin—sell their bodies and their souls!

On each of the doors of this iron vault are two burglar-proof locks, of
the most complicated construction, each on a combination different from
the rest. But two or three persons know these combinations, and no
person knows the combination to the locks on both doors. Thus it is
impossible that they should be fraudulently opened, save by collusion
between two persons who know the combination. This is but one of the
safeguards which the Government sets about its treasures.

A few paces from the door of this vault is the elevator communicating
with the room of the agent of Adams’ Express Company, on the basement
floor below. The motive power of this elevator is Potomac-water, from
the water-mains. Two iron pistons, about eight inches in diameter,
attached to the elevator platform, one on each side, move smoothly up
and down in perpendicular iron cylinders. A turn of the handle admits
the water into the cylinder beneath the pistons, which are forced up by
the pressure, and with them the elevator. A reverse movement of the
handle allows the water to escape from the cylinders, and the elevator
descends. Its movements are noiseless, and it is managed with remarkable
ease. Up and down, this servant, swift and silent, bears the moneys of
the people. It is just descending, piled high with packages, some
directed to banks, railroad and manufacturing companies. Others are
addressed to assistant treasurers and depositors of the United States.
Much is going to replace the old money already sent back to the Treasury
for destruction. All will be carried away, as it was brought in its
neophite state, by Adams’ Express Company, which is bound by contract to
transact all the vast money transportation business of the Government.
This contract confers mutual advantage, both on the Company and the
Government. To the latter, because it obtains transportation at a much
lower rate than it could otherwise do, paying but twenty-five cents for
each thousand dollars transported; while, at even this per cent., the
Company can grow rich on the monopoly of the vast money transportation
business of the Government of the United States.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Alas! for our dollar that went forth from the paternal door—as many
another child has done—unsullied, only to return at a later day from its
contact with the world, begrimed, demoralized, despoiled. Where is our
pretty dollar, fresh and pure? Every delicate line defaced, tattered,
filthy, worn out—this wretched little rag, surely, cannot be it! And yet
it is. This is what the world’s hard hand has made our dollar.

We have reached the Redemption Division of the Treasurer’s Bureau, and
stand in one of the rooms devoted to the counting of mutilated currency
and the detection of counterfeits. This difficult and responsible labor
of the public service is performed solely by women.

In the long rooms on either side of the marble hall, on the north ground
floor of the Treasury Building, may be seen one hundred and fifty women,
whose deft and delicate fingers are ceaselessly busy detecting
counterfeits, identifying, restoring, counting and registering worn-out
currency which has come home to be “redeemed.” Each lady sits at a table
by herself, that the money committed to her may not become mixed with
that to be counted by any other person.

The fractional currency sent to the Treasury for redemption is usually
assorted by denominations only. The work of assorting by issues remains
to be done by the counters of the Treasury. As there are four distinct
issues of most of the denominations, each of which must be assorted by
itself, this labor alone is a vast one to the counters. Looking on their
tables we see them heaped with little piles of currency, each made of a
denomination or issue different from the rest. Thus every new issue
increases the labor of currency-redemption. With clear eyes and patient
hand, the lady bending over this table takes up slowly every bill and
scrutinizes it, first, to see if it be genuine. Over three hundred
dollars in counterfeit notes are found in the fractional currency,
daily. This fact alone is sufficient to make the counting of the
Redemption Division far less rapid than that of the Division of Issues.

The first thing that a lady at a redemption table does with her money
packages is, to compare their number with the inventory which
accompanies them. If there is none, she makes one. If there is a
discrepancy between the packages and the number claimed, she refers to a
clerk, that there may be no mistake. She then proceeds to the
examination of a single package. After she has placed all the rest in a
box, so that no strap or stray scrip from another bundle may mix with
the first; when she has scrutinized and counted every note in the
package, she puts the strap on again, marking it with her initials, the
date, the amount, the “shorts,” “overs,” and “counterfeits.” Thus she
continues till every package has been counted. She then proceeds to
assort the notes into packages, each containing one hundred notes, each
of the same denomination and issue, which she binds with a “brand new”
printed strap again, marked with her initials and date. All the notes
over even hundreds she places by themselves. These in turn are given to
distinct counters, whose sole business it is to make even hundreds out
of these odd numbers.

The first counter then enters in a book, having a blank form for the
purpose, printed in duplicate on one side of each leaf, a statement of
the result of her count, containing the net amount found due to the
owner, the aggregate of the “shorts,” the “overs,” the “counterfeits”
discovered and the amount claimed. One of these duplicates is retained
in the book as her voucher; the other is attached to the letter which
accompanied the money; all together are handed to the clerk, who draws
the check which is to be sent in return; or, if new currency is to be
sent from the cash division, the clerk writes the order on which it is
to be forwarded.

This is the story of but one package of mutilated money of the tens of
thousands that are received at the Treasury every day. The Government
has provided the most munificent facilities for the redemption of its
currency and the maintenance of its credit in circulation. To what an
extent the nation avails itself of these facilities no one can realize
who has never visited the Treasury. Regular transportation, at the
expense of the Government, is provided by express for the redemption of
all currency. Everything demanded of its holders is, that they should
send it in proper amounts; then its transportation is paid, and new
currency sent back in its stead. This liberality in the Government is
partly accounted for in the fact that fresh notes are a prevention of
counterfeits. A fresh, new note cannot be counterfeited. Its exquisite
tints and lines cannot be reproduced by any false hand. Only after its
beauty has been obscured is the attempt made. Thus it is said that
counterfeiters “soil and rumple their spurious notes, to give them the
appearance of having been in circulation a long time.” Thus many banks
never sort over or pay out any fractional currency which they receive,
but put it into packages and send it to the Treasury at the close of
each day’s business, so that nothing but clean notes are ever paid over
their counters. By doing this they are saved the immense labor of
reassorting old notes, and afford their applicants the happiness of
always receiving new ones.

Only the room in which the express messengers deliver their remittances
can give any idea of the vast amounts sent daily to the Treasury for
redemption. Here we find counters, tables, and the floor piled high with
damaged money from every State in the Union. Two and three hundred
packages are often received by express in a single day. The greater part
of these contain postage and fractional currency. The Assistant
Treasurer of New York forwards a remittance of fractional currency every
ten or twelve days, never less than one hundred thousand dollars, and
the amounts sent from other treasury officers are proportionately large.
Over thirty-one million dollars in fractional currency were received and
counted during the last fiscal year—about one hundred thousand dollars
for each working day. Every note in this large sum has to be counted,
studied, assorted with all others of the same denomination and issue;
strapped, labelled, reported, delivered—all done by women.

The last room to which the counter carries our dollar is the cancelling
room. She has just reported to the chief of the Redemption Division the
result of her count, in the following duplicate report on the broad
paper strap which binds her bundle of soiled notes:

                                                      AMOUNT, $5,000.00
                _From Fiftieth National Bank, New York City._
                                   Received July 9, 1873, by MARY JONES.

     ══════════════════════════╤══════════════════════════════════
     Legal,           $4,000.00│Counterfeit,         $20.00
     Full Currency,      900.00│Discount,              5.00
     Odds,                40.00│Rejected,              5.00
     Discounted,          20.00│Short by Inventory,   15.00    ———
                           ————│Short by Strap,             $45.00
                      $4,960.00│Over by Strap,                5.00
                               │                               ———
                               │Net Short,                  $40.00
     ══════════════════════════╧══════════════════════════════════

The $4,960 is immediately sent to the bank in any denomination of new
notes requested, or if no such request has been made, it is sent in
exactly the denominations received. And now our lady-counter proceeds to
attend the cancelling of the notes which she has counted, and which the
Treasury has already redeemed. A messenger carries her precious bundle
in a box, but she must keep messenger, box, and bundle in sight; for,
from the moment that she receives it, till she places it in the last
cash-account clerk’s hands, she is personally responsible for its
contents. If, by any possibility, it could be spirited away, she would
be obliged to pay for every ragged dollar out of her little stipend.

This is a bustling sight. Messengers, each with a counter, are rushing
in and out with their boxes full of strapped and labelled currency.
Round a large table crowd many fair women, while every instant “thud!
thud!” strike the precious packages. Each in turn is taken up by the
canceller and set between the teeth of Uncle Sam’s cancelling machine.
This is fashioned out of two heavy horizontal steel bars, five feet in
length, working on pivots. To the shorter end of each is attached a
punch, while the other is connected by a lever with a crank, in the
sub-basement below, which is propelled by a turbine water-wheel
furnished with Potomac-water from one of the pipes of the building.
Under its grinding “punch” our poor little dollar goes, and with it a
hundred dollars beside. With a savage accuracy it stabs two holes
through every one. This is done for the purpose of absolute
cancellation. Then each bundle is returned to its box, the messenger
picks it up, the counter follows, and both hasten to the cash-account
clerk of the division, whose business it is to see if all the money
received and delivered to the counters, has been returned and accounted
for. Not until she sees her box of cancelled notes safe in the hands of
this clerk, does the counter’s personal responsibility end.

Near the punches in the cancelling room is a ferocious-looking knife,
set in an axle, which is consecrated to the purpose of cutting the
cancelled bundles in two, through the middle of each note. These are
made into packages of one hundred thousand dollars of fractional
currency, and larger sums of legal tender notes; and are sent back to
this office to be cut asunder by this knife. The duplicate paper and
strap which our fair counter bound about this bundle, is so printed as
to show, upon each half, the denomination, issue and amount of the notes
enclosed. The counter’s initials and the date of counting are also
recorded at each end, as well as a number or letter to identify the
bundle. These sundered notes are now sent, one-half to counters in the
Secretary’s office, the other half to counters in the Registrar’s
office, where every little wretched rag is re-counted. This is done as a
check on the Treasurer’s counters, and to secure absolute accuracy. If
these second counters discover a “short” or a “counterfeit” passed over
by the first fair fingers, the full amount is taken out of the wages of
the counter whose initials the tell-tale package bears.

[Illustration:

  BURNT TO ASHES.—THE END OF UNCLE SAM’S GREENBACKS.
  The above is a graphic sketch of the destruction of the worn and
    defaced currency constantly being redeemed by the Government, which
    is here burned every day at 12 o’clock. On one occasion considerably
    more than one hundred million dollars’ worth of bonds and greenbacks
    were destroyed in this furnace, and the burning of from fifty to
    seventy-five millions at a time is a matter of ordinary occurrence.
]

The Treasury mills grind slowly; but in the slow fullness of time the
separate “counts” of three offices—the Treasurer’s, the Register’s, the
Secretary’s—are finally reconciled. The integrity of the Government,
throughout the whole existence of its minutest fraction, has been
maintained and demonstrated. In the process there is not much left of
our poor little dollar, and nothing left for us but to go to its
funeral. Like most of us, it has had rather a hard time in this world of
ours. Where has it not lived—from a palace to “a pig’s stomach;” and
what has it not endured—from the scarlet rash to the small-pox—and to
think that nothing remains for it now but to be burned! Only through
purgatorial flame can it be fully and finally “redeemed.”

About a quarter of a mile from the Treasury Department, in what is
called “White Lot,” stands the furnace which is to consume our dollar.
The furnace, and the building in which it stands, was built expressly
for this purpose for the sum of ten thousand dollars. The furnace is ten
feet high, seven in diameter, circular and open at the top. With it is
connected an air-blower, which is attached to an engine, the steam for
which comes from a boiler some twenty rods distant. On the ground about
lie piles of cinders—the metallic ashes of extinct dollars, compounded
of pins, sulphur, printer’s ink and dirt.

To this furnace, filled with shavings in advance, every other day comes
“The Burning Committee,” bearing the boxes of doomed dollars, sealed
finally in the Register’s and Secretary’s Bureaus. This Committee is
formed of a person from each of these Bureaus, with a fourth not
connected with the Departments. In their presence the final seals are
broken—the complicated locks of the furnace opened. Then the packages
are thrown into the flames, each “lot” being called and checked by the
Committee, the amount averaging about one million five hundred thousand
dollars every other day. At the same hour about one hundred thousand
dollars in national bank notes are burned at another and smaller
furnace. Beside cancelled money, internal revenue and postage stamps,
checks and defective new money are all consumed in this furnace.

Here the three official delegates, with a few spectators, stand to
witness the sight. Worn out, used up, gone by—all pass into the furnace,
our dollar with the rest. The furnace is locked, by official hands, with
nine distinct locks. A match is set to the shavings; the smoke of the
sacrifice begins to ascend—the Committee depart. The fire and the money
are left alone together for the next twenty-four hours. To-morrow a
smutty aerolite, smothered in ashes, will be the significant “finis” of
the story of our dollar. It has had its day!




                            CHAPTER XXXIII.
           THE GREAT CASH-ROOM—THE WATCH-DOG OF THE TREASURY.

No Need for Dirty Money—The Flowers of July—Money Affairs—The Great
    Cash-Room—Its Marble Glories—A Glance Inside—The Beautiful Walls—A
    Good Deal of Very Bad Taste—Only Made of Plaster—The Clerks of the
    Cash-Room—New Money for Old—The National Treasury—“The Watch-Dog” of
    the Treasury—The Custodian of the Cash—A Broken-nosed Pitcher—Ink
    for the Autographs—His Ancient Chair—“The General”—“Crooked,
    Crotchety and Great-hearted”—“Principles” and Pantaloons—Below the
    Surface—An Unpaintable Face—An Object of Personal Curiosity—Dick and
    Dolly pay the General a Visit—How the Thing is Done—“Pretty
    Thoroughly Wrought Up”—A Couple without any Claims—Gratified in the
    Very Jolliest Fashion—Getting his Autograph—A Specimen for the Folks
    at Home—Realizing a Responsibility—Where the Treasurer Sleeps—Going
    the Round at Night—Making Assurance Sure—Awakened by a Strong
    Impression—Sleepless—In the “Small Hours”—Finding the Door Open—A
    Careless Clerk—The Care of Eight Hundred Millions—On the Alert—The
    Secretary’s Room—Three at the Table—Doings and Duties—The Labors of
    the Secretary and Comptrollers—The Auditors—The Solicitor’s
    Office—The Light-House Board—The Coast Survey—Internal Revenue
    Department.


Nobody need ever carry a smutty bit of money in Washington. Lay down the
worst looking fraction you ever saw, upon the marble counter of the
Cash-Room, and a virgin piece, without blemish, will be given you in its
stead. Do you wish ten unsoiled “ones” for that ragged “ten” of yours?
Take it to the Cash-Room, and the desire of your heart will be granted
in a moment.

To do this you turn out of Pennsylvania avenue towards the north front
of the Treasury. On either side, spread away broad beds of flowers. In
April, their hyacinths sent great drifts of fragrance, blocks away; in
May, it was one great garden of roses, and now it has burst into a
passion of bloom, a very carnival of color—the burning scarlet of the
geraniums mocking the dazzling azure of the sky. On either side run
these lavish hues. Before you, cooling the marble court beneath your
feet, the great fountain tosses its spray. Toward you stretches the long
restful shadow of the northern portico, inviting you to enter in.

[Illustration:

  THE NEW MARBLE CASH ROOM, UNITED STATES TREASURY.—WASHINGTON.
  The most costly and magnificent room of its kind in the world.
]

If your visit means “money,” as it may, you pass directly through the
portico to the Cash-Room, into which it opens. No other room in the
world as magnificent is devoted to such a purpose. It is seventy-two
feet long, thirty-two feet wide, and twenty-seven feet six inches high.
Exclusive of the upper cornice, the walls are built entirely of marble.
Seven varieties meet and merge into each other, to make the harmony of
its blended hues. From the main floor it rises through two stories of
the building. Thus it has upper and lower windows, between which a
narrow bronze gallery runs, encircling the entire room. The base of the
stylobate of the first story is black Vermont marble, the mouldings are
Bardiglio Italian, the styles dove Vermont marble, the panels Sienna
Italian, and the dies Tennessee. Above the stylobate, the styles are of
Sienna marble. With these are contrasted the pale primrose tints of the
Corinthian pilasters and a cornice of white-veined Italian marble.
Opposite the windows, and in corresponding positions at the ends of the
rooms, are panels of the dark-veined Bardiglio Italian marble, the exact
size of the windows. The stylobate and the styles and pilasters of the
second story show the same tints and variety of marbles which mark the
first. But the panels are of Sarran Golum marble, from the Pyrenees. The
latter is one of the rarest of marbles; at a distance, of a blood-red
hue. Upon nearer inspection, it reveals undreamed-of beauties in veining
and tint.

The pilasters of the second story are not like those of the first story,
pure—but complex. They support a cornice, not of wrought marble, as all
the remainder of the room would promise, but of plaster of Paris,
fantastically wrought and profusely gilded. This cornice is another blot
of that meretricious ornamentation which in so many noble spaces
disfigures the Capitol.

Extending the length of the room is a costly counter, of various
marbles, surmounted by a balustrade of mahogany and plate-glass. Within
this are busy the clerks of the Cash-Room, and over this marble counter
you, as one of its many proprietors, may receive, for the asking, ten
“ones” for one “ten”—new money for old.

From this superb room of the people we pass to that of the
Treasurer,—“the watch-dog of the Treasury,”—the man who holds and guards
the untold millions of the nation. It is a plain room, very. No thought
of luxury, it is easy to see, has touched an article of its furniture,
from his well-worn chair to the broken-nosed pitcher which holds the
General’s ink; that ink, thick as mud and black as Egyptian night, out
of which he constructs these marvellous hieroglyphics, which, on our
legal-tender notes, has become one of the most baffling studies of the
nation.

“The General!” That’s his name, from the roof to the cellar of the vast
Treasury; crooked, crotchety, great-hearted; nobody swears so loud, or
is so generous, or just, as “the General.” Every afflicted soul, from
the women, poor and old, who stand by the printing-presses under the
scorching roof, to Mary Walker, whose devotion to “her principles,” in
the form of a pair of hideous little pantaloons, causes her justly to
shed tubs of tears,—all are sure of a hearing, and of redress, if
possible, from “the General.” His face is as astonishing as his
signature. It is a Lincolnian face in this, that its best expression can
never be transferred to a picture. In life it is rugged, ugly at first
glance, genial at the second. The eyes twinkle with humor and kindness;
the wide mouth shuts tight with wilfulness and determination; the whole
expression and presence of the man indicate energy, honesty, and power.

General Spinner is an object of personal curiosity to all sight-seers
who visit Washington. Dick and Dolly having puzzled their eyes for an
hour, studying some fresh legal tender note, to discover by what process
of evolution and convolution the remarkable signature which it bears is
fashioned, when they came to the Capital, proceeded to the Treasury to
see, not only the man who makes it, but how he makes it. Bluff, and even
snappish at first approach, after a little wilful snarling, our General
subsides into the most amiable of mastiffs. He is an exception to the
official class, in his hate of exclusiveness and his never-failing
accessibility. Indeed, he would have far less to irritate him, if he
made himself more unapproachable and remote. As it is, all sorts of
tormenting people, finding it perfectly easy to “get at him,” do not
neglect the privilege, and altogether keep him pretty thoroughly
“wrought up” with their never-ending and perpetually conflicting woes.
Dicky and Dolly, fresh from their farm, who ask for no “place” in any
“division” whatever, who have no alert grievance grumbling for redress,
who wish for nothing but, “Please, sir, _will_ you just show us _how_
you make it—that queer name?” are sure to be gratified in the very
jolliest fashion. The General stabs the old pen with three points down
into the pudding-like ink which sticks to the bottom of the broken-nosed
pitcher, and proceeds to pile it up in ridiculous little heaps at cross
angles on a bit of paper. The result of his “piling,” which Dick and
Dolly watch with breathless interest, is his signature, which our happy
friends bear off in triumph to show to the “folks at home.” “Yes, sir,
the autograph of the Treasurer of the United States! and we saw him make
it, we did! A queer lookin’ man, but good as pie, I can tell you; has a
feelin’ for folks, as if he wasn’t no better than them, if he does take
care of all the money of the United States Treasury, which, I tell you,
is a heap!”

The taking care of this money is a mighty responsibility, which General
Spinner realizes to the utmost. From his small room in the Treasury, a
door opens into a still smaller one. In this little room, beneath the
mighty roof of the Treasury, the keeper of its millions sleeps. Before
he essays to do this, twice every night the guardian of the people’s
treasure goes himself to the money vault, and, with his own hand upon
their handles, assures himself beyond doubt that the nation’s money
safes are inviolably locked.

In order that he may do this every night before he attempts to sleep,
and that he may never be beyond call in case of accident or wrong doing,
the Treasurer of the United States absolutely lives, by day and by
night, in the Treasury. It is told of him that, “Once, before he began
sleeping in the Treasury, he was awakened in the night by a strong
impression that something was wrong at the Department. He lay for a long
time, tossing uneasily upon his bed, and trying to close his eyes and
convince himself that it was a mere freak of an over-taxed brain; but it
would not be driven away. At last, about two o’clock in the morning, in
order to assure himself that his impression was at fault, he arose,
hastily dressed, and set out for the Treasury. On his way he met a
watchman from the Department, hastening to arouse him, with the
information that the door of one of the vaults had just been found
standing wide open. A careless clerk, whose duty it was to close and
lock the door, had failed to perform his duty that night, and the
watchman, on going his rounds, had discovered the neglect.”

Since that night the Treasurer has slept in the Treasury, and been
night-inspector of its doors and locks himself.

It is not difficult to appreciate his personal anxiety and consciousness
of vast responsibility, when we remember that he is the hourly keeper of
at least eight hundred million dollars which belong to the nation. There
are very few officers of the Government who are called to bring to bear
upon their daily duties the ceaseless vigilance, the sacrifice of
personal ease and comfort in the service of the State, which
characterizes the honest, tireless, invincible “watch-dog of the
Treasury.”

The room of the Secretary of the Treasury, in the Treasury building, has
its outlook on the eastern side and grounds of the Executive Mansion. A
wonderful fountain throws its million jets into the air at the foot of
the great portico below, and another tosses its spray amid the green
knolls opposite the President’s windows. These grounds, swelling
everywhere into gentle hills, covered with mossy turf, filled with
winding walks, and brightened with _parterres_ of flowers in summer
months, are enchanting in their beauty.

Thus, you see, the Secretary’s windows quite turn their backs on the
noisy avenue. Their outlook is most serene. So is the aspect and
atmosphere of the room. It is a nun of a room, folded in soft grays,
with here and there a touch of blue and gold. The velvet carpet is gray;
the furniture, oiled black walnut, upholstered with blue cloth, each
chair and sofa bearing “U. S.” in a medallion on its back, while the
carved window-cornices each hold in their centres the gilded scales of
justice above the key of the Treasury. A full-length mirror is placed
between these windows. On one side of the room is a book-case, in which
the works of Webster, Calhoun, Washington, and Jefferson, are
conspicuous. The walls are frescoed in neutral tints, and the only
pictures on them are chromo portraits of Lincoln and Grant.

In the centre of this room, at a cloth-covered table, sits the Secretary
of the Treasury and his assistants, besides, usually, a third dejected
mortal, on the “anxious seat” of expectancy for an office.

The Secretary’s office is charged with the general supervision of the
fiscal transactions of the Government, and of the execution of the laws
concerning the commerce and navigation of the United States. He
superintends the survey of the coast, the light-house establishment, the
marine hospitals of the United States, and the construction of certain
public buildings for custom-houses and other purposes.

The First Comptroller’s office prescribes the mode of keeping and
rendering accounts for the civil and diplomatic service, as well as the
public lands, and revises and certifies the balances arising thereon.

The Second Comptroller’s office prescribes the mode of keeping and
rendering the accounts of the army, navy, and Indian departments of the
public service, and revises and certifies the balances arising thereon.

The office of Commissioner of Customs prescribes the mode of keeping and
rendering the accounts of the customs revenue and disbursements, and for
the building and repairing custom-houses, etc., and revises and
certifies the balances arising thereon.

The First Auditor’s office receives and adjusts the accounts of the
customs revenue and disbursements, appropriations and expenditures on
account of the civil list and under private acts of Congress, and
reports the balances to the Commissioner of the Customs and the First
Comptroller, respectively, for their decision thereon.

The Second Auditor’s office receives and adjusts all accounts relating
to the pay, clothing and recruiting of the army, as well as armories,
arsenals, and ordnance, and all accounts relating to the Indian Bureau,
and reports the balances to the Second Comptroller for his decision
thereon.

The Third Auditor’s office adjusts all accounts for subsistence of the
army, fortifications, military academy, military roads, and the
quarter-master’s department, as well as for pensions, claims arising
from military services previous to 1816, and for horses and other
property lost in the military service, under various acts of Congress,
and reports the balances to the Second Comptroller for his decision
thereon.

The Fourth Auditor’s office adjusts all accounts for the service of the
Navy Department, and reports the balances to the Second Comptroller for
his decision thereon.

The Fifth Auditor’s office adjusts all accounts for diplomatic and
similar services, performed under the direction of the State Department,
and reports the balances to the First Comptroller for his decision
thereon.

The Sixth Auditor’s office adjusts all accounts arising from the service
of the Post-office Department. His decisions are final, unless an appeal
be taken within twelve months to the First Comptroller. He superintends
the collection of all debts due the Post-office Department, and all
penalties and forfeitures imposed on postmasters and mail contractors
for failing to do their duty; he directs suits and legal proceedings,
civil and criminal, and takes all such measures as may be authorized by
law to enforce the prompt payment of moneys due to the department,
instructing United States attorneys, marshals, and clerks, on all
matters relating thereto, and receives returns from each term of the
United States courts of the condition and progress of such suits and
legal proceedings; has charge of all lands and other property assigned
to the United States in payment of debts due the Post-office Department,
and has power to sell and dispose of the same for the benefit of the
United States.

The Treasurer’s office receives and keeps the moneys of the United
States in his own office, and that of the depositories created by the
Act of August 6th, 1846, and pays out the same upon warrants drawn by
the Secretary of the Treasury, countersigned by the First Comptroller,
and upon warrants drawn by the Postmaster-General and countersigned by
the Sixth Auditor, and recorded by the Register. He also holds public
moneys advanced by warrant to disbursing officers, and pays out the same
upon their checks.

The Registrar’s office keeps the accounts of public receipts and
expenditures, receives the returns and makes out the official statement
of commerce and navigation of the United States, and receives from the
First Comptroller and Commissioner of Customs all accounts and vouchers
decided by them, and is charged by law with their safe keeping.

The Solicitor’s office superintends all civil suits commenced by the
United States (except those arising in the post-office department), and
instructs the United States attorneys, marshals and clerks in all
matters relating to them and their results. He receives returns from
each term of the United States courts, showing the progress and
condition of such suits; has charge of all lands and other property
assigned to the United States in payment of debts (except those assigned
in payment of debts due the post-office department), and has power to
sell and dispose of the same for the benefit of the United States.

The Light-House Board, of which the Secretary of the Treasury is
_ex-officio_ president, but in the deliberations of which he has the
assistance of naval, military and scientific coadjutors.

United States Coast Survey. The Superintendent, with numerous
assistants, employed in the office and upon the survey of the coast, are
under the control of this department. A statement of their duties will
be found in a future chapter.

The new rooms of the Internal Revenue Department are very beautiful.
They run the entire length of the new wing of the Treasury, looking out
on the magnificent marble court, with its central fountain below, the
north entrance, the Presidential grounds and Pennsylvania avenue. They
are covered with miles of Brussels carpeting, in green and gold. Their
walls are set with elegant mirrors, hung with maps and pictures. There
are globes, cases filled with books, cushioned furniture—all the
accompaniments of elegant apartments, and one opening into the other,
forming a perfect _suite_.




                             CHAPTER XXXIV.
               WOMAN’S WORK IN THE DEPARTMENTS—WHAT THEY
                         DO AND HOW THEY DO IT.

Women Experts in the Treasury—General Spinner’s Opinion—A Woman’s
    Logic—The Gifts of Women—Their Superiority to Men—Money Burnt in the
    Chicago Fire—Cases of Valuable Rubbish—Identifying Burnt
    Greenbacks—The Treasure Saved—The Ashes of the Boston Fire—From the
    Bottom of the Mississippi—Mrs. Patterson Saves a “Pile” of
    Money—Money in the Toes of Stockings—In the Stomachs of Men and
    Beasts—From the Bodies of the Murdered and Drowned—Not Fairly
    Paid—One Hundred and Eighty Women at Work—“The Broom
    Brigade”—Scrubbing the Floors—The Soldier’s Widow—Stories which
    Might be Told—Meditating Suicide—The Struggle of Life—How a Thousand
    Women are Employed—Speaking of Their Characters—The Ill-paid
    Servants of the Country—Chief-Justice Taney’s Daughters—Colonel
    Albert Johnson’s Daughter—A Place Where Men are Not Employed—Writing
    “for the Press”—Miss Grundy of New York—The Internal Revenue
    Bureau—“Marvels of Mechanical Beauty”—Women of Business Capacity—A
    Lady as Big as Two Books!—In a Man’s Place—A Disgrace to the
    Nation—Working for Two, Paid for One—How “Retrenchment” is Carried
    Out—In the Departments—Beaten by a Woman—The Post Office
    Department—Folding “Dead Letters”—A Woman who has Worked
    Well—“Sorrow Does Not Kill”—The Patent Office—The Agricultural
    Department—Changes Which Should be Made.


In several branches of the Treasury service, women have risen to the
proficiency of experts. This is especially true of them as rapid and
accurate counters, as restorers of mutilated currency and as counterfeit
detectors.

General Spinner says: “A man will examine a note systematically and
deduce logically, from the imperfect engraving, blurred vignette or
indistinct signature, that it is counterfeit, and be wrong four cases
out of ten. A woman picks up a note, looks at it in a desultory fashion
of her own, and says: ‘That’s counterfeit.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because it is,’ she
answers promptly, and she is right eleven cases out of twelve.” Yet this
almost unerring accuracy is by no means the result of mere instinct, or
of hap-hazard chance. It is the sequence of subtle perception, of fine,
keen vision, and of exquisite sensitiveness of touch.

All women do not excel as counterfeit-detectors; nor can all become
experts as restorers and counters of currency. But wherever a woman
possesses native quickness, combined with power of concentration, with
training and experience, she in time commands an absolute skill in her
work, which, it has been proved, it is impossible for men to attain. Her
very fineness of touch, swiftness of movement, and subtlety of sight
give her this advantage. Thus when notes are defaced or charred beyond
ordinary recognition, they are placed in the hands of women for
identification.

After the great Chicago fire in 1871, cases of money to the value of one
hundred and sixty-four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-seven dollars
and ninety-eight cents, were sent to the United States Treasury for
identification. They consisted of legal tenders, National State bank and
fractional notes, bonds, certificates and coupons, internal revenue and
postage stamps, all so shrivelled and burned, that they crumbled to the
touch and defied unaided eyesight. All these charred treasures were
placed in the hands of a committee of six ladies, for identification.
What patience, practice, skill, were indispensable to the fulfilment of
this task, it is not difficult to conjecture.

“After unpacking the money from the raw cotton in which it travelled, as
jealously swathed as the most precious jewellery, the ladies separated
each small piece with thin knives made for the purpose, then laying the
blackened fragments on sheets of blotting-paper, they decided by close
scrutiny the value, genuineness and nature of the note. Magnifying
glasses were provided, but seldom used, except for the deciphering of
coupon-numbers or other minute details. The pieces were then pasted on
thin paper, the bank-notes returned to their respective banks, and the
United States money put in sealed envelopes and delivered to a committee
of four, who superintended the final burning. The amount of one million,
two hundred and twenty-six thousand, three hundred and forty-one dollars
and thirty-three cents was identified—over seventy-six per cent. of the
whole.”

A year later, Boston, from the ruins of its great fire, gathered the
ashes of its money and sent it to the United States Treasury, begging
identification and aid in restoration. Eighty-three cases came from that
city, and these were so carefully packed that the labor of
identification was greatly lightened. Of the eighty-eight thousand,
eight hundred and twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents, which they
contained, over ninety per cent. of the whole was identified by the same
six ladies, who saved so much to individuals and to the Government from
the Chicago fire.

Besides money, a large amount of checks, drafts, promissory notes,
insurance policies, and other valuable papers were identified by these
same clear eyes and patient hands, and restored to their owners. The
entire responsibility of the whole amount rested on them. The money was
delivered to them, when it came, and on their reports all remittances on
it were made. It took over six months of constant labor to identify the
money from these fires.

The names of this committee of six are Mrs. M. J. Patterson, Miss Pearl,
Mrs. Davis, Miss Schriner, Miss Wright, and Miss Powers. “Mrs. Patterson
has been engaged for seven or eight years on what are called ‘affidavit
cases’—cases where the money is too badly mutilated to be redeemed in
the regular way, and the sender testifying under oath that the missing
fragments are totally destroyed, receives whatever proportion of the
original value allowed by the rules.”

The most noted case that she ever worked on was that of a paymaster’s
trunk that was sunk in the Mississippi, in the _Robert Carter_. After
lying three years in the bottom of the river, the steamer was raised,
and the money, soaked, rotten and obliterated, given to Mrs. Patterson
for identification. She saved one hundred and eighty-five thousand out
of two hundred thousand dollars, and the express company, which was
responsible for the original amount, presented her with five hundred
dollars, as a recognition of her services.

All the money which she identifies passes from the hands of this lady to
a committee of three—two gentlemen, one from the Treasurer’s and one
from the Register’s office, and a lady from the Secretary’s office. The
duties of these three persons are identical. They re-count the money,
seal it with the official seal of the three offices, and for so doing
receive, per year, the gentlemen each eighteen hundred dollars, the lady
twelve hundred dollars—one more illustration of the sort of justice
between the work of men and women, which prevails in the Treasury
service!

The identification and restoration of defaced and mutilated notes is a
very difficult and important operation. From the toes of stockings, in
which they have been washed and dissolved; from the stomachs of animals,
and even of men; from the bodies of drowned and murdered human beings;
from the holes of vice and of deadly disease, these fragments of money,
whose lines are often utterly obliterated, whose tissues emit the
foulest smells, come to the Treasury, and are committed wholly to the
supervision and skill of women.

Let any just mind decide whether such labor does not deserve to be
recognized and rewarded absolutely on its own merits. Such is its
acknowledged value, that these Government experts have been allowed to
go to distant parts of the country, to restore burnt money belonging to
Adams’ Express Company, because it was known that there was no one else
in the land, who could perform this service.

The whole basement floor of the north wing of the Treasury is occupied
by the busy counters of mutilated money. Here sit one hundred and eighty
women counters, restorers and detectors. Side by side, we see the faded
and the blooming face. Here is the woman, worn and weary—born, more than
likely, to ease and luxury—thankfully working to support herself and her
children; and at the very next table, a maiden, whose fresh youth, care
has not yet worn out—each working with equal thankfulness, to support
herself, and besides, perhaps, father and mother, brother, sister or
child.

[Illustration:

  COUNTING WORN AND DEFACED GREENBACKS, AND DETECTING COUNTERFEITS.
  This room is in the Redemption Bureau, Treasury Building. Over One
    Hundred Thousand Dollars worth of Fractional Currency alone is here
    daily received for redemption; out of which about $350 dollars’
    worth of counterfeit money is detected, stamped and returned.
]

The time of toil, for one who must earn her living, is not long; indeed,
the hours are fewer than the average hours of ordinary labor. She does
not complain of them; she is grateful for her chance. Yet her
working-day is as long as her brother’s. Her chance, alone, is less. For
the same hours and the same toil, her stipend is one-fourth smaller than
his smallest.

At three o’clock P. M., hats and shawls come down from their pegs,
lunch-baskets come forth from their hiding-places, the great corridors,
and porticoes, and broad streets are thronged with homeward-wending
workers. For the space of half an hour, the Treasury-offices and halls
seem deserted, and then—Lo! the Broom Brigade! Cobwebs, dust and dirt,
no longer dim the granite steps, the tessellated floors, the marble
surfaces of the Treasury-building, as they used to do, years ago.
Congress has provided a Broom Brigade, with fifteen dollars a month, to
pay each member—and here they come, the sweepers, the dusters and the
scrubbers—ninety women!

Three years ago, was established the present efficient system of daily
cleaning of the Treasury, exclusively under feminine control, with what
perfect result, all who remember the Treasury as it was, and see it as
it is, can bear witness.

These ninety women-workers are under the exclusive control of a lady
custodian. The organization, supervision, general control, payment,
etc., of this small army of sweepers, brushers and scrubbers, all
devolve on her. She is a fair and stately woman, wearing a crown of
snow-white hair, her soul looking out of eyes clear and bright, yet of
tender blue. Her face tells its own story of sorrow outlived, and of
deep human sympathy. Did it tell any other, she would not be the right
woman in the right place. No woman who has not suffered, who is not in
profound sympathy with every form of human poverty and want, could of
right reign over an army of women toilers, sweeping, scrubbing for
bread. At 4 P. M., each day, ninety women enter a little room on the
basement floor of the Treasury, there to exchange their decent street
dress for the dusty garments of toil. As they ascend the broad stairs
and disperse—broom, duster, or scrubbing-brush in hand—to make the
beautiful offices and broad halls fresh and bright for the next coming
day, the lady who guards and guides them all—who knows the history of
each one—what stories she might tell!

Here is a little woman whose husband was killed in the Union army,
leaving her nothing but his memory, his small pension, and a pair of
brave hands to support herself and three little ones. Here are two
bright little colored girls. They are students in Howard’s University,
and come every day after school, the long way to the Treasury, to earn a
part of the money which is to insure their education. Here is a young
woman whose keenly lined, sorrowful face is a history. “Months ago she
came to the silver-haired lady in the custodian’s room, and asked for
work of any kind. The possibility to grant her request did not then
exist, and again and again, with little hope, she came. At last she
applied when some necessitous vacancy in the ranks of workers rendered
it possible for the lady to assign her at once to a place of employment;
and gladly she gave it, for the petitioner was wan and despairing. After
work and the departure of the throng, she again sought the lady, to
thank her on her knees ‘for saving her life.’ She said, ‘I had made up
my mind to take my life if you refused me; I had reached the end of
every thing.’ Then followed the oft-repeated story—deception, desertion,
desperation, and the one last struggle to live”—to live honestly by
honest, albeit the lowliest toil.

“Many a soldier’s widow, struggling with smallest fortune, has occasion
to be thankful for the fifteen dollars earned here every month, although
the walk and work seem insufferable at times. Many a soldier’s orphan is
sustained by the stroke of brush and broom, making hall and stair and
wall brightly clean to the step and sight of coming visitors from far
and near, and the same shining polish which some strangers may admire,
on the perspected marble floors and wrought pilasters, is a source and
means of maintenance to humble homes when a death, desertion, and (O!
sadly often) drunkenness has removed the head and protector, and in
which life means only toil and sorrow. Every one of these ninety women
has her own story of trouble, and want, and endurance, which made up her
past, and won for her, her niche in this scheme of labor.”

Near a thousand women, from the toilers of the tubs under its roof, to
the Brush-and-Broom Brigade in its basement, are employed in the
Treasury. Their labor ranges from the lowliest manual toil, to the
highest intellectual employment. In the social scale they measure the
entire gamut of society. In isolated instances, women of exceptional
character may still hold positions in the Treasury, and in so large a
number, and under an unjust system of appointment, it would be strange
if no such case could be found. But so powerful is the public sentiment
roused against such appointments, it is impossible that they should be
longer permitted, if known. The deepest wrong which their presence ever
inflicted, was the unjust suspicion which they brought upon a large body
of intelligent, pure women. The truth is, there is not another company
of women-workers in the land which numbers so many ladies of high
character, intelligence, culture, and social position.

The country is not aware to what an extent its most noble public
servants have died poor, nor how many of their wives and daughters have
sought the Government Civil Service as the means of honorable
self-support.

Until within a short time, when the friends of their father raised a
fund for their support, the daughters of Chief-Justice Taney were
employed in the Treasury. The fair young orphan daughter of Robert J.
Walker, once Secretary of the Treasury, now supports herself by service
in the Internal Revenue. Governor Fairchild, of Wisconsin, found his
beautiful wife, the daughter of a distinguished public man, occupying a
desk in the Treasury. Mrs. Mary Johnson, daughter of Colonel Albert, who
for a long series of years was head of the Topographical Bureau, has
been for ten years a clerk in the Treasury. Her husband was Consul at
Florence, where he died. Her father passing away soon after, she found
herself alone, with two young sons to rear and educate. She became a
Government clerk, or, as that title is now officially denied to a woman,
“a Government _employé_.” Her sons are growing up to honor her, one
having entered the Naval School at Annapolis. Mrs. Tilton, sister of
General Robert Ould, is an “_employé_” in the Internal Revenue. The
widow of Captain Ringgold is also there.

The Quarter-master-General’s Office, which is a division of the War
Department, has been almost exclusively set apart for the widows,
daughters, and sisters of officers of army or navy, killed or injured in
the war. Almost without exception, the “_employés_” of this office are
gentlewomen. It is filled with elegant and accomplished women, some of
whom are remarkable for their literary and scientific attainments. These
ladies now occupy offices provided in a plain building on Fifteenth
street. Their rooms are smaller and much more private than those of the
Treasury opposite. Their work is the copying, recording, and registering
of the letters of the department. No men are employed in these offices.
Their superintendent is a lady, who has entire supervision of the ladies
and the labor of this division. She is the widow of a naval officer who
died in the service, a descendant of Benjamin Franklin, and occupies
now, as she has all her life, the highest social position. She has
children to support, and carries heavy official responsibilities—her
duties are identical with those of the head of any other bureau—she
receives only the stipend of the lowest male clerk, twelve hundred
dollars. Elizabeth Akers Allen (Florence Percy), whose deep and tender
lyrics call forth such universal response, held a position in this
office until her last marriage.

Women of education and the finest intellectual gifts are to be found in
every department. No inconsiderable number attempt to bring their meagre
nine hundred dollar salary up to the most ignorant man _employé’s_
twelve hundred, by writing for the press, or pursuing some artistic
employment outside of office hours.

The Treasury boasts of a number of more than ordinary women
correspondents, whose letters have attracted wide attention by the
really important information which they have imparted, concerning
internal workings of Departmental life and service. Foremost among
these, is Miss Austine Snead (Miss Grundy, of the New York World). Miss
Snead is the only and fatherless daughter of an accomplished gentleman.
She is a “Class-child” of Harvard College, a loyal Kentuckian whom, with
her youthful and lovely mother, the vicissitudes of war drifted to the
one work-shop of the Nation open to women. The loss of her position, by
change of administration, forced her to turn to the chance of
journalism, and in the branch of the profession which she entered, she
rose at once to the foremost rank. Mrs. Snead, formerly a famous _belle_
of Louisville, Kentucky, is one of the most patient, faithful, and
accurate counters in the redemption division of the Treasury, and is
beside, weekly correspondent of the _Louisville Courier Journal_. Both
are women who wear industry, integrity, and honor as their jewels, far
dearer to them than all the lost treasures of Fortune’s more prosperous
days.

The Internal Revenue Bureau, a branch of the Treasury Service, and
occupying beautiful apartments in the Treasury Building, employs a large
number of women. Copying, recording, filing of letters, and keeping
accounts, make the chief work of this division. It demands a high order
of clerical ability, and the books kept by these ladies are marvels of
mechanical beauty.

The complications and immensity of the Internal Revenue Service, make
this one of the busiest offices in the entire Department. It contains
from forty-five to fifty women—_employés_. Beside those who execute the
exquisite copper-plate copying, there are many whose whole duty is “head
work.” This consists of examining, sorting, and filing the different
daily communications received at the office. These are of one hundred
and fifty varieties, concerning internal revenue, taxes, etc., subjects
usually supposed not to be particularly lucid to the average feminine
mind. Many are employed in examining, approving, and recording reports
of surveys of distilleries, and other important papers; and such is the
estimate placed on their business capacity, as thus applied, that their
opinions on the papers are accepted without question.

At one of these desks sits a lovely sylph-like creature, whose bird-like
hands always reminds me of Charlotte Bronté’s. She is scarcely bigger
than the two big books which she handles and “keeps”—and to see her at
them, perched upon a high stool, _is_ “a sight.” Born and reared in
affluence, fragile in constitution, and exquisitely sensitive in
organism, she is yet intellectually one of the best clerks—no
“_employés_” in the Bureau. Years ago, she was placed at this eighteen
hundred dollar desk, which a man-clerk had just vacated. She has filled
it, performing its duties for seven or eight years, for the woman’s
stipend of nine hundred dollars. When the new Civil Service Rules first
went into operation, she was awarded twelve hundred dollars per annum,
for her service from that date. To have awarded her the remaining six
hundred dollars, which was paid the man at the same desk, for doing the
same work, would have been an equality of justice, from which the
average official masculine mind instinctively recoiled.

_Apropos_ of the preponderance of favor with which this same official
masculine mind is able to regard and reward itself, is the case of a
lady in another division. She has mathematical genius, and is one of the
best practical mathematicians in the Treasury Department. Many of the
statistical tables, for reports to Congress, are made out by her.
Members of Congress, on the most important committees, do not disdain to
come to her for assistance in making out their reports. Near two years
ago, a man-clerk, in the same room with this lady, (who received his
appointment through political favoritism,) became so dissipated, that he
was totally unfitted to fulfil the duties of his desk, and he was
carried by his friends to an inebriate asylum. Since that time, this
lady, in addition to the arduous duties of her own desk, has performed
all the labor accruing to that of the absent inebriate. She whose
official existence as a clerk is denied by the legislators who employ
her, has performed steadily, for many months, the labor of two
men-clerks. How much does she receive for so doing? Nine hundred dollars
a year. The eighteen hundred dollars, which she earns at one desk, is
paid to the drunkard in whose name she earns it!

The Government, who support this man for being a drunkard, forces a
woman to do his work for nothing, or lose the chance of earning the
pittance paid to her in her own name. This lady, broken in health by her
long-continued and overtaxing toil, sees what before her? Surely not
recognition or justice from the Government which she serves and honors,
while it, through selfishness and injustice, disgraces itself.

Of the forty-five ladies in the Internal Revenue Bureau, there is but
one, and she fifty years of age, who has not more than herself to
support on the pittance which she is paid. Nevertheless, whenever a
spasmodic cry of “retrenchment” is raised, three women are always
dismissed from office, to one man, although the men so greatly outnumber
the women, to say nothing of their being so much more expensive.

“One of the greatest advocates of economy took work from a woman whose
pay was the invariable nine hundred dollars per year, to give it to a
man, who received for doing it, sixteen hundred dollars. No complaint
was made of her manner of doing the work, but the head of the division
said that she could count money, and he had not enough work for the men.
Nothing was said of dismissing the superfluous male clerks. The work
given the manly mind, in this instance, was the entering of dates of
redemption opposite the numbers of redeemed notes. A child of ten years
could scarcely have blundered at it. The same date was written sometimes
for two weeks at a time.”

The lady at the head of the woman’s division of the Internal Revenue
Bureau, has filled the position, with marked efficiency, for ten years,
and upon the adoption of the new Civil Service Rules, she was authorized
to receive eighteen hundred dollars per annum.

The lady who is one of the librarians of the library of the Treasury, is
an accomplished linguist, a very intellectual woman. She was appointed
by Mr. Boutwell, and received sixteen hundred dollars.

There are some very important desks filled by ladies in the Fifth
Auditor’s office. Into their hands come all consular reports. To fulfil
their duties efficiently, they must possess a knowledge of banking, as
well as of mathematics.

Before the Civil Service Rules were vetoed, several ladies competed in
one, two, and three examinations. Thus several won, by pure intellectual
test, twelve hundred dollars, sixteen hundred dollars, eighteen hundred
dollars, and one or two, I believe, a twenty-two hundred dollars
position.

In the office of the Comptroller of the Treasury, are some very
important desks filled by ladies. One young lady in this office has
charge of the correspondence with the national banks and engraving
companies. This involves a complicated routine. The desk was formerly
filled by a man who received fourteen hundred dollars. It was taken from
him because he was two hundred letters behind date. The work which has
been in charge of this lady for six or seven years, at nine hundred
dollars per annum, is always even with the day.

Another young lady, in this office, prepares an abstract of the
circulation issued and returned by national banks, by means of which an
immediate answer can be given, when information is asked, as to the
outstanding circulation of any particular bank. Another laborious task,
performed in this office by a lady, is the preparation of an abstract of
the number of notes of each denomination and issue, work requiring great
intellectual exactness and care.

In the Post Office Department, there are forty-seven women who address
“returned letters,” _i. e._, letters which have miscarried, and which
are to be returned, if the signature, or anything inside the letter,
gives a clue to whom it is to be sent. There are ten women who fold
“dead letters,” and three who translate foreign letters.

The lady in charge of the women clerks in the Dead-Letter Office, is the
daughter of an officer high in rank in the army, now dead. Her
grandfather was the President of a New England college. Mrs. Pettigru
King, whose father was the Governor of South Carolina, and a member of
the United States Senate, herself a woman of remarkable talents, was
long employed in the Dead-Letter Office. Sitting among many younger
women, her hands flying as swift as any of theirs—the daily task, that
of re-directing two hundred letters, usually completed by her before
that of any one else—we see a fair, round-faced, blue-eyed woman, whose
sudden, bright glance and rapid movements at once fix our attention. She
looks to be about fifty; she is in reality over seventy years of age.
She and her history combined, probably make as remarkable a fact as the
Dead-Letter Office contains. She is the widow of a clergyman. When the
war broke out, her only son became hopelessly insane. “As he could not
go to the war, I went myself,” she said. As the Assistant-Manager of the
United States Sanitary Committee for an entire State, she raised, in
money, ten thousand dollars, and collected and distributed ninety
thousand hospital articles. She was in the field, in the hospital, and
travelling between certain large cities, till the close of the war. Just
as she finished her great work, she fell and broke one of her limbs.
This confined her to her room for six months. In the meantime, her
daughter’s husband died, leaving her with three little children, and no
income. Soon after, the mother lost what little she had, and the entire
family were left penniless. After an unsuccessful attempt at the widow’s
forlorn hope, “keeping boarders,” mother and daughter came to
Washington, and sought for positions in the Departments. “Friends tried
to dissuade us,” said the old lady. “They told us that we must not come
here, to mingle with such people as they thought were in the
Departments. We have _not_ seen them. I have been three years in the
Post Office Department, and my daughter in the Treasury, and we have met
none but respectable women.”

Three winters ago, by act of Congress, she was allowed to place her
insane son in the Lunatic Asylum here, free of charge, leaving her at
liberty to assist her daughter in the support of her young family.
Notwithstanding her war services, and the names of twenty prominent men
in her native State attached to her papers, it took her six months to
obtain, for herself and daughter, the chances to labor which she sought.
“Sorrow does not kill,” she says, and as we look into her beaming eyes,
we say it does not even extinguish the brightness of a soul forever
young,—and yet this lady, in a few eventful years, “lived through sorrow
enough to break any heart less stout than hers.”

In the Patent Office, fifty-two women clerks are allowed by law. A few
women are employed in copying Pension Rolls in the Pension Office, who
have a room provided for them in the Patent Office. Ten or twelve women
have work given them from the Patent Office, which they do at their
homes. This work, as well as that done in the Office, consists chiefly
of the drawing of models. Every model of all the tens of thousands
received in the Patent Office, from the beginning to the present day,
has thus been re-produced and preserved. Glazed transparent linen is
placed over the engraved lines, and through this, with ink and stencil,
the most intricate and exquisite lines are drawn. To do this work
perfectly, a lady must be something of an artist and draughtswoman.
Magnifying glasses are used, and even with their aid, the work is most
trying, and often destructive to the eyesight. The salary fixed for this
work is ten hundred dollars per annum. Those who take their work home,
and are paid by the piece, make as much as those who give the work will
allow. Here, of course, is a large opportunity for favoritism and
injustice. Thus favorites are often allowed to do twice their share,
while others get barely work enough to subsist.

The Agricultural Department affords temporary employment for numbers of
women, for two or three months of the year, and two have permanent
positions there. The temporary work is the putting up of seeds for
universal distribution, and occasionally copying is given out. Of the
two ladies who find constant employment there, one is the assistant of
Professor Glover, in taking charge of the Museum. She is the widow of a
western editor, and at one time had exclusive control of a public
journal (an agricultural one,) herself. She is a woman of large
intelligence, a proficient in botany and natural history, which fact
gave her, her present position, and enabled her to fill it with credit
to herself. The other lady _employé_ is a taxidermist, who prepares the
birds and insects for the Museum. The officers of this Department regard
her as a proficient in her profession. She is a German, has been
connected with the Department over six years, and has a room provided
for her in the beautiful agricultural building.

Woman’s work in the Government Printing-Office, remains yet to be
noticed, but enough has been mentioned, to prove its value in other
branches of the Civil Service. It would be strange if so large a hive
held no drones. It is doubtless true, that while many women are not only
qualified, but actually perform the duties of the highest class desks,
for an unjust pittance, many more do not even earn their nine hundred
dollars per annum. There could be no more striking proof of the
inequality and injustice which prevail in our Civil Service, than the
fact that such persons, men and women, are appointed by men in power,
really to be supported by the Government, and receive from that
Government, for inefficiency and idleness, all, and more, than is paid
often to the most intellectual, the most efficient, the most devoted of
its servants.




                             CHAPTER XXXV.
             WOMEN’S WORK IN THE TREASURY—HOW APPOINTMENTS
                               ARE MADE.

The Scales of Justitia—Where They Hang and Where They Do Not Hang—The
    Difference Between Men and Women—Reform a “Sham!”—The First
    Women-Clerks—A Shameful and Disgraceful Fraud—What Two Women
    Did—Cutting Down the Salaries of Women—The First Woman-Clerk in the
    Treasury—Taking Her Husband’s Place—Working “_in Her Brother’s
    Name_”—A Matter of Expediency—The Feminine Tea-Pot—The Secretary
    Growls at the Tea-Pots—The Hegira of the Tea-Pots—Thackeray’s
    Opinion of Nature’s Intentions—Blind on One Side—In War Days—General
    Spinner Visits Secretary Chase—“A Woman can Use Scissors Better than
    a Man”—Profound Discovery!—“She’ll do it _Cheaper_”—“Light
    Work”—“Recognized”—Besieged by Women—Scenes of Distress and
    Trouble—Hundreds of Homeless Women—After the War—How the
    Appointments were Made—Creating an Interest—The Advantages of the
    “Sinners”—Infamous Intrigues—The Baseness of Certain Senators—Virtue
    Spattered with Mud—A Disgrace to the Nation—Secret Doings in High
    Places—New Civil Service Rules—Sounding Magnanimous—Passing the
    Examination—The Irrepressible Masculine Tyrants—The New Rules a
    Perfect Failure—Up to the Mark, but not Winning—An Alarming
    Suggestion—Men _versus_ Women—Tampering with the Scales—How Much a
    Woman Ought to be Paid—Opinion of a Man in Power—Interesting
    Description of an Average Representative—“Keeping Women in Their
    Place”—Getting up a Speech on Women—The Man who Stayed at
    Home—Generosity of the “Back-Pay” Congress—What Women Believe Ought
    to be Done.


On the carved cornices which surmount windows and mirrors in the
spacious Office of the Secretary of the Treasury may be seen, equally
balanced above its keys, the scales of Justitia. Would that they
symbolized the equal justice reigning through the minutest division of
the great departments of the Government service.

Weighted with human selfishness, perhaps this is impossible. Majestic in
aspect, great in magnitude, in energy and action, they will never be
morally grand till they are established and perpetuated in absolute
equity. In that hour the scales of Justitia will hang in equal balance
above the head of the masculine and feminine worker. Whatever _their_
difference, there will be no disparity in the equity which shall
measure, weigh and reward equal toil. To-day the departments of
Government teem with kindness and favoritism to individual women. What
they lack is justice to woman. This they have lacked from the beginning.
What a comment on human selfishness is the fact, that with all the
legislation of successive Congresses, the employment of women in the
departments of the Government is to-day as it was in the
beginning—perpetuated in favoritism and injustice. Civil Service Reform,
as carried on, is a mockery and a sham. Nowhere has its hollow pretence
been so visible—so keenly felt—as in its utter failure of simple justice
to the woman-worker in the public service.

From the beginning, when her work has been tacitly recognized and
rewarded as a man’s, her sex has been proscribed. The first work given
to women from the Government was issued from the General Land Office, as
early, if not earlier, than President Pierce’s administration, and
consisted of the copying of land warrants. This work was sent to their
homes. They received it in the name of some male relative, and for that
reason were paid what he would have received for doing it, viz., twelve
hundred dollars per annum. One lady supported a worthless husband (the
nominal clerk) and her two children in this way, doing all his work for
him. Another supported herself, her two nephews, and educated them out
of the same salary.

During Mr. Buchanan’s administration, this work was taken out of
feminine hands, to a very large extent, and the few allowed to retain it
were paid only six hundred dollars. Somewhere in this era the first
woman clerk appeared in the Treasury. She was a wife who, during her
husband’s illness, was allowed to take his desk and to do his work, for
his support and their children’s. This she continued to do until her
second marriage; but it was _in her brother’s name_. She copied and
recorded, did both well, and was paid—not because she did well, but
because she did her work in the name of a man—sixteen hundred dollars
per annum. Thus, while this lady performed the work of a man, and
performed it in his name, as a woman her presence at the desk was a
subterfuge, and her official existence ignored.

Without recognition or acknowledgment, the woman-clerk system in the
Treasury Department is an outgrowth of expediency. Like many another
fact born of the same parentage, it soon proved its own right to
existence, and refused to be extinguished.

By the time that Secretary McCulloch made his advent, the feminine
tea-pot had invaded every window-ledge. The Secretary complained of the
accumulation of tea-pots in the Treasury of the nation. They vanished,
and ceased to distill the gentle beverage for the woman-worker at her
noonday lunch. “Nature meant kindly by woman when it made her the
tea-plant,” Thackeray says. The presence of her tea-pot was made a
mental and moral sign, by political philosophers, that woman was unfit
for Government service. Nobody ever heard that the costly cigars and
tobacco which filled the man clerk’s “nooning,” to the exhilaration of
his body and soul, was a like sign of his inability to perform prolonged
service without the aid of stimulants.

In war days, when tens of thousands of men were withdrawn from civil
labor, and when one day’s expense to the Government equalled a whole
year’s in the time of Washington, General Spinner went to Secretary
Chase and said: “A woman can use scissors better than a man, and she
will do it cheaper. I want to employ women to cut the Treasury notes.”
Mr. Chase consented, and soon the great rooms of the Treasury witnessed
the unwonted sight of hundreds of women, scissors in hand, cutting and
trimming each Treasury-note sheet into four separate notes. This was
“light work;” but if anybody supposes it easy, let him try it for hours
without stopping, and the exquisite pain in his shoulder-joints and the
blisters on his fingers will bear aching witness to his mistake.

Washington was full of needy women, of women whom the exigencies of war
had suddenly bereft of protection and home. In her appointment at that
hour, political differences went for nothing. Every poor woman who
applied to the good General was given work if he had it. A pair of
scissors were placed in her hands, and she was told to go at it. She had
no official appointment or existence. During 1862, these women were paid
six hundred dollars per annum out of the fund provided by Congress for
temporary clerks. A year or two later the working existence of these
women was recognized in the annual appropriation bills.

After that it did not take long to spread through the land that the
Government Departments in Washington offered work to women. The land was
full—fuller than ever before of women who needed work to live.
Necessity, exaggeration, romance and sorrow, combined as propelling
motives, and the Capital was soon overrun with women seeking Government
employment. Then, more conspicuously than to-day, the supply far
exceeded the demand. The disappointment, the suffering, the sin which
grew out of this fact, can never be measured.

The war had torn the whole social fabric like an earthquake. Society
seemed upheaved from its foundations—shattered, and scattered in chaos.
Nowhere was this so apparent as in Washington. Women seeking their
husbands; women, whose husbands were dead, left penniless with dependent
children. Young girls, orphaned and homeless, with women adventurers of
every phase and sort, all, sooner or later, found their way to
Washington. The male population was scarcely less chaotic. Men,
restrained and harmonized through life by the holiest influences of
home, found themselves suddenly homeless, herded together in masses,
exposed to hardships, danger and undreamed-of temptations. “Let us eat
and drink, for to-morrow we die,” seemed to be blazoned on the painted
sign-boards of the dens of drink and sin, and on the debauched and
brazen faces of the stranger men and women who jostled each other on the
crowded thoroughfares.

While thousands escaped unharmed the moral pestilence which brooded in
the air, tens of thousands more were touched with its blight, and fell.
Men and women who would have lived and died innocent, in the safe
shelter of peace and home, grew demoralized and desperate amid the rack
and ruin of war. In the hour when human nature needed every sacred
safeguard, it found itself bereft of the sweetest and best that it had
ever known. This was especially true of the hundreds of homeless women
in the Capital seeking employment. Congressional appropriations made
woman’s Government-employment at once a Congressional reward. Very soon,
every woman’s appointment to work was at the mercy of some Member of
Congress. Political or war-service might secure a man his, but what had
the woman but her bereavements, or her personal influence? For the sake
of the former, noble men, in many instances, sought and found honest
employment for noble women, for women who had given their husbands, sons
and fathers, their own heart’s blood, to their country, asking nothing
in return but the chance to work for their own bread and their
children’s.

In order to secure any Government position, the first thing a woman had
to do was to go and tell her story to a man—in all probability a
stranger—who possessed the appointing power, her chance of getting her
place depending utterly on the personal interest which she might be able
to arouse in him. If he was sufficiently interested in her story, and in
her, to make the official demand necessary, she obtained the coveted
place, no matter what her qualifications for it, or her lack of them
might be. If she failed to interest him, by no possibility could she
secure that place, unless she could succeed in winning over to her cause
another man of equal political power. If the men who held her chance for
bread were good men, and she a good woman, well; if they were bad men,
and she a weak woman, not so well. In either case, the principle
underlying the appointment was equally wrong.

It was this unjust mode of appointment which, in so many instances,
especially through the years of the war, placed side by side, with pure
and noble women, the women-adventurers and sinners, whose presence cast
so much undeserved reproach upon the innocent, and who caused the only
shadow of disrepute which has ever fallen upon woman’s Treasury-service.
Even in the worst days this class formed the exceptions to a host of
honorable and noble women, and yet the shameful fact cannot be wiped out
that men, high in political power, because they had that power, made
womanly virtue its price, and were meanly base enough to use the Civil
Service of their country to pay for their own disgraceful sins. Because
this was possible, pure women, working day by day to support themselves
and their children, were covered with the shadow of unjust suspicion,
while women, unworthy and profligate, were allowed the same positions,
with equal honor and equal pay.

There could be no greater moral injustice to woman than to place her
employment under the Government on such a basis. It put the best under
ban, while it drew those whose steps pointed downward swiftly along the
inevitable descent. There was but one redress that the State could offer
to its daughters, that of making their chance equal to that of its sons.
Then, if they failed, the failure would be their own; if they succeeded,
they would not be defrauded by the Government they served.

The new Civil-Service Rules, whatever their impracticability in other
ways, seemed to offer to the women-workers of the Government this
redress. If education and fitness were to be made the standard of
Departmental Service, alike for women as men, then the reign of
favoritism and might must end. An idle woman, the pet of some man in
power, would no longer receive all that was paid a woman filling the
desks of two men. The woman who had proved, by years of efficient
service at a man’s desk, that she was more than equal to the performing
of his duties, would cease to receive for doing them the pittance of the
veriest idler in the lobbies, and no more.

It sounded well; magnanimous men and true women, yearning only for
justice, and that it might be earned and won without ado, took heart.
Educated women from North and South, East and West, flocked to the
Capital to compete in impartial intellectual examination with men. Many
of these were teachers—all women to whom self-support, or the support of
others, were indispensable. The number of women who have passed the
highest competitive examinations, is remarkable. Their life-long
pursuits and intellectual training made it impossible that, in this
regard, they should prove second to men. The number so great, that all
could receive appointments was not probable.

In the face of so many new professions of equality of chance in the
public service for women, the astonishing fact is, that while women pass
the highest examinations with honor, it is men, with scarcely an
exception, who pass into the highest places. With a mocking outcry of
“justice and equality,” uttered to appease the universal demand,
selfishness and might still prevail in all departmental appointments.
Political and personal influence appoint women to-day, just as they did
before one woman was summoned to compete in intellectual examination
with men.

“You were fools to expect a twelve-hundred-dollar clerkship because you
passed the examination of that class,” said a high appointing officer of
the Treasury to two ladies, one who had come from a far Western, the
other from a far Eastern State. Both ladies passed the highest
competitive examination—both, after months of wearing anxiety and
struggle, with the wolf at the door, received—a nine-hundred-dollar
clerkship. Did they receive even that on the high merit of their
competitive examination? Not at all; had their appointment depended on
that, they would not have received one at all. Sick and worn out, they
received it at last on the special plea of two men in office, each
having political power in his respective State.

With such results, I ask, what is a competitive examination to women but
a shame to the power that treacherously offers it? The man who passes
such an examination cannot receive less than a twelve-hundred-dollar
clerkship; the woman who passes triumphantly the severest intellectual
test offered by the Government, cannot receive more than a
nine-hundred-dollar position. Why? So many women came to Washington and
proved, by actual mental examination, that they were fully competent to
fill the highest civil offices in the departments, its officials became
alarmed. “Taken on their attainments, they will push out the men,” they
exclaimed, in alarm. Then straightway they fell back, as men in power
always do, to carry their own ends on unjust legislation. They based
their decision on the Act of Congress of four years ago, which fixed the
salary of all women employed in the Government Departments at nine
hundred dollars per annum.

The result of all the loud hypocritical outcry of civil equality to
women is, that hereafter, no matter how high the competitive examination
which she passes, no matter what the services which she renders, no
woman is to receive more than nine hundred dollars per year for any
appointment received after a certain date; and no man, no matter how low
the labor which he performs, be it only as a messenger to run through
the halls, is to receive less than twelve hundred dollars per annum.

Cast down your scales, O, Justitia, let them shiver to atoms on its
marble floor for hanging in equal balance above the keys of the Treasury
of the United States. They are a mocking lie. Beneath these desecrated
symbols sits the Secretary of the Treasury, and to him a few shrinking,
yet daring, women have appealed. “Four hundred dollars a year is enough
for any woman to be paid for her work,” replies this accidental
potentate, borne from obscurity to power solely by the “boosting” of a
friend, who lifted him from his unthought-of “bench” in Massachusetts,
with no guarantee of fitness from his past, to the chiefship of the
Treasury of the Nation. “Four hundred dollars is enough for any woman to
receive for her work, and more than she could earn anywhere else,”
replies this man.

This one remark, pitted against the facts recorded in this chapter,
proved the man who made it as too narrow-minded and unjust, too pervaded
with the caste and selfishness of sex, to be fit to hold the appointing
power over hundreds of women, in culture and intellectually more than
his peers. No man whose spring of action is “might is right” has a right
to rule.

To-day nothing could be more humiliating to a high-spirited,
intelligent, honorable woman, than to sit in the gallery of the Hall of
Representatives and be compelled to listen to a debate on woman’s work
and wages going on below. Yet if she never heard the words uttered by
men who claim to be the representatives of the people, and who make the
laws which define her rights and decide her rewards, she could never
realize how selfish, ungenerous, and unjust is the average man who
assumes to represent woman, and to legislate for her welfare. These men,
on the average, are fairly good husbands and indulgent fathers. They are
anything but tyrants, personally, to the women of their families. But
their personal relations do not prevent them from placing a very low
estimate upon the powers, performance, place and prospects of women in
general. Their caste of sex infiltrates through every word they utter.

The man who is “bound to keep woman in her place,” before he makes a
speech to that effect, rushes into the Congressional Library, and asks
Mr. Spofford to give him every book which will help him to prove that
woman is a weak and inefficient creature. He then proceeds to “cram”
himself with a crude mass of statements, which he extracts pell-mell out
of a heap of books. This unassimilated and impracticable load he
delivers, a few days later, to Congress, to the galleries, and to the
_Globe_—to prove that—no matter what her qualities or qualifications,
moral or mental—being a woman, for that fact alone, she must not be a
clerk, but an “_employé_;” and no matter what she has done or is capable
of doing in the service of the Government, for that service she must
receive but nine hundred dollars, and the sum be fixed by law.

There are honorable exceptions—a few men in Congress who, in the
broadest and best sense, are the friends of woman. They form a small
minority. The majority, after having made woman’s very existence as a
Government-worker to depend on their own personal favoritism or caprice,
stand up in Congress and cast stones at the very class which they have
themselves created. In nine cases out of ten, these men staid at home
while others fought their country’s battles. And now they reward the
widows and orphans of soldiers and sailors by giving them a reluctant
chance to earn their bread on half-pay. They do it under sufferance,
while these legislators withhold just remuneration, sneer at their work,
and defame their characters.

The Forty-second Congress, which, in its most hurried moments, could
take time to vote to its members an increase of salary from five
thousand to eight thousand a year, rejected without debate a proposition
to give women-clerks in the departments equal compensation with men, for
the same labor. What added proof is required to show that the law-making
power of our land is fast becoming a monied monopoly—a legislature for
the rich—an ignorer of the poor. “Eight thousand dollars every twelve
months, by dint of close economy, will keep my wife and daughters in
silks and velvets; will give them a phæton by the sea, and make
beautiful their paths upon the mountain tops! What to me are the wives
and daughters of the poor? What care of mine the widows and orphans of
men who perished in their country’s service, if they do support
themselves and their children by working for this just Government, which
I help to make, for nine hundred dollars a year! while I pay at least
twelve hundred to the laziest masculine lout who dawdles with papers
across the Treasury floors?”

Yet there was scarcely a Member of that Congress that would not repel
with jest or sneer the mere mention of woman’s demand, in the face of
such injustice, to legislate for herself. If you would avert this
catastrophe, gentlemen, show that you are capable of just legislation;
prove that the power of franchise does not always beget oppression to
the disfranchised. I point to the practical working of the new
Civil-Service Rules, to your own greedy grasp of additional thousands,
with the refusal to grant three meagre hundreds to working women, to
prove that woman has no hope of justice in man’s representation.
Represent her interests with half the eager avidity which marks your
devotion to your own, and she will never ask to represent herself. But
no matter what her individual distaste to public responsibility, nothing
is more apparent to the wide-visioned, thoughtful woman than that, in a
republic, the only possibility of obtaining personal justice lies in
political equality.




                             CHAPTER XXXVI.
         GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL LIFE—HOW PLACE AND POWER ARE WON.

Government Official Life—Its Effects on Human Nature—Keeping his Eye
    Open—The Sweet and Winning Ways of Mr. Parasite—In Office—The
    Fault of “the People” and “my Friends”—Shrinking from
    Responsibilities—Pulling the Wool over the Eyes of the
    Innocent—Writing Letters in a Big Way—The “Dark Ways” of Wicked
    Mr. P——— —A Suspicious Yearning for Private Life—The Sweets of
    Office—A Little Change of Opinion—A Man Afflicted with Too Many
    Friends—Forgetting Things that Were—John Jones is not
    Encouraged—Post-offices as Plentiful as Blackberries—Receiving
    Office-seekers—“The Worst Thing in the World for You”—Dismissing
    John—Over-crowded Pastures—John’s Own Private Opinion—The “Mighty
    Messenger”—Government-Servants—Peculiar Impartiality of the Man in
    Office—What the Successful Man Said—I Change My Opinion of Him—A
    Certain Kind of Man, and Where He can be Found.


Governmental official life has one effect upon those whom it benefits,
which is anything but creditable to human nature.

Mr. Parasite wants a high place in the governmental service, and
circumstances favor his getting it. While there is any doubt about it,
he does not disdain to use any influence within his reach to make it
certain. How lovely he is to everybody whose good word or ill word may
“tell” for or against him. How affable he is to every mortal, from the
lowliest outspoken man in his home town, to the influential writer,
whose powerful pen he wishes to propitiate. Mr. Parasite glides into his
place with grace and resignation. “The people, the people, you know, and
my friends—_they_ forced it upon me. They quite overrate my fitness,
quite. I shrink from such responsibilities, such arduous labors; but, if
my country needs me, if my constituents _demand_ my services, I feel
that I have no right to refuse, no right to consult my personal ease,
although the desire of my heart is for the peaceful quiet of private
life.”

[Illustration:

  THE LOBBY OF THE SENATE.
  INSIDE THE CAPITOL.—WASHINGTON.
]

Strange to tell, when an accommodating people are about to grant him the
desire of his heart, Mr. Parasite suddenly starts up alert, and touches
the springs of a most powerful enginery. He writes personal letters by
thousands; he has his friends—i. e. agents—at work for him everywhere,
whispering with this one, arguing with that one, and urging his claims
incessantly upon the appointing power. But who, that did not know it,
could believe it.

Chance to light upon Mr. Parasite about this time, and mention the
subject of his possible appointment or election to him as one in which
he is naturally interested. Lo! amid all others, Mr. Parasite alone is
indifferent. “Of course, it would be a compliment, a re-election or
re-appointment. He would prize it much as a mark of confidence from the
people, or the Government; but really, so far as personal desires go,
private life.”

_Private life_ still fills the measure of his yearning. “Retirement” is
still the goal of his desire. This is but the weakness; the crime of Mr.
Parasite is revealed further on. The long suspense over, safely
ensconced in that official chair, while its cushions are a new delight,
its honors are fresh, its powers unwonted, perhaps a consciousness of
gratitude remains with Mr. Parasite. It’s a pleasant office, very.
Carpeted, cushioned, curtained, pictured, secluded. It is pleasant,
very. This ever-acknowledged honor of official state, messengers flying
at your bid, doors swinging noiselessly at your approach, hats springing
into air as you pass by, _lorgnettes_ lifted by fair hands in great
assemblies, the crowd peering and shouting, “There goes the great Mr.
Parasite!” Sweet, also, are the newly-found uses of official
power—sweeter even than to die for one’s country. The privileges of
patronage, the consciousness of power over the fate of others, the uses
of power in ministering to self—first sought and last relinquished—of
all the gifts of office.

While all these retain the charm of newness, a sense of gratitude may
remain with Mr. Parasite towards those who led and lifted him to his
high estate. Rarely strong in any man, the sense of gratitude with
continued office is sure to die out. When he first enters, and the
memory of fresh services remains with him, he may feel, at least
faintly, that he owes something to somebody besides himself; but the
longer he remains, the surer he is that all is his by right, all due to
his own exalted merit. There comes a time when it seems as if that
cushioned chair, that luxurious office, those muffled doors, those
cringing messengers, were all made especially for him and to do him
service. With a growing sense of security in his position, comes,
perhaps, an unconscious indifference toward those who, in the beginning,
helped to lift him toward it. There is no intentional ingratitude, only
it is so easy for some natures to forget others when they cease to need
them.

Then, too, official place, even in a republican government, hourly feeds
in a man his love of power, and his sense of personal importance. It
feeds the vanity and self-satisfaction of poor human nature, when its
fellows are dependent upon it even for the smallest favors. Few meet
this test and survive it their noblest selves. It is astonishing how
soon Mr. Parasite forgets that, a short time since, he was a seeker of
favors himself, and is sure to be again, before old age strands him amid
things gone by in the long-deferred haven of private life.

While a feeling of dependence on others survives, an emotion of
gratitude lingers, Mr. Parasite will try to treat other applicants for
office as he desired to be treated a few short months since himself. But
these emotions were never known to live through a single stress of a
single term of office.

Poor Mr. Parasite is very much beset! Every hour in the day somebody
wants something that somebody believes is in Mr. Parasite’s power to
bestow. It may be flattering, but it is also wearing, tearing,
exasperating, and even maddening, sometimes, to a man to be deemed the
dispenser of so much power and patronage. He cannot give everybody all
that everybody may ask—of course not. This is not all his sin. His sin
is this: He comes in time (usually in a marvellously short time) to
regard every one seeking the patronage of his office as a mendicant on
his personal bounty, rather than as a member of one class with himself.
Because he gained the highest honor, he forgets that he got it on the
very same principle that John Jones, who, armed with credentials from
his minister and doctor, so humbly sues for the post-office of Mudtown.
He listens to the sister pleading for her brother, the wife for her
husband, the father for his son, the poor man for himself, and because
it is little each asks, despises each accordingly, lectures each on the
folly of wanting any Government place whatever. The one thing that he
cannot remember, and which it is most delightful to forget, is that he
was ever in John Jones’ place himself.

To be sure, he did not sue for the Mudtown post-office. He wanted a
foreign ministry, a home secretaryship, to be a Senator, or, at least, a
Governor. He begged or bartered for these Government-gifts precisely as
John does for his post-office. Both are equally office-seekers; but
there is such disparity between John’s little Alpha and the Omega of Mr.
Parasite’s desires, the latter does not recognize in this seeker of
small things his remotest cousin. Comparatively few dare demand
ministries and secretaryships, while post-offices and their ilk are as
plentiful as blackberries, and their pickers equally so—so plentiful
that Mr. Parasite leans back in his cushioned chair, on his official
tripod, and wonders _which_ John Jones it will be next, and what _he_
will want; and, when one of the innumerable Johns, waiting outside, is
admitted by a mighty messenger, whose official state is more
overwhelming even than his master’s, the suppliant quakes to the bottom
of his boots in the presence of the powerful potentate, Mr. Parasite.

“What do _you_ want?” says the potentate, in a tone which implies in
advance, “You can’t have it.”

“Only the Mudtown post-office,” says John, “or—or anything that I can
get.”

“Impossible; I have nothing—nothing for you,” says the potentate, in a
remote and superior tone, which indicates, as only a tone can, that he,
the potentate, needs nothing at present himself. And who can imagine
that he ever did? “Why on earth do so many of you come for Government
employment? Don’t you know it is the worst thing in the world for you?
You had better go to work. Do anything, rather than to hang upon the
Government.”

Thus _one_ John is dismissed, to go and browse in the closely-cropped
and over-crowded pastures of the inefficient and ne’er-do-well
mediocrity.

Several days later, when John rebounds from the shock imparted by Mr.
Parasite’s grandeur, its momentum sends him pat against a fact. “Why, he
is a hanger-on to the Government himself.” Yes; and so, in one sense, is
every office-holder, from the President down to the mighty messenger who
condescends to shut and open doors. It implies no discredit to be a
server of the Government; but it reveals a very ignoble side of human
nature, when the favored holder rebuffs the lowliest seeker as a being
from another race, in any essential quality the antipodes of himself.

A man who has just been lifted by his friends from one high place to
another, has long boasted, while in power, “that he would not help a
friend sooner than an enemy.” I had a certain admiration for him till I
knew that he said this, and proved it by his practice. There is
something true and grateful and noble lacking in a man’s nature, when he
turns from his friend as he would from an enemy, doing nothing for
either; always taking, and never giving; always seeking, yet sneering at
others who seek; always subsisting on Government bounty and place
himself, while he wounds, ignores, and sometimes insults the
unfortunates who wish to do likewise and can’t.

This is Mr. Parasite, and he lives, reigns and flourishes, as parasites
only can, in every department of governmental state.




                            CHAPTER XXXVII.
           THE DEAD LETTER OFFICE—ITS MARVELS AND MYSTERIES.

The Post-Office—Its Architecture—The Monolithic Corinthian
    Columns—The Postal Service in Early Times—The Act of Queen
    Anne’s Reign—“Her Majesty’s Colonies”—After the Revolution—The
    First Postmaster-General—The Present Chief—A Cabinet
    Minister—The Subordinate Officers—Their Positions and Duties—The
    Ocean Mail Postal Service—The Contract Office—The Finance
    Office—The Inspection Office—Complaints and Misdoings—Benjamin
    Franklin’s Appointment—He Goes into Debt—One Hundred and Twenty
    Years Ago—Franklin Performs Wonderful Works—His Ideas of
    Speed—Between Boston and Philadelphia in Six Weeks—Dismissed
    from Office—The Congress of “The Confederation”—A New Post
    Office System—Franklin Comes In Again—The Inspector of Dead
    Letters—Not Allowed to Take Copies of Letters—Only Seventy-five
    Offices in the States—Primitive Regulations—Only One
    Clerk—Government Stages—The Office at Washington—Saved from the
    British Troops—Franklin’s Old Ledger—The Present Number of Post
    Offices—The Dead Letter Office—The Ladies Too Much Squeezed—Some
    of the Ladies “Packed”—Opening the Dead Letters—Why Certain
    Persons are Trusted—Three Thousand Thoughtless People—Valuable
    Letters—Ensuring Correctness—The Property Branch—The Touching
    Story of the Photographs—The Return Branch—What the Postmaster
    Says.


Though injured in comparison by the higher site and loftier walls of the
Patent-Office opposite, the Post-Office, in itself, is one of the most
beautiful public buildings in Washington. It occupies the entire block
situated on Seventh and Eighth streets west, and E and F streets north.
Like the Treasury and Patent-Office, it incloses a grassy court-yard on
which its inner offices look out.

The architecture of the Post-Office is a modified Corinthian, and is
regarded by critics as the best representation of the Italian palatial
ever built upon this continent. It was designed chiefly by F. A. Walter,
at that time architect of the Capitol, an artist who has left monuments
of architectural beauty behind him in marble which, seemingly, can never
perish. On the Seventh street side there is a vestibule, the ceiling of
which is composed of richly ornamented marbles, supported by four marble
columns; the walls, niches and floors are of marble, polished and
tessellated. This is the grand entrance to the General Post-Office
Department. The F street front affords accommodation to the city Post
Office. It has a deeply recessed portico in the centre, consisting of
eight columns grouped in pairs, and flanked by coupled pilasters
supporting an entablature which girds the entire work. The portico is
supported by an arcade which furnishes ample convenience for the
delivery of letters, and the hurrying crowds which come after them. The
Corinthian columns of this portico are each formed of a single block of
marble, and each in itself is a marvel of architectural grace. The
entrance for the mail wagons, on Eighth street, consists of a grand
archway, the spandrels of which bear upon their face, sculpture
representing Steam and Electricity, while a mask, representing Fidelity,
forms the key-stone.

The Postal Service of the country is the oldest branch of the
Government. As early as the year 1792, a proposition was introduced into
the General Assembly of Virginia, to establish the office of
Postmaster-General of Virginia and other parts of America. The
proposition became a law, but was never carried into effect. In 1710,
during the reign of Queen Anne, the British Parliament established a
General Post-Office for all Her Majesty’s dominions. By this act, the
Postmaster-General was permitted to have one chief letter office in New
York, and other chief letter offices at some convenient place or places
in each of Her Majesty’s provinces or colonies in America. When the
colonies threw off their allegiance to the Crown, especial care was
given to preserving, as far as possible, the postal facilities of the
country. When the Federal Constitution was adopted, the right was
secured to Congress “to establish Post-Offices and Post-Roads.” In 1789,
Congress created the office of Postmaster-General, and defined his
duties. Other laws have since been passed, regulating the increased
powers and duties of the Department, which is now, next to the Treasury,
the most extensive in the country.

The Postmaster-General, the head of the Department, is a member of the
President’s Cabinet, and is in charge of the postal affairs of the
United States. The business of the various branches of the Department is
conducted in his name and by his authority. He has a general supervision
of the whole Department, and issues all orders concerning the service
rendered the Government through his subordinates. During the first
administrations of the Government, the Postmaster-General was not
regarded as a Cabinet Minister, but simply as the head of a Bureau. In
1829, General Jackson invited Mr. Barry, the gentleman appointed by him
to that office, to a seat in his Cabinet. Since that time, the
Postmaster-General has been recognized, as _ex-officio_, a Cabinet
Minister.

The first Postmaster-General was Samuel Osgood, of Massachusetts. The
present Postmaster is Marshall Jewell, of Hartford, Connecticut.

The subordinate officers of the Department are three Assistant
Postmaster-Generals, and the Chief of the Inspection Office.
The Appointment Office is in charge of the First Assistant
Postmaster-General. To this office are assigned all questions which
relate to the establishment and discontinuance of post-offices, changes
of sites and names, appointment and removal of postmasters, and _route_
and local agents, as, also, the giving of instructions to postmasters.
Postmasters are furnished with marking and rating-stamps and
letter-balances by this Bureau, which is charged also with providing
blanks and stationery for the use of the Department, and with the
superintendence of the several agencies established for supplying
postmasters with blanks. “To this Bureau is likewise assigned the
supervision of the ocean-mail steamship-lines, and of the foreign and
international postal arrangements.”

The Contract-Office is in charge of the Second Assistant
Postmaster-General. To this office is assigned the business of arranging
the mail service of the United States, and placing the same under
contract, embracing all correspondence and proceedings affecting the
frequency of trips, mode of conveyance, and time of departures and
arrivals on all the _routes_; the course of the mail between the
different sections of the country; the points of mail distribution; and
the regulations for the government of the domestic mail service of the
United States. It prepares the advertisements for mail proposals,
receives the bids, and takes charge of the annual and occasional mail
lettings, and the adjustment and execution of the contracts. All
applications for the establishment or alteration of mail arrangements,
and the appointment of mail messengers, should be sent to this office.
All claims should be submitted to it for transportation service not
under contract, as the recognition of said service is first to be
obtained through the Contract-Office as a necessary authority for the
proper credits at the Auditor’s-Office.

From this office all postmasters at the ends of _routes_ receive the
statement of mail arrangements prescribed for the respective _routes_.
It reports weekly to the Auditor all contracts executed and all orders
affecting accounts for mail transportation; prepares the statistical
exhibits of mail service, and the reports of the mail lettings, giving a
statement of each bid; also of the contracts made, the new service
originated, the curtailments ordered, and the additional allowances
granted within the year.

The Finance-Office is in charge of the Third Assistant
Postmaster-General. To this office is assigned the supervision and
management of the financial business of the Department not devolved by
law upon the Auditor, embracing accounts with the draft offices and
other depositories of the Department; the issuing of warrants and drafts
in payment of balances, reported by the Auditor to be due mail
contractors and other persons; the supervision of the accounts of
offices under orders to deposit their quarterly balances at designated
points; and the superintendence of the rendition by postmasters of their
quarterly returns of postages. It has charge of the Dead-Letter Office,
of the issuing of postage stamps and stamped envelopes for the
prepayment of postage, and with the accounts connected therewith.

To the Third Assistant Postmaster-General all postmasters should direct
their quarterly returns; those at draft-offices, their letters reporting
quarterly the net proceeds of their offices; and those at
depositing-offices, their certificates of deposit. To him should also be
directed the weekly and monthly returns of the depositories of the
Department, as well as applications and receipts for postage stamps and
stamped envelopes, and for dead letters.

The Inspection-Office is in charge of a Chief Clerk. To this office is
assigned the duty of receiving and examining the registers of the
arrivals and departures of the mails, certificates of the service of
_route_-agents, and reports of mail failures; noting the delinquencies
of contractors, and preparing cases thereon for the action of the
Postmaster-General; furnishing blanks for mail registers and reports of
mail failures, providing and sending out mail bags and mail locks and
keys, and doing all other things which may be necessary to secure a
faithful and exact performance of all mail contracts.

All cases of mail depredation, of violations of law by private
expresses, or by the forging and illegal use of postage stamps, are
under supervision of this office, and should be reported to it. All
communications respecting lost money-letters, mail depredations, or
other violations of law, or mail locks and keys, should be directed to
“Chief Clerk, Post-Office Department.”

All registers of the arrivals and departures of the mails, certificates
of the service of _route_-agents, reports of mail failures, applications
for mail registers, and all complaints against contractors for irregular
or imperfect service, should be directed, “Inspection Office,
Post-Office Department.”

Benjamin Franklin was appointed General Deputy Postmaster of the
Colonies, in the year 1753, with a salary between him and his
confederates, of £600, if they could get it. This experiment brought him
in debt £900, and his success in expediting the mails, which he dwells
upon with so much satisfaction in his writings, will create a smile in
these days of electricity, steam, and “young-American” speed. In the
year 1754, he gave notice that the mail to New England, which used to
start but once a fortnight, in winter, should start once a week, all the
year, “whereby answers might be obtained to letters between Philadelphia
and Boston in three weeks, which used to require six weeks!”

Franklin was removed from his office by the British Ministry; but in the
year 1775, the Congress of the Confederation having assumed the
practical sovereignty of the Colonies, appointed a committee to devise a
system of post-office communication, who made a report recommending a
plan on the 26th of July, which on the same day was adopted, and Doctor
Franklin unanimously appointed Postmaster-General, at a salary of $1,000
per annum. The salary of the Postmaster-General was doubled on the 16th
of April, 1779, and on the 27th day of December, of the same year,
Congress increased the salary to $5,000 per annum.

An Inspector of Dead Letters was also appointed, at a salary of $100 per
annum, who was under oath faithfully and impartially to discharge the
duties of his office, and enjoined to take no copies of letters, and not
to divulge the contents to any but Congress, or to those who were
appointed by Congress for that purpose. Dr. Franklin, on the 7th of
November, 1776, was succeeded as Postmaster-General by his relative,
Richard Bache, who remained in office till the 28th of January, 1782,
when he was succeeded by Ebenezer Hazard, who was the last head of the
General Post-Office under the Confederacy.

In 1790, there were but seventy-five post-offices in the United States,
and but eighteen hundred and seventy-five miles of post _routes_.

The General Post-Office, in 1790, was located in New York, and Samuel
Osgood, of Massachusetts, was the first Postmaster-General under the
Federal Government. His conception of the duties of his office were,
doubtless, very humble, as he recommended “that the Postmaster-General
should not keep an office separate from the one in which the mail was
opened and distributed; that he might, by his presence, prevent
irregularities, and rectify any mistakes that might occur;” in fact, put
the Postmaster-General, his assistant, and their one clerk, in the city
post-office, to see that its mails were assorted and made up correctly.

The salary of Mr. Osgood was $1,500 per annum. Timothy Pickering was
appointed by Washington, August 12, 1791, at an increased salary of
$2,000. Joseph Habersham was the last Postmaster-General appointed by
Washington. He was commissioned April 22, 1795, at a salary of $2,400
per annum. The office was located in Philadelphia, in the year 1796, and
was established at Washington when the Federal Government was removed
there. In 1802, the United States ran their own stages between
Philadelphia and New York, finding coaches, drivers, horses, etc., and
cleared in three years over $11,000, by carrying passengers.

That sultry morning of August 25, 1814, when Admiral Cockburn and his
drunken crew, eager for fresh destruction, marched from Capitol Hill to
the War Office, which they burned, and from it down F street to treat
the Post-Office to the same fate, they found it on the site where its
marble successor now stands, and under the same roof the Patent-Office.
Says Charles J. Ingersoll, in his rambling history:

  “Dr. Thornton, then Chief of the Patent-Office, accompanied the
  detachment to the locked door of the repository, the key having been
  taken away by another clerk watching out of night. Axes and other
  implements of force were used to break in; Thornton entreating,
  remonstrating, and finally prevailing on Major Waters, superintending
  the destruction, to postpone it till Thornton could see Colonel Jones,
  then engaged with Admiral Cockburn in destroying the office of the
  _National Intelligencer_, not far off on Pennsylvania avenue. Colonel
  Jones had declared that it was not designed to destroy private
  property, which Dr. Thornton assured Major Waters most of that in the
  Patent-Office was. A curious musical instrument, of his own
  construction, which he particularly strove to snatch from ruin, with a
  providential gust soon after, saved the seat of government from
  removal, for want of any building in which Congress could assemble,
  when they met in Washington three weeks afterwards. Hundreds of models
  of the useful arts, preserved in the office, were of no avail to save
  it; but music softened the rugged breasts of the least musical of
  civilized people. Major Waters agreed, at last, to respite the patents
  and the musical instrument till his return from Greenleaf’s Point,
  where other objects were to be laid in ruins.”

But with the explosion of the magazine at Greenleaf’s Point, and the
tornado, both of which made unexpected havoc with the lives of the
British vandals, and their withdrawal under cover of night, they never
came back to the Patent and Post-Office, to destroy it. It was, I
believe, the only public building in the capital which escaped their
torch. It was, however, destroyed by fire, December 15, 1836.

One of the most precious treasures, now in the possession of the
Post-Office Department, is the original ledger of Doctor Benjamin
Franklin, Postmaster-General, 1776, which upon its title-page bears the
following record:

  “This book was rescued from the flames, during the burning of the
  Post-Office Building, on Thursday morning, Dec. 15, 1836, by W. W.
  Cox, messenger of the office of the Auditor of the Treasury for the
  Post-Office Department.”

This ledger is now on file in the office of the Auditor of the Treasury
for the Post-Office Department. Scorched and worn, it tells the story of
time and fate. It embraces all the accounts of all the post-offices of
the United States for the years 1776-77-78. These are all recorded in
the handwriting of Doctor Franklin, and do not cover one hundred and
twenty pages. The growth in the postal service may be partly measured by
the fact that its money record, kept by Benjamin Franklin, running
through eleven years, is equalled, at the present time, by the accounts
of two days. When the philosopher was at the head of the Post-Office
Department, there were eighty post-offices in the Confederation; there
are now thirty-two thousand post-offices in the United States, with the
number constantly increasing.

The Dead-Letter Office embodies more personal interest than any other in
the Post-Office Department. It is a spacious room, unique in outline,
many-windowed and well ventilated. It is surrounded by a wide gallery,
supported by spiral columns. An open iron staircase connects it with the
lower office. It is set apart for the woman’s work of this division.
They are far out-numbered by the men below, and yet in this narrow
gallery they are sadly crowded.

Spacious as the Post-Office is, in going thereto, the same conclusion is
forced upon one, which is apparent in every public building, that it is
already too small for the vast and rapidly increasing demands of the
public service. The gentlemen which you see at work below have nothing
to complain of in lack of light or air, but the ladies above say that
their little gallery is the escape valve to all the poisoned air below;
that their heads are so near the roof there is no chance for
ventilation, and that sudden death, among their number, has been caused
by the air-poison which pervades this gallery. The ladies need more room
for a new office; indeed, already they have overflowed the gallery and
are packed closely in the halls.

Meanwhile, in an imposing-looking apartment beneath them, sit their
brethren, on either side of the long table, opening the “dead-letters”
which they are to re-direct. I believe there are fourteen clergymen,
sitting at a single table, opening these letters. Preference is given to
gentlemen of this profession, broken in health or fortune, as it is
taken for granted that if they have lived to that age and fate, without
ever having committed a dishonest act, it is most unlikely that they
ever will—and that the treasure-letters are perfectly safe in their
keeping. Moreover, their profession is also in their favor. They must
have been unworldly-minded, says the reasoner, or they would never have
chosen to be clergymen. Nearly all are elderly men, and among the number
are a few old ones,—one, who has been in this office over fifty years, a
brother of its one time Postmaster-General, Amos Kendall—hair white as
snow—back bent over the table—hands trembling as he uses his knife—it is
his life to go on opening his quota of daily letters, for the pittance
of $1,200 per year. “If he were refused the privilege,” said an officer,
“he would die at once.”

[Illustration: DEAD LETTER OFFICE, U. S. GENERAL POST
OFFICE.—WASHINGTON]

In this office, from the thirty thousand post-offices in the United
States are received, annually, about three million five hundred thousand
dead-letters; unmailable letters, three hundred and sixty thousand;
blank letters, three thousand.

It seems impossible that three thousand persons, in a single year,
should post letters without a single letter traced on their envelopes;
nevertheless, this is true.

In one corner of this office stand two men, by an open door, whose
business it is to receive the dead-letters as they ascend to the office.
They come up on an elevator—tied up in immense bags. As they are tossed
out on the floor, one would suppose that they contained coffee for
merchandise, rather than heart-messages and treasures gone astray. The
bags are immediately opened and the letters transferred to the assorting
table, where they are classified by clerks. The foreign letters are
separated from the domestic, and any irregularity in their transmission
is noted. They are then counted, numbered and tied up into packages of
one hundred each, and thrown into bins, whence they are withdrawn in the
order of the date of their reception, and transferred to the opening
table to be _hari-karied_ by our clergymen.

Letters containing nothing, if possible, are returned to their writers.
If they cannot be, they are thrown into the waste-basket. This
waste-paper is not burned but sold—and averages to the Government a
revenue of about $4,000 per year. With all his extravagances, this is
but one of numerous ways by which Uncle Sam manages to turn an
economical penny out of the carelessness and misfortunes of nephews and
nieces.

Letters containing anything, of the smallest value, are saved and
registered under their different heads. Money, jewels, drafts,
money-orders, receipts, hair, seeds, deeds, military-papers,
pension-papers, etc., are all recorded and returned, if possible. A
“money letter” has five different records before it leaves the
Dead-Letter Office, and is so checked and counter-checked as to make
collusion or abstraction almost impossible, in case any soul who
surveyed it were fatally tempted.

When the opener of a letter finds money, he immediately makes a record
of it. The next morning, the head of “the Opening Table” records in a
book each letter found and recorded by each opener the day before. The
letters are then taken from a safe, in which they were locked the night
previous, and their contents recounted, to make sure of absolute
correctness, before leaving the Opening Table. The money-letters, with
the record of that day, are then handed over to the head of the Money
Branch, where the letters recorded by the head of the Opening Table are
certified and receipted. They are next indexed and delivered to the
several clerks of the Money Branch, each receipting every letter he has
recorded on the Index Book. He then records the letter and sends it to
the writer, through the postmaster of the place where the party lives.
The owner, on receiving the money, receipts for the same on a blank
accompanying the letter, which he sends back to the Dead-Letter Office.
The letters are again re-examined by two clerks, to see if the amounts
are correct, who conjointly scrutinize and seal the letters. They are
then registered to the different distributing offices, with all the
precautionary checks of a registered letter. In time, the letter or a
receipt from the owner, through the postmaster, is returned. If a
receipt is received, it is recorded, with date, as a final disposition
of the letter. If the money is returned, it is so noted and recorded on
a separate record kept for the purpose, that record showing,
perpetually, how much money is on hand. If not claimed at the end of
three months, the money is deposited in the Treasury of the United
States, subject to the application of the owner. By this minute and
exhaustive routine, every money-letter, and every cent which they
contain, is absolutely accounted for—traced, refunded, and held.

Drafts, deeds, checks, power-of-attorney and wills are recorded, and
sent through postmasters to their owners, they returning receipts for
the same.

Foreign letters are assorted, the amounts due this and other countries
recorded, and a system of accounts kept, showing, by a list returned
with the letters, a correct statement. Foreign letters are returned
weekly, to England, Germany and the Netherlands. The liberal postage
recently adopted by these countries has opened so large a
correspondence, it involves more frequent returns.

The Property-Branch is of a most miscellaneous character. It involves
the recording and returning of jewellery, and of almost every other
article under the sun. Many of these it is impossible to return. These
accumulate in such vast piles, it is necessary to dispose of them at
auction, at least, as often as once in four years.

At each sale, a complete catalogue of the articles is presented, and the
proceeds are deposited in the United States Treasury.

A room, leading from the Dead-Letter Office, lined with closed closets
to its lofty ceiling, is the receptacle of all these stranded treasures.
When the custodian unlocks their doors and you behold what is shut
within, you are lost in wonder as to what must be the conceived capacity
of the Post-Office in the minds of your compatriots. Before your eyes,
crammed into shelves, you see patchwork quilts, under garments, and
outer garments; hats, caps, and bonnets; shoes and stockings; with no
end of nicknacks and keepsakes; “sets” of embroidery, baby-wardrobes,
watches, and jewels of every description—though the greater proportion
is of the “fire-gilt,” “dollar-store” description. Many really beautiful
pictures are retained, because not sufficiently prepaid. Some of these,
sent as gifts, are left by the chosen recipients to be sold at
auction—the postage often amounting to far more than the value of the
picture. Many motley articles peer forth from their hiding-places
ignominiously “franked,” yet retained, the frank not being sufficient
legal-tender to insure their triumphal passage to the place of final
destination. Among these is an iron apple-parer.

Many of these cheap treasures were precious keepsakes from the hearts
which fondly sent them—under very unintelligible superscriptions—to
sweethearts whom they never reached. Some are tokens from beyond the
seas, which came from a far-off land only to find the one sought—dead or
living—gone, without a clue.

During the war, tens of thousands of photographs were thus sent astray.
The husband, the father, the brother, the son, under whose name they
came—alas! when they reached his regiment, he was not—the heaped-up
trench, the unknown grave, the unburied dead—somewhere amid them all—he
slept, and the memento of the love that lived for him, came back to this
receptacle of the nation, and here it is! On a stand near the window, is
an immense open book lined with photographs, all the photographs of
soldiers. With a tender hand, the Government gathered these pictures of
its lost and unknown sons and garnered them here, for the sake of the
living, who might seek their lost. Turning over the pages, we see many
empty spaces, and find that friends coming here and turning over the
pages of this book have identified the faces of loved ones who perished
in the war. Many of these are photographs of a poor character, (whose
transient chemicals are already fading out,) which were taken on the
field, and sent, by soldiers, home to mothers, wives, sisters and
sweethearts. The chances of war are sufficient to account for their
going astray of their objects and for their return here—where more than
one tear-blinded woman has sought and found them, at last.

To return to the dryer details of the Dead-Letter Office, we find that
all letters held for postage, all blank, unmailable, and hotel letters
pass through a like process with the dead-letter, with the exception of
the unmailable letters, which come directly from the office with written
lists, which are checked to see if the letters are all with the lists.
These the opener counter-checks, marking the contents both on letter and
list, to show that it was received and doubly opened. These lists, with
their letters, are sent to the Return Branch. Here they are returned to
their writers, and their lists are made to show the disposition of every
letter. These lists are carefully filed and subject to re-perusal. The
Return Branch, which is composed entirely of ladies, sends average
dead-letters back to their writers at the rate of seven thousand a day.
In this branch we find the application-clerk whose duty it is to trace
letters, and to send such information to persons applying for letters as
the records may show. In case of the loss of a valuable letter, the
Department spares no pains in its efforts to trace and find it.

The Postmaster-General, in one of his recent reports, says of this
branch of the Postal Service:

  “In the examination of domestic dead-letters, for disposition,
  1,736,867 were found to be either not susceptible of being returned,
  or of no importance, circulars, etc., and were destroyed after an
  effort to return them—making about 51 per cent. destroyed. The
  remainder were classified and returned to the owners as far as
  practicable. The whole number sent from the office was 2,258,199, of
  which about 84 per cent. were delivered to owners, and 16 per cent.
  were returned to the Department; 18,340 letters, containing
  $95,169.52, in sums of $1 and upward, of which 16,061 letters,
  containing $86,638.66, were delivered to owners, and 2,124, containing
  $7,862.36, were filed or held for disposition; 14,082 contained
  $3,436.68, in sums of less than $1, of which 12,513, containing
  $3,120.70, were delivered to owners; 17,750 contained drafts, deeds,
  and other papers of value, representing the value of $3,609,271.80—of
  these 16,809 were restored to the owners, and 821 were returned and
  filed; 13,964 contained books, jewellery, and other articles of
  property, of the estimated value of $8,500—of these 11,489 were
  forwarded for delivery and 9,911 were delivered to their owners;
  125,221 contained photographs, postage-stamps, and articles of small
  value, of which 114,666 were delivered to owners; 2,068,842 without
  inclosures. Thus of the ordinary dead-letters forwarded from this
  office, about 84 per cent. were delivered, and of the valuable
  dead-letters (classed as money and minor) about 89 per cent. were
  delivered. The decrease of money-letters received (about 3,000) is
  probably owing to the growing use of money-orders for the transmission
  of small sums.”

In August, 1864, Hon. Montgomery Blair appointed Dr. C. F. Macdonald,
now the Superintendent of the Money-Order Department, and J. M. McGrew,
now Chief Clerk of the Sixth Auditor’s office, commissioners to visit
Quebec and examine the workings of the Money-Order System which has been
in operation in Great Britain and Canada for several years.

The system, as used by the British Government, was modified and
simplified by the commissioners, and on the 8th of November, 1864, the
Money-Order System of the United States was inaugurated, with 138
offices authorized to issue and pay.

During the part of the fiscal year commencing November 8, 1864, and
ending June 30, 1865, there were 74,277 money-orders issued, amounting
to $1,360,122.52; during next fiscal year ending June 30, 1866—138,297,
amounting to $3,977,259.28; during next fiscal year ending June 30,
1867—474,496, amounting to $9,229,327.72; during next fiscal year ending
June 30, 1868—831,937, amounting to $16,197,858.47; during next fiscal
year ending June 30, 1869—1,264,143, amounting to $24,848,058.93; during
next fiscal year ending June 30, 1870—1,675,228, amounting to
$33,658,740.27; during the next fiscal year ending June 30,
1871—2,151,794, amounting to $42,164,118.03; during next fiscal year
ending June 30, 1872—2,573,349, amounting to $48,515,532.72.

During the present fiscal year, which expired June 30, 1873, the number
of orders issued will reach 3,000,000, and the amount will be over
$50,000,000.

The above figures, in themselves, contain the history of the money-order
system from its beginning to the present time. During the war one letter
was received at the Dead-Letter Office which contained $12,000. Rarely
now does any sum inside of an envelope amount to $50. As a rule, any sum
over $5 is sent by money-order—at least by all persons who have any
reasonable idea of what is absolutely safe.




                            CHAPTER XXXVIII.
               THE DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR—UNCLE SAM’S
                         DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS.

Inadequate Accommodation in Heaven—Defects of our Great Public
    Buildings—The Public Archives—Valuable Documents in Jeopardy—Talk of
    Moving the Capital—A Dissension of a Hundred Years—Concerning
    Certain Idiots—A Day in the Patent Office—The Inventive Genius of
    the Country—Aggressions of the Home Department—A Comprehensive Act
    of Congress—Seven Divisions of the Department of the Interior—The
    Disbursing Division—Division of Indian Affairs—Lands and
    Railroads—Pensions and Patents—Public Documents—Division of
    Appointments—The Superintendent of the Building—The Secretary of the
    Interior and his Subordinates—Pensions and their Recipients—Indian
    Affairs—How the Savages are Treated—Over Twenty-one Million of
    Dollars Credited to their Little Account—The Census Bureau—A Rather
    Big Work—The Bureau of Patents—What is a Patent?—A Self-supporting
    Institution—A Few Dollars Over—The Use Made of a Certain Brick
    Building—Secretary Delano—An Objection Against Him—How Wickedly he
    Acted to the Women Clerks—“The Accustomed Tyranny of Men”—Cutting
    Down the Ladies’ Salaries—Making Places for Useful Voters—A Sweet
    Prayer for Delano’s Welfare—Something about Delano’s Face.


It has always been a mystery to me how Heaven could continue large
enough for all the people who are trying to get into it, that is, if the
human race is to keep on being born.

I am equally puzzled about the internal spaces of our great public
buildings. When designed, they were supposed to be ample for centuries
to come; but with the constant creation of new bureaus, and even of
departments, with the fast and never-ceasing accumulations of records in
every branch of the Government service, not a public building in
Washington is now large enough to hold the archives, or even the
_employés_ belonging to its own department. Already the city is filled
with temporary buildings, in which the overflow of the various
departments have taken refuge. Even now, every public building needs a
duplicate as large as itself to hold its treasures, and to carry on
fitly the intricate machinery of its routine service. The constant cry
of “Capital moving” has not only prevented this, but has caused the
precious records of the departments to be packed into precarious and
insufficient store-houses.

The public archives should all be stored in fire-proof buildings. The
destruction of the titles to all the lands in the country sold by the
Government would involve a loss greater than the cost of all Washington
city. And yet, as they are stored at present, any morning you may hear
that there is nothing left of them but ashes.

What madness to talk of moving the Capital! What idiots to breed another
dissension of a hundred years as to where another Capital shall be,
instead of making the most and best of the majestic one, bought at such
cost, that already is!

Well, a day in the Patent-Office has caused this outburst. This building
was built for the protection and display of the inventive genius of the
country. But that genius finds itself fearfully “cabined and confined,”
and almost crowded out by the elephantine proportions of the Home
Department, which needs, almost beyond any other, a vast building of its
own, all to itself. At first a single room was demanded for the
Secretary of the Interior. The needs of his department were such, he has
gone on annexing room after room of the noble Patent-Office, till its
“inventive genius” finds itself crowded into a very small corner of the
majestic building built with the proceeds of its own industry.

March 3, 1849, Congress passed an act to establish the Home Department,
and enacted that said new executive branch of the Government of the
United States should be called the Department of the Interior, and that
the head of said Department should be called Secretary of the Interior,
and that the Secretary should be placed upon the same plane with other
Cabinet officers.

This act transferred to the Secretary of the Interior the supervisory
power over the office of the Commissioner of Patents, exercised before
by the Secretary of State; the same power, over the Commissioner of the
General Land-Office, held previously by the Secretary of the Treasury;
the same over the Bureau of Indian Affairs, which had been under the
supervision of the Secretary of War; the same over the acts of the
Commissioner of Pensions, who had previously reported to the Secretary
of the Navy; also over the marshals and orders of taking and returning
the census, previously managed by the Secretary of State; the same over
accounts of marshals, clerks and officers of courts of the United
States, previously exercised by the Secretary of the Treasury. The same
act relieved the President of the duty of supervising the acts of the
Commissioner of Public Buildings, placing that gentleman under the
directions of the Interior Department; giving the Secretary control over
the Board of Inspectors and the Warden of the Penitentiary of the
District of Columbia.

Thus, you see, the Department of the Interior was made up, at the
beginning, of slices cut from each one of the other departments of the
Government. Subsequent acts of legislation have added new duties to the
Home Department. The Department of Justice; the Department of
Metropolitan Police; the accounts of marshals and clerks of the United
States Courts, and of matters pertaining to the judiciary; the
discontinuance of the office of Commissioner of Public Buildings, and
the assignment of his duties to the Chief Engineer of the Army, with the
duties and powers heretofore exercised by the Secretary of State over
the Governors and Secretaries of the various territories. All have been
transferred to the Department of the Interior. Admission of indigent
insane persons, resident in the District of Columbia, to the Insane
Asylum, also to the Columbia Institution for the deaf and dumb, and to
the National Deaf-mute College, and of blind children to the Columbia
Institution, all are only obtained through the Secretary of the
Interior.

The office of the Secretary of the Interior is divided into seven
divisions, as follows:

The “Disbursing Division,” through which all moneys, appropriated for
the entire service of the department, pass.

The Division of the Indian Affairs; having charge of matters pertaining
to the Indian office, and the various Indian tribes.

The Division of Lands and Railroads; having charge of matters pertaining
to the General Land-Office, and the construction, &c., of land-grant
railroads.

The Division of Pensions and Patents; having charge of matters
pertaining to those offices.

The Division of Public Documents; having charge of the distribution of
the public documents and the Department Library.

The Division of Appointments; having charge of all matters pertaining to
the force of the department, the preparing, recording, etc., of
Presidential appointments under the Interior Department.

The Superintendent of the building; having charge of all repairs, the
oversight of the laboring force, heating apparatus, etc.

The head of the Department is the Secretary of the Interior. His
subordinates are the Commissioners of the Public Lands, Patents, Indian
Affairs, and Pensions, and the Superintendent of the Census. The
Secretary is charged with the general supervision of matters relating to
the public lands, the pensions granted by the Government, the management
of the Indian tribes, the granting patents, the management of the
Agricultural Bureau, of the lead and other mines of the United States,
the affairs of the Penitentiary of the District of Columbia, the
overland-_routes_ to the Pacific, including the great Pacific Railways,
the taking of the Census, and the direction of the acts of the
Commissioner of Public Buildings, the Insane Hospital for the District
of Columbia, and the Army and Navy, is also under his control.

The first Secretary of the Interior was Thomas Ewing, of Ohio, appointed
by President Taylor; and Columbus Delano, of Ohio, is the present
Secretary.

The General Land-Office was established as a branch of the Treasury
Department by act of Congress, approved April 25, 1812, which authorized
the appointment of a Commissioner, at a salary of $3,000 per annum, and
the employment of a Chief Clerk, and such other clerks as might be
necessary to perform the work, at an annual compensation not to exceed,
in the whole, $7,000.

By the act of July 4, 1836, the office was reorganized and the force
increased. The number of clerks now employed is one hundred and
fifty-four; and even this force is not sufficient to meet the
requirements of a constantly growing business. Upon the creation of the
Interior Department, in 1849, the Land-Office was placed under its
jurisdiction.

The Commissioner of the General Land-Office is charged with the duty of
supervising the surveys of private land claims, and also the survey and
sale of the public lands of the United States. At present this
supervision extends to seventeen surveying districts and ninety-two
local land-offices.

The following table exhibits the progress of surveys and the disposal of
public lands since the fiscal year, ending June 30, 1861:

 ═══════════╤═══════════╤═════════╤════════════╤══════════╤═════════════
 Fiscal Year│ Surveying │  Land   │  Cost of   │Number of │  Number of
   ending   │districts. │Offices. │  Survey.   │  Acres   │    Acres
  June 30.  │           │         │            │Surveyed. │Disposed of.
 ───────────┼───────────┼─────────┼────────────┼──────────┼─────────────
    1862    │     9     │   58    │ $219,000 00│ 2,673,132│ 1,337,922.00
    1863    │    11     │   54    │  151,840 00│ 2,147,981│ 2,966,698.00
    1864    │    10     │   53    │  172,906 00│ 4,315,954│ 3,238,865.00
    1865    │    10     │   53    │  170,721 00│ 4,161,778│ 4,513,738.00
    1866    │    10     │   61    │  186,389 88│ 4,267,037│ 4,629,312.00
    1867    │    12     │   62    │  423,416 22│10,808,314│ 7,041,114.00
    1868    │    13     │   68    │  325,779 50│10,170,656│ 6,665,742.00
    1869    │    12     │   66    │  497,471 00│10,822,812│ 7,666,151.00
    1870    │    17     │   81    │  560,210 00│18,165,278│ 8,095,413.00
    1871    │    17     │   83    │  683,910 00│22,016,607│10,765,705.00
    1872    │    17     │   92    │1,019,378 66│29,450,939│11,864,975.64
 ═══════════╧═══════════╧═════════╧════════════╧══════════╧═════════════

This shows an increase of the number of surveyors’ general from nine to
seventeen, and land-offices from fifty-eight to ninety-two, and an
increase in the annual survey from 2,673,132 acres to 29,458,939 acres,
and an increase in the number of acres disposed of from 1,337,932 to
11,864,975.64, for the year ending June 30, 1872.

The Land-Office audits its own accounts. It is also charged with laying
off land-grants made to the various railroad schemes by Congress. The
mines belonging to the Government are also in charge of this office.

The Commissioner of Pensions examines and adjudicates all claims arising
under the various and numerous laws passed by Congress, granting
bounty-lands or pensions for military and naval services rendered the
United States at various times. The Rebellion greatly increased the
pension list.

The Commissioner of Indian Affairs has charge of all the matters
relating to the Indian tribes of the frontier. The Government has at
sundry times purchased the lands of various tribes residing east of the
Mississippi River, and has settled the Indians upon reservations in the
extreme West. For some of these lands a perpetual annuity was granted
the tribes; for others, an annuity for a certain specified time; and for
others still, a temporary annuity, payable during the pleasure of the
President or Congress. The total sum thus pledged to these tribes
amounts to nearly twenty-one and a half millions. It is funded at five
per cent., the interest alone being paid to the tribes; this interest
amounts to over two hundred thousand dollars. It is paid in various
ways—in money, in provisions, and in clothing. The Commissioner has
charge of all these dealings with the savages.

Prior to Act of Congress of June 30, 1834, organizing the “Department of
Indian Affairs,” Indian matters were managed by a Bureau, with a
superintendent in charge, under the direction and control of the War
Department, and under the organization, the department or office
continued with the War Department, until March 3, 1849, when Congress
created the Department of the Interior, and gave the supervisory and
appellate power, exercised by the Secretary of War in relation to the
acts of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, to the Secretary of the new
department.

A “Commissioner of Indian Affairs” was first authorized by Act of
Congress, dated July 9, 1832, and the same law required the Secretary of
War to prescribe a new set of regulations as to the mode in which the
business of the Commissioner should be performed.

E. Herring was the first Commissioner, and his successors have been as
follows: C. A. Harris, appointed in 1836; T. H. Crawford, 1838; Wm.
Medell, 1845; O. Brown, 1849; L. Lee, 1850; G. W. Monypenny, 1853; J. W.
Denver, 1857; C. E. Mix, 1858; A. B. Greenwood, 1859; W. P. Dole, 1861;
D. N. Cooley, 1865; L. V. Bogy, 1866; N. G. Taylor, 1867; E. S. Parker,
1869; F. E. Walker, 1871; and E. P. Smith, 1873.

The Indian Department comprehended, under the new regulations provided
for by the law of July 9, 1832, four superintendencies, thirteen
agencies, and thirteen sub-agencies, having charge of about two hundred
and fifty thousand Indians, inhabiting some of the States west of the
Mississippi, and also what was then held to be “Indian Country,” defined
by the first section of the law of June 30, 1834, regulating trade and
intercourse with Indian tribes, to be “all that part of the United
States west of the Mississippi and not within the State of Missouri and
Louisiana, or the Territory of Arkansas, and, also, that part of the
United States east of the Mississippi River and not within any State to
which the Indian title has not been extinguished.”

By subsequent acquisition of territory from Mexico, the area of Indian
country became greatly extended, with a consequent large addition to the
Indian population within the jurisdiction of the Indian Department. In
the beginning of the current year, the Department consisted of eight
superintendencies, seventy agencies and special agencies, and three
sub-agencies. At present there are four superintendencies, four having
been abolished by act of Congress, February 14, 1873, providing in lieu
thereof five Indian Inspectors, whose duty it is to visit every
superintendency and agency, and examine into the affairs of the same, as
often as once or twice a year, and to report their proceedings;
sixty-eight agencies, nine special agencies and three sub-agencies, with
an Indian population, approximately, of 300,000, exclusive of those in
Alaska, estimated at between 50,000 and 75,000.

In the Indian service there is also a Board of “Indian Commissioners,”
nine in number, authorized by act of Congress, approved April 10, 1869,
men eminent for their intelligence and philanthropy, who serve without
compensation, the object of the Commission being to co-operate with the
President in efforts to maintain peace among the Indians, bring them
upon reservations, relieve their necessities, and to encourage them in
attempts at self-support.

The Census Bureau is now a permanent branch of the Department of the
Interior. It is in charge of a superintendent, and is assigned the duty
of compiling the statistics which constitute the Census of the Republic.
This enumeration is made every ten years. Some idea of the magnitude of
the task may be gained from the fact that the tabulation and publication
of the census of 1870 were not completed in January, 1873.

The Bureau of Patents is a part of the Department of the Interior, but
is in all its proportions and features so vast and imposing, that it is
almost a separate department, as, indeed, it must become erelong. It is
in charge of a Commissioner of Patents, who is appointed by the
President of the United States, by and with the advice and consent of
the Senate. It is intrusted with the duty of granting letters patent,
securing to the inventor the control of and the reward from articles
beneficial to civilization. It was formerly a part of the Treasury
Department, and is one of the best known branches of the Government.

Patents are not, as some persons suppose, monopolies, but are
protections granted to individuals as rewards for, and incentives to
discoveries and inventions of all kinds pertaining to the useful arts.
This Bureau is allowed to charge for these letters of protection only
the cost of investigating and registering the invention. It is a
self-supporting institution, its receipts being largely in excess of its
expenditures.

If you have traced the many Bureaus of the Interior Department thus far,
you have come to the conclusion that it needs a public building all to
itself, and that it should be an immense one. A large brick building
opposite the Patent-Office, on G street, is already exclusively occupied
by the Bureau of Education.

The present Secretary of the Interior is Hon. Columbus Delano, of Ohio,
a man who has been long in public life, first as Member of Congress from
Ohio, then as Commissioner of Internal Revenue, now as Secretary of the
Interior. I have but one objection to make to Mr. Delano in the position
which he now holds. He found twelve-hundred-dollar-positions in his
department filled, as they had been from the beginning, by women. He
degrades them to nine-hundred-dollar-clerkships, to make place for his
voters. Judging by the course he pursues, we may believe that he is of
the same opinion as the Secretary of the Treasury, that “four hundred
dollars per year are enough for any woman to earn,” unless she should be
a Delano! I hope that Ohio will reward him by not giving him the desire
of his heart and making him Senator, till he practices justice as the
supreme virtue of a public servant.

Columbus Delano has a face which nature never weakened by cutting it
down to absolute fineness, but added to its power by leaving it a little
in the rough. Iron-gray hair, shaggy eyebrows beetling over a pair of
straight-forward, out-looking gray eyes, make the more prominent
features of a face which you willingly believe in as that of a strong
and honorable man.




                             CHAPTER XXXIX.
               THE PENSION BUREAU—HOW GOVERNMENT PAYS ITS
                               SERVANTS.

The Generosity of Congress to Itself—How Four Hundred Acts of Congress
    were Passed—How Pensions have Increased and Multiplied—Sneering at
    Red-Tape—The Division of Labor—Scrutinizing Petitions—A Heavy
    Paper Jacket—The Judicial Division—Invalids, Widows, and
    Minors—The Examiner of Pensions—The Difficulties of his
    Position—Unsatisfactory Work—How Claims are Entertained and
    Tested—What is Recorded in the Thirty Enormous Volumes—How many
    Genuine Cases are Refused—One of the Inconveniences of
    Ignorance—The Claim-Agent Gobbles up the Lion’s Share—An Extensive
    Correspondence—How Claims are Mystified, and Money is Wasted—The
    “Reviewer’s” Work—The “Rejected Files”—The “Admitted
    Files”—Seventy-Five Thousand Claims Pending—Very Ancient
    Claimants—The Bounty Land Division—The Reward of Fourteen Days’
    Service—The Sum Total of what the Government has Paid in
    Pensions—How the Pensions are Paid—The Finance Division—The
    Largest and the Smallest Pension Office—The Miscellaneous
    Branch—Investigating Frauds—A Poor “Dependent” Woman with Forty
    Thousand Dollars—How “Honest and Respectable” People Defraud the
    Government—The Medical Division—Examining Invalids—The
    Restoration-Desk—The Appeal-Desk—The Final-Desk—The Work that Has
    Been Done—One Hundred and Fifty Thousand People Grumbling—Letter
    of an Ancient Claimant—The Wrath of a Pugnacious Captain.


Compared to the generosity with which it rewards itself, Congress doles
out most scanty recompense even to the Government’s most faithful and
long-suffering servants. Nevertheless, that it does not neglect or
ignore them altogether, the annals of the Pension Bureau accurately
attest.

The first Act promising pensions to those disabled by war, was passed in
the next month after the Declaration of Independence, August 26, 1776.
On September 16, 1776, specified grants of land were promised to those
who should enter the service, and continue to its close; and in case of
their death, to their heirs.

Under these early enactments, the mode prescribed by law, to decide who
were entitled to pensions, was to leave the State Legislatures to decide
who should justly receive pensions. Having decided, the State
Legislatures paid the pensioners, and were reimbursed by the general
Government.

Afterward, this method gave way to another, requiring the Judges of
district, and circuit-courts, to decide the equity of the demand, and to
pay it, as had formerly been done, by the Legislatures of the several
States. These payments were not made, however, until after the lists
reported by the Judges had been verified by comparison with the rolls on
file in the War Department, when they were reported by the Secretary of
War to Congress, and placed on the pension-lists, by a resolution of
that body. This mode was found to be too slow in detecting frauds, and
February 25, 1793, an Act was passed, prescribing rules to be observed
by the courts in the investigation of claims, and providing that the
evidence upon which the decision was based should accompany the report.
This Act prevailed, with slight modifications, until March 3, 1819, when
an Act was passed, authorizing the Secretary of War to place on the
pension-rolls, without reporting the lists to Congress.

This authority was exercised by the Secretary of War, until March 2,
1833, when a distinct Bureau of the Government was established for the
adjustment of pension claims. It was provided for in the section of a
bill, which made an appropriation for the civil and diplomatic expense
of the Government, for the year. This section said: “A Commissioner of
Pensions shall be appointed by the President and the Senate, who shall
receive a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars, which is hereby
appropriated.” This office was perpetuated for many years by biennial
enactments, the last providing that it should continue until further
legislation on the subject.

Since the passage of the first Act, by the old Congress in 1776, there
have been over four hundred distinct Acts relating to pensions for
military and naval services, and for bounty-land rewarding such
services, enacted by Congress. Instead of the small pension-lists
transmitted by the courts of the country, through the Secretary of War
to Congress, the tens of thousands of pension-claims, presented to the
Government, under the various laws which relate to them, now require the
constant services of more than three hundred clerks in the Pension
Bureau, supervised by the Commissioner of Pensions.

It is the dual duty of this Bureau, to protect private interests, and to
secure the enforcement of the law. The claims are infinite and often
conflicting; the provisions of law manifold; and people unfamiliar with
the immense demand upon such an office, sneer or smile, or weep over the
length of the “red-tape” routine, through which its cases are so often
“long drawn out.” Persons waiting outside the Bureau, can not comprehend
the requirements or exigencies of a business demanding the employment of
so large a force of actors, or touching the springs of so many public
and private interests. Says one who knows: “Far better the delays of red
tape, than the inextricable confusion, and total inability to transact
business, which would be the inevitable result of a business system less
minute and stringent.”

The Pension Bureau is divided into four divisions, viz: the Mail
Division, the Judicial, the Financial, and the Miscellaneous.

The Mail Division is charged with the receiving, reading, distributing
to the proper desks, all the mail. Every original application, every
piece of additional evidence, every communication, of whatever nature,
is stamped with the date of receipt, and, with the exception of letters
of inquiry, they are entered on the records, which show from whom
received, when received, and to whom delivered.

“It requires careful examination of the papers, a thorough knowledge of
the office, and the closest analysis, to determine the proper
destination of each communication. Many writers are obscure, many
misstate their business, through ignorance or carelessness, and to
quickly comprehend the import of all papers, requires a keen eye and a
ready mind.

“Persons communicating with the Office, should remember this, and to
insure a correct distribution of their mail, should, in all cases,
indorse upon the outside of the envelope, the number of the claim
referred to, the name of the claimant, and the nature of the claim.

“In this Division, claims are also prepared for the files, by having a
heavy paper jacket placed round them, upon which is indorsed the Act
under which it is filed, the description of the party claiming, their
address, also the address of the attorney, if one appears in the claim.”

The Judicial Division is charged with an application of the law to the
evidence, and the determining of the right of the applicant to the
pension. This office is divided into three grand divisions—invalid,
widows, and minors. The first embraces all claims preferred by surviving
soldiers; the second, all claims based upon the service and death of
soldiers and sailors; the third, those of minors.

An Examiner of Pensions does not sit upon a bed of roses—or, if he does,
it is full of thorns. So various and minute are the provisions of law,
applicable to the cases under his consideration, so numerous are the
rulings of the office, and the decisions of the Heads of Departments,
and of the Bureau, with the opinion of the Attorney-General added, all
bearing upon this claim, it demands the most exhaustive examination, the
keenest discrimination, and the most wise judgment, to reach a final
just conclusion. And when his conclusion is reached, it is not final.

In the Judicial Division, are filed all pending claims. These files are
arranged with reference to the initial letter of the soldier’s surname,
and are divided into sections proportioned to the magnitude of the
letter of the alphabet. Upon the receipt of jacketed claims from the
mail division, the first step is to see if the party, making
application, ever filed a claim before, and this is ascertained by
examining the “original records.”

These records fill thirty enormous volumes, and contain three hundred
and eighty-three thousand applications that have been filed under the
act of July 14, 1862. All entries are made therein with reference to the
first three letters of the soldier’s surname, and only by this
subdivision of names, affording two thousand eight hundred combinations,
can convenient reference to any given claim be had; and even when so
divided, the examination of the greater combination requires
considerable labor. For instance, in two hundred thousand entries under
W. I. L., there will be three thousand two hundred and fifty entries;
and under S. M. I. you will find two thousand seven hundred and fifty
Smiths. If the result of this examination affords no evidence of a prior
application by the same person, after noting all other applications
based upon the service of the same soldier, the claims are numbered in
numerical order and placed upon the record, which includes a full
description thereof, and the recorded claims are then placed in the
files, to await examination in the order of their receipt.

When they are reached, the examiner’s duties begin. He first searches
for such recorded evidence as can be found in any of the Departments of
the Government. From these he notes all omissions, and points
unsupported, and calls upon the claimant, or his attorney, for
corroborative evidence of the statements made in the declaration. He is
guided in his requirements by the hundreds of rulings applicable to the
smallest details of the various kinds of claims. All the evidence
furnished in response must comply with the minutest demand of the law;
the law of evidence as applied in courts, and the express requirements
of the law under which the pension is claimed, are both brought to bear
in the consideration of the points to be met, and the testimony offered
in proof.

You will not be astonished to be told that very often they are not met,
or that in thousands of just cases the testimony is unequal to the
gradgrind requirements of the law. A want of a knowledge of the
provisions of the law—more than of willful knavery—is the great
acknowledged difficulty with which the Office has to contend. Many a
poor sinner, who lost his leg or arm, or carries a bullet in him,
received in his country’s battles, knows all about the minus members,
the battles, and the bullet, and not an atom about “the provisions of
the law,” or the inextricable windings of official red-tape. Because his
knowledge is of so one-sided a character, he finds it no easy matter to
get the governmental reward for that buried leg or arm; and by the time
all “the requirements of the law” have been slowly beaten into his
brains, the greater portion of his pension is pocketed by the
claim-agent who showed him how to get it.

All these provisions and safeguards of the law are said to be necessary,
to protect the Government against fraudulent claims. Perhaps they are;
but that makes them no less hard, or ofttimes unjust “to the soldier and
widow” who, in writing a letter, are as ignorant as babies of “the
requirements of the law.” Under these requirements, and with the utter
ignorance of common people of technical terms, and judicial statements,
it is not strange that “a large percentage of the evidence offered, is
imperfectly prepared.” A great deal more is deficient in substance, or
suspected of fraud.

The correspondence from this Division, stating objections, requiring
further proof, and elucidating doubtful points, amounts to hundreds of
letters a day. The long delay inevitable, is said to be the fault of the
system. “_Ex-parte_ evidence is the criminal.” “Were means afforded for
a cross-examination of all applicants and witnesses, these difficulties
and delays would disappear. One-half of the amount now taken from the
pockets of pensioners, to compensate agents for procuring their
pensions, would pay the entire cost of such a system, to say nothing of
the thousands of dollars paid from the Treasury upon fraudulent claims,
that would be saved.”

When the examiner has ended his researches, he prepares a brief of the
evidence, on which he bases his admission, or rejection, of the claim.
He closes it with a statement of his decision, showing from what date,
and at what rate admitted, or, if rejected, the cause therefor, and
signs his name, as examiner.

This action is entered in a record. The case is taken from out the file
of pending claims, and is placed in the hands of a clerk, who is called
the “Reviewer.” He is selected for this task, for his superior judgment,
and for his familiarity with the law, and the rules of office. He
“begins again,” goes over the entire action of the examiner, goes
through the entire evidence, in order to be able to approve, or
disprove, the examiner’s decision. If he approves, the case passes on to
the Chief of the Division, for _his_ approval, which, except in unusual
cases, is _pro forma_. From his desk the case goes to the Certificate
Section, for issue. There it receives its certificate and approved
brief, decorated with which it departs to the Commissioner’s desk, there
to receive his final and crowning signature, and the grand seal of the
Department. If the claim is a rejected one, and its rejection receives
the approval of the receiver, it is cast into the outer darkness of the
“rejected files.” Here it is subject to an appeal to the Secretary, and
may be borne forth again to the light, upon the presentation of new and
material evidence.

After the triumphant claim has received its certificate, it is treated
to a new coat of a wrapper, upon whose back a certificate-number, and
its history, is endorsed. It is then entered upon the admitted records.
After it has been reported to the Pension Agent, Finance Division, to
the Third Auditor of the Treasury, and to the Second Comptroller, it is
placed on the “admitted files.”

Seventy-five thousand pending claims are now on file in these two
divisions. They are slowly reduced in number, and the receipt of new
claims equals the disposal of the old ones. This statement does not
include the adjustment of claims filed under the act of February 14,
1871, granting pensions to survivors of the war of 1812, who served
sixty days, and to their widows. Their claims have been organized into a
separate division, in which a force of fifty clerks has been constantly
employed since its organization, May, 1871. This division is known as
the “1812 Division,” and strenuous efforts are made to reach very early
decisions in all its cases, the extreme age of the applicants making it
necessary—if their pension is to reach them “this side of Jordan.”

In this division, the claims are carried through their entire process,
from the application to the placing of the pensioner’s name on the
rolls.

The Bounty-Land Division forms a part of the Judicial branch. Herein all
claims for bounty-land, filed under the act of March 3, 1855, which is
the latest general provision, are adjusted. The _modus operandi_ of
obtaining land-grants is nearly identical with the process of obtaining
a pension.

Under the act of 1855, all persons who served fourteen days, either in
the army or navy, are entitled to one hundred and sixty acres, and those
who were actually engaged in battle, though their services were less
than fourteen days, are entitled to the same.

Under the various laws governing these land grants, warrants
representing 73,932,451 acres have been issued, which, estimated at
$1.25 per acre, amounts to $92,415,563.75, which, added to
$313,170,412.77 that has been paid since the beginning of the
Government, as pension, makes a total expenditure of $405,585,976.52,
which has been paid in gratuities to the defenders of the Republic.

Where the Judicial Branch ends in the certificate of a pension, the
Financial Branch begins. The rolls reported by those divisions are
entered in the agency registers, which are arranged to show payments for
several years, and the agents’ quarterly accounts of disbursements are
compared with these registers, and errors noted.

There are now upon the United States pension rolls the names of 232,229
pensioners, who are paid quarterly through fifty-seven pension agents.
When we remember that the accounts of all these agents, for these tens
of thousands of names, are adjusted and reported within the short space
of three months, it is not difficult to realize the amount of labor
involved.

The Finance Division is charged with all correspondence with the pension
agents, to suspend and resume payments, to drop from the rolls (in which
case the auditor and controller must also be notified), the payment of
accrued pensions to heirs and legal representatives; restorations, under
the act of July 27, 1868, where a pension has been unclaimed for three
years; the transfer of payments from one agency to another; the issue of
duplicate certificates in lieu of those lost or destroyed. All these,
and many, many other things are required at the hands of the gentlemen
employed therein. The act of June 8, 1872, granted increase to
pensioners of the first, second and third grades; and this Division,
after the passage of the Act and before the quarterly payment of
September 4, following, received, examined and issued 9,237 certificates
granting the increase. Of the agencies disbursing pension-money, there
are ten whose payments exceed $100,000,000 per annum. Of these, Boston
is the largest, paying out more than $1,800,000. The smallest amount
paid by any agency is that at Vancouver, Washington Territory, which
disburses less than $2,500 per annum.

The Miscellaneous Branch covers many features too minute to be brought
into this sketch. Among the more important is its Special Service
Division. This is occupied with the investigation of all claims in which
fraud is suspected. It prosecutes and convicts all persons whose guilt
is proved. Congress annually appropriates a considerable sum to pay the
expenses of such investigations, which tends largely to lessen
fraudulent practices against the Government. By means of this fund the
Office is enabled to keep a large number of special agents employed, who
are charged with the investigation of all suspected frauds perpetrated
within their respective districts.

This division requires clerks who are thoroughly familiar with all laws
which the Office is called upon to execute, as well as a general
knowledge of the criminal laws of each State. Its efforts are: first, to
secure the pensioner in all his rights; second, to prosecute all persons
where it is thought a conviction can be had; and third, to secure a
return to the Government of all money unlawfully obtained. The amount
saved in reducing pensions illegally rated, in dropping from the rolls
those found not to be entitled, and in sums refunded, largely exceed the
cost of the work, while the effect upon the public is beneficial in
deterring others from criminal practices. Cases have been found which
were allowed on the clearest proof of dependence upon the part of
mothers of soldiers, where an investigation proved that that same
dependent mother owned property in her own right to the amount of forty
thousand dollars!

Such cases are not confined to the classes usually engaged in unlawful
acts. Nothing is more remarkable than the number of persons—in the
average transactions of life deemed honest and honorable—who are ready
and eager, under one pretext or another, to “gouge” and defraud the
revenues of the Government; and these persons are by no means confined
to the seekers of pensions, but may be found every day in the highest
class that can reach the hard-earned treasure of the National Treasury.

The Medical Division of the Pension Bureau acts conjointly with the
Invalid Division in deciding the degree of disability of claimants for
original, and the increase of invalid pensions. This division is
supervised by medical gentlemen thoroughly trained in their profession.
All invalid claims, after having been briefed by the examiner, and
before passing into the reviewer’s hands, are referred to this division.
The Examining Surgeon makes a personal examination of the applicant, and
from his medical testimony, endorsed by the Chief of the Medical
Division, the Chief of the Invalid Division bases his final opinion and
action.

The Restoration Desk is devoted to all claims, which are to be restored
to the rolls, of parties who have been dropped for cause—principally
those who were residents of the States in rebellion at the beginning of
the late war. These are only placed upon the rolls upon incontestible
proof of loyalty.

The Appeal Desk is the recipient of all cases in preparation for
reference to the Secretary, where an appeal from the action of the
Office is taken.

The Final Desk is the extensive one of the Commissioner of Pensions.

From the beginning to the end of this busy Bureau, charged with the
comfort, the very subsistence of so many bereaved and disabled
fellow-creatures, the Commissioner must see all things, anticipate all
wants, supply all needs; upon him rests the entire administration of
this vast and potent Bureau. His position is not easy or his burden
light.

To fill so important a trust with honor, a Commissioner needs not only
clear judgment and business training, but should also be a man of
positive administrative talents, large information, thorough education,
and broad, comprehensive mind.

These qualities are all possessed in a pre-eminent degree by the present
Commissioner of Pensions.

General J. H. Baker was born in Lebanon, Ohio, 1829. He is the son of a
Methodist clergyman, and was graduated from the Wesleyan University,
Delaware, Ohio, taking the Latin honors of a large class in 1852. He was
Secretary of the State of Ohio during Chief-Justice Chase’s term as
Governor of that State. He moved to Minnesota, and was Secretary of the
State when he resigned to take command of the Tenth Minnesota
Volunteers. He served with distinction in the Indian expedition under
General Sibley, and, on his return, was ordered South. At St. Louis he
was placed in command of the post, and soon after was made
Provost-Marshal General of the Department of Missouri. At the close of
the war he became Register of Public Lands in Missouri, and, resigning
this position, in 1868 he returned to Minnesota, was candidate for the
United States Senate, and defeated by a very small majority. In 1871 be
was appointed Commissioner of Pensions.

General Baker is a tall, commanding looking gentleman, with dark hair,
complexion and eyes. He is of nervo-motive temperament, quick, prompt,
energetic in action, yet courteous and genial in his bearing to a very
marked degree.

Since the passage of the Act of July 4, 1862, nearly 400,000 claims for
pensions have been filed in and considered by the Pension Office. Of
course, in the examination of so vast a number of cases, errors have
been committed, matters of fact misinterpreted, and in many instances,
through carelessness, ignorance and neglect, injustice has been done.

The clerks of this office have always compared favorably, both in
industry and capacity, with those of other Bureaus; but, among so large
a number, worthless and inefficient ones will be found, and the still
greater evil of employing men who, though capable, take no interest in
their official duties, and, through the want of that spur to well-doing,
fail to make themselves of value to the Government, and render aid to
those whom the Office was organized to protect and assist. The
percentage of claims affected by these causes, small though it may have
been, would amount to thousands in the aggregate, and these, distributed
throughout the country, would give an enlarged color to their
complaints, and lead the people to believe that the evil was general and
unusual in its extent. When we add to this class of complainants the
150,000 who, in some shape, have had claims before the office for
increase, arrears, etc., and which, not coming within the law under
which they filed, were rejected, and who, not understanding what the law
did provide, but deriving their information from unscrupulous agents who
would not or could not instruct them in the matter, they feel seriously
aggrieved, and loudly complain. Two dependent mothers, equally poor, and
who were alike aided by their respective sons, reside in the same
village. They apply for a pension for the services and deaths of their
sons. The records of the War Department show that one of the soldiers
died of a disease contracted in the service and in the line of duty, and
that the other soldier died of a disease, though contracted in the
service, yet it _did not_ originate while he was in the line of duty.
These are distinctions which neither this poor woman nor the community
can understand. Yet the claim last described must be rejected, as it is
barred by the law. The whole community cries out about the great
injustice practiced by the Pension Office, while, in fact, the _law_ is
responsible, and _not_ the office.

Again, invalid pensioners, suffering from a partial or total disability,
are strongly urged, by their _pecuniary interests_, to believe that they
are entitled to a total or special rating. They apply for increase, and
are referred to an examining surgeon for a personal examination, and a
report as to nature and degree of disability. The surgeon fails to
conform to the applicant’s estimate as to the extent of his disability,
and the claim for increase is rejected, and here is another case of
“great injustice.”

Biennial examinations of all invalid pensioners are required, except in
cases of permanent disability. At such times the surgeon finds they are
partially or entirely recovered from the disability that existed at the
date of last examination, and notwithstanding the firm conviction of the
pensioner that he is just as much disabled as ever, he is reduced or
dropped. He at once joins the army of grumblers, and complains of
injustice.

The office acknowledges its imperfections, but respectfully declines to
admit the correctness of a tithe of the grievances reported. There is
some show of injustice in the delay frequently experienced in the
settlement of claims, and yet the Office is responsible to a slight
degree only. As heretofore intimated, the _system_ is largely
accountable for this. The suspicion, warranted by experience, attaching
to every piece of testimony received, and necessitating a close scrutiny
and reconciliation of the slightest discrepancies before final action
can be had. The hundreds of points going to make up a case must be found
in proofs, and the affidavits offered, three times out of five, fail to
cover the point.

Here is another cause for complaint. “The Pension Office called three
times for the same evidence.” It must be admitted that, some years ago,
there was an entire neglect of correspondence. “Letters of inquiry,”
asking condition of claim and countless questions, arrived by thousands.
Examiners were ambitious to pass (admit or reject) a large number of
claims, during the month, and these letters proved nothing, and required
time and labor to answer them, and were cast aside. This has all been
changed by the present Commissioner, and these letters are confided to
clerks who engage in nothing but correspondence, and who are required to
keep their desks up to date; and in this connection it is proper to add
that a magical change has been made in the style and completeness of the
letters. Some years ago, a fac-simile of the Commissioner’s signature
was stamped upon the out-going mail. Now, each letter is subjected to a
careful review by the Chiefs of Divisions, and goes thence to the
Commissioner’s room for his signature and a frequent review by him; and
the occasional return of a letter, with a sharp reminder, suffices to
keep the letter writers on the alert. And this idea of a careful
surveillance is not confined to correspondents, but it has been
carefully impressed upon the whole force by frequent illustrations. By
judicious, yet not burdensome reports, and by frequent reference thereto
by the Commissioner, which is forcibly brought to the knowledge of a
careless clerk, the _employés_ have been taught that no trifling will be
allowed.

It has also been realized by the _employés_ of this Bureau that merit
_is_ noted, and _de_merit will insure dismissal. It is the policy of
General Baker to hold his subordinates strictly responsible for the
proper performance of their individual duties, and to look to those
having charge of others to secure the desired results, or to report the
delinquent. The result of two years’ growth in this direction has been
gratifying. The increased industry of the Office, the improvement
resulting from a thoughtful and careful performance of its duties, and
the elevation of the standard which all seeking appointments must come
up to, and a careful weeding-out of the inefficient ones, are rapidly
tending to secure commendation from those having business with the
Bureau, rather than censure.

An aged claimant for a pension, who served in the war of 1812, residing
in Illinois in December, 1871, wrote to the Office as follows: “Oh! can
it be true that I am going to get $100? That news is too good! I’m so
hungry, and I love coffee so, but I can’t get any! All I have to eat is
corn-bread and sour milk. I can’t believe that I am to get so much
money, but I pray God it may be true.” It is needless to say that this
claim was made “special,” and the octogenarian had “coffee” for his
Christmas breakfast.

A Captain B., of Havre-de-Grace, Maryland, a claimant for pension under
Act of 1871, for services in the War of 1812, had his claim rejected, it
appearing that he served less than sixty days, as required by that Act;
whereupon the Captain grew wrathy, and wrote as follows:

  “N. B.—Any man that will say that I was not a Private soldier in Capt.
  Paca Smith’s company before the attack of the British on the City of
  Baltimore, and during the attack on said City in Sept., 1814, and
  after the British dropped down to Cape Henry, I say he is a dastard, a
  liar, and a coward, and no gentleman, or any man that will say that I
  got my Land-warrant from the Hon. Geo. C. Whiting, for 160 acres of
  Land, for 14 days’ services in Capt. Paca Smith’s company, is the
  same, as stated above, and I hold myself responsible for the contents
  of this letter; and if their dignity should be touched, a note of
  honor directed to Capt. Wm. B——, Havre-de-Grace, Harford Co., Md.,
  shall be punctually attended to.

                                                          “WM. B——.”




                              CHAPTER XL.
           TREASURES AND CURIOSITIES OF THE PATENT OFFICE—THE
                 MODEL ROOM—ITS RELICS AND INVENTIONS.

The Patent Office Building—Grace and Beauty of its Architecture—Four
    “Sublime” Porticoes—A Pretty Large Passage—The Model Room—“The
    Exhibition of the Nation”—A Room two hundred and seventy Feet in
    Length—The Models—Recording our Name—Wonders and Treasures of the
    Room—Benjamin Franklin’s Press—Model Fire-Escapes—Wonderful
    Fire-Extinguishers—The Efforts of Genius—Sheep-Stalls, Rat-Traps,
    and Gutta Percha—An Ancient Mariner’s Compass—Captain Cook’s
    Razor—The Atlantic Cable—Original Treaties—The Signatures of
    Emperors—An Extraordinary Turkish Treaty—Treasures of the
    Orient—Rare Medals—The Reward of Major Andre’s Captors—The
    Washington Relics—His Old Tent—His Blankets and Bed-Curtain—His
    Chairs and Looking-Glass—His Primitive Mess-Chess and old Tin
    Plates—The Old Clothes of the “Father of His Country”—Military
    Relics of Well-known Men—Original Draft of the Declaration of
    Independence—Washington’s Commission—Model of an Extraordinary
    Boat—Abraham Lincoln as an Inventor—The Hat Worn on the Fatal
    Night—The Gift of the Tycoon—The Efforts of Genius—A Machine to
    Force Hens to Lay Eggs—A Hook for Fishing Worms out of the Human
    Stomach—The Library of the Patent Office.


The lawful fees for issuing patents having accumulated into a
considerable fund, Congress added an appropriation, and directed that
the whole amount should be invested in a new building to be called the
Patent Office.

From that double fund has arisen the majestic structure which, next to
the Capitol, is the most august building in Washington. The southern
front of the Treasury is of superlative beauty, and from several other
points its architectural grace cannot be surpassed; but its whole effect
is marred by the dingy, unbroken outline of its Fifteenth-street side.
The advantage of the Patent-Office is, that from any point which you
choose to survey it, it impresses you as supremely grand. Occupying two
blocks, or an entire public square, standing upon a prominence, it
spreads and towers into space incomparable in mass and majesty. You may
approach it from four opposite directions, and on each side you lift
your eyes to four sublime porticoes towering before you. They are
supported by double rows of Doric columns, eighteen feet in
circumference, made of gleaming crystallized marble. The entire building
is of pure Doric architecture, strong, simple and majestic. Its southern
front is an exact copy of the Pantheon at Rome, and the eastern portico
is modelled after that of the Parthenon at Athens.

The length of the building, from Seventh to Ninth streets, is 410 feet,
and its width, from F to G streets, 275 feet. Its original design was
made by Mr. William P. Elliot, at that time surveyor of the City of
Washington. The plan was largely executed by Mr. Mills, architect of
Public Buildings; while the grand northern portico has been consummated
under the superintendence of Mr. Edward Clark, the present architect of
the Capitol.

We enter the eastern door of the basement-story, into a spacious passage
running from east to west, the whole length of the building. Through it,
large-wheeled machines can be drawn. On each side of this hall are rooms
for the deposit of fuel, large and heavy models and department offices.
In the centre springs a semi-circular stone staircase, with three
flights of steps, which ascend to the second, third and last story. The
corridor in the first story is like the one that we entered below, and
on each side of the hall, doors open into commodious apartments for the
accommodation of the commissioners, examiners, clerks, etc.

Ascending the stone staircase, we come to the Model Room—_par
excellence_, the Exhibition Room of the nation. For architectural
simplicity and space, and the purpose for which it was designed, it is
unsurpassed in the whole world. Standing here, we look down a vista two
hundred and seventy-four feet in length, and its perspective is
enchanting to the sight. A double row of stone columns supports a
succession of brick arches, finely proportioned, and corresponding in
depth with the rooms below. The floor is paved with tessellated stone,
and the light streams in from numerous windows on each side.

The models and other articles are arranged in glass cases on each side
of the room, leaving ample space in the centre for promenading. There
are two rows of cases, one above the other—the upper row being placed
within a light gallery of iron, reached by iron stairways, and extending
entirely round the east, north and west halls. The ceiling is supported
by a double row of pillars, which also act as supports to the galleries,
and both the walls and ceiling are finished in marble and frescoes.

Entering, we find a large register, with pens and ink, at the right of
the door, in which we may record our name and the date of our visit, if
we please.

[Illustration:

  THE MODEL ROOM, PATENT OFFICE.—WASHINGTON.
  This room contains the fruits of the inventive genius of the whole
    nation. More than 160,000 models are here deposited.
]

The first case on the right of the entrance contains Benjamin Franklin’s
press, at which he worked when a journeyman-printer in London. It is old
and worm-eaten, and is only held together by means of bolts and iron
plates, and bears but little resemblance to the mighty machines by which
the printing of to-day is done. Then come models of “fire-escapes,” some
of which are curiosities and well worth studying. The impression left by
the majority, however, is that if they constitute one’s only hope of
escape, in case of fire, an old-fashioned headlong leap from a window
may just as well be attempted at once.

Near by are the models of those inventive geniuses who have attempted to
extinguish conflagrations by discharging a patent cartridge into the
burning mass. The guns, from which the cartridges are thrown, are most
remarkable in design.

Then follow tobacco-cutting machines, of various kinds, all sorts of
skates, billiard-table models, ice-cutters, billiard-registers, improved
fire-arms, and toys, of different designs, among which is a most
ingenious model of a walking-horse. Having reached the end of this row
of cases, we cross over to the south side of the hall. The first cases
contain models of cattle and sheep-stalls, vermin and rat-traps, and are
followed by a handsome display of articles in gutta percha, manufactured
by the Goodyear Company.

In the bottom of one of the cases is an old mariner’s compass of the
year 1604, presented by Ex-Governor Wise, of Virginia, then United
States Minister to Brazil, in the name of Lieutenant Sheppard, U. S. N.
The ticket attached to the compass is written in the bold, running hand
of the ex-rebel statesman. Near by is a razor which belonged to the
celebrated navigator, Captain Cook. It was recovered from the natives of
the island upon which he was murdered, and is hardly such an instrument
any of those who behold it would care to use. A piece of the Atlantic
cable is just below it.

Several of the cases following contain the original treaties of the
United States with foreign powers. They are written upon heavy sheets of
vellum, in wretchedly bad hands, and are worn and faded. All, save the
treaties with England and the Eastern nations, are written in French,
and are all furnished with a multiplicity of red and green seals; the
first is the treaty with Austria, and bears the weak, hesitating
signature of Francis I. The signature of Alexander I., attached to the
first Russian treaty, has more character in it. The treaty of peace with
England, in 1814, which ended our second war with that power, bears the
signature of the Regent, afterwards George IV. The treaty of 1803, with
the Republic of France, is signed “Bonaparte,” in a nervous, sprawling
hand. Bernadotte’s smooth and flowing hand adorns the first treaty with
Sweden.

The original treaty with Turkey is a curious document. It consists of a
number of long slips of parchment, covered with columns of Turkish
characters. Near by it hangs a bag, in which it was conveyed to this
country. The bag is its legal covering, or case, and is provided with a
huge ball of red wax, by way of a seal. Next to it is the first treaty
of alliance with France—the famous one of 1778—which gave the aid of the
French king to the cause of the suffering and struggling States of the
new republic. It is signed by the unfortunate Louis XVI. The “Louis” is
written in a round, phlegmatic hand; but the lines are delicate, as if
the pen did not press the paper with the firmness of a strong will. The
French treaty, of 1822, bears the autograph of Louis XVIII.; and that of
1831, the signature of Louis Phillippe. Don Pedro I., Emperor of Brazil,
has affixed his hand to the Brazilian treaty, and the name of Ferdinand
(the last, and least) is affixed to that of Spain.

In the glass cases with the treaties are several Oriental articles,—a
Persian carpet and horse-cover, presented to President Van Buren, by the
Imän of Muscat; and two magnificent rifles, presented to President
Jefferson, by the Emperor of Morocco. These rifles are finished in the
highest style of Eastern art, and are really beautiful. In the same
cases are collections of medals, some of European sovereigns, and others
of American celebrities. Among them is a copy of the medal, awarded by
Congress, to the captors of Major André. Near these are several splendid
Eastern sabres, presented by the great Ali Pacha, the Bey of Egypt, to
Captain Perry and the officers of the U. S. ship-of-war, _Concord_, at
Alexandria, (Egypt,) in 1832.

The next cases contain the Washington relics, which are amongst the
greatest treasures of the nation. They consist of the camp-equipage, and
other articles used by General Washington, during the Revolution. They
are just as he left them at the close of the war, and were given to the
Government, for safe keeping, after his death. Here are the tents which
constituted the head-quarters, in the field, of the great soldier. They
are wrapped tightly round the poles, just as they were tied when they
were struck for the last time, when victory had crowned his country’s
arms, and the long war was over. Every cord, every button and tent-pin
is in its place, for he was careful of little things. His blankets and
the bed-curtain, worked for him by his wife, and his window-curtains,
are all well preserved. His chairs are perfect, not a round being
broken; and the little square mirror in his dressing-case is not even
cracked. The wash-stand and table are also well kept. His knife-case is
filled with plain horn-handle knives and forks, which were deemed “good
enough for him,” and his mess-chest is a curiosity. It is a plain wooden
trunk, covered with leather, with a common lock, the hasp of which is
broken. It is divided by small partitions of thin wood, and the
compartments are provided with bottles, still stained with the liquids,
tin plates, common knives and forks, and other articles pertaining to
such an establishment.

In these days of luxury, an ordinary sergeant would not be satisfied
with so simple and plain an establishment. His cooking utensils,
bellows, andirons, and iron money-chest, all of which went with him from
Boston to Yorktown, are in the same case, from the side of which hangs
the suit of clothes worn by him upon the occasion of his resignation of
his commission as Commander-in-Chief, at Annapolis, in 1783. A hall
lantern, and several articles from Mount Vernon, a “travelling
secretary,” Washington’s sword and cane, and a surveyor’s compass,
presented by him to Captain Samuel Duvall, the surveyor of Frederick
county, Maryland, are in the same case, as are also a number of articles
taken from Arlington House, and belonging formerly to the Washington
family.

A coat worn by Andrew Jackson, at the battle of New Orleans, and the
war-saddle of the Baron De Kalb, a bayonet used by one of Braddock’s
soldiers, and found on the fatal field upon which that commander met his
death-wound, together with the panels from the state-coach of President
Washington, make up the collection. The original draft of the
Declaration of Independence, with the signatures of the Continental
Congress attached, is framed and placed near the Washington case. It is
old and yellow, and the ink is fading from the paper. Near it hangs
Washington’s Commission as Commander-in-Chief of the American army,
bearing the characteristic signature of John Hancock, President of the
Continental Congress.

In the same case is a plain model, roughly executed, representing the
frame-work of the hull of a Western steamboat. Beneath the keel is a
false bottom, provided with bellows and air-bags. The ticket upon it
bears the memorandum, “Model of sinking and raising boats by bellows
below. A. Lincoln, May 30, 1849.”

By means of this arrangement, Mr. Lincoln hoped to solve the difficulty
of passing boats over sand-bars in the Western rivers. The success of
his scheme would have made him independently wealthy, but it failed,
and, twelve years later, he became President of the United States.
During the interval, the model lay forgotten in the Patent Office, but,
after his inauguration, Mr. Lincoln got one of the _employés_ to find it
for him. After his death, it was placed in the Washington case.

The opposite case contains another memento of him—the hat worn by him on
the night of his assassination.

In a couple of cases, filled with machinery for making shoes, we see a
number of handsome silk robes and Japanese articles, of various kinds,
presented to Presidents Buchanan and Lincoln, by the Tycoon of Japan.
The remainder of the hall is filled with models of machines for making
leather harness and trunks, models of gas and kerosene oil apparatuses,
liquor distilleries, machines for making confectionery, and for trying
out lard and fat. Also, methods of curing fish and meat, and embalming
the dead. A splendid model of a steel revolving tower, for harbor
defence, stands near the door, and is one of the most conspicuous
ornaments of the room. The other halls are devoted exclusively to models
of patented machinery, and other inventions. The cases above and below
are well filled; models of bridges span the spaces between the other
cases, and those of the larger machines are laid on the floor of the
hall.

Models of improved arms, clocks, telegraphs, burglar and fire alarms,
musical instruments, light-houses, street cars, lamps, stoves, ranges,
furnaces, peat and fuel-machines, brick and tile-machines,
sewing-machines, power-looms, paper-making machinery, knitting-machines,
machines for making cloth, hats, spool cotton, for working up hemp,
harbor cleaners, patent hooks-and-eyes, buttons, umbrella and
cane-handles, fluting-machines, trusses, medical instruments of gutta
percha, corsets, ambulances and other military establishments,
arrangements for excluding the dust and smoke from railroad cars,
railroad and steamboat machinery, agricultural and domestic machinery of
all kinds, and hundreds of other inventions, line these three immense
halls. Among the most remarkable is a machine to force a hen to lay
eggs, and a silver worm hook, invented to fish worms out of the human
stomach.

A large library, of great value, is attached to the Patent Office,
containing many volumes of the highest scientific value. Under judicious
arrangement, a collection already rich and ample is forming, of every
work of interest to the inventors, and that new, increasing, important
class of professional men—the attorneys in patent cases. Upon its
shelves may be found a complete set of the reports of the British Patent
Commissioners, of which there are only six copies in the United States.
The reports of French patents are also complete, and those of various
other countries are being obtained as rapidly as possible. A system of
exchanges has been established, which employs three agents abroad; and,
in addition to various and arduous duties, the librarian annually
dispatches several hundred copies of the reports.




                              CHAPTER XLI.
               THE BUREAU OF PATENTS—CRAZY INVENTORS AND
                         WONDERFUL INVENTIONS.

Patent-Rights in Steamboats—Origin of Copyright and Patent-Laws—Congress
    Settles the Matter—A Board of “Disinterested, Competent”
    Persons—Destruction of the Patent-Office by Fire—The New
    Building—The Corps of Examiners—The Commissioner’s Speech—Twenty
    Thousand Applications _per annum_—Fourteen Thousand Patents Granted
    in One Year—Wonderful Expansion of Inventive Genius—“The Universal
    Yankee”—Second-hand Inventions—Where the Inventions Come from—Taking
    Out a Patent for the Lord’s Prayer—A Patent for a Cow’s Tail—A
    Lady’s Patent—Hesitating to Accept a Million Dollars—How Patentees
    are Protected—The American System—What American Inventors Have Done,
    and What They Haven’t—The First Superintendent—The Present
    Commissioner—Exploits of General Legett—His Efficiency in Office—The
    Inventor Always a Dreamer—Perpetual Motion—The Invention of a D.
    D.—His Little Machine—“Original with Me”—Silencing the Doctor—A New
    Process of Embalming—A Dead Body Sent to the Office—Utilizing
    Niagara—A _Generous_ Offer—An Englishman’s Invention—Inventors in
    Paris—How to Kill Lions and Tigers in the United States with
    Catmint—A Fearful Bomb-shell—Eccentric Letters—Amusing Specimens of
    Correspondence.


With the settlement of the English colonies in America came a great many
English customs and laws, and among those adhered to was that of
granting patents or passing special Acts for the protection of
inventors.

In 1728, the Legislature of Connecticut granted the exclusive right of
practicing the business or trade of steel-making, provided the
petitioners improved the art to any good and reasonable perfection
within two years. In 1785, the State of Maryland passed an act giving to
one James Rumsey the exclusive right to construct, employ and navigate
boats of an improved construction, to run against the current of rapid
rivers. In 1787, an act was passed vesting the exclusive right of
propelling boats by steam and water for a limited time. In this year a
number of acts were passed to protect inventions of machines for
ruff-carding-belts, grinding flour, &c., and in 1789, one for the
protection of a hand fire-engine in New Hampshire was enacted.

The founders of the Constitution saw the advantages to be derived from
protecting the useful arts and sciences, and we find in Article 1,
Section 8, the authority and power given Congress “to promote the
progress of science and the useful arts by securing, for a limited time,
to authors and inventors, the exclusive right to their respective
writings and discoveries,” etc.; “to make all laws which shall be
necessary and proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers.”
Accordingly, Congress, in 1790, immediately after the ratification of
the Constitution, found it necessary and thought it beneficial to enact
a statute which authorized the issue of a patent to inventors and
discoverers of any useful manufacture, engine, machine, and those who
should devise any improvement thereon not before known or used.

The application, consisting of a clear description of the invention, was
at that time made to the Secretary-of-State, and the Attorney-General of
the United States. If such application was found to be new, a patent was
issued by authority of any two persons enumerated, attested by the
signature of the President of the United States, who granted to the
inventor the exclusive right of making, constructing, using, or vending
to others to be used, the invention or discovery, for the term of
fourteen years.

As the nation increased in power and talent, this Act was modified as
the necessities of the time required. Abuses crept in, the most noted of
which was the granting and issuing of a great many patents without any
record being kept to indicate that such patents were ever granted. This
was caused by lack of organization and want of proper assistance. The
Executive and Members of the Cabinet, having other duties to perform,
neglected the proper examination of applications, and the system
degenerated into as bad a one as the English.

This Act, with the amendment, was, in 1836, swept from the statute
books, and the Patent-Office was established on a surer basis, with an
organization of a Commissioner, Chief Clerk, an Examiner, a Draughtsman,
and some five clerks to conduct the examination and issues of
applications. As the decisions of the Commissioner, who was then
presumed to examine all applications, was not always impartial and
right, an appeal was allowed to a Board composed of three disinterested
and competent persons, who were appointed by the Secretary of State, as
occasion required.

The Patent-Office Building, which was at that time situated on the
present site of the General Post-Office, was completely destroyed by
fire in December, 1836, and all models, drawings and records were
consumed. Congress appropriated money, and issued circulars directed to
all who were thought to be interested in the restoration.

The majority of the patentees sent in duplicates of their papers and
models, but many were never heard from, and for this reason the office
is unable to present a complete record of the grants. After the fire,
the business of the Office was conducted in the City Hall building until
the present building was erected for the Patent-Office, a few years
later. In 1849, the Office was placed under the supervision of the
Secretary of the Interior or Home Department, where it now remains.

The fostering of invention encouraged home manufactures, one of the
results most eagerly sought, after the war with Great Britain. So active
became the inventive genius and so prolific of results, that Congress
was compelled, from time to time, to increase the examining corps, and
the little band of seven persons, who occupied the contracted rooms in
the City Hall, has expanded into a corps of eighty examiners and
assistants, more than two hundred clerks and other officials, all under
the control of a Commissioner and an Assistant-Commissioner.

The grant of one thousand patents in 1836, when the office was first
regularly organized, has enlarged into one hundred and sixty thousand at
the present time. And the latter number is scarcely two-thirds of the
number of applications. With this enormous increase followed a
corresponding labor and intricacy in examining so large a number of
applications, but so perfectly has the system been developed, that very
few mistakes are made in the way of wrongfully granting patents.

Hon. S. S. Fisher, United States Commissioner of Patents, before the
American Institute, New York City, September 28, 1869, made an eloquent
address concerning the American system of granting patents, from which I
make the following extracts:

  “The great Patent Act of 1836 established what is now distinctively
  the American system in regard to the grant of letters-patent.

  “In the Patent-office, under the act of 1836, the Commissioner and one
  examining-clerk were thought to be sufficient to do the work of
  examining into the patentability of the two or three hundred that were
  offered; now sixty-two examiners are over-crowded with work, a force
  of over three hundred _employes_ is maintained, and the applications
  have swelled to over twenty thousand per annum. This year the number
  of patents granted will average two hundred and seventy-five per week,
  or fourteen thousand a year.

  “In England and on the Continent all applications are patented without
  examination into the novelty of the inventions claimed. In some
  instances the instrument is scanned to see if it cover a patentable
  subject matter, and in Prussia some examination is made into the
  character of the new idea; but in no case are such appliances
  provided, such a corps of skilled examiners, such a provision of
  drawings, models, and books, such a collection of foreign patents, and
  such checks to prevent and review error, as with us. As a result, an
  American patent has in our courts a value that no foreign patent can
  acquire in the courts of its own country.

                  *       *       *       *       *

  “The foreign patents of American inventors, that have been copies of
  patents previously granted in this country, are the best that are
  granted abroad. Many an English or French invention, that has been
  patented without difficulty there, has been stopped in its passage
  through our office by a reference to some patent previously granted in
  this country. In spite of our examination, which rejects over
  one-third of all the applications that are made, invention has been
  stimulated by the hope of protection; and nearly as many patents will
  issue in the United States this year as in the whole of Europe put
  together, including the British Isles. But a few days ago I took up a
  volume of Italian patents, when I was amused and gratified to find on
  every page the name of the universal Yankee, re-patenting there his
  American invention. He is, I suspect, much the best customer in the
  Patent Office of United Italy.

  “We are an inventive people. Invention is by no means confined to our
  mechanics. Our merchants invent, our soldiers and our sailors invent,
  our school-masters invent, our professional men invent, aye, our women
  and children invent. One man, lately, wished to patent the application
  of the Lord’s Prayer, repeated in a loud tone of voice, to prevent
  stammering; another claimed the new and useful attachment of a weight
  to a cow’s tail, to prevent her from switching it while milking;
  another proposed to cure worms by extracting by a delicate line and
  tiny hook, baited with a seductive pill; while a lady patented a
  crimping-pin, which she declared might also be used as a paper-cutter,
  as a skirt-supporter, as a paper-file, as a child’s pin, as a
  bouquet-holder, as a shawl-fastener, or as a book-mark. Do not suppose
  that this is the highest flight that the gentle sex has achieved. It
  has obtained many other patents, some of which have no relation to
  wearing apparel, and are of considerable value.

  “Every inventor supposes that he has a fortune in every conception
  that he puts into wood and iron. Stealing tremblingly and furtively up
  the steps of the Patent Office, with his model concealed under his
  coat, lest some sharper shall see it and rob him of his darling
  thought, he hopes to come down those steps with the precious parchment
  that shall insure him a present competency and enrich his children. If
  he were offered a million in the first flush of his triumph, he would
  hesitate about touching it without sleeping over it for a night. Yet
  fourteen thousand millions would be a pretty heavy bill to pay from a
  treasury not over full. No commission could satisfy the inventor, and
  no price that we could afford to pay would take the place of the hope
  of unlimited wealth, which now lightens his toil.... We say, we cannot
  pay you in money, we will pay you in time. A new thought developed,
  explained, described, put on record for the use of the nation—this is
  the one side. The right to the exclusive benefit of this new thought,
  for a limited time, and protection in that right, this on the other.
  This is the patent system. A fair contract between the inventor and
  the public.

  “The inventor’s best security is to take out a patent.

  “To secure this fair dealing, we have on the one side the Patent
  Office, with its examiners, its drawings, its models, its books and
  its foreign patents, to scan and test the invention.

  “On the other side we have the courts of law to protect the inventor
  and punish the thief. It is impossible that these instrumentalities
  should do their work imperfectly. This is the American system. Under
  its protection great inventions have been born, and have thriven. It
  has given to the world the steamboat, the telegraph, the
  sewing-machine, the hard and soft rubber. It has reconstructed the
  loom, the reaping-machine, and the locomotive. It has won from the
  older homes of the mechanic arts their richest trophies, and like
  Columbus, who found a new world for Castile and Leon, it has created
  new arts in which our nation has neither competitive or peer.”

The first Superintendent of the Patent Office was Doctor W. Thornton, a
gentleman of great attainments, who held his position for many years.
The present Commissioner of Patents is General Mortimer D. Leggett, born
of Quaker parents, in the State of New York, fifty years ago. At an
early age, he went with his parents to the Western Reserve, Ohio. He
received an academical education, studied law, was admitted to the bar,
and at twenty-eight, was established in a flourishing business in
Warren, Ohio. Jacob D. Cox, late Secretary of the Interior, studied law
with General Leggett, and ultimately became his partner under the firm
name of Leggett & Cox. General Leggett afterwards filled the position of
Professor of Pleadings and Equity Jurisprudence, in the Ohio Law
College, which he occupied till 1857, and later was called to become the
Superintendent of Public Schools in the city of Zanesville, which his
management made pre-eminent among the schools of the West. At the
beginning of the war, he entered the field at the head of the
Seventy-eighth Ohio. This regiment received its first baptism in the
snow and sleet of Fort Donelson, and was under fire there.

The executive and administrative ability of Colonel Leggett, as shown in
the discipline and condition of his regiment, attracted the attention of
General Grant, who made him Provost-Marshal of the post. He did his work
so well, that he was repeatedly chosen again, and by the warm
commendation of his chief, was made Brigadier-General. At the battle of
Shiloh, and the siege of Corinth, General Leggett held advanced posts.
In the siege of Vicksburg, General Leggett commanded the first brigade
of Logan’s Division—the brigade which, for its gallant service, was
honored by being designated for the coveted distinction of marching
first into the captured works. Soon after, he received command of this
division, and was made Major-General, and with it, made with Sherman,
the famous “march to the sea.”

There are many young men who live to say—that the most genial,
beneficent, and valuable influence, exerted upon them during the
toilsome campaign, and the dangerous periods of idleness in camp-life,
was that of General Leggett, who ever inspired patience by his unfailing
good humor, persistent fidelity to temperance, both by precept and lofty
example. He made many a dreary march seem like a picnic excursion; and
his quick, fearless, yet sympathetic glance, often inspired the sinking
heart at the moment of danger. Beyond this, he was a true soldier, in
caring anxiously for the comfort of his soldiers, in enforcing rigid
discipline, and in stimulating officers and men to excel in drill and
all service.

At the close of the war, General Leggett became Superintendent and
Business Manager of the engine works at Zanesville and Newark, Ohio, the
largest establishment of the kind in the West, where he remained, till
he was called by the friend who remembered his brave services in the
peril of war,—to the administration of one of the most important
branches of the Government service in time of peace. He has already
inaugurated one of the most potent movements toward the encouragement of
the useful arts, ever made in this country—viz.: the publication in
popular form, and at low rates, of the Patent Office drawings and
specifications.

General Leggett has a clear red-and-white complexion, wide, open
laughing blue eyes, and an aspect of fresh health which amounts to
youth. His frame and brain are cast in herculean mould. He is a man of
muscle, as well as mind—the former having been toughened by long
geological foot-tramps through the mountains of Virginia, as well as by
the exposures of war, and of an all-time active life.

The official chair of General Leggett has not proved too much for his
better self, as it does for so many. He meets all who approach him with
a smile and kind word, apparently not forgetting that in a republic the
potentate of to-day may be the suppliant of to-morrow, and that at any
rate, but one man at a time can be a Commissioner of Patents. He brings
to his official administration and decisions the same untiring industry,
intelligence and integrity; the same broad views, clear insight and
devotion to duty, which in every previous sphere that he has filled have
made his whole life an honorable success.

With all its comprehensive cares, one side of the Commissioner’s
official life tends to jollity, good digestion, and long life. In no
other position in the world, probably, could a man discover how many
crazy people there are outside of the lunatic asylum. The born inventor
is always a dreamer. For the sake of his darling thought, he is willing
to sacrifice himself, his wife and children, every thing but the
“machine” growing in his brain and quickening under his eager hand. How
often they fail! How often the precious thought, developed into form, is
only a mistake—a failure.

Sometimes this is sad—quite as often it is funny. The procession which
started, far back in the ages, with its machine of “Perpetual Motion,”
long ago reached the doors of the American Patent Office. The persons
found in that procession are sometimes astonishing. A doctor of
divinity, well-known at the Capital, and not suspected of studying any
machinery but that of the moral law, appeared one day in the office of
the Commissioner.

“I know I’ve got it,” he said.

“What, sir?”

“PERPETUAL MOTION, sir. Look!” and he set down a little machine. “If the
floor were not in the way, if the earth were not in the way, that weight
would never stop, and my machine would go on forever. I know this is
original with me—that it never dawned before upon any other human mind.”

So enthusiastic was the doctor, it was with difficulty he could be
restrained from depositing his ten dollars and leaving his experiment to
be patented. The Commissioner, quietly, sent to the library for a book—a
history of attempts to create Perpetual Motion. Opening at a certain
page, he pointed out to the astonished would-be inventor, where his own
machine had been attempted and failed, more than a hundred years before.
The reverend doctor took the book home, read, digested, and meditated
thereon—to bring it back and lay it down before the Commissioner, in
silence. No one has ever heard him speak of Perpetual Motion since.

It would take a large volume, to record all the preposterous letters and
inventions received at this office. A very short time since, a man sent
a letter to the Patent Bureau describing a new process of embalming
which he had originated. It was accompanied by a dead baby—“the model”
which he requested should be placed in one of the glass cases of the
Exhibition Room. He considered himself deeply injured when his request
was refused.

A letter was recently received by the Commissioner of Patents, from a
man in Portsmouth, England, offering this Government the benefit of an
invention of his own for utilizing water-power, so as to force the water
to a great height when confined in reservoirs constructed for the
purpose. He offers the invention free of all charge, because, he states,
that it pains him to see “such mighty power as there is at the Niagara
wasted.” In addition, he offers his own services at the _low_ rate of
£1,000 per annum, to build and operate the invention. He says in his
letter, that “if the mighty great power in Niagara was accumulated, it
would move a great deal.” He also states that he “has a good plan for a
velocipede and a bicicle, that he thinks would be a good thing for this
country,” but admits that “people in England don’t like it.”

Referring again to his water-power, he claims that if this Government
would build the road, he can take ships across the isthmus of Panama “in
a box, water and all.”

The Commissioner recently received the following communication from the
Legation of the United States:

                                                PARIS, Dec. 3, 1872.

  “SIR:—A very large number of inventions and discoveries are submitted
  to this Legation, with the request that we shall transmit them to
  Washington. Most of them are, as you may suppose, worthless. We have
  had, for instance, serious plans proposed for the extermination of all
  the lions and tigers in the United States by the use of catmint, the
  _modus operandi_ being to dig an immense pit, and fill it with this
  herb. The well-known love of the feline race for catmint will
  naturally induce the lions and tigers to jump into the pit and roll
  themselves upon it; whereupon concealed hunters are to appear and
  slaughter the ferocious animals.

  “Another plan is for the destruction of grasshoppers upon the plains
  by the use of artillery; it being perfectly well known that concussion
  kills insects.

  “A third is for the capture of a besieged city by the use of a bomb
  which, upon exploding, shall emit so foul a smell that the besieged
  will rush headlong from the walls, and fall an easy prey to the
  besiegers.”

The President of the United States receives many letters of like
character, which are by him transmitted to the Bureau of Patents. I
append verbatim copies (including orthography) of three which represent
many thousands more of equal intelligence received at this Department of
the Government.

                                                    AUGUST 31st 1872

  MR. U. S. GRANT Sir it is with pleasure I take this opportunity Of
  writing to You I Am well at Present Hoping those few lines will find
  you enjoying Good health And prosperity I am doing all I can for you
  in this locality and I hope and expect you will be our next President
  Of the United States I would like to have an Office of Siveliseing the
  Indians What Salary will you give me per Annum please Write to me and
  let me no in fact I am in need of A little money at present Will you
  please send me 600 or 1000 dolors to —— —— Sumthing Aught to be done
  for the poor Indean And I beleave that I can sivelise them. If you
  will give me 200 or 300 per month it will doo.

                                                       MARCH 13 1873

  HON. SIR PRESEDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA I announce to you
  that I am inventing Perpetual Motion I have once had my paterns stolen
  or I should had the machine in running order before this and I have
  altered my plan so that it carrys a shaft and wheel and when
  constructed on a large plan it will move machinery, And being on a new
  plan and different from all others and I am sure of success which I
  hope to place before the world soon. Though in consequence of poor
  health and not having the means to work with it will take some months
  longer to accomplish it I might write you the plan but I am not sure
  that you will receive this And now I wish to ask a few questions which
  I hope you will answer by writing as soon as you receive this

  1st has there been a patent granted or applied for on perpetual motion

  2nd has the Government a bounty offered to the inventor

  3d when the Machine is in perfect running order and shure that it will
  go without stoping will you and a man from the Patent Office come on
  and grant me a patent and fetch me the bounty if there is one.

  4th is there eney way that I can have time to get the machine
  completed before others can apply for a Patent

  Please write soon and address ——

                                                            MAY 1872

  HON FRIEND—_Solicitor of Patents_ I have invented a secret form of
  writing expressly for the use of our gov in time of warfare the
  publick demands it, It is different from any other invention known to
  the publick in this or any gov. It consists simply of the English
  alphabet and can be changed to any form that the safety of our gov.
  demands it no higherglyphicks are employed but it is practicable and
  safe I propose to sell it to our gov for the sum of one million
  dollars I will meet any committee appointed to investigate the matter.
  If you will give me your influence in Congress and aid in bringing a
  sale of the invention about to our gov or any other I will reward you
  with the sum of ten thousand dollars ($10,000) It is no illusion or a
  whim of the brain but is what I represent it to be scientific
  practicable and safe, Wishing to hear from you on the subject I remain

                                     Yours most truly ——




                             CHAPTER XLII.
                          THE WAR DEPARTMENT.

The Secretary-of-War—His Duties—The Department of the Navy—Efficiency of
    the Army—The Custody of the Flags—Patriotic Trophies—The War of the
    Rebellion—Captured Flags—An Ugly Flag and a Strange Motto—“Crown for
    the Brave”—_Sic Semper Tyrannis_—The Stars and Stripes—The Black
    Flag—No Quarter—The Military Establishment—The Adjutant-General’s
    Office—The Quartermaster-General’s Office—The Commissary-General’s
    Office—The Paymaster-General—The Surveyor-General—The Engineer’s
    Office—The Washington Aqueduct—Topographical Engineers—The Ordnance
    Bureau—The War Department Building—During the War—Lincoln’s Solitary
    Walk—Secretary Stanton—The Exigencies of War—The Medical History of
    the War—Dr. Hammond—Dr. J. H. Baxter—Collecting Physiological
    Data—The Inspection of Over Half a Million Persons—Who is Unfit for
    Military Service—Various Nationalities Compared—Curious Calculations
    Respecting Height, Health, and Color—Healthy Emigrants—Remarkable
    Statistical Results—The Physical _Status_ of the Nation.


The first recorded legislation of importance upon the military affairs
of the nation, is the Act of Congress, of the twenty-seventh day of
January, 1785, entitled “An Ordinance for ascertaining the Powers and
Duties of the Secretary of War.”

By this Act the duties of the Secretary are defined; and amongst them is
a provision requiring him to visit, “at least once a year,” “all the
magazines and deposits of public stores, and report the state of them,
with proper arrangements, to Congress.”

Immediately after the confederation of the States, by the adoption of
the Constitution, this legislation was superseded by an Act of Congress,
approved on the seventh day of August, 1789, defining the duties of the
department, which was again modified by the fifth Congress, in the Act
of the thirtieth day of April, 1798, “To establish an Executive
Department, to be denominated the Department of the Navy.” Of the
efficiency of this department, and its services to the Republic, there
can be no better testimony than that which has been extorted from
history, in the following words: “The United States, from the peace of
Independence, in 1783, achieved by war, and merely acknowledged by
treaty, have always (?) lost by treaty, but never by war.”

This sentiment, which is not as true now of our relations with Great
Britain as in 1814, contains within it a compliment to the Department
which, with limited means, and encountering the natural jealousy of
civism, has so administered its scanty finances that the army has been
made not only a defence for the frontiers, but a recognized national
force, equal to the direst emergency, a nucleus around which, in any
peril, the strength and bravery of the Republic may safely rally.

By the Act of the fourteenth of April, 1814, the Secretaries of War and
of the Navy were placed in custody of the flags, trophies of war, etc.,
to deliver the same for presentation and display in such public places
as the President may deem proper. Although many trophies, which a
monarchical power would have jealously preserved, have been lost, or at
least detached from their proper resting-place, there are still enough
in both departments to stir the patriotic emotions of all who take the
trouble to inquire for them.

The war of the Rebellion greatly increased these trophies. The Rebel
flags taken in battle, and in surrender, and the Union flags,
re-captured from the Confederates, now occupy large apartments in two
buildings belonging to the War Department; and are all placed under the
supervision of the Adjutant-General. In “Winder’s Buildings” hundreds of
these flags are deposited, and many hundreds more in the
Adjutant-General’s office on Seventeenth street. The front and back
rooms on the lower floor of the latter house are exclusively devoted to
their preservation. A polite “orderly” is in waiting, with a
record-book, which gives the name and history of every flag in the
building. The front room is devoted to the Union colors which were
re-taken from the rebels. The back room is filled with Confederate flags
of every device and hue. Here is the first Confederate flag adopted—an
ugly rag, thirteen stars on a blue field, with white and red bars. Its
motto: “We will collect our own revenues. We choose our own
institutions.”

The colors of the Benjamin Infantry, organized April 24, 1861, bear the
inscriptions: “Crown for the brave.” “Strike for your altars and your
fires.”

An Alabama flag, of white bunting, with broad cross-bars of blue, sewed
on by women’s hands, is inscribed: “Our Homes, our Rights, we entrust to
your keeping, brave Sons of Alabama.”

“_Sic Semper Tyrannis_,” says a tattered banner of fine silk, presented
in the first flush of rebellion-fever, with the confidence of assured
victory, “by the ladies of Norfolk, to the N. L. A. Blues.” Again, says
Virginia: “Our Rights we will maintain.” “Death to Invaders covered with
blood.” “Death or Victory,” cries the Zachary Rangers—and again:
“Tyranny is hateful to the gods.”

[Illustration:

  BLOOD-STAINED CONFEDERATE BATTLE FLAGS, CAPTURED DURING THE WAR.
  Sketched by permission of the Government from the large collection in
    possession of the War Department, at Washington.

 1. Black Flag.      4. State and Regiment unknown. [Captured at the
                          Battle of Gettysburg, by the 60th Regiment of
                          New York Volunteers]
 2. Alabama Flag.
 3. Palmetto Flag.   5. State Colors of North Carolina.

]

With the exception of the State colors, the Union flags bear fewer
mottoes. Many are fashioned of the finest fabrics, touched with the most
exquisite tints. They need no florid and sensational sentence. Enough,
that they bear the potent and silent stars of indissoluble union:

                “When Freedom, from her mountain height,
                Unfurled her standard to the air,
                She tore the azure robe of night,
                And set the stars of glory there;
                She mingled with the gorgeous dyes
                The milky baldrick of the skies,
                And striped its pure celestial white
                With streakings of the morning light;
                Then, from his mansion in the sun,
                She called her eagle-bearer down,
                And gave into his mighty hand,
                The symbols of her chosen land.”

Beside this Flag of the Republic, the Black Flag, borne at Winchester,
with its hideous yellow stripe, and hellish sentence, “No Quarter,”
needs no comment. From floor to nave, they droop everywhere, faded,
tattered, bullet-riddled, the flags of Freedom, and the ensigns of
Slavery, defiant, yet doomed. On one side of the apartment, cases,
divided into minute boxes, rise to the ceiling. Each one is large enough
to take a flag tightly rolled. Over all hangs a curtain; and here these
rags, which have outlasted the wasting march, the sore defeat, wait to
tell their story in silence to coming generations.

The War Department is now divided into the following Bureaus:

Secretary’s Office: The Secretary of War is charged, under the direction
of the President, with the general control of the military
establishment, and the execution of the laws relating thereto. The
functions of the several Bureaus are performed under his supervision and
authority. In the duties of his immediate office he is assisted by a
chief clerk, claims-and-disbursing clerk, requisition-clerk,
registering-clerk, and three recording-clerks.

The Adjutant-General’s Office is the medium of communication to the army
of all general and special orders of the Secretary-of-War relating to
matters of military detail. The rolls of the army, and the records of
service are kept, and all military commissions prepared in this office.

The Quartermaster-General’s Office has charge of all matters pertaining
to barracks and quarters for the troops, transportation, camp and
garrison-equipage, clothing, fuel, forage, and the incidental expenses
of the military establishment.

The Commissary-General’s Office has charge of all matters relating to
the procurement and issue of subsistence-stores in the army.

The Paymaster-General’s Office has the general direction of matters
relating to the pay of the army.

The Surgeon-General’s Office has charge of all matters relating to the
medical and hospital service.

The Engineer’s Office, at the head of which is the Chief Engineer of the
army, has charge of all matters relating to the construction of the
fortifications, and to the Military Academy. At present, the Washington
Aqueduct is being built under its direction. The Bureau of Topographical
Engineers, at the head of which is the Chief of the Corps, has charge of
all matters relating to river and harbor improvements, the survey of the
lakes, the construction of military works, and generally of all military
surveys.

The Ordnance Bureau, at the head of which is the chief of ordnance, has
charge of all matters relating to the manufacture, purchase, storage,
and issue of all ordnance, arms, and munitions of war. The management of
the arsenals and armories is conducted under its orders.

The present building, still used for the War Department, is utterly
inadequate to its necessities. Already its Bureaus are scattered in
several transient resting-places. In a few years they will be again
concentrated in the magnificent structure now going up, for the combined
use of the State, War and Navy Departments.

With the present War Department building will be obliterated one of the
oldest land-marks of the Capital. All through the war of the Rebellion,
it seemed to be the temple of the people, to which the whole nation came
up, as they did to the temple at Jerusalem. What fates hung upon the
fiats which issued from its walls! Hither came mother, wife, and
daughter, to seek their dead, and to supplicate the furlough for their
living soldier. What times those were, when the very life of the nation
seemed suspended upon the will of the great War Secretary. I cannot look
at the trees which arch the avenue between the War Department and the
President’s house, without thinking of those days when Lincoln took his
solitary walk to and fro to consult with Stanton, his step slow, his
eyes sad, over-weighted with responsibility and sorrow. And going down
Seventeenth street, who that ever saw him can fail to recall the image
of Stanton as he paced up and down before the door of the War Department
for his half-hour’s exercise, when he held himself a prisoner within its
walls.

All will soon be gone—the old familiar places as well as the old
familiar faces. The grating of the trowel, cementing stone on stone, the
ceaseless click of the hammer foretell how speedily the august stone
structure, with graceful monoliths and turreted roof stretching over the
vast square, will take the place of the old War Department.

The exigencies of war not only augmented the business of the War
Department to gigantic proportions, but they created important Bureaus
which have survived to flourish in times of peace; of these, none are so
interesting, both to scientists and to citizens, as those connected with
the medical history of the war. It may not be universally known to the
public, but the medical profession has long been aware that the immense
collection of cases and treatment, recorded in the field and hospital
experiences of the late war, was being examined, condensed, tabulated,
and the valuable conclusion, deducible therefrom, prepared for
publication, under the direction of the Surgeon General of the army.

During the past few years “circulars” or detached portions of the work,
of special interest, have been issued, and this spring two quarto
volumes, being the first parts of the first two volumes of the entire
work, have been given to the world.

[Illustration: THE NEW BUILDING NOW BEING CONSTRUCTED FOR DEPARTMENTS OF
STATE, ARMY, AND NAVY.—WASHINGTON.]

Part I. of Volume I. is devoted to _medical_ history, and has been
compiled by Dr. Woodward, an assistant-surgeon of the army. This is a
volume of eleven hundred pages, and is divided into two parts and an
appendix. The parts give the statistics of disease and death,
respectively, of white and colored troops. The appendix consists of
reports and statements of medical officers and their superiors.

Part I. of Volume II. commences the _surgical_ history, and is the work
of Dr. Otis, also an assistant-surgeon of the army, and well known as
the curator of the Army Medical Museum. It contains nearly eight hundred
pages, and is illustrated by numerous photo-lithographs of gunshot
wounds, stumps of amputated limbs, and various other injuries of the
human body—all evidences of the cruelties of war.

The merit of the conception of this vast undertaking, is due to the
former Surgeon-General, Dr. Hammond, now the distinguished physician of
New York city.

In 1862 he devised the form and routine for copious and precise returns
of hospital treatment, and under his energetic supervision, Dr. Brinton
of the volunteer corps, and Doctors Woodward and Otis, commenced the
“Medical and Surgical History of the War of the Rebellion.”

The work was ably continued by Dr. Barnes, the former Surgeon-General,
and the result of all these labors is, so far, seen in the two volumes
described, for the publication of which an appropriation was made by
Congress in June, 1868. It is supposed that the entire work will reach
six, and perhaps eight, such parts, and it certainly will be, when
completed, a noble evidence of the liberality with which the Government
provided for its sick and wounded soldiers, who fought for its
preservation, and of the patriotism of the men who suffered in
supporting such Government.

Brevet Major-General Joseph K. Barnes, Surgeon-General of the United
States Army, was born in Pennsylvania, and appointed Assistant-Surgeon
United States Army from that State, June, 1840, and stationed at the
United States Military Academy, West Point, N. Y., until November of
that year. He served in the Florida war against the Seminole Indians to
1842; at Fort Jesup, La., to 1846; in the war with Mexico to 1848; at
Baton Rouge, La., and in Texas the same year, at Baltimore, Md., to
1851; in Missouri, to 1854; again at the United States Military Academy,
West Point, N. Y., to 1857; in California and at Fort Vancouver, W. T.,
to 1861; at the head-quarters of General Hunter, Western Department and
Department of Kansas to 1862.

He was promoted to be surgeon in the United States Army, August, 1856;
Lieutenant Colonel and Medical Inspector, February, 1863; Colonel and
Medical Inspector-General, August, 1863; and was assigned duty as
Acting-Surgeon-General, United States Army, in the same month; appointed
Brigadier-General and Surgeon-General, United States Army, August, 1864;
Brevetted Major-General, United States Army, for faithful and
meritorious services during the war.

Another medical report, perhaps equal in value to the Surgeon General’s,
has issued from the medical branch of the Provost-Marshal-General’s
Bureau, under the supervision of Dr. J. H. Baxter.

Dr. Jedediah H. Baxter, Lieutenant-Colonel and Chief Medical-Purveyor,
United States Army, was born in Strafford, Orange County, Vt., May 11,
1837. He was graduated at the University of Vermont, both in the
academical and medical departments, and in 1860 served as assistant
professor of anatomy and surgery in that University. He was house
surgeon in “Bellevue Hospital” at the “Seamen’s Retreat,” Staten Island,
and on “Blackwell’s Island.”

He entered the Twelfth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers in April,
1861, was commissioned assistant-surgeon of the Regiment, May 13, 1861,
and promoted to be surgeon, June 19, 1861. Served as post surgeon at
Fort Warren, Boston Harbor, until July 26, 1861, when, with his
regiment, he was mustered into the United States service and ordered to
join the forces then forming under Gen. N. P. Banks at Sandy Hook, Md.,
opposite Harper’s Ferry. He was Acting-Brigade-Surgeon, until April 4,
1862, when, promoted to Brigade-Surgeon of Volunteers, he was ordered to
report for duty to Gen. Geo. B. McClellan, and served on the staff of
that officer during the Peninsular campaign, as Medical Director of
Field-Hospitals and the transportation of sick and wounded of the Army
of the Potomac.

Disabled from field service by the “peninsular fever,” he was ordered to
hospital duty in Washington, D. C., August 1, 1862, and was in charge of
Judiciary Square United States General Hospital until September, 1862,
when he was ordered to superintend the building of Campbell United
States General Hospital, Washington, D. C., of which Hospital, when
completed, he was placed in charge, where he remained until January 5,
1864, when he was relieved and ordered to report for special duty to the
Provost-Marshal-General of the United States, who assigned him to duty
as “Chief Medical Officer of the Provost-Marshal-General’s Bureau.” In
this capacity he served, having the management of all medical matters
pertaining to the recruitment of the army, until the close of the war,
having been Brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel of the United States Volunteers
in March, 1865, and Colonel of the United States Volunteers in January,
1866.

When the Provost-Marshal-General’s Bureau was abolished, he was placed
on special duty by an Act of Congress, in preparing a report of the
medical statistics of the Provost-Marshal-General’s Bureau. On July 20,
1866, he was commissioned Assistant-Medical-Purveyor, United States
Army, with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel and was Brevetted Colonel “for
faithful and meritorious services during the war.” He was promoted to
the position of Chief Medical Purveyor of the United States Army, March
12, 1872, in which position he has supervision of the purchase and
distribution of all hospital and medical supplies required for the use
of the army.

On being called to the charge of the medical branch of the
Provost-Marshal-General’s Bureau, Dr. Baxter soon perceived that, in the
several Acts of Congress devolving upon the Provost-Marshal-General the
duty of recruiting by voluntary enlistment, conscription and
substitution, the vast armies called out to suppress the rebellion, lay
the means of obtaining such a view of the physical state and military
capacity of the nation as had never before and might never again be
obtained. After an examination of such material as had already
accumulated under the limited operation of the draft and recruiting
Acts, he prepared and issued to the surgeons of the enrolling boards, in
the several congressional districts, blank forms and instructions
designed to afford the means of tabulating from the reports of
individual examinations of recruits, drafted men and substitutes, the
statistics illustrating the relations between disease and nativity,
residence, age, complexion, height, and size, social condition and
occupation in the sex on which the principal physical burdens of life
fall.

The accumulating records of the medical department of the army could be
utilized for the benefit of military surgery and hygiene by showing the
varying facts of disease and wounds among soldiers, and the records of
pension applications and the regularly recurring examinations of invalid
pensioners would give the results of non-fatal wounds and disease upon
the disabled soldier returned to civil life. But Dr. Baxter saw that a
separate and important field of study and action was left to his own
bureau, if its current records could be reduced to a system of fulness,
accuracy and uniformity. This was successfully done, and the results
will soon be before the public. From advance sheets of the volume, many
interesting facts have been drawn for this article. The work is based on
the reports made of the medical inspection of about 605,000 persons
subject to draft, and minuter descriptions of the fuller examination of
508,735 recruits, substitutes and drafted men.

Of the whole number examined, a little over 257 in each thousand were
found unfit for military service. The largest number found disqualified
through any specific class of diseases were those affected by diseases
of the digestive organs, the ratio of unfitness to the whole number
examined being a little more than sixty in a thousand. Fifty nativities
are embraced in the report, the ratio of unfitness in each thousand
being, for American whites, 323; American colored, 225; Canadians, 258;
Irish, 337; Germans, 400; Scandinavians, 294; English, 325; and Scotch,
308.

From these ratios it will be seen that the Negroes, Canadians and
Scandinavians were the healthiest, and the Germans and Irish the
unhealthiest. The relative position assigned to the negro by these
figures is not in accord with the general opinion upon the subject, but
the healthiness of unskilled occupations and his simple method of life
in the South accounts for the fact. The report also shows that a larger
proportion of civilians are fit for military duty in this country than
in Great Britain or France, and probably Germany, though the figures to
prove the proposition in the latter case are not at hand.

Of the recruits, conscripts and substitutes under twenty years of age,
the ratio of rejection and exemption was 268 in the thousand, including
those too young for service; between twenty and twenty-five years, the
ratio was 245; between twenty-five and thirty, the ratio was 330; it was
411 between thirty and thirty-five; between thirty-five and forty it was
462, and over forty years it was 607 in a thousand, including all
rejected for dotage.

This table bears out the common experience that infirmities grow with
age. Of the native whites, 663 in a thousand were of light complexion;
of Canadians, 661 in a thousand; of English, 705; of Irish, 702; and of
German, 694—indicating, by the lower ratio of fair complexion, a greater
admixture of races in this country than in the parent countries. Of
persons of light complexion, 385 in the thousand were unfit for service,
while the dark complexions show the healthier ratio of 332 in each
thousand. The average height of Americans is found to be 5 feet 7½
inches, of Canadians 5.5, 5.1, of Irish and Germans 5.5, 5.4, of
Scandinavians and English 5.6, 0, and of French one-fifth of an inch
lower than the last named. All under five feet were rejected or
exempted, as the case might be; and the rejections under 5 feet 1 inch
were 582 in the thousand, between 5.1 and 5.3 they were 443, between 5.3
and 5.5 they were 322, between 5.5 and 5.7 they were 303, between 5.7
and 5.9 they were 313, between 5.9 and 5.11 they were 326, between 5.11
and 6.1 they were 350, and they were 358 in all over 6 feet 1 inch. The
healthiest persons were those of the average height of 5 feet 7 inches.

The chest measurements, at moment of respiration, averaged 33.11 inches
for Americans, 32.84 for Irish, 33.56 for Germans, 33.01 for Canadians
and 32.93 for English. The detailed statistics of height and size bear
out the statement that, as a rule, only healthy foreigners migrate from
the Old to the New World and healthy natives from the old to the new
States; both conclusions are quite reasonable, when the anticipated and
real hardships of migration are considered.

Considering the figures relating to occupation, it is found that the
ratio of unfitness for army life was 409 in a thousand among persons
engaged in in-door pursuits, and only 349 in a thousand, in persons of
out-door callings.

Taken by trades and professions, it appears that of journalists 740 in a
thousand were disqualified, physicians 670, clergymen and preachers 654,
dentists 549, lawyers 544, tailors 473, teachers 455, photographers 451,
mercantile clerks 416, painters 392, carpenters 383, stone-cutters 376,
shoe-makers 362, laborers 358, farmers 350, printers 335, tanners 216,
iron-workers 189. The average ratio of disability among professional men
was 520 in a thousand, merchants 480, artisans 484, and unskilled
laborers 348 only.

The journalists, doctors and clergymen were the unhealthiest
professional men, and teachers and musicians the healthiest. Brokers
were the unhealthiest of the mercantile class, and shop-keepers and
peddlers the healthiest. Iron and leather-workers were the healthiest of
the artisans; in the first occupation, partly, because only robust men
can follow it. Paper-makers, tailors and upholsterers appear to have
been the unhealthiest trades. Of unskilled occupations, so-called, for
the purposes of this work, miners and mariners were the healthiest, and
watchmen, bar-keepers and fishermen the unhealthiest. Explanation is
found in the case of watchmen, in the number of old and broken-down men
following that vocation. The ratio of single men found disqualified was
393 in a thousand, and of married men 447 in a thousand; the difference,
however, being no argument against marriage, as the latter class
embraces a larger proportion of men beyond middle age.

Congress has provided liberally for the publication of Dr. Baxter’s
medical statistics of drafts and recruitments, and the volume will
contain shaded maps and diagrams, to aid in exhibiting and contrasting
the results of his unique studies of the physical status of the nation.




                             CHAPTER XLIII.
          THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM—ITS CURIOSITIES AND WONDERS.

Ford’s Theatre—Its Interesting Memories—The Last
    Festivities—Assassination of President Lincoln—Two Years
    Later—Effects of “War, Disease, and Human Skill”—Collection of
    Pathological Specimens—The Army Medical Museum Opened—Purchase of
    Ford’s Theatre—Its Present Aspect—Ghastly Specimens—Medical and
    Surgical Histories of the War—The Library—A Book Four Centuries
    Old—Rare Old Volumes—The Most Interesting of the National
    Institutions—Various Opinions—Effects on Visitors—An Extraordinary
    Withered Arm—A Dried Sioux Baby!—Its Poor Little Nose—A Well-dressed
    Child—Its Buttons and Beads—Casts of Soldier-Martyrs—Making a New
    Nose—Vassear’s Mounted Craniums—Model Skeletons—A Giant, Seven Feet
    High—Skeleton of a Child—All that Remains of Wilkes Booth, the
    Assassin—Fractures by Shot and Shell—General Sickles Contributes His
    Quota—A Case of Skulls—Arrow-head Wounds—Nine Savage
    Sabre-Cuts—Seven Bullets in One Head—Phenomenal Skulls—A Powerful
    Nose—An Attempted Suicide—A Proverb Corrected—Specimen from the
    Paris Catacombs—An “Interesting Case”—Typical Heads of the Human
    Race—Remarkable Indian Relics—“Flatheads”—The Work of Indian
    Arrows—An Extraordinary Story—A “Pet” Curiosity—A Japanese
    Manikin—Tattooed Heads—Representatives of Animated Nature—Adventure
    of Captain John Smith—A “Stingaree”—The Microscopical
    Division—Medical Records of the War—Preparing Specimens.


The building in which Abraham Lincoln was assassinated will always
retain a deep and sad interest in the mind of the American people. It
was well that it should be consecrated to a national purpose. None could
be more fit than to make it the repository of the Pathological and
Surgical results of the war.

From the dark hour of the great martyr’s death, the light and music of
amusement never again animated these dark halls. But in two years from
the day of the tragedy, its doors were opened to the people, to come in
and behold what war, disease, death, and human skill had wrought.

In obedience to an order from the War Department, issued in 1862,
thousands of pathological specimens had accumulated in the office of the
Surgeon-General. An ample and fit receptacle was needed for their proper
care and display. And April 13, 1867, the old Ford Theatre, on Tenth
street, between E and F, was opened as the Army Medical Museum.

Congress had already purchased the building of Mr. Ford, and used it for
a time as the receptacle for the captured archives of the Confederate
Government. Before it was opened as the Army Museum, its interior had
been entirely remodeled, retaining nothing of the original building but
the outside walls. It has been made fire-proof, and is exclusively
devoted to the uses of the Museum. The third story is the Museum hall,
lined on its four sides with pictures and glass cases filled with
ghastly specimens, beside many more in the interior of the room.

Over a square railing, in the centre of the hall, you look down upon the
second story, and through that to the first. The lower floor is filled
with busy clerks, sitting at tables, writing out the medical and
surgical histories of the war.

[Illustration:

  THE MAIN HALL OF THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM.—WASHINGTON.

  This Museum occupies the scene of the assassination of President
    Lincoln, in Ford’s Theatre, which after that date became the
    property of the Government. It contains a collection of upwards of
    twenty thousand rare, curious and interesting objects, surpassing
    any similar collection in the world. It is visited annually by
    upwards of twenty-five thousand persons.
]

The second floor, which is reached by light spiral stairs from the
first, is largely devoted to the very valuable Medical and Surgical
Library, which has been collected since the opening of the Museum. It
now numbers thirty-eight thousand volumes, some of which are rare books
of extreme value. One of these was among the earliest of printed
volumes. The art of printing was first used to give to the world
religious and medical books. This treasure of the Medical Museum was
published at Venice, in 1480, and is the work of Petrus de Argelata. It
is bound and illuminated in vellum. Another choice book, is a copy of
Galen, which once belonged to the Dutch anatomist, Vierodt, and
copiously annotated by him. These, and many other valuable books, have
been bought by the agents of the Museum, abroad, while many others have
been received as contributions from physicians, and scientific societies
interested in the growth of this national institution.

Louis Bagger, in a late number of _Appleton’s Journal_, speaks of the
Army Medical Museum as one of the most interesting, but least visited,
of all the national institutions in Washington. It cannot fail to be one
of the most absorbing spots on earth to the student of surgery or
medicine; but to the unscientific mind, especially to one still aching
with the memories of war, it must ever remain a museum of horrors. Its
many bones, which never ached, and which have survived their painful
sheaths of mortal flesh, all cool and clean, and rehung on golden
threads, are not unpleasant to behold. But those faces in frames, eaten
by cancer or lost in tumors, which you look up to as you enter, are
horrible enough to haunt one forever (if you are not scientific) with
the thought of what human flesh is heir to.

No! the Museum is a very interesting, but can never be a popular place
to visit. I doubt if a sight at the Sioux pappoose, and a bit of John
Wilkes Booth’s spinal marrow, or a piece of General Sickles’ leg, will
be sufficient compensation to the average unscientific mind, to go twice
to look at those terrible tumors and elephantiasis in gilt frames and
glass jars. It is enough to make one feel as if the like were starting
out all over you. But that’s because you are not scientific.

The first “specimen” which confronts you on entering is a withered human
arm, with contracted hand and clinched fingers, mounted on wires in a
glass case on the window-ledge. The sharp bone protrudes where it was
shot off near the shoulder joint; every muscle is defined; the skin
looks like tanned leather. It is not pleasant to look at. A thrilling
story has been printed about this arm. I am sorry it is not wholly true.
The one I have to tell will not please you as well, for it is not nearly
as exciting.

We were told that the shock of the cannon-shot, which took off this arm,
carried it up into a high tree, where, a year or two after, its owner, a
Gettysburg hero, revisiting the battle-field, discovered his lost member
lodged in the branches, brought it down and bore it hither as a trophy.
The soldier _did_ find his arm (I am telling the true story); but he
found it in a corn-field. By what mark he knew it I am not informed, but
he declared it to be his arm and brought it to the Museum as a
first-class “sensational specimen.”

In the next window we find another one—the Sioux baby. Poor little baby!
It is not a Modoc—though not much better—it did not live to slay our
brethren, so we are sorry as we look at it—for its once black locks are
bleached red, and its nose is gone. It was found in a tree near Fort
Laramie. I have seen Sioux babies alive upon their native soil, and can
testify from personal observation that this little pappoose-mummy is
extraordinarily well dressed. Hannah of old did not sew more buttons on
the coat of her little Samuel in the Temple, than this poor savage
mother did on the plains of Wyoming. It is of blue flannel, profusely
ornamented with round tin buttons, and many beads on its broad collar.
On its neck it wears a string of white delf beads, and there is
something cunning and dainty in the tiny embroidered moccasins upon its
feet. In a case there is another pappoose still less agreeable to
contemplate. It is a little Flat-head Indian. Its head is so very flat
no doubt it died in the process of compression. This melancholy child
also wears a white necklace, and was found _buried_ in a tree.

Passing on, we are arrested by a table surrounded on its outer edge by
plaster casts of soldiers who have undergone famous and difficult
surgical operations. It is gratifying to know that, if you lose your
nose by some other collision beside that of a cannon ball, you can have
a new one set on made out of your cheek. The new nose will grow to the
root of the old one, and the hole in your cheek will fill up and the
scar heal. To be sure it will hurt you frightfully; but you _can_ have a
new nose made, and you yourself supply the material. If you don’t
believe it, come to the Army Medical Museum and see! Here is the head of
the poor fellow with his nose shot off—and here is another with the new
nose grown on.

In the centre of the table are some of Vassear’s mounted craniums,
purchased for the museum by order of the Surgeon-General. These
craniums, with the skeletons in the cases, are mounted after Blanchêne’s
method, which allows every portion to be taken apart and put together
again. This cranium on the table is as white as crystal; it is mounted
on gold, and tiny blue and crimson threads of silk trace from chin to
head-top the entire nerve system. It is a work of exquisite art as well
as of science, and in no sense repulsive. The glass cases just in the
rear contain skeletons mounted by the same method. One is the skeleton
of a giant, in life seven feet high, prepared by Auzoax and mounted by
Blanchêne’s method. It is as white as snow, and its brass or gold joints
(we will call them gold) are bright and flexile. Another, of a child of
some six years, shows the entire double sets of first and second teeth.
The first, not one tooth gone, and above, in the jaw, the entire row of
second teeth ready to push the first ones out.

Amid the thousands of mounted specimens in glass cases, which reveal the
freaks of bullets and cannon-shot, we come to one which would scarcely
arrest the attention of a casual observer. It is simply three human
vertebræ mounted on a stand and numbered 4,086. Beside it hangs a glass
phial, marked 4,087, filled with alcohol, in which floats a nebulæ of
white matter. The official catalogue contains the following records of
these apparently uninteresting specimens:

  “No. 4,086.—The third, fourth and fifth cervical vertebræ. A conoidal
  carbine ball entered the right side, comminuting the base of the right
  lamina of the fourth vertebræ, fracturing it longitudinally and
  separating it from the spinous process, at the same time fracturing
  the fifth through its pedicles, and involving that transverse process.
  The missile passed directly through the canal, with a slight
  inclination downward and to the rear, emerging through the left bases
  of the fourth and fifth laminæ, which are comminuted, and from which
  fragments were embedded in the muscles of the neck. The bullet, in its
  course, avoided the large cervical vessels. From a case where death
  occurred in a few hours after injury, April 26, 1865.”

  “No. 4,087.—A portion of the spinal-cord from the cervical region,
  transversely perforated from right to left by a carbine-bullet, which
  fractured the laminæ of the fourth and fifth vertebræ. The cord is
  much torn and is discolored by blood. From a case where death occurred
  a few hours after injury, April 26, 1865.”

Such are the colorless scientific records of the death wounds of John
Wilkes Booth. All that remains of him above the grave finds its
perpetual place a few feet above the spot where he shot down his
illustrious victim.

It has been recorded elsewhere that the fatal wounds of Wilkes Booth and
his victim were strikingly alike. “The balls entered the skull of each
at nearly the same spot, but the trifling difference made an
immeasurable difference in the sufferings of the two. Mr. Lincoln was
unconscious of all pain, while his assassin suffered as exquisite agony
as if he had been broken on a wheel.”

In the surgical division which contains the above specimens we find
illustrations from living and dead subjects of almost every conceivable
fracture by shot and shell.

On a black stand, bearing the number 1,335, we see a strong white bone
shattered in the middle. The official statement concerning it is: “The
right tibia and fibula comminuted in three shafts by a round shell.
Major-General D. E. S., United States Volunteers, Gettysburg, July 2,
amputated in the lower third of the thigh by Surgeon T. Sim, United
States Volunteers, on the field. Stump healed rapidly, and subject was
able to ride in carriage July 16; completely healed, so that he mounted
his horse, in September, 1863. Contributed by the subject”—who is
General Daniel E. Sickles.

One of the cases in this division is filled with skulls which show
gunshot wounds from arrow-heads and thrusts from tomahawks and sabres.
One of the latter, No. 970, shows nine savage sabre cuts. It is the
skull of an Araucanian Indian, killed by Chilian troops. Near it is the
skull of another Indian, riddled by six or seven bullet-shots received
from American troops or trappers.

The Museum contains eight craniums, which illustrate the wonderful fact
of an unbroken external skull, while the vitreous table is perforated or
dented. One of these shows slight discoloration on the outside of the
head without fracture or depression, while inside, the bone is broken.
The seven other specimens illustrate the same phenomena. In this case we
see craniums in which bullets are imbedded and broken. We see one where
a conical bullet split in two in entering the head at the temple, one
half going inside, caused instant death, while the other half struck the
face outside. Here we see a minié-bullet split on the bones of the nose.
Another case is of an attempted suicide—who died a natural death. He
fired a pistol in his mouth, whose bullet passed through the jugular
vein, but not through the head. It stopped short, embedded in the bone,
where it remained as a stopper to the blood from the perforated artery,
and the man who tried to kill himself, lived seventeen years to be sorry
for doing so.

[Illustration:

  A WITHERED ARM
  Skin, flesh and bones complete. Amputated by a cannon shot on the
    battle field of Gettysburg. The shot carried the severed limb up
    into the high branches of a tree, where it was subsequently found
    completely air and sun dried.
]

[Illustration:

  All that remains Above Ground of
  JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
  Being part of the Vertebræ penetrated [A] by the bullet of Boston
    Corbett. Strange freak of fate that these remains of Booth should
    find a resting place under the same roof, and but a few feet from
    the spot where the fatal shot was fired.
]

[Illustration:

  A SIOUX PAPPOOSE
  Or Indian infant, found in a tree near Fort Laramie, where it had
    been buried (?) according to the custom of the tribe.
]

[Illustration:

  SKULL OF LITTLE BEAR’S SQUAW,
  Perforated by seven bullet holes. Killed in Wyoming
    Territory.
]

[Illustration:

  SKULL OF AN INDIAN,
  Showing nine distinct sabre wounds.
]

[Illustration:

  SKULL OF A MAN
  Who received an arrow wound on the head, three gun-shot flesh
    wounds, one in the arm, another in the breast, and a third in the
    leg. Seven days afterwards he was admitted to the hospital at Fort
    Concho, Texas [where he subsequently died], after having traveled
    above 160 miles on the barren plains—mostly on foot.
]

[Illustration:

  SKULL OF A SOLDIER
  Wounded at Spotsylvania—showing the splitting of a Rifle ball, one
    portion being buried deep in the brain, and the other between the
    scalp and the skull. He lived twenty-three days.
]

[Illustration:

  APACHE INDIAN ARROW-HEAD
  Of soft hoop-iron. These arrows will perforate a bone without
    causing the slightest fracture, where a rifle or musket ball will
    flatten; and will make a cut as clean as the finest surgical
    instrument.
]

                              CURIOSITIES

               FROM THE ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM, WASHINGTON.

Two specimens in this collection deny the assertion that “when a man
breaks his neck that is the last of him.” One of these is a skull taken
from the Catacombs in Paris. It has a few vertebræ attached to the neck.
One of these shows a distinct dislocation where it was broken from the
head, and where it had grown closely together again. The other is a home
specimen, which shows no less distinctly where the broken neck again
formed the connection with the head. There is also in this section of
the museum a piece of human cranium, about the size of a silver dollar,
cut from the head of a soldier wounded at Petersburgh, Va., June 14,
1864. The following is the official history of this “interesting case:”

“The subject was admitted to Mount Pleasant General Hospital,
Washington, D. C., on June 24, with the report that the progress of the
case had been so far eminently satisfactory. After admission he was
found to be insensible, and a few hours subsequently convulsions
supervened in rapidly recurring paroxysms. Twelve ounces of blood were
taken from the temporal artery without apparent benefit. A trephine was
then applied to the seat of fracture, and upon the removal of a bottom
of bone, a portion of the inner table was found slightly depressed. This
was elevated, and the patient, soon after, regained consciousness. On
the 28th of June, the wound in the scalp became erysipelatous, and
before the inflammation subsided there was extensive loss of substance
of the integuments and pericranium denuding a large portion of the
parietal bone. Necrosis ensued, and embraced the whole thickness of the
bone. In September, 1864, a portion of the parietal, three inches by
four, had become so much loosened that it was readily removed. After
this, cicatrization went on rapidly; and at the date of the last report,
December 2, 1864, the wound had contracted to an ulcer less than an inch
in diameter. The patient’s mental faculties were impaired somewhat, the
ward-physician thought, but not to a great extent.”

This specimen was contributed by Assistant-Surgeon E. A. McCall, United
States Army. A colored drawing was made representing the parts prior to
the separation of the exfoliation, (No. 74, surgical series of drawings,
Surgeon General’s office.)

We see suspended in a case the bone of an arm from the shoulder to the
elbow. A musket ball having shattered it, it was necessary to take it
out or amputate the arm. The surgeon chose the former. The bone with all
its splinters was removed. The photograph of its owner is set up under
it, while the living original may come and look at it any moment he
chooses, he being one of the _attachés_ to the Museum. He says that he
can use the injured arm as readily as the other. The muscles and
integuments have taken the place of the lost bone, and are strong enough
to enable him to lift a two-hundred-pounds’ weight without difficulty.

Another case of great interest to the medical profession, is that of a
soldier of Company C, Eighth New Jersey Volunteers, who was wounded in
the battle of the Wilderness, May 5, 1864. The specimen on exhibition is
a piece of the hip-bone, about four or five inches long. This shattered
bone was excised, May 27, 1864, and the patient was discharged from the
hospital, April 17, 1865, perfectly cured, and able to use the mutilated
limb without its portion of thigh-bone. In 1868, he was well, could walk
without a cane, and was employed as a hod-carrier. He now receives a
Government pension of fifteen dollars a month.

At the right of the main entrance, stands the Craniological Cabinet. It
contains a thousand or more specimens of the craniæ of different human
races. Beside the skull of the Caucasian, we see that of the African,
each of the highest order of its kind. The long line contains a “sample”
of nearly all the typical heads of the human race.

The collection contains a large number of Indian skulls of opposite
tribes, taken from tumuli, and gathered from other sources. There are
none to which the scientific man points with more interest, than to the
skulls of the Flat-head Indians. These are perfectly flat on the top,
forming a right angle with the forehead. Here is the head of a baby, who
probably died in the process. Boards are tightly bound to infants’
heads, from birth, till they cease to grow. One would suppose that this
would lessen the brain-capacity. But as it can not grow in front, it
avenges itself by pushing far out on the sides. Thus the Flat-head
Indian’s head is as wide as it is flat, and in defiance of phrenology,
he is not only as bright, but brighter in his wits, than many of his
neighbors.

Here are Indian arrows, taken from the dead bodies of our soldiers on
the plains. The arrowheads are made of barrel-hoops, and so sharp, they
can pierce any skull. One is shown, still sticking through a portion of
the shoulder-blade of a buffalo. The point of the arrow is outside of
the bone, the arrow-tip having passed through the body of the buffalo,
and through the bone, opposite the side that it entered. A rifle-ball
would be flattened where an Indian arrowhead penetrates without
hindrance. The cut of an arrowhead is as clear and clean as if made by
the most acute surgical instrument. The fatal force with which an arrow
is driven from an Indian bow, is illustrated in the following fact:
Here, in the Museum, is the piece of a door of a stage which was
attacked by Comanches near Bellos River, Texas, September 1, 1870. The
wood, about an inch and a half thick, is pierced by an Indian arrowhead,
the point appearing on the outside.

Of the two passengers in the stage at the time of the occurrence, one
was killed and the other escaped. The stage guard consisted of three
soldiers—one was killed instantly, another escaped, the third was
wounded. He received an arrow wound in the head, and three gunshot
flesh-wounds, one in the arm, another in the leg and one in the breast.
In this condition he travelled one hundred and sixty miles across the
plains, on foot. Seven long days it took him to reach the post-hospital
at Fort Concho, Texas. When admitted, mentally, he was clear and bright.
But on September 19, he died.

The skull of this unfortunate man, preserved in the Army Museum, shows
an arrowhead firmly embedded in the petrous portion of the right
temporal bone—a wound in itself, it would seem, sufficient to prove
instantly fatal.

One of the pet curiosities of the Museum is a Japanese manikin—ess—we
will call it, as it is supposed to represent the creature feminine. The
heart is a red apple and the liver (very properly) a yellow one. The
stomach looks like a lean pomegranate. The lungs are represented by five
green oak leaves. These organs are lumped together, the lungs being
below all the rest. The Japanese idea of anatomy seems to be quite as
muddled as its powers of perspective.

A case near the front window, contains three Maori heads from New
Zealand. They are all tattooed with the black juice of the betel-nut.
Any thing more hideous than their empty eye-sockets, their striped cheek
bones and ghastly white teeth cannot be imagined.

Along the windows at the opposite end of the great hall, may be seen
skeletons of all kinds of animals, birds, fishes and reptiles. Here are
skeletons of the horse, the buffalo, the grizzly bear, the elk, the
walrus, and the ray. One of these last, caught in James river, has been
presented to the Museum.

Those who have read the early history of Virginia may remember that it
chronicles the fact that once when Captain John Smith, of wonderful
memory, was one day bathing in the James River, he received a sudden
shock, and many days elapsed before he recovered from it. It was
supposed that he was struck by a ‘stingaree.’

The ‘stingaree’ is a corruption of the stinging ray—and such a specimen
is shown in the Museum. The ray is a fish of the cartilaginous species,
not having the vertebrated form. It has wings, each measuring about
fourteen inches across the widest part; and it has a very long tail, in
which is implanted a sting, which resembles in its effects a shock of
electricity, and produces temporary paralysis. The ray darts in among a
shoal of fishes, electrifies them, and then proceeds to devour them.

The microscopical division of the Museum on the library floor is of
great value. It affords facilities for the study of natural history and
comparative anatomy equal to the medical schools of Paris. This
department contains a series of photographical publications of enlarged
photographic pictures of the specimens, mounted on cardboard and bound
in Russia leather. A set of this series, also a complete set of bound
photographs of all the specimens contained in the surgical department of
the Museum, with a sketch of the case attached, has been presented to
all the governments and large public libraries of Europe. In return,
these European governments and libraries have sent complete sets of like
publications of their own. Several hundred volumes, handsomely bound,
include these foreign gifts to the Army Medical Museum at Washington.

The primary object of the Army Medical Museum is to illustrate minutely
the wounds and diseases of our late war, while the medical and surgical
histories of the war, now being written under the supervision of the
Surgeon-General, will show the processes of treatment and their results.
Dr. J. J. Woodward, assisted by Dr. Otis, both of Pennsylvania, are
charged with the writing of this history. Doctor Woodward is writing the
medical history, and Doctor Otis the surgical history of this important
national report. Five thousand copies of each will be issued by
Congress. The first volumes of both histories have already come from the
bindery of the Public Printer in handsome form. The first of the medical
volumes is chiefly occupied with tabular statements of the diseases
which prevailed, and the numbers dying of each, during the entire period
of our civil war. The coming volumes will treat of these diseases, the
treatment pursued, and will give photographs of the organs affected in
each disease.

The Museum proper is divided into four departments, Surgery, Medicine,
Anatomy, and Comparative Anatomy. These are all placed in the hall of
the third story. We reach this by an outer iron stair-case, whose walls
on either side are lined with sketches and plans of the battle-fields of
Gettysburg and Antietam, in black walnut frames. Entering the long hall,
we are confronted at once by the ghastly victims in the frames opposite,
and the eyes are quickly withdrawn to glance up and down along the
polished glass cases which line the walls. Above some of these cases
droop the flags and standards, the swords and sabres which have survived
the war. Models of ambulances, stretchers, and hospital tents, also have
a place on the top of these cases.

More than four-fifths of the specimens in the Museum have been presented
to it, or exchanged for duplicate objects, quantities of which are
stored in the attic, ready for exchange. The Army Medical Museum belongs
to the nation, and as its existence and object have been widely
published, it is in daily receipt of new specimens. It has become an
object of personal interest and pride to the medical fraternity of the
country, each one of whom is invited to become a contributor to its
pathological treasures. In a late official report, the Surgeon-General
thus refers to the subject, which is of interest to all medical persons:

“It is not intended to impose upon medical officers the labor of
dissecting and preparing the specimens they may contribute to the
Museum. This will be done under the superintendence of the curator. In
forwarding such pathological objects as compound fractures, bony
specimens, and wet preparations generally, obtained after amputation,
operation, or cadaveric examination, all unnecessary soft parts should
first be roughly removed. Every specimen should then be wrapped
separately in a cloth, so as to preserve all spiculæ and fragments. A
small block of wood should be attached, with the number of the specimen
and the name of the medical officer sending it inscribed in lead-pencil;
or a strip of sheet-lead, properly marked with the point of an awl, may
be employed for this purpose. In either case, the inscription will be
uninjured by the contact of fluids. The preparation should be then
immersed in diluted alcohol or whisky, contained in a keg or small cask.
When a sufficient number of objects shall have accumulated, the cask
should be forwarded to the Army Medical Museum, in Washington, D. C. The
expenses of expressage will be defrayed in Washington. The receipt of
the keg or package will be duly acknowledged by the curator of the
Museum.”

When the first Army Medical Museum report was issued, January 1, 1863,
the collection begun in August, 1862, numbered over thirteen hundred in
all. Since then the collection has grown to the following proportions.
In 1873 it contains over sixteen thousand objects. In the surgical
department alone, there are over six thousand. In the medical department
over eleven hundred. In the anatomical department over nine hundred. In
the department of comparative anatomy over one thousand. In the
microscopical department over six thousand. A library and
photograph-gallery belong exclusively to the Museum. The side rooms and
lower stories are used as the laboratories and work-rooms for preparing
and mounting the specimens for exhibition. The Army Medical Museum is a
great beginning—and yet only a beginning of one of the most unique,
precious and important, pathological collections in the world.




                             CHAPTER XLIV.
         “OLD PROBABILITIES’” WORKSHOP—HOW WEATHER CALCULATIONS
                               ARE MADE.

“Old Probabilities”—An Interesting Subject—The Weather Bureau—The
    Experience of Fifty Centuries—Value of Scientific
    Knowledge—Meteorological Observations—Brigadier-General Albert J.
    Meyer—His Life and Career—He Introduces System and Order—Foreseeing
    the Approach of Storms—The Fate of the _Metis_—Quicker than the
    Storm—The First Warning by Telegraph—Exchanging Reports with
    Canada—The “Observing Stations”—Protecting the River Commerce—The
    Signal Corps—The Examinations—The Sergeant’s Duties—The
    Signal-Stations—The Work of the Observers—Preparing Bulletins at
    Washington—Professor Maury’s Account—Safeguards Against
    Mistakes—Deducing Probabilities—Despatching Bulletins—Preparing
    Meteorological Maps—Recording Observations—Watching the Storm—The
    Storm at San Francisco—Prophetic Preparations—Perfect
    Arrangements—Training the Sergeants—General Meyer’s Work—“Away up G
    Street”—The Home of Old and Young “Probabilities”—An Extraordinary
    Mansion—The “Kites and Windmills”—Inside the Mansion—The
    Apparatus—“The Unerring Weather-Man”—“Old Probabilities” Himself—How
    Calculations are Made—“Young Probabilities”—Interesting Facts.


There is no theme, not excepting marriage, birth, and death, that is
more absorbing than “the weather.” It has made and unmade kingdoms, it
has brought triumph in battle, and terrible defeat, it has brought woe
and death; but that was before the day of “Old Probabilities,” or the
Weather Bureau.

It is your own fault now, if your wedding-day is wet and gloomy, or if
the rain pours into the open grave of the best-beloved. If you follow
the weather report, you will know days before what the weather, in all
probability, will be, and the report seldom fails. Even ten years ago,
who would have thought that he could so soon find in the newspaper the
almost unfailing prophecy of the skies of the coming day! Think of the
millions of anxious faces which have turned sky-ward since the earth
began! What eager and ignorant eyes have peered upward, to descry the
portents of the unseen, yet brooding storm. Ignorance has already given
place to knowledge, to a scientific forecasting of the elements, to a
forestatement of the conditions of earth and air.

This wonderful fact, in its influence, penetrates not only to the finest
fibre of social happiness, but influences all the civilizations of the
earth. Although the changes of the atmosphere have seemed the most
apparent of all the workings of nature, and have been more closely
watched, and more constantly commented on by mankind, than all others
taken together, after the lapse of fifty centuries, the desultory
observer is unable to predict certainly the weather of a single day.

The value of accurate scientific knowledge on a subject which affects
vitally the agricultural and commercial interests of the world, as well
as the physical health and spiritual happiness of mankind, cannot be
overestimated.

By a joint resolution of Congress, approved February 9, 1870, the
Secretary-of-War was authorized and required to provide for taking
meteorological observations at the military stations in the interior of
the continent, and at other points in the States and Territories of the
United States, and for giving notice on the northern lakes, and on the
sea-coast, by magnetic telegraph and marine signals, of the approach and
force of storms.

This special service was intrusted to the immediate supervision and
control of General Albert J. Meyer. The following record of his
services, in the United States Army, can but slightly indicate his
peculiar fitness for the position which he now holds.

Brevet Brigadier-General Albert J. Meyer, Colonel and Chief Signal
Officer, United States Army, was born in New York, and appointed
Assistant-Surgeon, United States Army, from that State, September, 1854.
He served on the Texas frontier, in the Rio Grande Valley, and at Fort
Davis, Texas, to 1857; on special duty, signal service, 1858 to 1860. He
was appointed Major and Chief Signal Officer, United States Army, July,
1860. In the Department of New Mexico to May, 1861; on staff of General
Butler, Fort Monroe, Va., June, 1861; organized and commanded Signal
Camp, Fort Monroe, Va.; _Aide-de-Camp_ to General McDowell at first
battle of Bull Run, Va.; Chief Signal Officer on staff of General
McClellan, and commanded Signal Corps, Army of the Potomac, to October,
1862; charge of Signal Office, Washington, D. C., to November, 1863.

He was appointed Colonel and Chief Signal Officer, United States Army,
March, 1863; member of Central Board of Examination for admission to
Signal Corps from April, 1863; on _reconnoissance_ of the Mississippi
River, between Cairo, Ill., and Memphis, Tenn., December, 1863, to May,
1864; Chief Signal Officer, Military Division of West Mississippi, May,
1864; Colonel and Chief Signal Officer, United States Army, July, 1866.
He was brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel, United States Army, for gallant and
meritorious services at the battle of Hanover Courthouse, Va.; Colonel,
United States Army, for gallant and meritorious services at the battle
of Malvern Hill, Va.; and Brigadier General, United States Army, for
distinguished services in organizing, instructing, and commanding Signal
Corps of the army, and for its especial service at Allatoona, Ga.,
October 5, 1864.

General Meyer graduated at Geneva College, New York, 1847, A. B. and A.
M., and took the degree of M. D., at the University of Buffalo, in 1851.
He is the author of a manual of signals for the United States Army and
Navy.

Upon his appointment as Chief of the Signal Service, of the United
States Army, General Meyer at once inaugurated a systematic plan; he
established stations at all points, decided by competent authorities to
be important and practicable. These he provided with plain, efficient
instruments, and keen, trained observers, whose duty it was to report
three times daily, at intervals of eight hours. These reports, made in
abbreviated cypher, were conveyed by telegraph. With the delivery of the
reports at Washington, and at other important posts to which they were
sent, began the practical workings of the “Weather Bureau” in the Signal
Service of the United States. January 15, 1871, the stations on the
Atlantic Coast, with others, were added to the list reporting.

One of the most important practical functions of the Bureau, is that of
giving warning of approaching storms to vessels at the ports on the
lakes. The unfortunate _Metis_ received such a warning before it started
on its last disastrous voyage. It gave no heed, and in consequence went
to wreck, and scattered its victims thick as snow-flakes on the
engulfing waters of the Sound. The velocity of a storm being accurately
observed at any one of the stations, it was easy to predict with
accuracy the time of its arrival at any given point lying in its path;
while the lightning wing of the telegraph bore this knowledge
instantaneously to the threatened point.

The first telegraphic warning given thus was sent and bulletined at the
several ports along the lakes, November 8, 1870.

The system was soon carried still nearer perfection by the adoption of
cautionary signals. The first of these was displayed at Oswego, N. Y.,
October 26, 1871. Near this time, without any cost to the United States,
the Bureau obtained a considerable extension to its area of observation.

In time the Canadian Government made a considerable appropriation to
establish a similar system in the Dominion. Professor Kingston, chief of
the Meteorological Bureau of Canada, requested of General Meyer an
exchange of reports. Arrangements for such an exchange were duly made,
and the first reports from Toronto were forwarded to the United States,
November 13, 1871. Reports were also exchanged with the director of the
Observatory at Montreal. The Canadian reports are made synchronously
with those of the United States and in the same cypher. The stations of
the Dominion are van-posts to the United States, giving warning of
storms moving downward from the north.

By the Act of Congress, approved June 10, 1872, it was made the duty of
the Secretary-of-War to provide such stations, signals and reports as
might be found necessary for the benefit of the commercial and
agricultural interests throughout the country. In response to an
invitation made by the Chief Signal Officer, eighty-nine agricultural
societies and thirty-eight boards of trade and chambers of commerce have
appointed meteorological committees to coöperate and correspond with the
Signal Bureau. The observing stations now number eighty-five. New
stations are constantly being added. The station at Mount Washington is
six thousand two hundred and ninety feet above the level of the sea.
Other mountain-stations are to be established for the purpose of making
observations upon the varying meteorological phenomena of different
altitudes. These observations are sometimes made in a balloon.

To obtain reports of observations at sea, to some extent, the
coöperation of ship-captains and of officers at the head of exploring
expeditions has been obtained. A constant interchange of correspondence
is also maintained with foreign meteorological societies. Five hundred
tri-daily reports are constantly sent abroad. The same exchange with
foreign governments will be arranged as soon as possible.

Besides weather-reports, a system of observation on the changes in the
depth of waters in the principal Western rivers is already established.
Great pains are taken with the reports on this subject, which are made
to protect the river commerce from ice and freshets, and the lower river
_levées_ from breakage and overflow. The observations on the weather
embrace those on atmospheric pressure, temperature, humidity of the air,
force, direction and velocity of the wind, and the amount of rain-fall.
For these purposes each station is carefully provided with appropriate
instruments by the central office.

The Signal Corps is composed of a commanding officer with the rank of
brigadier-general, several commissioned officers, and a certain number
of sergeants and enlisted men. The sergeants are required to be
proficient in spelling, the ground-rules of arithmetic, including
decimal fractions, and the geography of the United States, and are
required to write a legible hand. They are examined in these branches
before being admitted into the service. They are also subjected to a
medical examination, and only men of sound physical condition are
accepted. They are regularly enlisted into the military service of the
United States, and are subject to the regulations for the government of
the army.

Immediately upon admission to the corps, each sergeant is sent to Fort
Whipple, in Virginia, opposite Washington, where he is taught the duties
of his profession, which are “chiefly those pertaining to the
observation, record and proper publication and report, at such times as
may be required, of the state of the barometer, thermometer, hygrometer,
and rain-gauge, or other instruments, and the report by telegraph or
signal, at such times as indicated, and to such places as may be
designated by the chief signal officer, of the observations as made, or
such other information as may be required.” The text-books used in the
school at Fort Whipple, are Loomis’s “Text Book of Meteorology,”
Buchan’s “Hand Book of Meteorology,” Pape’s “Practical Telegraphy,” and
the “Manual of Signals for the United States Army.” Instruction in the
use of the instruments is also given, and the sergeant is taught to
operate the telegraph. He is required to make daily recitations, and
when he is considered prepared, by his instructor, he is ordered before
an examining board, and is subjected to a rigid examination. If he is
found properly qualified, he is assigned to a signal station in some
part of the country, and is allowed an enlisted man to assist him in his
duties.

There are eighty-five signal stations, located in various parts of the
Union, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from British America to the
Gulf of Mexico. Each of these is supplied with a full set of the
instruments necessary for ascertaining the condition of the weather,
etc., and is in charge of an observer-sergeant, who is required to make
observations three times a day, by means of his instruments, which are
adjusted to a standard at Washington. These observations are made at 8
A. M., at 4 P. M., and at midnight. Each post of observation is
furnished with a clock which is regulated by the standard of Washington
time, so that the observations are taken precisely at the same moment
all over the United States.

The result of each observation is immediately telegraphed to the Signal
Office at Washington, the Government having made arrangements with the
telegraph companies to secure the instant transmission of these
messages. The reports are limited to a fixed number of words, and the
time of their transmission to a fixed number of seconds.

The signal stations, as at present located throughout the country, have
been chosen or located at points from which reports of observations will
be most useful as indicating the general barometric pressure, or the
approach and force of storms, and from which storm warnings, as the
atmospheric indications arise, may be forwarded, with greatest dispatch,
to imperilled ports.

The work of the observers at the stations is simple. It is limited to a
reading of their instruments at stated times, the transmission to
Washington of the results of these observations, and of information of
any meteorological facts existing at the station, when their tri-daily
report is telegraphed to Washington. The work of the officers on duty at
the Signal Office in Washington, is of a higher character, and demands
of them the highest skill and perfect accuracy. The reports from the
various stations are read and recorded as they come in, and from them,
the officer charged with this duty prepares a statement of the condition
of the weather during the _past_ twenty-four hours, and indicates the
changes most likely to occur within the _next_ twenty-four hours. These
statements are prepared shortly after midnight, and are at once
telegraphed to the various cities and important ports of the Union, in
time for their publication in the newspapers the next morning.

Professor Maury, of the Signal Office, thus sums up the working of the
service:

  “Each observer at the station writes his report on manifold paper. One
  copy he preserves, another he gives to the telegraph-operator, who
  telegraphs the contents to Washington. The preserved copy is a voucher
  for the report actually sent by the observer; and, if the operator is
  careless, and makes a mistake, he cannot lay the blame on the
  observer, who has a copy of his report, which must be a _fac-simile_
  of the one he has handed to the operator. The preserved copy is
  afterward forwarded by the Observer-Sergeant to the office in
  Washington, where it is filed, and finally bound up in a volume for
  future reference.

  “When all the reports from the various stations have been received,
  they are tabulated and handed to the officer, (Professor Abbe,) whose
  duty it is to write out the synopsis and deduce the ‘probabilities,’
  which in a few minutes are to be telegraphed to the press all over the
  country. This is a work of thirty minutes. The bulletin of
  ‘probabilities,’ which at present is all that is undertaken, is made
  out thrice daily, in the forenoon, afternoon, and after the midnight
  reports have been received, inspected, and studied out by the
  accomplished gentleman and able meteorologist, who is at the head of
  this work. The ‘probabilities’ for the weather for the ensuing day, so
  soon as written out by the Professor, are immediately telegraphed to
  all newspapers in the country who are willing to publish them for the
  benefit of their readers.”

Copies of the telegrams of “Probabilities” are also instantly sent to
all boards of trade, chambers of commerce, merchants’ exchanges,
scientific societies, etc., and to conspicuous places, especially
sea-ports, all over the country.

While the professor is preparing his bulletins from the reports just
furnished him by telegraph, the sergeants are preparing maps which shall
show, by arrows and numbers, exactly what was the meteorologic condition
of the whole country when the last reports were sent in. These maps are
printed in quantities, and give all the signal stations. A dozen copies
are laid on the table with sheets of carbon paper between them, and
arrow-stamps strike in them (by the manifold process) the direction of
the window at each station. The other observations as to temperature,
barometric pressure, etc., etc., are also in the same way put on them.
These maps are displayed at various conspicuous points in Washington,
_e. g._, at the War Department, Capitol, Observatory, Smithsonian
Institute, and the office of the chief signal-officer. They serve also
as perfect records of the weather for the day and hour indicated on
them, and are bound up in a book for future use.

Every report and paper that reaches the Signal Office is carefully
preserved on a file, so that, at the end of each year, the office
possesses a complete history of the meteorology of every day in the
year, or nearly 50,000 observations, besides the countless and
continuous records from all of its self-registering instruments.

When momentous storms are moving, observers send extra telegrams, which
are dispatched, received, acted upon, filed, etc., precisely as are the
tri-daily reports. One invaluable feature of the system, as now
organized by General Meyer, is that the phenomena of any particular
storm are not studied some days or weeks after the occurrence, but while
the occurrence is fresh in mind. To the study of every such storm, and
of all the “probabilities” issued from the office, the chief
signal-officer gives his personal and unremitting attention. As the
observations are made at so many stations, and forwarded every eight
hours, or oftener, by special telegram from all quarters of the country,
the movements and behavior of every decided storm can be precisely
noted; and the terrible meteor can be tracked and “raced down” in a few
hours or minutes.

An instance of this occurred on the 22d of February, 1871, just after
the great storm which had fallen upon San Francisco. While it was still
revolving round that city, its probable arrival at Corinne, Utah, was
telegraphed there, and also at Cheyenne. Thousands of miles from its
roar, the officers at the Signal Office in Washington indicated its
track, velocity, and force. In twenty-four hours, as they had
fore-warned Cheyenne and Omaha, it reached those cities. Chicago was
warned twenty-four hours before it came. It arrived there with great
violence, unroofing houses and causing much destruction. Its course was
telegraphed to Cleveland and Buffalo, both of which places, a day after,
it duly visited. The President of the Pacific Railroad has not more
perfectly under his eye and control the train that left San Francisco,
to-day, than General Meyer had the storm just described.

While the observers now in the field are perfecting themselves in their
work, the chief signal-officer is training other sergeants at the camp
of instruction (Fort Whipple, Virginia), who will go forth hereafter as
valued auxiliaries. It has been fully demonstrated by the signal-officer
that the army of the United States is the best medium through which to
conduct most efficiently and economically the operations of the Storm
Signal-Service. Through the army organization the vast system of
telegraphy for meteorological purposes can be, and is now being most
successfully handled. “Whatever else General Meyer has not done,” says
the New York _World_, “he has demonstrated that there can be, and now
is, a perfect net-work of telegraphic communication extending over the
whole country, working in perfect order, by the signal-men, and capable
of furnishing almost instantaneous messages from every point to the
central office at Washington.”

Away up on G street we see the scientific home of both old and young
“Probabilities.” We see it from afar, for its high Mansard seems to be
stuck full of boys’ kites and wind-mills, playing and flying with the
winds. It looks like a gigantic play-house. Any mortal, scientific or
otherwise, would pause before this ancient house with an infantile roof,
and wonder what child of larger growth amused himself playing with all
the vanes and anemometers on its roof. It is painted a pearly drab.
Fresh and fair, it has the effect of a youthful wig on an old man’s
head, or a girl’s spring hat perched upon the head of a wintry old lady.
Inside, the house looks less like a Skimpole in brick, and really takes
on a cheerfully serious air.

On the first floor, we find two large offices, and a cozy little
library, which stows away one thousand books, or more, on Meteorology,
and its kindred themes. In its eastern hall, hang three great
weather-maps, on which the state and changes of the weather at all the
stations, for the past twenty-four hours, are indicated by established
symbols. The second and third stories are occupied by the telegraphic
corps. To this the station-work proper is assigned. In one room is the
telegraphic apparatus, connecting with the many lines over which
weather-reports are received from all over the country. After
translation from the cypher into every-day speech, the reports are
combined, and the weather-bulletin prepared. On this floor, also, the
weekly mail-reports, from the widely-scattered stations, are received,
examined, corrected, and filed for future use. Here, tucked away in a
little room, we find “Acting Probabilities”—Professor Abbe, the unerring
“weather-man,” who makes ready the synopsis each day prepared for the
Associate Press Agents, Postmasters, etc.

We are sure, also, somewhere, to come in contact with “Old
Probabilities” himself, supervising all. Like Professor Abbe, strange to
say, he is a young man. General Meyer looks soldierly, and trig. He has
fair face and hair, closely-cut whiskers, a rather small head, and a
pair of inquiring, wise-looking eyes. The entire top floor is devoted to
“local observations, and the gentlemen who play with the wind-mills and
high-flying kites, upon the roof.” Among the instruments used here, are
Hough’s barograph, a self-registering tide gauge; Addie’s London
barometer, which is acknowledged as the standard barometer; Gibbon’s
electric self-recording anemometer and anemoscope, the inventions of
Lieutenant Gibbon, of the Signal-Service. The working force of the
office is divided into three reliefs, each of which is on duty eight
hours out of the twenty-four.

Any night, one sitting by this window, at a late hour, may see a slender
youth shooting past toward the Signal-Service Bureau. This is “Young
Probabilities,” and he is dressed in white. He is going to forecast the
midnight portents for the next day.

The positive advantage of the midnight probabilities is that they relate
to the weather of the coming day, and appear at the breakfast table to
tell Dick and Dolly what, and what _not_ to do. The number of
weather-maps issued daily from the central office is 600; from St. Louis
200; from New York 200; from Philadelphia, Chicago and Cincinnati 100
each, making a daily issue of 1,300. All of these are lithographed and
printed at the central office.

[Illustration:

  “OLD PROBABILITIES’” INSTRUMENT ROOM.
  Storm and Weather Signal Service Bureau.—Washington.
]

“During the year 1872, 16,064 weather bulletins and 107,888 maps were
issued from the office, and 2,920 reports furnished to the press. The
work of the office has been recently extended by the publication of the
probabilities based upon the midnight reports, which are widely
distributed through the joint agency of the Signal Bureau and the
Post-Office Department. Four hundred copies are issued from the
Washington office, 1,000 from New York, 1,500 from Cincinnati, 800 from
Detroit, 1,500 from Chicago, and 1,000 from St. Louis, and it is
expected that the number will be still further increased during the
year. The printed copies are sent by mail to each post-office within a
radius of one hundred miles of the several points of distribution, to
which the matter is telegraphed from the central office.”

“The practical value of the observations on our western rivers is
strikingly illustrated by the report of the observer at Memphis, Tenn.,
who states that captains and pilots of boats generally decide by the
reports of the Signal Bureau, on the board on the _levée_ at that port,
whether the depth of the water above is sufficient to permit them to
ascend the upper Mississippi or the Ohio. Before these reports were
published, boats arriving during the night lost from six to ten hours in
waiting for the telegraphic reports in the morning papers.

“A curious illustration of the legal value of the reports is furnished
by the observer at Shreveport, La., who was summoned as a witness in a
murder case, as to the condition of the river and the direction of the
wind at the time of the supposed murder. These circumstances formed an
essential part of the proof in the case.

“Perhaps few people would have supposed that the reports of the Bureau
could have any relation to the practice of medicine, yet it is said to
be a fact that many intelligent physicians avail themselves of the
records of the stations in recommending to their patient an equable and
agreeable climate. An observer at Indianapolis reports that several are
accustomed to note the readings of the barometer every morning and
evening, and one of them assured him that he modified his prescriptions
according to barometric changes, believing that such changes have a
direct effect upon the condition of his patients.

“Among the most important of the advantages connected with operations of
the Weather Bureau are those arising from the continuous registering of
atmospheric conditions, which will enable the scientific inquirer to
determine, from the records of the office, the degree of temperature,
barometric pressure, moisture of the air, the amount of rainfalls, the
direction of the wind at various points for long periods of time. Having
these data for various sections, agriculturists, microscopists, and
mycologists will be enabled to determine in advance the probabilities as
to the prevalence of particular classes of fungi in any district, and
thus to indicate the adaptation of such districts for the cultivation of
the grains, vegetables, or fruits which are liable to be affected by
fungoid diseases.

“The signal service is not without its humorous side, an instance of
which is furnished by the observer at Fort Gibson, Indian Territory. The
establishment of the station at that point, early last spring, chanced
to be followed by a long-continued period of unusually wet and stormy
weather. This the Indians attributed to the observer, whom some person
of waggish propensities had represented to them as the man that
regulated the weather. After bearing their supposed persecution with
exemplary fortitude for some weeks, their patience finally gave way, and
they held an indignation meeting, at which it was seriously proposed to
tear down the station. It was ultimately determined, however, to consult
their agent; and upon his representing to them the true state of
affairs, they reconciled themselves to the ‘weather-witch,’ and wisely
resolved to wait peacefully for better times.”




                              CHAPTER XLV.
THE NAVY DEPARTMENT—THE UNITED STATES OBSERVATORY—THE STATE DEPARTMENT.

Primitive Arrangements—The Navy in Early Days—The Department of the Navy
    Established—The Secretary’s Office—The Navy-Yards and Docks—The
    Bureau of Construction—The Bureau of Provisions and
    Clothing—Equipment of Vessels—Bureau of Ordnance and Hydrography—The
    Naval Observatory—The Bureau of Medicine—Interesting Statistics—The
    Navy Seventy Years Ago—The “Day of Small Things”—Instructions of the
    Great Napoleon—Keeping Pace with England—The Glories of Foote,
    Ferry, Porter and Farragut—Scene from the Observatory—Peeping
    Through the Telescope—The Mountains in the Moon—The Largest
    Telescope in the World—Making Mathematical Notes—A Passion for
    Star-gazing—Casting Horoscopes—Gazing for Pastime—“For the Sake of
    Science”—The Chronometers of the Government—Comparing Notes—The Test
    of Time—Chronometers on Trial—The Wind and Current Charts—The Good
    Deeds of Lieutenant Maury—“The Habits of the Whale”—The Equatorial—A
    Self-acting Telescope—The Transit Instrument—The Great Astronomical
    Clock—Telling Time by Telegraph—Hearing the Clock Tick Miles
    Away—The Transit of Venus—Great Preparations—A Trifle of
    Half-a-Million of Miles—The Department of Foreign Affairs—The
    Secretary of State—A Little Secret Suggestion—The Diplomatic
    Bureau—The Consular Bureau—The Disbursing-Agent—The
    Translator—The Clerk-of-Appointments—Clerk-of-the-Rolls—The
    Clerk-of-Authentications—Pardons and Passports—The Superintendent of
    Statistics.


The first intention of the fathers of the American Republic was to
provide for a chief clerk, under whose direction contracts might be made
for munitions of war, and the inspection of provisions necessary for
carrying on war by land or sea.

As the maritime warfare of the United States increased in the brilliancy
of its victories, the necessity for a separate organization to control
its officers, and to provide for the feeding, equipment, and payment of
its sea-faring warriors gradually became apparent; but it was not until
the thirtieth day of April, 1798, that Congress was sufficiently
apprised of this necessity to pass and secure the approval of an “Act to
establish an Executive Department, to be denominated the Department of
the Navy,” and on the twenty-second day of June of the same year an Act
was passed granting the franking privilege to the Secretary of the Navy.

Subsequent legislation has dealt more with the _morale_ of the navy than
with the functions of the department; reference to various other Acts is
therefore omitted.

As organized in 1860, the department consists of the following
officials: The Secretary; Chief-Clerk; Bureau of Navy-yards and Docks;
Bureau of Provisions and Clothing; Bureau of Ordnance and Hydrography;
and the Bureau of Medicine and Surgery.

The division of labor is as follows:

Secretary’s Office: The Secretary has charge of everything connected
with the naval establishment, and the execution of all laws relating
thereto is intrusted to him, under the general direction of the
President of the United States, who, by the Constitution, is
Commander-in-chief of the Army and Navy. All instructions to commanders
of squadrons and commanders of vessels, all orders of officers,
commissions of officers, both in the navy and marine corps, appointments
of commissioned and warrant-officers, orders for the enlistment and
discharge of seamen, emanate from the Secretary’s office. All the duties
of the different Bureaus are performed under the authority of the
Secretary, and their orders are considered as emanating from him. The
general superintendence of the marine corps forms also a part of the
duties of the Secretary, and all the orders of the commandant of that
corps should be approved by him.

Bureau of Navy-yards and Docks: Chief-of-the-Bureau, four clerks, one
civil-engineer and one draughtsman. All the navy-yards, docks and
wharves, buildings and machinery in navy-yards, and everything
immediately connected with them, are under the superintendence of this
Bureau. It is also charged with the management of the Naval Asylum.

Bureau of Construction, Equipment, and Repair: Chief-of-the Bureau,
eight clerks, and one draughtsman. The office of the Engineer-in-chief
of the Navy, who is assisted by three assistant-engineers, is attached
to this Bureau. This Bureau has charge of the building and repairs of
all vessels-of-war, purchase of materials, and the providing of all
vessels with their equipments, as sails, anchors, water-tanks, etc. The
Engineer-in-chief superintends the construction of all marine
steam-engines for the navy, and, with the approval of the Secretary,
decides upon plans for their construction.

Bureau of Provisions and Clothing: Chief-of-Bureau and four clerks. All
provisions for the use of the navy, and clothing, together with the
making of contracts for furnishing the same, come under the charge of
this Bureau.

Bureau of Ordnance and Hydrography: Chief-of-Bureau, four clerks, and
one draughtsman. This Bureau has charge of all ordnance and ordnance
stores, the manufacture or purchase of cannon, guns, powder, shot,
shells, etc., and the equipment of vessels-of-war, with everything
connected therewith. It also provides them with maps, charts,
chronometers, barometers, etc., together, with such books as are
furnished to ships-of-war. The United States Naval Observatory and
Hydrographical Office at Washington, and the Naval Academy at Annapolis,
are also under the general superintendence of the Chief of this Bureau.

Bureau of Medicine and Surgery: Chief-of-Bureau, one
Passed-Assistant-Surgeon United States Navy, and two clerks. Everything
relating to medicines and medical stores, treatment of sick and wounded,
and management of hospitals, comes within the superintendence of this
Bureau.

The following statistics may be interesting to some of our readers: In
1806, the number of seamen authorized by law was 925, to which number
3,600 were added in 1809. In 1812, Congress authorized the President to
employ as many as would be necessary to equip the vessels to be put in
service, and to build as many vessels for the lakes as the public
service required. In January, 1814, there were in actual service seven
frigates, two corvettes, seven sloops-of-war, two block-ships, four
brigs, and three schooners, for sea, besides the several lake-squadrons,
gunboats, and harbor-barges, three ships-of-the-line, and three frigates
on the stocks. The whole number of men and officers employed was 13,339,
of which 3,729 were able seamen, and 6,721 ordinary. The marine corps,
as enlarged in 1814, was 2,700 men and officers. The commissioned naval
officers combatant were 22 captains, 18 commanders, 107 lieutenants, 450
midshipmen.

In 1814, Secretary Jones reported to the Senate that there were three
74-gun and three 44-gun ships building, six new sloops-of-war built,
twenty barges and one hundred and twenty gun-boats employed in the
Atlantic waters, thirty-three vessels of all sizes for sea, afloat or
building, and thirty-one on the lakes. Even in 1813, the energy of this
department had led the first Napoleon to issue the following
instructions to his Minister of Marine:

  “You will receive a decree by which I order the building, at Toulon,
  at Rochefort, and at Cherburg, of a frigate of American construction.
  I am certain that the English have had built a considerable number of
  frigates on that model. They go better, and they adopt them; we must
  not be behindhand. Those which you will have built at Toulon, at
  Rochefort, and at Cherburg, will manœuvre in the roads, and give us to
  understand what to think of the model.”

Since then, in defence of the nation, the American Navy has won
victories which placed it in the front rank of the navies of the world.
Mobile, with the names of Foote, Terry, Porter and Farragut, do not pale
before any victories or names of earth.

A soft midsummer night, we stood upon the roof of the United States
Observatory. Beneath us was Braddock’s Hill, where, generations gone,
the young surveyor dreamed; and stretching far on to its guardian
Capitol, the city which he foresaw—a verity now—its myriad lights
twinkling through the misty distance. To our right was Georgetown;
beyond Arlington Heights, and House; before us the Potomac, winding on
to Alexandria; above us the fathomless heavens, the waxing moon and
silent stars. Professor Harkness moved an axle; the great revolving dome
turned round and parted; the great telescope was pointed to the opening,
and the broad seam of sky visible between. We mounted the perch, and
there were the mountains in the moon! their jagged edges, their yawning
craters, yet only for a moment; for earth and moon are swift travellers.
In a moment Madame Moon had outstripped our point of vision, and we had
to pursue her.

Just before us was the unfinished dome of another observatory, wherein
will soon be placed the largest telescope in the world. Beside us two
other open domes, and upward pointed telescopes, told of other
star-gazers below. We descended. There, in a dimly-lighted room, stood a
solitary man peering through a telescope, its divining face uplifted to
the narrow field of stars visible through the open dome. Hush! An
observation! The solitary man whose face we now see is aged, and his
hair white, with swift and silent step turns from his telescope to his
desk, to make his mathematical notes.

“He need not do this unless he chooses,” says Professor H. “He was long
ago promoted above this work. But a man who has formed a passion for
star-gazing and observation never gets over it.” The room was dim and
silent enough to have been given up to the presence of death. One felt
as if some momentous operation were going on. The stars and the
star-gazer both were felt. I shrank silent, into a corner, till that
horoscope was cast, and the path of that far-away world measured to its
minutest fraction. In the opposite wing we found another star-gazer. Was
he gazing for pastime? Not at all. He was gazing for the Government and
the sake of science.

Thus, while the nation sleeps, its servants keep watch not only of the
weather, but of remotest worlds.

The chronometers belonging to the Government are kept in a room set
apart for that purpose. These instruments are purchased by the Navy
Department, with the understanding that they are to be tested in the
Observatory for one year. They are placed in the chronometer room, and
are carefully wound and regulated. They are examined daily, and compared
with the great Astronomical Clock of the Observatory, and an accurate
record of the movements of each one is kept in a book prepared for that
purpose.

The temperature of the room is also examined daily, and recorded. These
minute records enable the officers of the Observatory to point out the
exact fault of each imperfect chronometer. Thanks to this, the maker is
enabled to remedy the defect, and the instrument is made perfect. At the
end of the year, the instruments found to be unsatisfactory are returned
to their makers, and those which pass the test are paid for. The
returned instruments are usually overhauled by the makers, and the
defects remedied. They are then sent back for a trial of another year,
at the end of which time they rarely fail to pass.

There are usually from sixty to one hundred chronometers on trial at the
Observatory, and the apartment in which they are kept is one of the most
interesting in the establishment.

The researches connected with the famous “Wind-and-Current-Charts,”
begun and prosecuted so successfully by Lieutenant Matthew F. Maury,
whose services were lost to the country by his participation in the
Rebellion, are conducted here, and also those connected with “The Habits
of the Whale,” and other ocean phenomena.

The Equatorial, which is the largest telescope in the Observatory, is
mounted in the revolving dome which rises above the main building. It
has a fourteen-feet refractor, and an object-glass nine inches in
diameter. Its movements are most ingenious, being regulated by machinery
and clock-work. Its powers are so great, that it renders stars visible
at midday, and, if directed at a given star in the morning, its
machinery will work so accurately, that it will follow with perfect
exactness the path of the star, which will be visible through it as long
as the star is above the horizon. The Meridian and Mural Circles are in
one of the rooms below.

The Transit-Instrument is placed in the west wing of the building, under
a slit twenty inches wide, extending across the roofs, and down the wall
of the apartment on each side, to within four or five feet of the floor.
It was made by Estel & Son, Munich, and is a seven-foot achromatic, with
a clear aperture of 5.3 inches. The mounting consists of two granite
piers, seven feet high, each formed of a solid block of that stone, let
down below the floor and imbedded in a stone foundation eight feet deep,
and completely isolated from the building. Midway between the piers, and
running north and south, is the artificial horizon composed of a slab of
granite ten feet long, nineteen inches deep, and thirteen inches broad;
it rests on the foundation, and is isolated from the floor, with the
level of which the top of it is even, with a space all round it of half
an inch. In the middle of this slab, and in the nadir of the telescope,
there is a mortise, nine inches square and ten inches deep, in which the
artificial horizon is placed to protect it from the wind during the
adjustment for collimation, or the determination of the error of
collimation of level, and the adjustment for stellar focus, verticality
of wires, and the other uses of the collimating eye-piece.

The great Astronomical Clock, or “Electro-Chronograph” is placed in the
same room with the Transit-Instrument, and is used in connection with it
to denote sidereal time. It was invented by Professor John Locke, of
Cincinnati, and is one of the most remarkable instruments in the world.
By means of an electrical battery in the building, the movements of this
clock can be repeated by telegraph in any city or town in the land to
which the wires extend. With the wires connected with it, its ticks may
be heard in any part of the country, and it will record the time so
accurately that an astronomer in Portland or New Orleans can tell with
exactness the time of day by this clock. It also regulates the time for
the city. There is a flag-staff on top of the dome, upon which a black
ball is hoisted at ten minutes before noon, every day. This is to warn
persons desiring to know the exact time to examine their watches and
clocks. Just as the clock records the hour of twelve, the ball drops,
and thus informs the city that it is high noon.

The officials of the Naval Observatory have nearly completed the plan of
operation for observing the transit of Venus, which will occur in
December, 1874. Eight parties of five persons each will be dispatched;
four to stations in the Southern Hemisphere, and the others to the
Northern. Those going south of the Equator will leave New York next
spring in a naval vessel, specially prepared and fitted for their
accommodation, while others will probably proceed to their stations by
mail-steamer. The posts in the Southern Hemisphere will be on the
Kerguelen Islands, Auckland and Van Diemen’s Land. In the northern
station they will be located at Yokohama, Nangasaki, Shanghai, and near
the Siberian border.

After the transit, the observers in the Southern Hemisphere will be
collected by a Government ship, transported to Japan, and sent home by
mail-steamer. The whole expedition will probably occupy a year at least.
Each party will include astronomers and photographer, with a complete
equipment and apparatus for obtaining perfect observations and a record
of the transit. Prof. Harkness will have charge of the parties and
observations in the Southern Hemisphere, and Prof. Newcomb of those in
the Northern. The object of the observation, for which Congress has
appropriated $150,000, is to determine more accurately the distance
between the earth and the sun, and the Professors at the head of the
expedition expect to be able to settle the distance within half a
million of miles.

In July, 1789, Congress organized a “Department of Foreign Affairs,” and
placed it in charge of a secretary, who was called the “Secretary of the
Department of Foreign Affairs.” He was required to discharge his duties
“conformably to the instructions of the President,” but as his powers
were derived from Congress, he was required to hold himself amenable to
that body, to attend its sessions, and to “explain all matters
pertaining to his province.” In September, 1779, Congress changed the
title of the department to the “Department of State,” and made a
definite enumeration of the duties of the Secretary.

The head of the Department is the Secretary-of-State. His subordinates
are: an Assistant Secretary-of-State, a Chief-Clerk, a Superintendent of
Statistics, a Translator, a Librarian, and as many clerks as are needed.
The Secretary receives a salary of $8,000 per annum. He conducts all the
intercourse of this Government with the governments of foreign
countries, and is frequently required to take a prominent part in the
administration of domestic affairs. He countersigns all proclamations
and official documents issued by the President. If popular rumor be
correct, the Secretaries-of-State have frequently written the messages
and inaugurals of the Presidents, and thus have kept those august
personages from making laughing-stocks of themselves.

The duties of the office require the exercise of the highest ability,
and the Secretaries-of-State have usually been among the first statesmen
of our country. The first incumbent of the office was Thomas Jefferson,
and the present Secretary is the Hon. Hamilton Fish, of New York.

The Diplomatic-Bureau is in charge of, and conducts all the official
correspondence between the Department and the ministers and other agents
of the United States residing abroad, and the representatives of foreign
powers accredited to this Government. It is in this Bureau that all
instructions sent from the Department, and communications to
commissioners under treaties of boundaries, etc., are prepared, copied,
and recorded; all similar communications received by the Department are
registered and filed in this Bureau, and their contents are entered in
an analytical table or index.

The Consular-Bureau has charge of all correspondence and other business
between the Department and the consuls and commercial agents of the
United States. Applications for such positions are received and attended
to in this Bureau. A concise record of all its transactions is kept by
the clerk in charge of it.

The Disbursing-Agent has charge of all correspondence and other business
relating to any and all expenditures of money with which the Department
is charged.

The Translator is required to furnish translations of such documents as
may be submitted to him by the proper officers of the Department. He
also records the commissions of the consuls and the vice-consuls, when
not in English, upon which exequaturs are based.

The Clerk of Appointments and Commissions makes out and keeps a record
of all commissions, letters of appointment, and nominations to the
Senate; makes out and keeps a record of all exequaturs, and when in
English, the commissions on which they are issued. He also has charge of
the Library of the Department, which is large and valuable.

The Clerk of the Rolls and Archives has charge of the “rolls,” by which
are meant the enrolled acts and resolutions of Congress, as they are
received by the Department by the President. When authenticated copies
thereof are called for, he prepares them. He also prepares these acts
and resolutions, and the various treaties negotiated, for publication in
the newspapers and in book form, and superintends their passage through
the press. He distributes through the United States the various
publications of the Department, and receives and answers all letters
relating thereto. He has charge of all treaties with the Indian tribes,
and all business relating to them.

The Clerk of Authentications is in charge of the Seals of the United
States and of the Department, and prepares and attaches certificates to
papers presented for authentication; receives and accounts for the fees;
and records the correspondence of the Department, except the diplomatic
and consular letters. He also has charge of all correspondence relating
to territorial affairs.

The Clerk of Pardons and Passports prepares and records pardons and
remissions of sentences by the President; and registers and files the
papers and petitions upon which they are founded. He makes out and
records passports, and keeps a daily register of letters received, other
than diplomatic and consular, and the disposition made of them. He also
has charge of the correspondence relating to his business.

The Superintendent of Statistics prepares the “Annual Report of the
Secretary of State and Foreign commerce,” as required by the acts of
1842 and 1856.




                             CHAPTER XLVI.
 INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE—THE STORY OF A “PUB. DOC.”—WOMEN
                                WORKERS.


Another Government Hive—The Largest Printing Establishment in the
    World—Judge Douglass’s Villa—The Celebrated “Pub. Doc.”—“Making Many
    Books”—The Convenience of a “Frank”—The Omnipresent “Doc.”—A
    Weariness to the Flesh—An Average “Doc.”—A Personal Experience—What
    the Nation’s Printing Costs—“Not Worth the Paper”—A Melancholy
    Fact—Two Sides of the Question—Invaluable “Pub. Docs.”—Printing a
    Million Money-Orders—The Stereotype Foundry—A Few Figures—The
    Government Printing-Office—A Model Office—Aiding Human Labor—Working
    by Machinery—The Ink-Room—The Private Offices—Mr. Clapp’s
    Comfortable Office—The Proof-Reading Room—The Workers There—The
    Compositors’ Room—The Women-Workers—Setting Up Her Daily Task—A
    Quiet Spot for the Executive Printing—The Tricks and Stratagems of
    Correspondents—A Private Press in the White House—The Supreme Pride
    of a Congressional Printer—Rule-and-Figure Work—The Executive
    Binding-Room—Acres of Paper—Specimens of Binding—The “Most Beautiful
    Binding in the World”—Specimen Copies—Binding the Surgical History
    of the War—The Ladies Require a Little More Air—Delicate Gold-Leaf
    Work—The Folding-Room—An Army of Maidens—The Stitching-Room—The
    Needles of Women—A Busy Girl at Work—“Thirty Cents Apiece” Getting
    Used to it—The Girl Over Yonder—The Manual Labor System—The Story of
    a “Pub. Doc.”—Preparing “Copy”—“Setting Up”—Making-Up
    “Forms”—Reading “Proof”—The Press-Room—Going to Press—Folding,
    Stitching, and Binding—Sent Out to “the Wide, Wide World.”


Getting into the airy little Boundary car at Fifteenth street, it soon
brings us far out on H street to another busy Government hive—the
largest printing establishment in the world.

As late as 1859, the Government Printing-Office stood upon the suburbs.
“Judge Douglass’s Villa” was then one of the mile-stones which marked
the road thither, leading through grassy fields to the youngest
_faubourg_ of the capital. Closely-built metropolitan blocks already
stretch far beyond it, and the great Public Printing-Office no longer
stands on the “edge” of the city.

There is nothing so plenty in Washington, not even Congressmen, as the
“Pub. Doc.” We see it everywhere, and in every shape. Piles on piles of
huge unbound pamphlets, cumber and crowd the narrow lodgings of the
average Congressman, waiting the superscription, and formerly the
“frank,” which was to convey each one to ten thousand dear constituents.
They cram every available nook, “up stairs, down stairs, and in my
lady’s chamber.” They are patent receptacles for the dust, which defies
extermination. They overflow every public archive, and, falling down and
running over, demand that greater shall be builded. Thousands on
thousands have no covers, and tens of thousands more are clad in purple
and fine linen. The average Public Doc. is a weariness to flesh and
spirit. You get tired of the sight—so many, so many! And as for the
knowledge which it contains, it may be of infinite value to mankind, but
the pursuit of it through endless tables, reports, briefs and statements
is a weariness to the soul. I have tried it and know. If I had not, you
might never have known how many of these “Pub. Doc’s” are printed by the
Government, what for, and at what cost.

Well, I will give you a few items in figures, as they appear on the
books of the office. Of all executive and miscellaneous documents and
reports of Committees, there were printed in the Government
Printing-Office, last year, one thousand six hundred and twenty-five
copies for the Senate, and one thousand six hundred and fifty for the
House, also eight hundred and twenty-five copies of bills and
resolutions for the Senate and House each.

Statement showing the cost of Public Printing done in the Government
Printing-Office in the year 1872:

 ══════════════════════╤═════════════════════╤══════════╤══════════╤════════════
                       │ Printing and Paper  │Total cost│  Blank   │ Aggregate
      Department.      │      for same.      │    of    │  books,  │  cost of
                       │ ─────────│──────────│ printing │ binding, │ printing,
                       │ Printing │  Paper.  │   and    │ ruling,  │   paper
                       │          │          │  paper.  │   etc.   │and binding.
 ──────────────────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────┼────────────
 State Department      │ $8,445 45│ $4,244 40│$12,689 85│$11,416 55│  $24,106 40
 Treasury Department   │141,933 17│ 65,809 27│207,742 44│115,119 06│  322,861 50
 Interior Department   │128,414 53│ 37,593 76│166,008 29│ 59,789 71│  225,798 00
 War Department        │ 45,171 69│ 29,049 83│ 74,221 52│ 68,184 57│  142,406 09
 Navy Department       │ 52,156 77│ 12,302 95│ 64,459 72│ 23,541 68│   88,001 40
 Judiciary Department  │ 38,303 02│  1,219 37│ 39,522 39│  2,951 02│   42,473 41
 Post-Office Department│ 81,301 63│ 46,817 28│128,118 91│ 39,247 44│  167,366 35
 Department of Agri-   │  9,828 29│   7,59 77│ 17,428 06│  4,362 39│   21,790 45
 culture               │          │          │          │          │
 Office of Congres-    │  1,077 43│    135 54│  1,212 97│    290 45│    1,503 42
 sional Printer        │          │          │          │          │
 ──────────────────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────┼──────────┼────────────
 Total                 │506,631 98│204,772 17│711,404 15│324,902 87│1,036,307 02
 ══════════════════════╧══════════╧══════════╧══════════╧══════════╧════════════

Tens of thousands of public documents are published here whose intrinsic
value is not worth the paper they are printed on. After witnessing the
manual labor expended on them, it is melancholy to reflect that, with it
all, they are often less valuable than the unsullied paper would be.

While this is true of an immense number of “bills” and documents, and
reports of contested election cases printed in this building, it is
equally true that thousands of others are published here which are of
extreme value not only to the Government but the world.

It is through the presses of the Government Printing-House that the
public is informed what the Government is doing for science and for
philanthropy. It prints all the reports of the Smithsonian Institution;
Professor Hayden’s reports of yearly United States Geological Surveys,
including his very interesting and valuable reports on Wyoming, Montana,
Nebraska, and the famous Yellowstone Valley. The Medical Reports of the
War; Surgeon-General Barnes’ Medical and Surgical History of the War;
and Chief-Medical-Purveyor Baxter’s Report of the Medical Statistics of
the Provost-Marshal-General’s Bureau; Reports on the Diseases of Cattle
in the United States; on Mines and Mining; Postal Code and Coast-Survey
Reports; Reports of Commission of Education; of the Commissioner of the
United States to the International Penitentiary Congress at London;
Reports of the Government Institution for Deaf and Dumb and the Insane,
etc.

These make a very small proportion of the really interesting and
valuable reports issued yearly by the Government.

When we remember that many of these works are accompanied by copious
maps and illustrations, and that the processes of photolithographing,
lithographing and engraving are all executed within these walls, you can
form some estimate of the value of its services to the country.

The demands made upon it by each single department of the Government is
immense. The Post-Office will send in a single order for the printing of
one million money-orders; and the other departments cry out to have
their wants supplied in the same proportion.

The Stereotype Foundry, under the same roof, long ago vindicated itself
in the facts of convenience and economy. The following is a correct
exhibit of the product of its labor for the year ending September 30,
1872:

   Value of plates, &c., manufactured, at trade-prices,    $35,371 08
   Amount expended for labor and material consumed,         16,516 80
                                                                —————
                Net saving to the Government,              $18,854 28

The Government Printing-Office, from an external view, is a large, long,
plain brick building of four stories, with a cupola in the centre, and
flag-staffs at either end, from which the National banner floats on gala
days. If we enter from H street, a large open door on the side reveals
to us at once the power-press room, with its wheels and belts; its
women-workers and its mighty engine. This engine of eighty-horse power,
swings its giant lever to and fro, with the accuracy of a chronometer.
The boiler which supplies its steam-power is placed in a separate
building, so that in case of explosion the danger to human life would be
lessened. This boiler also supplies steam for heating the entire main
building, and for propelling a “donkey engine,” which performs the more
menial labor of pumping water.

This is not only the largest, but is one of the model printing-houses of
the world. Its typographical arrangements are perfect, and in each
department it is supplied with every appliance of ingenious and
exquisite mechanism to save human muscle and to aid human labor. In the
press-room, stretching before and on either side of the majestic engine,
we see scores of ponderous presses, their swiftly-flying rollers moving
with the perfect time of a watch—at each revolution clinching the
unsullied sheet of paper which, in an instant more, it tosses forth a
printed page.

When Benjamin Franklin tugged away at the little printing-press now
exhibited at the Patent-Office, an enormous amount of human muscle was
needed to perform press-work; but now, without effort and without
fatigue, the tireless engine supplies the material power, while women do
the work. On the lower floor of the main building we find the wetting
room, filled with troughs and all the liquids for dampening the immense
supply of paper, beside the hydraulic presses for smoothing it. On this
floor also is the “ink room,” with its vast supplies of “lamp-black and
oil” always ready for the rollers.

Ascending to the second story we come to the business and private
offices of the Government Printer—his clerks, telegraph-operators,
copy-holders, and proof-readers. Mr. A. M. Clapp, a man of clear
intellectual out-look, of benign expression and venerable years,
occupies a pleasant parlor for an office, furnished with plain desk,
chairs, a mirror, engravings and a Brussels’ carpet; it opens into a
_suite_ of rooms occupied by the Chief-Clerk, the Paymaster and the
Telegraph-Operator.

On the other side of the hall, we pass the open door of the
proof-reading room. This is comfortably filled with men, young and old.
The copy-holder and the proof-reader sit side by side, before a table or
desk. The copy-holder has in his hands the original manuscript, from
which he slowly reads, while the proof-reader listens, proof-sheets and
pencil in hand, erasing each error in print as he detects it, from the
lips of the copy-holder. The proof-reader is paid $26, the copy-holder
$24 per week.

Ascending a few steps, we come into the composition room, occupying the
central and larger portion of the second story. It contains sixty or
more windows, is spacious and well-lighted, and yet, especially in the
winter, when the windows are closed and the heat necessarily intense,
the fumes from the chemicals render the work very unhealthy, especially
to some constitutions. Long rows of double stands reach the entire
length of the apartment.

At every one of these stands a patient worker—he must be patient if he
is a faithful type-setter. Here are men past their prime, young men,
boys and one woman. There have been three. One left her stand for a
husband, another—Miss Mary Green—left hers to become the editor of a
real-estate journal in Indianapolis, Indiana. The third, in neat calico
dress and apron, stands beside a window, “setting up” her daily task.
The pay of women in this room is the same as that of the men, viz., $24
per week.

A portion of this floor is shut in for the executive printing. This was
made necessary by the fact that before it was done, the country found
out what was in the president’s message before it was published. Such
tricks and stratagems were used by “correspondents” to discover in
advance what was in the president’s message, that one president had a
press, types and workmen brought into the White House, that he might
have his message confidentially printed, and “keep it to himself” till
he was ready to give it to the world.

The supreme pride of these congressional printers is their
“rule-and-figure work.” Confused tables of Commercial statistics,
astronomical calculations, and abstracts of Government estimates, are
marshalled into columns with the precision of a well-trained brigade.

The executive binding-room is fitted up with powerful machines for
trimming the edges of books, shears for cutting pasteboard, etc. Here
stands a man who does nothing, from the beginning to the end of the
year, but cut book-covers. In another room are “ruling machines,”
exquisite pieces of mechanism, which trace, in a year, acres of paper
with the delicate red, blue or black lines which rule with mathematical
accuracy the blank-books of the Government.

The third floor is almost exclusively devoted to binding. Some of the
most beautifully bound books in the world here issue from the hands of
the Government bindery. There are always specimen-copies of scientific
and other important reports, which are bound in Turkey morocco, finely
marbled and exquisitely gilded. The first volume of the
Surgeon-General’s Medical and Surgical History of the War, on the day of
our visit, was receiving this artistic finish, of delicate gold leaf,
stamped upon the rich, dark-green morocco.

The furnaces for heating the stamps, for gilding, are heated by gas,
which is considered safer, cleaner and healthier than charcoal. Still
the ladies employed in this gold-leaf work suffer for want of air. The
hottest summer day the windows have to remain closed, as the lightest
zephyr may ruffle fatally the mimosa edges of the tremulous foil.

In the folding-room, on this floor, we find an army of maidens, whose
deft and flying fingers fold the sheets, and make them ready for the
binder. In the new wing beyond we come into the “stitching-room.” Here
also the busy fingers and needles of women fly. Long rows of women,
chiefly young girls, sit at tables beside wire frames, which hold down
and mark the piled-up folios.

Standing beside a young slender girl, she seemed to have the St. Vitus’
dance. Every muscle and nerve in her body flew. The very nerves in her
face twitched with the quick intensity of her movement; while her
fingers stuck the needle and drew the thread with the persistency of a
perpetual motion.

“You should be paid good wages to work like this,” I said.

“It is because I am paid so little that I have to work like this,” she
answered, not relaxing an atom.

“How much?”

“Thirty cents a-piece.”

“How many can you stitch a day?”

“Well, if I work like this all day, nine.”

“But I should think it would kill you to work like this all the time.”

“I’ve been doing it for four years, and I’m not dead yet.”

I did not inform her that she looked as if she soon would be, but asked,
“Doesn’t such constant, quick action give you pain?”

“Yes, in my shoulders, but I’ve got used to it.”

“Does any one else in this room stitch as fast as you do?”

“Only one,” said a smiling girl who rested with her needle in her mouth
to admire her dextrous companion. “There is only one other who can work
as fast as she; it is that girl, over yonder.”

There are no drones in this busy hive. The whole routine is based upon
the manual labor system. The Government _employé_, man or woman, in the
Government Printing-Office, instead of from 9 A. M to 3 P. M., as in all
other departments, works from 8 A. M. to 5 P. M., and for smaller pay,
proportionally, than is received in any other public Bureau.

Having told you the story of a Dollar, I will now tell that of a “Pub.
Doc.”—hoping that the next time you feel inclined to kick it for the
dust it gathers, and the room it takes up, you will forgive it these
misfortunes, for the sake of the many busy and patient human hands which
fashioned it.

First, it appears in the room of the Government Printer in the shape of
a huge pile of manuscript. Perhaps it is in copper-plate hand, “plain as
print;” perhaps, as is more likely, it is a bundle of unsightly
hieroglyphics written on “rags and tags” of paper of all sorts and
sizes. However it looks, in due time it appears in the composing-room,
accompanied with the directions of the Government Printer. It is
received by the foreman, who divides it into portions, or “takes,” and
it is now “copy.”

This copy is put in the hands of compositors, who place it, every word
and figure, into what is called a “composing stick.” When these are
filled with the set-up type, they are emptied on wooden boards called
“galleys.” Here the type is divided into pages, each one of which is
tied round with twine so that it can be carried away by a practiced
hand. These pages are now arranged on the imposing-stones, either by
fours or by eights, or by twelves, as the work is to be printed in
quarto, in octavo, or in duodecimo form. The pages are so regulated that
when the printed sheet is folded, they will read consecutively, and they
are then wedged tightly in a “chase,” or frame of iron. These pages of
type thus placed are called “forms.”

A rough impression of a form having been printed, it is given to the
proof-reader, who, with the copy-holder, notes all errors with printers’
marks. The compositor next receives these corrected pages; re-sets all
wrong letters with the right ones. When he has finished, he takes a
second proof impression, called a revise, which the proof-reader
compares with the first one, to see if all the errors have been
accurately corrected. This process of revising is repeated four times,
when the form is at last ready for the press.

It is then lowered by steam-power into the press-room. The form is laid
upon a smooth iron table, called “the bed of the press,” where it is
treated to a good beating. It is levelled by a block of wood called a
planer, and pounded with a mallet, that no aspiring type may stick its
nose above its fellows, and mar the perfect level of the printed page.

Meanwhile, a sufficient quantity of paper has been taken from the public
store-house to the wetting-room. There it has been dampened, quire by
quire, turned and laid in piles under the crushing pressure of an
hydraulic-pump, worked by steam-power. When taken out the paper is ready
for the press.

The rollers are brought from the room in which they are cleaned and
kept, and set in the press. The ink fountain is filled. Sheet on sheet
of spotless paper is placed aloft. The young woman who is to “tend”
mounts to her perch. The steam-power is applied, and the printing
begins.

The maiden takes in her hand a single snowy sheet, and spreads it on the
inclined plane before her. It is caught by steel fingers and clutched
into the abyss beneath. There it passes swiftly over the pages of type
just moistened with ink from the rollers, which were previously coated
by revolving cylinders. When the sheet is directly above the type, its
flight is for an instant stayed, and by a potent mechanical movement the
impression is given, and the sheet is printed. Onward it moves
transfigured, till, by the puff of a pair of bellows, it is thrown upon
a frame-work which throws it, smooth and fresh, upon a table on the
opposite side of the table, and by this time another is on its way.
Swiftly almost as thought it is tossed above it. In a briefer time than
the process is traced, the unsullied sheets above have been transmuted
into printed pages piled upon the table below.

Only one side of a sheet is printed at a time; thus each one goes
through the press twice before it leaves the press-room. Each sheet has
its own special care. It is carried into the drying-room with a pile.
Each one takes its place on a large frame which is pulled out on hanging
rollers. When one of these frames is covered with damp sheets it is
pushed into the drying-machine, which is made of ranges of steam tubes,
which keep a high temperature, while the vapor is carried off by a
system of ventilation.

When the sheets are dried, the frames are pulled out, and the printed
sheets are taken from them to be pressed. Each printed sheet is put
between two sheets of hard, smooth pasteboard, and its high piles of
alternate layers are subjected again to the intense power of the
hydraulic-press. It comes forth from that embrace smooth, clear,
complete.

From the pressing-room the sheets are taken to the folding-room in the
third story, conveyed thither by an elevator lifted by steam. Here they
are folded by the swift hands of girls. Hundreds are busy at it. Looking
down the long room and seeing them work is a sight worth quite a journey
to see. The folded pages then pass to the fingers of the eager
stitchers. These pages are now a book in need of a binding. Thus it
comes into the bindery for its black cotton cloak, or its coat of cloth
of gold, according to its station and lot in life.

This, good friends, is the story of a Pub. Doc. from its birth to the
hour when it starts on its first journey out into “the wide, wide
world.”




                             CHAPTER XLVII.
INSIDE THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION—ITS TREASURES OF ART AND SCIENCE—THE
                    LARGEST COLLECTION IN THE WORLD.

A Singular Bequest—Strange Story of James Smithson—A Good Use of
    Money—Seeking the Diffusion of Knowledge—Catching a Tear from a
    Lady’s Cheek—Analysis of the Same Tear—The Attainments of a
    Philosopher—A brief Tract on Coffee-Making—James Smithson’s
    Will—A Genealogical Declaration—Announcing a Bequest to
    Congress—Discussions and Reports—Praiseworthy Efforts of Robert
    Dale Owen—The Bequest Accepted—The Board of Regents—The Plan of
    the Institution—Its Intent and Object—Changes Made by the
    Regents—_Ex-Officio_ Members of the Institution—“The Power
    Behind the Throne”—The Secretary—The Smithsonian Reservation—The
    Smithsonian Building—Its Style of Architecture—Inside the
    Building—Injuries Received by Fire—Loss of Works of Art—The
    Museum—Treasures of Art and Science—The Results of Thirty
    Government Expeditions—The Largest Collection in the
    World—Valuable Mineral Specimens—All the Vertebrated Animals of
    North America—Classified Curiosities—The Smithsonian
    Contributions—Comprehensive Character of the Institution—Its
    Advantages and Operations—Results—The Agricultural Bureau—Its
    Plan and Object—Collecting Valuable Agricultural Facts—Helping
    the Purchaser of a Farm—The Expenses of the Bureau—The
    Library—Nature-Printing—In the Museum—The Great California
    Plank—Vegetable Specimens—International Exchanges.


An Englishman, of the name of James Smithson, gave all his property to
the United States of America, to found at Washington, under the name of
the Smithsonian Institution, “an establishment for the increase and
diffusion of knowledge among men.”

But few are aware of the singularity of the bequest. Such a donation,
from a citizen of Europe, would be remarkable under any circumstances;
but it was much more singular coming from an Englishman, endued with no
small degree of pride of country and lineage, if we may judge from the
pains he takes, in the caption of his will, to detail his descent from
the nobility. He is not known to have ever visited the United States, or
to have had any friends residing here. Mr. Rush informs us that he was a
natural son of the Duke of Northumberland, his mother being Mrs. Macie,
of an ancient family in Wiltshire, of the name of Hungerford; he was
educated at Oxford, where he took an honorary degree. In 1786, he took
the name of James Lewis Macie, until a few years after he left the
University, when he changed it to Smithson. He does not appear to have
had any fixed home, living in lodgings when in London, and occasionally,
a year or two at a time, in the cities on the continent, as Paris,
Berlin, Florence, and Genoa; at which last place he died. The ample
provision made for him by the Duke of Northumberland, with retired and
simple habits, enabled him to accumulate the fortune which passed to the
United States. He interested himself little in questions of government,
being devoted to science, and chiefly to chemistry. This had introduced
him to the society of Cavendish, Wollaston, and others, advantageously
known to the Royal Society in London, of which he was a member.

In a paper relative to one of the publications of the Smithsonian
Institution, read before a scientific society at Dublin, it is stated,
on the authority of Chambers’ Journal, that he had gained a name by the
analysis of minute quantities, and that “it was he who caught a tear as
it fell from a lady’s cheek, and detected the salts and other substances
which it held in solution.”

In a notice of his scientific pursuits, by Professor Johnson, of
Philadelphia, there are enumerated twenty-four papers, or treatises by
Smithson, published in the Transactions of the Royal Society, and other
scientific journals of the day, containing articles on mineralogy,
geology, and more especially mineral chemistry. In the Annals of
Philosophy (Vol. 22, page 30) he has a brief tract on the method of
making coffee. The small case of his personal effects, which is to be
preserved in a separate apartment of the Institution, consists chiefly
of minerals and chemical apparatus.

The will indicates a degree of sensitiveness on the subject of his
illegitimacy. He starts with a declaration of pedigree:

  I, James Smithson, son of Hough, first Duke of Northumberland, and
  Elizabeth, heiress of the Hungerfords of Audley, and niece of Charles
  the Proud, Duke of Somerset, now residing in Bentinck street,
  Cavendish Square, do make this my last will and testament,....

  “To found at Washington, under the name of the Smithsonian
  Institution, an establishment FOR THE INCREASE AND DIFFUSION OF
  KNOWLEDGE AMONG MEN.”

The bequest was first announced to Congress by President Jackson, in
1835. Long discussions and reports followed; first, upon the propriety
of accepting the trust; and next, upon the kind of institution to be
established; in the course of which the ablest minds in the country, in
and out of Congress, gave expression to their views. The report of Mr.
Adams was particularly eloquent. The objection to receiving the bequest
was based mainly upon the alleged absence of constitutional power, but
partly upon policy.

The discussion as to the kind of institution which would best fulfil the
testator’s intention, extended through a series of years, and led to
almost every possible proposition. I shall not attempt to give even an
outline of these debates, which finally culminated in the adoption of a
somewhat mixed scheme, allowing of almost anything. To Robert Dale Owen,
of Indiana, is mainly due the credit of finally pressing the bill to a
vote. The Act required that there be provided a hall or halls for a
library, a museum, a chemical laboratory, necessary lecture-rooms, and a
gallery of art.

The Board of Regents, in whose hands the control of the institution is
vested, drew up the following general plan, upon which the operations of
the institution have been conducted, this plan being, in their judgment,
best calculated to carry into effect the wishes of the founder:

  To Increase Knowledge: It is proposed—first, to stimulate men of
  talent to make original researches, by offering suitable rewards for
  memoirs containing new truths; and, second, to appropriate annually a
  portion of the income for particular researches, under the direction
  of suitable persons.

  To Diffuse Knowledge: It is proposed—first, to publish a series of
  periodical reports on the progress of the different branches of
  knowledge; and, second, to publish occasionally separate treatises on
  subjects of general interest.

  Details of Plan to Increase Knowledge by Stimulating Researches:
  First, facilities to be afforded for the production of original
  memoirs on all branches of knowledge. Second, the memoirs thus
  obtained to be published in a series of volumes, in a quarto form, and
  entitled Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge. Third, no memoir, on
  subjects of physical science, to be accepted for publication, which
  does not furnish a positive addition to human knowledge, resting on
  original research; and all unverified speculations to be rejected.
  Fourth, each memoir presented to the institution to be submitted for
  examination to a commission of persons of reputation for learning in
  the branch to which the memoir pertains, and to be accepted for
  publication only in case the report of this commission is favorable.
  Fifth, the Commission to be chosen by officers of the Institution, and
  the name of the author, as far as practicable, concealed, unless a
  favorable decision be made. Sixth, the volumes of the memoirs to be
  changed for the transactions of literary and scientific societies, and
  copies to be given to all the colleges and principal libraries in this
  country. One part of the remaining copies may be offered for sale, and
  the other carefully preserved, to form complete sets of the work to
  supply the demand for new institutions. Seventh, an abstract, or
  popular account, of the contents of these memoirs, to be given to the
  public through the annual reports of the Regents to Congress.

  By Appropriating a Part of the Income, Annually, to Special Objects of
  Research, under the Direction of Suitable Persons: First, the objects,
  and the amount appropriated, to be recommended by Councillors of the
  Institution. Second, appropriations in different years to different
  objects; so that, in course of time, each branch of knowledge may
  receive a share. Third, the results obtained from these appropriations
  to be published, with the memoirs before mentioned, in the volumes of
  the Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge. Fourth, examples of
  objects for which appropriations may be made: 1. System of extended
  meteorological observations for solving the problem of American
  storms; 2. Explorations in descriptive natural history, and
  geological, magnetical, and topographical surveys, to collect
  materials for the formation of a physical atlas of the United States;
  3. Solution of experimental problems, such as a new determination of
  the weight of the earth, of the velocity of electricity and of light;
  chemical analyses of soils and plants; collection and publication of
  scientific facts accumulated in the offices of Government; 4.
  Institution of statistical inquiries with reference to physical,
  moral, and political subjects; 5. Historical researches, and accurate
  surveys of places celebrated in American history; 6. Ethnological
  researches, particularly with reference to the different races of men
  in North America; also, explorations and accurate surveys of the
  mounds and other remains of the ancient people of our country.

  Details of the Plan for Diffusing Knowledge: First, by the publication
  of a series of reports, giving an account of the new discoveries in
  science, and of the changes made from year to year in all branches of
  knowledge, not strictly professional. These reports will diffuse a
  kind of knowledge generally interesting, but which, at present, is
  inaccessible to the public. Some reports may be published annually,
  others at longer intervals, as the income of the Institution or the
  changes in the branches of knowledge may indicate. Second, the reports
  are to be prepared by collaborators eminent in the different branches
  of knowledge. Third, each collaborator to be furnished with the
  journals and publications, domestic and foreign, necessary to the
  compilation of his report; to be paid a certain sum for his labors,
  and to be named on the title-page of the report. Fourth, the reports
  to be published in separate parts, so that persons interested in a
  particular branch can procure the parts relating to it without
  purchasing the whole. Fifth, these reports may be presented to
  Congress for partial distribution, the remaining copies to be given to
  literary and scientific institutions, and sold to individuals for a
  moderate price.

  By the Publication of Separate Treatises on Subjects of General
  Interest: First, these treatises may occasionally consist of valuable
  memoirs translated from foreign languages, or of articles prepared
  under the direction of the Institution, or procured by offering
  premiums for the best exposition of a given subject. Second, the
  treatises should, in all cases, be submitted to a commission of
  competent judges, previous to their publication.

“The only changes made in the policy above indicated have been the
passage of resolutions, by the Regents, repealing the equal division of
the income between the active operations and the museum and library, and
further providing that the annual appropriations are to be apportioned
specifically among the different objects and operations of the
Institution, in such manner as may, in the judgment of the Regents, be
necessary and proper for each, according to its intrinsic importance,
and a compliance in good faith with the law.”

The Act of Congress, organizing the Institution, makes the President and
Vice-President of the United States, the Cabinet Ministers, the
Chief-Justice of the United States, the Cabinet Ministers and the Mayor
of Washington, members _ex officio_ of the Institution. The Board of
Regents charged with the control of the Institution, consists of the
President of the United States, the Mayor of Washington, three Senators
of the United States, three members of the House of Representatives, who
are _ex officio_ Regents, six persons, not members of Congress, two of
whom must be citizens of Washington, and members of the National
Institute of that city, and the other four citizens of any of the states
of the Union, no two of whom are to be chosen from the same state. The
Board of Regents make annual reports of their conduct of the Institution
to Congress.

The real “power behind the throne” is the Secretary of the Institution,
who is executive officer. He has charge of the edifice, its contents,
and the grounds, and is given as many assistants, as are necessary to
enable him to conduct the varied operations of the Institution. The
property of the Institution is placed under the protection of the laws
for the preservation and safe keeping of the public buildings and
grounds of the City of Washington.

Upon the organization of the Institution, Congress set apart for its use
a portion of the public ground lying westward of the Capitol, and
between it and the Potomac River. Fifty-two acres comprised the grant,
which was known as the “Smithsonian Reservation.” They were laid out
under the supervision of Andrew Jackson Downing. He died while engaged
in this work, and his memory is perpetuated by a memorial erected in the
grounds in 1852, by the American Pomological Society, and consisting of
a massive vase resting on a handsome pedestal, with appropriate
inscriptions, the whole being of the finest Italian marble.

The building is situated near the centre of the grounds as they
originally existed, the centre of the edifice being immediately opposite
Tenth Street west. It is constructed of a fine quality of lilac-gray
freestone, found in the new red sandstone formation, where it crosses
the Potomac, near the mouth of Seneca Creek, one of the tributaries of
that river, and about twenty-three miles above Washington. The stone is
very soft at first, and is quarried with comparative ease. In its fresh
state, it may be worked with the chisel and mallet; but it hardens
rapidly upon exposure to the air and weather, and will withstand, after
a time, the severest usage.

The structure is in the style of architecture belonging to the last half
of the twelfth century, the latest variety of rounded style, as it is
found immediately anterior to its merging into the early Gothic, and is
known as the Norman, the Lombard, or Romanesque. The semi-circular arch,
stilted, is employed throughout, in door, windows, and other openings.

The main building is 205 feet long by 57 feet wide, and to the top of
the corbel course, 58 feet high. The east wing is 82 by 52 feet, and to
the top of its battlement, 42½ feet high. The west wing, including its
projecting apsis, is 84 by 40 feet, and 38 feet high. Each of the wings
is connected with the main building by a range which, including its
cloisters, is 60 feet long by 49 feet wide. This makes the length of the
entire building, from east to west, 447 feet. Its greatest breadth is
160 feet.

The north front of the main building has two central towers, the
loftiest of which is 150 feet high. It has also a broad, covered
carriage-way, upon which opens the main entrance to the building. The
south central tower is 37 feet square, 91 feet high, and massively
constructed. A double campanile tower, 17 feet square, 117 feet high,
rises from the north-east corner of the main building; and the
south-west corner has an imposing octagonal tower, in which is a spiral
stair-way, leading to the summit. There are four other smaller towers of
lesser hights, making nine in all, the effect of which is very
beautiful, and which once caused a wit to remark that it seemed to him
as if a “collection of church steeples had gotten lost, and were
consulting together as to the best means of getting home to their
respective churches.”

The building was much injured by fire in January, 1865. The flames
destroyed the upper part of the main buildings, and the towers. Although
the lower story was saved, the valuable official, scientific, and
miscellaneous correspondence, record-books, and manuscripts in the
Secretary’s office, the large collection of scientific apparatus, the
personal effects of James Smithson, Stanley’s Collection of Indian
Portraits, and much other valuable property were destroyed. Fortunately,
the Library, Museum, and Laboratory were uninjured. The fire made no
interruption in the practical workings of the Institution, and in a
comparatively short space of time the burned portions were restored.

The museum occupies the ground-floor, and is the principal attraction to
a large portion of the visitors. It is a spacious hall, containing two
tiers of cases, in which are placed the specimens on exhibition. Access
to the upper tier of cases is had by means of a light iron gallery,
which is reached by stair-ways of the same material. The Official Guide
to the Institution, thus describes the Museum:

Under these provisions, the Institution has received and taken charge of
such Government collections in mineralogy, geology and natural history,
as have been made since its organization. The amount of these has been
very great, as all the United States geological, boundary, and railroad
surveys, with the various topographical, military, and naval
explorations, have been, to a greater or less extent, ordered to make
such collections as would illustrate the physical and natural history
features of the regions traversed.

Of the collections made by thirty Government expeditions, those of
twenty-five are now deposited with the Smithsonian Institution,
embracing more than five-sixths of the whole amount of materials
collected. The principle expeditions thus furnishing collections are the
United States Geological Surveys of Doctors Owen, Jackson, and Evans,
and Messrs Foster and Whitney; the United States and Mexican boundary
survey; the Pacific Railroad survey; the exploration of the Yellowstone,
by Lieutenant Warren; the survey of Lieutenant Bryant; The United States
naval astronomical expedition; the North Pacific Behring’s Strait
expedition; the Japan expedition, and Paraguay expedition.

The Institution has also received, from other sources, collections of
greater or less extent, from various portions of North America, tending
to complete the Government series.

The collections thus made, taken as a whole, constitute the largest and
best series of the minerals, fossils, rocks, animals, and plants of the
entire continent of North America, in the world. Many tons of geological
and mineralogical specimens, illustrating the surveys throughout the
West, are embraced therein. There is also a very large collection of
minerals of the mining regions of Northern Mexico, and of New Mexico,
made by a practical Mexican geologist, during a period of twenty-five
years, and furnishing indications of many rich mining localities within
our own borders, yet unknown to the American people.

It includes also, with scarcely an exception, all the vertebrate animals
of North America. The greater part of the mammalia have been arranged in
walnut drawers, made proof against dust and insects. The birds have been
similarly treated, while the reptiles and fish have been classified, as,
to some extent, have also been the shells, minerals, fossils, and
plants.

The Museum hall is quite large enough to contain all the collections
hitherto made, as well as such others as may be assigned to it. No
single room in the country is, perhaps, equal to it in capacity or
adaptation to its purposes, as, by the arrangements now being perfected,
and denoted in the illustration, it is capable of receiving twice as
large a surface of cases as the old Patent-Office hall, and three times
that of the Academy of Sciences of Philadelphia.

The Smithsonian Contributions are the work of men residing in every part
of the United States. Does an individual think he has the data upon
which to base an important discovery, he communicates his plans to the
Institution. His suggestions are referred to men in other places, who
have made that branch an especial subject of study, and who are not
advised of the author’s name. If they report favorably upon it, the
author is furnished with facilities for pursuing and describing his
investigations. Does he want some book not to be found in the library
nearest his home? The Institution purchases it and loans it to him, to
be returned to the library. His work, when finished, may be invaluable
to a scientific man, but is not in sufficient demand to warrant any
publisher in issuing it. The Institution prints it, with the proper
illustrations, and gives the author the privilege of using the plates in
order to print a copyright for sale. Those published by the Institution
are sent to every great library and to every scientific body in the
world; and those bodies, in return, send back all their publications.
Thus, already, a most valuable library has been collected, containing
books hardly to be found collected together anywhere else in the United
States.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Thirty years ago, the merely nominal sum of $1,000 was, at the instance
of the Commissioner of Patents, Hon. H. L. Ellsworth, devoted by
Congress for the purposes of Agriculture. For two years before, this
patriotic gentleman had been distributing seeds and plants gratuitously,
and for nine years, during his entire term of office, he continued his
good work. His successors in the Patent-Office kept up the practice; but
it was not until 1862 that the Department of Agriculture was formally
organized.

[Illustration:

  TROPICAL FRUITS.
  INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT CONSERVATORY.—WASHINGTON.
]

It now nominally belongs to the Department of the Interior, but in every
essential is a distinct department in itself.

The beautiful building built expressly for it, and dedicated exclusively
to its uses, terminates one of the finest vistas running out from
Pennsylvania avenue. It stands within the grounds of the Smithsonian
Institution, surrounded by spacious conservatories and wide blooming
gardens—every plant and tree indigenous to our country—from the
luxuriant tropical vegetation of the Southern States, to the dwarfed and
hardy foliage of our northern borders, may be found in its grounds. A
division is devoted to horticulture, and the propagation and
acclimatization of new and foreign species. Studies in ornamentation, in
the best means of hybridizing, budding, pruning and grafting, in
treating diseases of plants and trees, are thoroughly pursued in the
experimental gardens. Seeds of new varieties and of superior quality, as
soon as they are obtained, are freely distributed throughout the
country, on application to the Commissioner of Agriculture.

The Department maintains, at least, one correspondent in every county of
the United States, through whom statistics of quality and quantity of
crops, and other facts, are forwarded to Washington, to be there
distributed by means of the monthly and yearly reports. Specialists are
also employed to prepare for these reports instructive articles on
suitable topics. Questions from agriculturists are freely answered and
the fullest possible information afforded. The purchaser of a farm
situated in a region with which he is unacquainted, has only to inquire,
and the department will tell him the crops likely to prove remunerative
in the special locality, advise him regarding cultivation, and warn him
of obstacles to be surmounted, and the best means of overcoming them. A
chemist will analyze the soil, report as to its properties and the value
of fertilizers to be used thereon; a botanist will give every particular
regarding the natures and diseases of plants, and will point out in what
families to seek needed products, and what effect a change of soil will
have upon them. An entomologist will give advice regarding the insects
which destroy vegetation, and as to the best mode for their
extermination.

As compared with the other national bureaux, the expense of this
department is remarkably small. The cost of the library and museum was
$140,000, and the conservatories were built at an expense of but $52,000
more. The library contains a valuable collection of agricultural
literature in several languages. Volumes of rare pictures are arranged
on long tables; one work, a present from Francis Joseph I., Emperor of
Austria, entitled “Nature-Printing,” containing representations of ferns
so exquisitely printed that it is difficult to believe them unreal.

[Illustration:

  THE DOME AND SPIRAL STAIR CASE, RARE PLANTS AND FLOWERS.

  INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT CONSERVATORY.—WASHINGTON.
]

In the museum are specimens of fibrous products, cereals of this and
other countries, stuffed birds and plaster-casts of fruits from all the
different sections of the United States, arranged so as to show at a
glance the products of each region and the specific changes caused by
transportation. On the walls of the fruit-cabinet are hung diagrams
showing the character and habits of the different insects that prey upon
fruit and fruit trees; and in glass cases are preserved the native birds
that feed upon destructive insects, and should be protected by the kind
treatment of the agriculturist.

The halls of this beautiful building are laid with imported tiles, its
ceilings are exquisitely frescoed, and many of its walls hung with
wood-paper in rich blending tints. The museum filling the main hall of
the second floor is furnished with lofty, air-tight walnut cases.

The great California plank which once stood in one of the underground
halls of the Patent-Office, has been wrought into a massive table which
stands in the Museum. It is seven feet by twelve, and looks like a
billiard-table without the cloth, and is finely polished. The legs and
frame are made of Florida cedar. The top of the table is composed of the
plank; it looks like solid mahogany without knot or blemish. Much
attention has been given to the cultivation of the fibrous grasses
which, in China, are woven into fine and durable cloth. Specimens of
these grasses, and of the cloth which they make, in its various stages
of manufacture, are on exhibition in the cases of the museum. A number
of acres have been set apart in the grounds for the cultivation of these
grasses. The shade-trees of our entire country are to be represented in
these grounds. Already over one thousand four hundred native varieties
have been planted.

Through the Smithsonian Institute the Department has been put into
communication with leading foreign agricultural societies, and the
result has been, not only an exchange of reports, but of almost every
known specimen of flower-seeds, seeds of shrubs, vegetables and fruits.
The display of flowers in the agricultural grounds is already something
wonderful, and soon will equal any like display in the world.

[Illustration:

  TROPICAL PLANTS AND FLOWERS.
  INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT CONSERVATORY.—WASHINGTON.
]




                            CHAPTER XLVIII.
       OLD HOMES AND HAUNTS OF WASHINGTON—MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS.

The Oldest Home in Washington—The Cottage of David Burns—David Burns’s
    Daughter—Singing a Lady’s Praises—The Attractions of a Cottage—“Tom
    Moore” the Poet Pays Homage to Fair Marcia—The Favored Suitor—How
    the Lady was Wooed and Won—Mother and Daughter—The Offering to
    God—The City Orphan Asylum—A Costly Mausoleum—The Assassination
    Conspiracy—Persecuting the Innocent—A Suggestion for the Board of
    Works—The Octagon House—A Comfortable Income—The Pleasures of
    Property—A Haunted House—Apple-Stealing—“Departed Joys and
    Stomach-Aches”—The Jackson Monument—The Tragedy of the Decatur
    House—A Fatal Duel—The Stockton-Sickles House—A Spot of Frightful
    Interest—The Club-House—Assassination of Mr. Seward—Scenes of
    Festivity—The Madison House—Mrs. Madison’s Popularity—Her Turbans
    and Her Snuff—The Exploit of Commodore Welkes—Arlington Hotel—The
    House of Charles Sumner—Corcoran Castle—The Finest Picture-Gallery
    in America—Powers’ Greek Slave—“Maggie Beck”—Kalaroma—During the
    War—Rock Creek—The Romantic Story of Mr. Barlow’s Niece—Francis P.
    Blair—Doddington House—The Brother of Lord Ellenborough—Forgetting
    His Own Name—Locking Up a Wife—The “Ten Buildings”—The Retreat of
    Louis Phillippe—Old Capitol Prison—The Temporary Capitol—The Deeds
    of Ann Royal and Sally Brass—“Paul Pry”—Blackmailing—Feared by all
    Mankind—An Unpleasant Sort of Woman—Arrested on Suspicion—A Small
    American Bastile—Where Wirz was Hung.


The oldest home in Washington is the cottage of David Burns.

You remember _him_, he was Washington’s “obstinate Mr. Burns.” Well, he
owned nearly the entire site of the future Federal city, an estate which
had descended to him, through several generations of Scottish ancestors.
It was perfectly human and right that he should make the most and best
of his precious paternal acres. Long before quarrelling Congresses had
even thought of the District of Columbia as a site to contend over as
the future Capitol, the cottage of David Burns had gathered on its lowly
roof the moss of time.

After the lapse of nearly a century it stands to-day as it stood then,
only the moss on its roof is deeper, and the trees which arch above it,
cast a longer and deeper shadow. It was a mansion in that day of small
beginnings. Yet it is but a low, sharp-roofed cottage, one story high,
with a garret; its doors facing north and south, one opening upon the
river, with no steps, but one broad flag-stone, now settled deep within
its grassy borders. Besides the garret, there cannot be more than four
rooms in the house; a dining-room, sitting-room, and two sleeping-rooms;
the kitchen, after the Maryland and Virginia fashion of the present day,
was probably a detached building. The farm-house no doubt equalled its
average neighbors, scattered miles apart across the wide domain of open
country.

[Illustration:

  THE NATIONAL CAPITOL,
  As seen from Pennsylvania Avenue.
]

[Illustration:

  THE VAN NESS MANSION, AND DAVY BURNS’ COTTAGE.
  At the time of the sale of his estate to President Washington.
]

Before Washington came to negotiate for the future site of the Federal
city, the society of Davy Burns was probably composed of plain farmer
folk like himself. It was at a later time, when the farmer was
transformed into a millionaire, and his only daughter had grown into the
fairest _belle_ and richest heiress in all the country round, that the
long, low rooms of the one-story farm-house were filled with the most
illustrious men of their generation. David Burns’ only daughter was not
more than twelve or thirteen years of age.

With a prescience of her future lot, he proceeded to give her every
advantage of education and society at that period accessible to a
gentlewoman of fortune. The Rector of St. John’s Church, who preached
her funeral sermon in 1832, said: “She was placed by her parents in the
family of Luther Martin, Esq., of Baltimore, who was then at the height
of his fame as the most distinguished jurist and advocate in the State
of Maryland, and with his daughters and family she had the best
opportunity of education and society.”

At eighteen, Marcia Burns returned to the home of her parents—the lowly
farm-house on the banks of the Potomac. Then, and at a later day, when
the flush and enchantment of youth had fled, the vision of Marcia Burns
is altogether lovely. Beside the attractions of fortune, she seemed to
possess in an eminent degree the highest qualities of the feminine
nature. It was of Marcia Burns that Horatio Greenough wrote:

                “’Mid rank and wealth and worldly pride,
                From every snare she turned aside.
                  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  ·  · · ·
                She sought the low, the humble shed,
                Where gaunt disease and famine tread;
                And from that time, in youthful pride,
                She stood Van Ness’s blooming bride,
                No day her blameless head o’erpast,
                But saw her dearer than the last.”

The return of the only child and heiress of David Burns, in the first
beauty of young womanhood, soon filled the paternal cottage with
illustrious society, and with many suitors for her hand and heart. The
Keys, the Lloyds, the Peters, the Lows, the Tayloes, the Calverts, the
Carrols, all visited here. Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Burr, with
many other famous then, not forgotten now, were guests at the Burns
cottage. Thomas Moore was entertained beneath its roof, and slept in one
of the little rooms “off” the large one on the ground floor.

The favored suitor was John P. Van Ness, the son of Judge Peter Van Ness
of New York, celebrated as an anti-Federalist, a Revolutionary officer,
and a supporter of Aaron Burr against the Clinton and Livingston feud.

When John Van Ness wooed and won Marcia Burns, he was thirty years of
age, a Member of Congress from New York, “well-fed, well-bred,
well-read,” elegant, popular and handsome enough to win his way to any
maiden’s heart, unassisted by the accessories of fortune, which, in
addition, were bountifully his. In Gilbert Stuart’s picture we see him
with powdered wig and _toupee_, light-brown hair and side whiskers,
perceptive forehead, aquiline nose, finely-curved lips and chin, a small
mouth, with clear, hazel eyes, which could look their way straight to
many hearts.

The portrait of the heiress of David Burns may be seen to-day in
Washington, not in any hall of wealth or fashion, but in the Orphan
Asylum, which she founded and endowed, to whose children she was a
mother. It looks down upon us, a Madonna face, with intellectual,
spiritual brow, dewy eyes, and a tender mouth.

Marcia Burns married John P. Van Ness at the age of twenty. Her only
brother dying in early youth, she inherited the whole of her father’s
vast estate. For a few years after her marriage she lived at the old
cottage. Her husband then built a two-story house on the corner of
Twelfth and D streets. Later, he began the house, which, still standing
in the centre of Mansion Square, is one of the most unique of all the
historic houses of Washington. It was designed, as were so many famous
Washington houses, by Latrobe, and cost between $50,000 and $60,000 more
than half a century ago. Its marble mantel-pieces, wrought in Italy,
with their sculptured Loves and Vestas, still remain, models of
exquisite art. It is finished with costly woods, and about its
door-knobs are set tiles inlaid with Mosaics. Its great portico, facing
north, is modelled after that of the President’s house. This stately
brick mansion, amid the trees, standing a few rods back from the Burns’
cottage, presents to it an absolute contrast.

This costly home was ready for the family when the only daughter and
child of General and Mrs. Van Ness returned, in 1820, from school in
Philadelphia. Thither Marcia Burns brought _her_ daughter. The bond
between the two is said to have been more intimate and profound than
that of simply mother and daughter. The daughter was the cherished
companion of the mother, who cultivated an intelligent interest in
public affairs, who loved poetry, and wrote it, and who, amid all the
pomp of wealth and state, never forgot, or allowed her child to forget,
that the fashion of this world passeth away.

Ann Elbertina Van Ness married Arthur Middleton of South Carolina, son
of a signer of the Declaration of Independence. But, in November, 1822,
in less than two years from her return from school, this only child,
this youthful bride, this heiress of untold wealth, with her babe in her
arms, was carried to the grave.

From that hour, her mother, Marcia Burns, who, in the world, had never
been of it, renounced its vanities entirely. The cottage in which she
was born, in which her parents lived and died, nestling under the
patriarchal trees, just outside the windows of her stately home, had
ever remained the object of her veneration and affection. In this humble
dwelling, over whose venerable roof waved the branches of trees planted
by her dear parents, she selected a secluded apartment, with appropriate
arrangements for solemn meditation, to which she often retired, and
spent hours in quiet solitude and holy communion.

The offering to God which she made beside the grave of her daughter, was
the City Orphan Asylum of Washington. She became a mother to the
children, saved, sheltered, and trained for heaven beneath its roof. She
did not wait for these orphans to come to her door. Night and day she
sought them out. In her portrait, still hanging in this asylum, she is
sitting with three little girls, clinging to her for protection, one
with its head in her lap.

Her last sickness was long and painful. A few days before her death,
with a few Christian friends gathered about her bed, she celebrated the
holy Sacrament; then, with perfect serenity, awaited the final call. Her
last words to her husband, placing her hand upon his head, were: “Heaven
bless and protect you. Never mind me.” She died September 9, 1832, aged
fifty years.

She was the first American woman buried with public honors. At the time
of her death, General Van Ness was Mayor of Washington. Meetings of
condolence were held by citizens in different places. As the funeral
procession began to move, a committee of citizens placed a second silver
plate upon her coffin, inscribed:—

  “The Citizens of Washington, in testimony of their veneration for
  departed worth, dedicate this plate to the memory of Marcia Van Ness,
  the excellent consort of D. P. Van Ness. If piety, charity, high
  principle and exalted worth could have averted the shafts of fate, she
  would still have remained among us, a bright example of every virtue.
  The hand of death has removed her to a purer and happier state of
  existence; and, while we lament her loss, let us endeavor to emulate
  her virtues.”

The procession passed between the little girls of the Orphan Asylum, who
stood in lines, till the coffin was placed at the door of the vault,
when they came forward, strewing the bier with branches of
weeping-willows, and singing a farewell hymn.

The last earthly house which received the body of Marcia Burns was more
magnificent than any she had ever inhabited. Years before, General Van
Ness had reared a Mausoleum, which still remains, one of the purest
examples of monumental art on this continent. It is a copy of the Temple
of Vesta, and could not be built at the present time for a sum less than
thirty-four or thirty-five thousand dollars. In the vault, beneath its
open dome, Marcia Burns was laid beside her child. This magnificent
temple of the dead was recently removed and rebuilt, precisely as it was
in the Oak Hill Cemetery, Georgetown. The cells of its deep vault now
hold nearly all of the dust left of the Burns and Van Ness alliance.

General Van Ness lived to the period of the Mexican war, passing away at
the age of seventy-six, after having enjoyed every honor which the
citizens of Washington could bestow upon him. He sued the Government of
the United States for violating its contract with the original
proprietors of Washington in selling to private purchasers lots near the
Mall. Roger B. Taney was his lawyer, and yet he lost his suit. He gave
an entertainment to Congress every year up to the time of his death, and
wonder-heads declare that his six horses, headless, still gallop around
the Van Ness Mansion, in Mansion square, annually, on the anniversary of
that event.

Some twenty-five years ago, this old mansion and estate was bought by
its present proprietor, Thomas Green, Esq., a Virginia gentleman. The
last time that it came prominently before the public, was during the
assassination conspiracy, when an irresponsible newspaper sent the
report flying, that its great wine-vault was to have been used as a
place of incarceration for Mr. Lincoln, before he was conveyed across
the river. In those mad days no magnate waited for proof, and the result
was that Mr. Green and his gentle wife, who,—as her husband
remarked—“was as innocent as an angel,” were shut up in our small
bastile, the old Capitol prison. Here both were held for more than
thirty days, when after having vindicated their honor beyond the
possibility of reproach, the Government somewhat ashamed of itself, let
them depart to the shelter of their patriarchal home.

On buying the estate, Mr. Green with that veneration for old, sacred
associations which pre-eminently marks the Virginian,—instead of tearing
down the old Burns’ cottage as “nothing to him” or as a blot upon his
fair estate, went immediately to work to preserve it. Without changing
it in any way, he re-roofed it, made it rain-proof, whitewashed it, and
left it with its trees and memories. What Mr. Green has preserved, let
not the Board of Public Works destroy! In this case, gentlemen, let your
“grade” go—and the cottage of “the obstinate Mr. Burns,” the first owner
of this great Capital, and the oldest house in it—remain.

It was a June evening that we last passed the gate and the lodge of the
old Van Ness estate, at the foot of Seventeenth street. The high
brick-wall which shut in this historic garden, is mantled with ivy and
honeysuckle. Old fruit trees, apple, pear, peach, apricot, plum, cherry,
nectarine, and fig trees, all in their season, lift their crowns of
fruitage to the sun within these old walls. Following a winding avenue,
we pass through grounds above which gigantic aspen, maple, walnut,
holly, and yew trees cast deep, cool shadows in the hottest summer days.
As we approach the house we see that the drive before the northern
portico is encircled with an immense growth of box. Before the low
windows of the eastern drawing-room, stretch wide _parterres_ of roses
of every known variety. In June it is literally a garden of roses—and
the early snow falls upon them, budding and blooming still in the
delicious air. Oranges ripen on the sunshiny lawn which surrounds the
house, and masses of honeysuckle which climb the balustrades of the
southern portico pervade the air with sweetness, acres away.

This southern portico used as a conservatory in the winter, is a
counterpart, on a smaller plan, of the south veranda of the President’s
house. It has the same outlook only nearer the river. To the right, the
dome of the observatory swells into the blue air, and, before it, the
Potomac runs up and kisses the grasses at its feet. Lovers’ walk, shaded
by murmuring pines, as such a walk should be, runs on through the grove
down to a mimic lake, where, in mid-water, is a tiny island with shadowy
trees and restful seats.

I stray down this walk with Alice,—golden-haired and poet-eyed. We
wander across under the patriarchal trees and come out on the river-side
of the old Burns cottage. Its sunken door-stone, its antique door-latch,
its minute window-panes, all are just the same as when Marcia Burns,
beautiful and young, received within its walls her courtly worshippers;
just the same as when Marcia Burns, smitten and childless, knelt alone
by its desolate hearth, to commune with the God and Father of her
spirit, and to dedicate herself to His service for ever.

Beside us, eight lofty Kentucky coffee-trees soar palm-like towards the
sky. Through their clustering crowns the full moon peers down upon us;
upon the cottage, so fraught with the memories of buried generations;
upon the white walls of the mansion, so rich in recollections of the
illustrious dead of a later past,—and she transfigures both cottage and
hall in her hallowing radiance, as, with lingering steps, I say to
gentle host and hostess, and to Alice,—golden-haired and
poet-eyed,—“Farewell.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

The Octagon House, now used as an office by the Navy Department, stands
on the corner of Eighteenth street and New York avenue. It was built
near the close of the last century by Colonel John Tayloe, one of the
most famous men of his time, and is still owned by his descendents.
Colonel Tayloe was a friend of Washington, who persuaded him to invest
some of his immense fortune in the new Federal city. He was educated at
Cambridge, England, and during his life in Washington, four of his
former class-mates were sent as Ministers to the United States.

Colonel Tayloe had an income of seventy-five thousand dollars a year. He
had an immense country estate at Mount Airy, Virginia, and both there
and in Octagon House, entertained his friends in princely state. He kept
race-horses, and expended about thirty-three thousand dollars every year
in new purchases. He owned five hundred slaves, built brigs and
schooners, worked iron-mines, converted the iron into ploughshares,—and
all was done by the hands of his own subjects. After the burning of the
White House, Mr. and Mrs. Madison lived in the Octagon House for a year,
and held these elegant drawing-rooms and gave costly dinners. The
Octagon House has long had the reputation of being haunted. “It is an
authenticated fact, that every night, at the same hour, all the bells
would ring at once. One gentleman, dining with Colonel Tayloe, when this
mysterious ringing began, being an unbeliever in mysteries, and a very
powerful man, jumped up and caught the bell wires in his hand, but only
to be lifted bodily from the floor, while he was unsuccessful in
stopping the ringing. Some declare that it was discovered, after a time,
that rats were the ghosts who rung the bells; others, that the cause was
never discovered, and that finally the family, to secure peace, were
compelled to take the bells down and hang them in different fashion.
Among other remedies, had been previously tried that of exorcism, but
the prayers of the priest who was summoned availed nought.”

In 1805, Washington city was an old field, covered everywhere with green
grass and many original trees of the forest. There were no streets made.
The President’s house was unfinished, and Lafayette square, opposite,
was still called the “Burns Orchard.” One corner of it was used as a
burial-ground of St. John’s Church. Where General Jackson’s statue is
now rearing in the air on a frantic horse, then stood a clump of cherry
trees, under which John Gardner’s school-boys used to make themselves
sick eating green cherries. As the boys of this school never allowed the
green apples or any other fruit in this orchard to ripen, and for that
reason were in a perpetually griped condition all summer, their
school-master, much against their wishes, and that of the militia who
paraded under the trees, obtained permission of President Jefferson to
cut the orchard down.

As an open “reservation,” the square was long a landmark of the departed
joys and stomachaches of the boys of a former generation. In course of
time Dowing laid out the graceful walks and grassy plats which make it
now a perfect _bijou_ of beauty. He planted the trees which to-day arch
high in mid-air, and spread so deep and grateful a shade above the weary
multitudes who seek rest and a touch of nature’s healing upon its
wayside seats. It is altogether beautiful and soul and sense-reviving,
in the spring, when its many-flowering shrubs pervade the air with
fragrance, and no less delicious in the autumn, when it flames a mosaic
of gorgeous landscape set in the dusty square, its many tinted leaves
warm and red as gems raining, about your feet.

August 11, 1848, a resolution of Congress authorized the Jackson
Monument Committee to receive the brass guns captured by Jackson at
Pensacola, to be used as material for the construction of a monument to
that distinguished patriot. Clark Mills was appointed to execute the
statue. President Fillmore chose its site in the centre of the square,
opposite the President’s House, where it was inaugurated January 8,
1853, the anniversary of Jackson’s victory at New Orleans, in 1815. As I
am inadequate to describe such a work of art, I give the guide-book
description:—

  “General Jackson is represented in the exact military costume worn by
  him, with cocked-hat in hand, saluting his troops. The charger, a
  noble specimen of the animal, with all the fire and spirit of a
  Bucephalus, is in a rearing posture, poised upon his hind feet, with
  no other stay than the balance of gravity, and the bolts pinning the
  feet to the pedestal. The work is colossal, the figure of Jackson
  being eight feet in height, and that of the horse in proportion. The
  whole stands upon a pyramidal pedestal of white marble, seven feet in
  height, at the base of which are planted four brass six-pound guns,
  taken by the hero at New Orleans. The cost of the statue to the
  Government, including the pedestal and iron railing, was $28,500.”

Around this peaceful spot, where the militia beat their _reveille_, and
the school-boys munched green apples and cherries, and gathered nuts in
days of yore, human life in all its passion of pleasure, tragedy and
pain, now pressed close. One of the saddest tragedies of the square is
associated with the Decatur House. It is said that three powers rule the
world—Intellect, Wealth, and Fame. Wearing this triple crown, Stephen
Decatur came home to the wife whom he worshipped, saying: “I have gained
a small sprig of laurel, which I hasten to lay at your feet.” He bought
the lot on the corner of Sixteenth and H streets, and employed Latrobe
to design a commodious and elegant mansion. In this house the home-life
of Decatur begun with the most dazzling auguries. Its walls were hung
with the trophies of his glory: the sword presented by Congress for
burning the _Philadelphia_; another from Congress for the attack on
Tripoli; a medal from Congress for the capture of the _Macedonian_; a
box containing the freedom of New York; the medal of the Order of
Cincinnati; swords from the States of Pennsylvania and Virginia, and the
City of Philadelphia; and services of plate from the cities of Baltimore
and Philadelphia. All these were but leaves on the sprig of laurel which
he laid at the feet of the beloved one.

Mrs. Decatur was accomplished, intellectual, and passionately devoted to
her heroic husband. Not yet forty-two years of age, he had scaled the
very summit of fame, and already rested after the toilsome ascent. His
mornings were given to the fulfilment of his duties as Navy
Commissioner, and his leisure was spent with the best in the society of
Washington, made up of the highest in the land for station, character,
and intelligence.

The _salon_ of Mrs. Decatur, which, to-day, is larger than can be found
in any other private house in Washington, was a focal point for all that
was dazzling in the social life of the capital. There are those still
living who remember the brilliant assembly gathered here only the night
before his death. Mrs. Decatur, who had no prescience of the anguish
awaiting her, at the request of friends, played on the harp, on which
she was a skilful performer. Commodore Decatur, conscious of the
portentous appointment which awaited him the coming morning, abated not
one jot of the wonted charm of his manner, staying in the parlors till
the last guest had gone.

At dawn of the next day he arose, left the sleeping wife and household,
crossed Lafayette Square, walked to Beale’s Tavern, near the Capitol,
breakfasted, proceeded to Bladensburg, where the duel was fought at nine
o’clock. Mortally wounded, he was brought back to his happy home, where
he died the night of the same day. He tried to avert the duel, saying to
Commodore Barron: “I have not challenged you, nor do I intend to
challenge you; your life depends on yourself.”

He was followed to the grave by the President of the United States and
the most illustrious men of his time. “The same cannon which had so
often announced the splendid achievements of Decatur now marked the
periods in bearing him to the tomb. Their reverberating thunder
mournfully echoed through the metropolis, and also vibrated through a
heart tortured to agony.” A vast concourse of citizens, marching to a
funeral dirge, followed the dead hero to Kalorama.

Mrs. Decatur, within the walls of her home, for three years shut herself
away from all the world. Afterwards the Decatur house was rented to
Edward Livingston, then Secretary-of-State. Here Cora Livingston was
married to Dr. Barton, who is remembered not only as a diplomat, but as
the editor of an extensive and valuable collection of Shakespeare’s
works. Here Sir Charles Vaughan, the British Ambassador, lived, and by
his wit and affable manners and hospitality, made the house again a
centre of elegant society. Martin Van Buren, while Secretary-of-State,
occupied the Decatur House. The brothers King, both Members of Congress
from New York, lived here. One was the father of the much-admired Mrs.
Bancroft Davis, a portion of whose girlhood was passed under its roof.
Mr. Orr, while Speaker of the House, was its tenant, and dispensed
hospitalities to thousands in its grand _salon_. From Madison to Grant,
every President has been entertained within its walls.

Madame de Staël says: “The homes and haunts of the great ever bear
impress of their individuality.” Jean Paul Richter declares: “No thought
is lost.” If this be true, how affluent of eloquence, wit and mirth
these historic halls must be! They are ready to revive more than the
splendor of past days. For a number of years the house, rented to the
Government, has been used for offices. But within twelve months it has
been purchased by General Edward Fitzgerald Beale, who has rehabilitated
it, without remodelling it, for his own family residence. The ample
halls and grand _salon_ remain unchanged in proportions, while fresh
frescoes, historic devices, French windows and marble vestibule, give to
the antique mansion the aspect of modern elegance.

General Beale is the grandson of Commodore Thomas Truxton, one of the
first six captains appointed by General Washington in the early navy to
guard the commerce of the United States. Commodore Decatur was a
favorite midshipman and lieutenant under Truxton; and the grandson of
his early commander, in this home of Decatur’s heart, is now preserving
every possible souvenir of the sea. The Decatur mansion has passed into
fitting hands. Its present owner made his gallant record under Commodore
Stockton, and, in imperilling his life for others, has maintained the
illustrious escutcheon transmitted him by his ancestors. When the gay
season begins, light and music, warmth and cheer, wisdom, beauty and
grace will again make these old halls glad. “Memnon-like, the old walls
will again give forth sweet sounds.” A new generation will repeat the
festivities of the generation gone to dust.

A few rods further on we came to the famous Stockton-Sickles House. Just
now it shrinks, shabby and small, below its lofty modern neighbors. It
is a white stuccoed house, two stories, with basement and attic, with
high steps and square central hall, after the fashion of old times. It
was called the Stockton House because Purser Stockton, who married a
relative of Commodore Decatur, owned and lived in it. Afterwards, it was
occupied by Levi Woodbury, the father of Mrs. Montgomery Blair, who
lived here both while Secretary of the Treasury and of the Navy. It was
also rented by Mr. Southard, of Georgia, the father of Mrs. Ogden
Hoffman. When Mr. and Mrs. Sickles lived in it, it is said that the
trees in Lafayette square were so small that the waving of a
handkerchief from one of the windows could be distinctly seen at the
club house opposite, on the other side of the square. This was the
signal used between the first betrayed, then tempted and ruined wife,
and the man of the world, to whom seduction was at once a pastime and a
profession.

The trunk of the tree against which Key fell when shot by Sickles, may
still be seen near the corner of Madison place and Pennsylvania avenue.

A few steps further on, in the middle of the block, stands the famous
club-house which has witnessed more of the vicissitudes and tragedy of
human life than any other house on the square, excepting, perhaps, the
White House. The Club-House is a large, square, three-storied red brick
house, built for his own use by Commodore Rogers, of the Navy. After his
death, it became a fashionable boarding-house, then a club-house. To one
of its rooms Barton Key was borne after being wounded by Sickles. While
Secretary-of-State, Mr. Seward occupied the house for eight years, and
during that time it was the centre of most elegant hospitality. In the
assassination of Mr. Seward, it witnessed its crowning tragedy. In its
rooms Mr. Seward and his son languished for months, while slowly
recovering from the almost death-blows dealt by Payne.

After their recovery, the lovely and only daughter of Mr. Seward here
slowly faded from earth. This young lady was, in a very remarkable
degree, the chosen companion and confidante of her father. She not only
sympathized profoundly in his pursuits, she shared them with him. I
believe she witnessed, with unavailing cries, the attempted
assassination of her father. At least, she never recovered from the
shock received at that time. With her, passed from earth one of the
loveliest spirits which ever shed its pure light upon the social life of
the Capital. Her death left Mr. Seward wifeless and daughterless. With
everything to live for, she met death with perfect faith and
resignation. Her beautiful life, with her triumphant passage through
death to a life still more perfect, remained with him to his last moment
the most precious memory of her illustrious father.

With all its burden of tragedy and pathetic death, with the departure of
the Sewards, the old house did not take on the shadow of gloom. Its
parlors never witnessed gayer or more crowded assemblies than thronged
them the next winter, when occupied by General Belknap, the
Secretary-of-War. This was but for a single season. Another winter
dropped its earliest snows on the new-made grave of the young wife and
mother, the memory of whose gentle face and graceful presence and tender
spirit, will only fade from the Capital with the present generation. It
was the last flaming up of festivity in the old house. It has never been
gay since Mrs. Belknap died.

The next year it waned into a boarding-house. Even that was not
successful. People of sensibility do not wish even to board in a house
so haunted with tragic memories of human lives. The house is now used
for Government purposes. Its site is so superlative; central to the most
interesting objects of Washington, and facing the waving sea of
summer-green in Lafayette square. In the march of change its place will
soon be filled by some soaring Mansard mansion of the future. But when
every brick has vanished, the memories of the old club-house and Seward
mansion will survive while any chronicle of Washington endures.

Next to it stands the house of Mr. Benjamin Ogle Tayloe, a descendant of
Mr. Tayloe, of Octagon House memory. Mr. and Mrs. Tayloe have occupied
this stately house for many years. The reminiscences of Washington
published by Mr. Tayloe for private circulation are among the most
entertaining records ever written of the Capital.

Next to the Tayloe House, on the corner of Fifteenth and H street,
stands the Madison House, in which, as a widow, Mrs. Madison so long
held her court. No eminent man retired from service of the state ever
had more public recognition and honor bestowed upon him by the
Government he had served than did this popular and ever-beloved woman.
On New Year’s day, after paying their respects to the President, all the
high officers of the Government always adjourned to the house of Mrs.
Madison, to pay their respects to _her_. In her drawing-room political
foes met on equal ground, and for the time, public and private
animosities were forgotten or ignored.

“Never” says “Uncle Paul” her colored servant, who had lived with her
from boyhood, and who still lives, “never was a more gracefuller lady in
a drawing-room. We always had our Wednesday-evening receptions in the
old Madison House, and we had them in style.” Mrs. Madison’s turbans are
as famous in Washington to-day as her snuff box. It is said that she
expended $1,000 a year in turbans. She wore one as long as she
lived—long after it had ceased to be fashionable. “These turbans were
made of the finest materials and trimmed to match her various dresses.”
Uncle Paul tells of one of her dresses of purple velvet with a long
train trimmed with wide gold-lace with which she wore a turban trimmed
with gold-lace and a pair of gold shoes. With a white satin dress, she
wore a turban spangled with silver, and silver shoes. She sent to Paris
for all her grand costumes. Her tea-parties and her “loo” parties are
still dwelt upon with loving accents by her admiring contemporaries who
still linger on the borders of a later generation.

After the death of Mrs. Madison, her house was purchased and occupied
for many years by Commodore Wilkes, who captured Mason and Slidell. It
still stands in perfect preservation and is rented year by year to
chance tenants. Two years ago, it was occupied by the Secretary-of-War
and its drawing-rooms again thronged with brilliant crowds.

On an opposite corner facing Vermont avenue we see the brown walls,
floating flag and gay equipages of Arlington Hotel. Beside it, on the
corner, is the red-brick house with white shades, and Mansard roof,
where, amid rare pictures, books, works of art, and choice friends,
lives Charles Sumner.

A few rods further on, on the corner of H and Sixteenth streets, facing
Lafayette square and peering out toward the old Decatur mansion, we came
to “Corcoran Castle.” It is an imposing house, built of red-brick with
brown facings, divided from the street by an iron railing, painted
green, tipped with gilt, with an immense garden at the back, covering an
entire square. The house is now owned and has been greatly beautified by
W. W. Corcoran, the famous Washington banker, but has had many other
occupants. It was once owned by Daniel Webster to whom it was presented
by leaders of the party whom he had served. Great astonishment was
expressed when he afterwards sold it. But as Daniel Webster was ever an
impecunious man, he probably was compelled to part with his palace as
Sheridan was so often compelled to part with his.

Before and during the Mexican war, the British Minister, Mr. Packingham
resided in it, kept open house and made his parlors the rendezvous of
the young people. A lady tells “of the young officers she saw taking
part in those brilliant life-pictures, who in a few short weeks were
lying with rigid, upturned faces, on Mexican battle-fields.” The house
was at one time occupied by General Gratios, whose daughter married
Count Montholon. During the war, when Mr. Corcoran resided abroad, he
gave his house in charge of the successive French Ministers. During that
time Madame de Montholon came back to the former home of her father.
Within, the house is a delight to the eyes. Its picture-gallery is one
of the finest in America, and holds amid many other treasures of art,
Powers’ Greek Slave. The whole house is a gallery of costly furniture
and works of art.

In this home of grace, “Maggie Beck” a Kentucky _belle_ of three seasons
ago, who married a nephew of Mr. Corcoran, “received” her friends for
the last time. The bride of a month, she was already the bride of death,
and in her marriage robe, and veil and gleaming jewels, white, cold, and
silent, she received the tears and lamentations poured upon her by
agonized hearts. After an absence of years, hither Mr. Corcoran bore the
dead body of his only child, and here, widowed and childless, shut
himself in alone with his dead. The children of this daughter now make
music in these stately halls. Age and childhood make the family life of
Corcoran Castle.

A high brick wall shuts in this garden from the city. Its inner side is
completely hung with ivy. Immense _parterres_ of roses and flowers of
every tint, conservatories, a _croquet_-ground, rustic summer-houses,
fountains, a fish-pond, forest trees shading a closely-shorn lawn, all
these make a garden perfect in seclusion and beauty in the very heart of
the Capital.

One of the most famous of suburban Washington haunts is Kalorama,
literally like Bellevue—“beautiful view.” The ruins of Kalorama stand on
a forest-shaded slope, a little more than a mile, perhaps, from the
President’s house. From Twenty-first street it is approached by an
avenue planted closely on either side by locust trees. Under their green
arch the titled and famous of an earlier generation passed; but in our
own memory it is associated with the pestilence-laden ambulance, for
during the war beautiful Kalorama was a small-pox hospital.

Below Kalorama, Rock Creek winds its shining thread between the hills.
Looking up the creek, we see grassy glades, along which cattle feed, and
a picturesque valley walled by embowering woods. Climbing a green,
tree-shaded slope, we reach a _plateau_ from which we look down upon two
cities, Rock Creek still winding its silvery thread between. Opposite is
Analoston Island, beyond the Virginia shore, and Arlington House peering
through the trees of its crowning hill.

To the left lies Washington, guarded by the Capitol; before us,
crumbling amid its guardian oaks, the ruins of Kalorama. It was built by
Joel Barlow, once of “Columbiad” fame, in 1805. After spending several
years abroad, where he espoused the cause of the French Republic, he
returned to his own country and built a castle for himself overlooking
its Capital. Before this, his “Columbiad” had been published with fine
engravings, whose execution was superintended by Robert Fulton. On this
poem he had spent the labor of the best years of his life. He believed
without a doubt that it would be the national poem of the future. A copy
of it graced every drawing-room. In what drawing-room is it visible now!
Alas! for “Fame!”

Joel Barlow and Robert Fulton were intimate friends. In 1810 Fulton
visited Kalorama, and it is declared that some of his first ventures in
navigation were launched upon Rock Creek. History records that Fulton
tested his torpedoes during this visit to Washington, and persuaded
Congress to consider his navigation schemes. Mr. Barlow went to France
as American Minister in 1812. He was taken ill while on his way to meet
Napoleon, who had invited the American Minister to an interview with him
at Wilna. Mr. Barlow died at Cracow, in Poland, where he solaced his
death-bed by dictating a poem full of withering expression of resentment
toward Napoleon for the hopes he had disappointed.

Mr. Barlow bequeathed Kalorama to his niece Mrs. Bomford. A romantic
story is told of this lady. While with her first husband (whose name has
deservedly perished) on the frontier, he being an officer in the United
States Army, she was captured by Indians. For some reason known only to
himself, her husband did not take the trouble to pursue her; but
Lieutenant Bomford did. He organized a force of citizens and soldiers,
and sallied forth in quest of the lady. He found her, and she rewarded
him by marrying him after she had obtained a divorce from her
indifferent lord.

Colonel and Mrs. Bomford resided at Kalorama for many years. During
their residence here the Decatur-Barron duel took place, and the body of
Decatur found a temporary resting-place in the tomb of the Barlows. This
vault is still visible at the top of a small hill near the main entrance
to the Kalorama grounds. With its low sharp roof and its plastered
walls, it looks like an old spring-house. It bears an inscription to the
memory of Joel Barlow, “poet, patriot, and philosopher,” although he was
buried, when he died, at Cracow, Poland.

When Mrs. Decatur left the Decatur mansion, she retired to Kalorama. And
years after her husband’s death she made it famous by the elegant
entertainments which she gave there. There are gentlemen still in public
life in Washington, who recall the elegant and costly dinners given by
this lady at Kalorama.

This beautiful historic spot is now owned by a family named Lovett, who,
it is said, intend in time to rebuild it.

Following Seventh street a mile or two beyond the city limits, we come
to an unpretending country house, at some distance back from the road,
surrounded by lawns, gardens and groves. It is a long, low house, before
which runs a piazza, and behind which bubbles a famous spring. If it is
morning, a pair of saddle-horses stand waiting their riders before the
door. Presently they come out together, an ancient knight and lady,
ready for a ten-mile ride on horseback. Eighty years and more have set
their seal on the brows of each. The gentleman’s frame bears the marks
of extreme age; it is attenuated, yet shows few signs of decrepitude.
His skin may look like parchment, but the eyes burn with unabated fires.
The lady is tall, straight, and stately, with dark, keen eyes, and head
erect, as befits the mother of the Blairs. She has a son more than sixty
years of age, and yet she seems not to have lived so many years herself.
More than fifty years ago, this couple, by wagons and on horseback, came
through the woods from far Kentucky to seek their fortune in the new
capital city. The struggling village has grown into a metropolis; sons
and daughters to the fourth generation have blessed them; they have done
their share in the making and unmaking of presidents and men in power;
they have received their full meed of honor as well as of blame; their
name has grown to fame; they have long outstripped the allotted years of
man, and here they are, ready for their eight or ten miles’ horseback
ride this morning. This is Francis P. Blair, Senior, and his wife, and
this their country home. Honored among suburban Washington haunts is
“Silver Spring.”

Almost any sunny day this ancient knight and lady; mounted on their two
solid steeds, with a green bough in their hands in lieu of riding whips,
she with a stately calash upon her head, may be seen jogging along
Pennsylvania avenue toward the stately home of Montgomery Blair, which
faces the War-Department. For more than two generations Mr. Blair has
been a power in the land. He has had more or less to do with the making
and unmaking of every president since the days of Jackson. The Nestor of
the Washington Press, he was a powerful supporter of “old Hickory,” and
to-day retains, undiminished, the living love now bestowed upon the
friend so long buried in the past. Mr. Blair, leaning on his long staff,
may often be seen wandering through the unbowered ways of Lafayette
square, which he so well remembers as the Burns’ orchard. Here he never
fails to gaze upon the bronze equestrian statue of his friend. Others
may laugh at the pivoted horse, but “old Frank Blair” pronounces the
statue to be the best likeness of Jackson now extant.

With the exception of the Burns’ house, the oldest houses in the city
are found on Capitol Hill. Here are houses whose antiquity alone make
them remarkable amid the houses of America. For example, here is the old
Duddington house, built by Daniel Carroll, who you may remember was so
angry with Major L’Enfant for tearing down his first abode, in the way
of a beloved street. The present house, built at that time, stands just
in front of the old site. Going south-east from the Capitol, the tall
forest trees of Duddington are soon visible. So completely do they
screen the house, nothing is seen of it until the visitor comes to the
large entrance gate, directly in front of the dwelling. It is a double
house, built of red brick, with wings stretching out on either side. The
grounds are beautiful in their very wildness, presenting all the
attributes of a primitive forest. Outside is a spring with an ancient
covering of brick. “This spring was once a well-known resort, on the
Duddington farm, for the school-boys of the neighborhood, one of whom,
an aged man now, told me how pleasantly he used to pass his noon recess
there.”

Nearly all the buildings in this part of the city can lay claim to
antiquity. Many of them were built by Thomas Low, of brick brought from
England. Thomas Low is an historic name in Washington. The brother of
Lord Ellenborough, he belonged to one of the most distinguished families
in England. He amassed a large fortune in India, at the time that Warren
Hastings was Governor-General. He was a friend of Hastings, and warmly
defended him. Low brought with him to this country five hundred thousand
dollars in gold. Soon after his arrival he became acquainted with
General Washington, who induced him to invest largely in the wilderness
which was to be transformed into the capital of the nation. The
investment was not profitable to Mr. Low. The high price set upon
property caused the city to go up far in the rear of his many new
buildings. He married Miss Custis, the granddaughter of Mrs. Washington,
and sister of George W. Parke Custis. His matrimonial venture was not
more satisfactory than his landed one. He parted from his wife, and at
his death his five hundred thousand dollars had dwindled down to one
hundred thousand. Mr. Low was so absent-minded, it is said he would
forget his name when inquiring for letters at the post-office, and once
locked his wife in a room, and not knowing what he had done, half a day
passed before she obtained her liberty.

There is a row of two-story brick dwellings near Duddington which were
built by Mr. Low, in one of which he lived. These houses bear the name
of the “Ten Buildings.” During Mr. Low’s residence there, Louis
Phillippe, then an exile, was his guest. In one of these the first copy
of the _National Intelligencer_ was printed, October 31, 1800. Another
row of houses on New Jersey avenue, one block south of the Capitol, was
also built by Thomas Low. Originally they were fashionable
boarding-houses, and such men as Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Dallas and
Louis Phillippe were entertained beneath their roof. They are now
occupied by the Coast Survey. In this house the bill was drawn up and
prepared for presentation to Congress, authorizing the establishment of
a United States Bank. A house a little nearer to the Capitol, long
occupied by John W. Forney, was built for the Bank of Washington, but
never occupied for that purpose. Instead, the United States Supreme
Court held its sessions in it for several years, and a house opposite
was used as the Bank of Washington.

Opposite the eastern front of the Capitol may be seen a block of three
houses, which for modern elegance will bear comparison with any in
Washington. Any one who recalls the forbidding-looking edifice which
used to occupy this site will find it difficult to identify this elegant
block of private dwelling-houses with the Old Capitol Prison.
Nevertheless the walls which once enclosed Wirz, Belle Boyd, “rebels”
and sinners of every phase and degree beside no inconsiderable number of
perfectly innocent prisoners, now surround the luxurious drawing-rooms
of a supreme judge, a senator, and an advocate-general. This building
which will ever remain most memorable as the Old Capitol Prison, was
built for the temporary accommodation of Congress in 1815. Niles,
_Register_ of November 4, 1815 in an article entitled:—“The Capitol
Rising from Its Ashes” thus speaks of this building:

  “The new building on Capitol Hill preparing for the accommodation of
  Congress, is in such a state of forwardness, that it is expected to be
  finished early in November. The spacious room for the House of
  Representatives has been finished for several weeks. The Senate-room
  has been _plaistered_ for some time.”

Congress took possession of the new house, December 4, 1815. The first
day a communication was received from the citizens who voluntarily
erected the building for the temporary accommodation of Congress. The
building cost $30,000; $5,000 of which had been expended on objects
necessary for the accommodation of Congress, which would be useless when
they vacated the house. Therefore the proprietors declared they would be
satisfied with $5,000 in money, and a rent of $1,650 per annum with cost
of insurance. Niles’ _Register_ went on to say:

  “The spot where this large and commodious building was erected was a
  garden on the fourth of July last; the bricks of which it is built
  were clay, and the timber used in its construction was growing in the
  woods on that day.”

The building thus expeditiously erected, was used as the Capitol for
several years. In front of this building, James Monroe was inaugurated
with great brilliancy, March 4, 1817. In the winter of 1833-4, Luigi
Persico occupied a room in this house as a studio. There in plaster
stood the group, which now in marble occupies the south block in front
of the main entrance to the Rotunda known as “Columbus and the Indian.”
Says the Hon. B. B. French:

  “How well I remember the _artistic_ enthusiasm with which he described
  to me his conception of Columbus holding up, with his right hand, the
  new world which he had discovered!

  There he stands, in marble, to-day, with that same “new world,” in the
  form of a huge nine-pin ball, or bomb-shell, elevated in his right
  hand, to the vast apparent admiration or fear of the crouching squaw
  at his side! What the squaw is there for, or what she is doing, has
  never yet been satisfactorily decided!”

The next mutation of this historic house was into the eminently
Washingtonian one of a fashionable boarding-house. It was first kept by
a Mrs. Lindenberger, afterwards by a Mr. Henry Hill, and was always a
favorite abode of Southern Members of Congress. John C. Calhoun, while a
Senator from South Carolina, died in this house. It was at one time
occupied by the famous Ann Royal, who with her factotum Sally Brass used
it as the publishing house of her feared and famous publications “The
Huntress” and “Paul Pry.”

Mrs. Royal inaugurated black-mailing journalism at an early day. She was
the widow of a Revolutionary officer, who, reduced to the necessity of
earning her living, chose a very malicious way of doing it. She kept
what she called the Black Book, in which she recorded descriptions of
the persons and characters of conspicuous residents of the city. She
canvassed the city for subscribers to her publications, and whoever
refused was threatened with a place in the Black Book. So fearfully and
effectually was this threat carried out, but few had the temerity to
refuse her requests. If such a daring mortal was found, the
breakfast-tables of Washington were, the next morning, regaled with a
portrayal whose impudence and audacity was only equalled by its
shrewdness and sharpness. All who gave her money were sure of adulation,
while those who refused it were equally sure of being defamed, without
regard to truth.

She was feared by all mankind, from the highest functionary in the
Government to the remotest clerk in the departments. “Few refused to
comply with her demands, and clerks, who saw her approach, would not
disdain to seek a friendly hiding-place.” I believe she printed her
papers with her own hands, and they were afterwards peddled about the
town by her female man, Sally Brass.

During the War of the Rebellion this building perfectly swarmed with
prisoners. Not only soldiers from the Rebel army, and undoubted
culprits, but also hundreds of citizens, arrested on the faintest
suspicion, were incarcerated within its walls. Any one suspected of
having given comfort to the enemy, of having interfered with military
discipline, or of having defrauded the Government in the remotest way,
was hurried off to the Old Capitol Prison. It was a small American
Bastile, and it is well, perhaps, that its walls cannot tell all or
aught of the oppression and outrage which transpired within them. In its
yard stood the just gallows whereon Wirz was hung for the tortures which
he inflicted on Union prisoners at Andersonville. Others were also
executed here during the war.

Soon after the close of the war, Mr. George T. Brown, then
Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate, bought the property and proceeded to
transmute the Old Capitol Prison into the three elegant mansions which
now occupy its ground.

With this famous house must close my chapter on the Historic Homes and
Haunts of Washington. To write minutely of them all would require a
volume. Full detail is here impossible, but no one of the most famous
has been omitted.




                             CHAPTER XLIX.
                  MOUNT VERNON—MEMORIAL DAY—ARLINGTON.

The Tomb of Washington—The Pilgrims Who Visit it—Where George and
    Martha Washington Rest—The American Mecca—The Thought of Other
    Graves—The Defenders of the Republic—Eating Boiled Eggs—A
    Butterfly Visit—The Old Mansion-House—Patriarchal Dogs—Remembering
    a Feast—The Room in which Washington Died—The Great Key of the
    Bastile—The Gift of Lafayette—The Harpsichord of Eleanor
    Custis—The _Belle_ of Mount Vernon—Moralizing—Inside the
    Mansion—Uncle Tom’s _Bouquets_—Beautiful Scenery—Memorial Day at
    Arlington—The Soldiers’ Orphans—The Grave of Forty Soldiers—The
    Sacrifice of a Widow’s Son—The Children’s Offering—The Record of
    the Brave—A National Prayer for the Dead.


We have newer and dearer shrines, even, than the tomb of Washington;
yet, in these soft, summer mornings, many pilgrims turn their faces
toward Mount Vernon.

Every morning a large company, including the young and the old, the
refined and the vulgar, land at the little wharf below the home of
Washington. Fathers and mothers come with their children and their
lunch-baskets. Pretty girls come with venerable duennas, and young men
come to look at them in spite of their keepers. Lovers come and go,
maundering along the lanes, as lovers will. Relic-hunters come to break
off twigs and pilfer pansies; newspaper people come, agog for an item;
and, for the climax, we will believe that a few come solely to do
reverence at the tomb of the Father of their country.

Passing up a wooded lane that winds over the hill, we reached the famed
sarcophagus, which engravings have made familiar to many eyes that have
never beheld it. Here, on their marble couch, amid the grassy slopes and
tutelary trees of their ancient domain, rest the bodies of George and
Martha Washington. Full of years and full of honors they laid down, and
their tomb has been the Mecca of this continent. It never can be other
than it is. Who would rob it of one hallowed memory? Yet, as I looked at
its sculptured marble, I thought of many and many a nameless grave that
I had seen by the roadside, and on the scathed fields of Virginia,
parched by summer’s sun, covered by winter’s snow, unturfed,
uncared-for—the grave of the volunteer. Dear to me as this sepulchre of
the great, is the grave of the lowliest soldier who perished for his
country.

The nation will reverence always the grave of Washington. But to this
generation, and to the generations which shall come after, are committed
many graves which cannot be held less dear. Let every city and every
village in the land gather, as most precious jewels, the names of its
dead who died for liberty. Set them in enduring marble; blazon them in
the public places; let them greet the traveller on silent hill-tops, and
in the peaceful vales; the names of our heroes, that we, our children,
our children’s children, to remotest time, may never forget the
defenders of the republic, what they suffered and what they gained.

We ate boiled eggs and other good things within sight of the tomb of the
Father of our Country—a very necessary proceeding before essaying to
climb the hill. While we were eating, a bright blue butterfly came and
paid us a visit. It looked just as if one of the myrtles had danced up
from the bank before us, and was palpitating in the sunshiny air. Miss
Butterfly was the loveliest “blue” I ever saw.

[Illustration:

  VIEW OF “THE CITY OF THE SLAIN.”—ARLINGTON.
  The remains of over 8,000 soldiers, killed during the war, lie buried
    in this Cemetery;—the name, regiment, and date of death of each is
    painted on a wooden head-board.
]

From the tomb to the old mansion house is a pleasant walk over upland
lawns and under sheltering trees. A few patriarchal dogs came forth to
meet us, and that was all the welcome we received. Their tails were very
limp, their ears very droopy, their legs very shaky, but they did their
best to seem glad to see us, and that was more than anybody else did.
One emaciated quadruped, I am sure, will remember to his dying hour the
luncheon of beef and eggs of which he partook so peacefully yesterday,
under an old tree within sight of Washington’s dining-room.

I am thankful that Congress appropriated thousands of dollars to repair
the Mount Vernon mansion. A mansion in its day, its rooms can bear no
comparison with those of modern houses which make no pretensions. The
dining-hall is the only one that can claim anything like stateliness or
elegance of proportion. The parlors are the merest boxes, each
containing one high window. The chamber in which Washington died
commands an exquisite view, through the vistas of the grounds, down the
Potomac. But, oh! what a cell, compared with the spacious apartments
inhabited by the great generals of our own day. Mrs. Washington never
occupied this room after the death of her husband. It was closed, and
all in it kept sacred to his memory. She removed to the chamber above,
and occupied it till her death. We went up. It is a mere garret. One
little attic-window gives a meagre glimpse of the lovely landscape
below. But in its best estate the room must have been very contracted,
dreary, and without a convenience. No modern “Bridget” would be content
to occupy for a week such a room as this in which Martha Washington
lived and died.

The home of Washington, now the home of the nation, at last is open,
kindly and genial. Here, in the hall, in its glass case, hangs the great
key of the Bastile, presented to Washington by Lafayette, at the
destruction of that prison in 1789.

Here what an opportunity to stand and gaze and moralize over the history
of the brave men and beautiful women whose faces it shut into darkness!
So thick gather the celebrated names, I must not mention one.

Here, in the grand dining-room, stands the quaint old harpsichord which
General Washington presented as a wedding gift to his adopted daughter,
the beautiful Eleanor Custis. It was made in Cheapside, Haymarket,
London, and old ocean tossed it over to delight the heart of the _belle_
of Mount Vernon. Here what another fine opportunity to “reflect” over
the broken and rusty keys that once thrilled to the touch of beauty, and
stirred with melody in the presence of the great, and made the old halls
ring with the music of festivals! Only my reflections, like many other
people’s, have all come to me afterward, sitting here in my chair,
thinking of that old harpsichord. When I looked at it, I doubt if I had
a reflection at all. Staring at relics in the midst of a jostling crowd
is not particularly conducive to reflection—at least not to emotion.
Even the bedstead on which Washington died seems to lose half its
sacredness being handled and commented on by a careless crowd.

In the dining-room, we see the famous marble mantel, carved in Italy,
and presented to General Washington by Samuel Vaugh. Its proportions are
not grand, but its carving is exquisite, and it still retains its
whiteness and polish.

The dining-room is a noble apartment of lofty proportions, extending
through the depth of the house, its windows on front, back and sides
overlooking the loveliest portion of the grounds. It is a sunshiny room,
fit for family cheer. And (reflection third) what illustrious men and
famous women have broken bread and tasted wine within its carved and
mouldy walls in the days that are no more!

The east and west parlors, leading from the dining-room, are meagre,
high-windowed rooms. Indeed, the whole house of the Father of his
Country, though, doubtless, a princely mansion in its day, reminds a
denizen of the present generation of the growth of architecture, and of
modern convenience and elegance, quite as much as of anything else. Out
on the veranda, where a venerable Uncle Tom drives a thrifty trade in
the _bouquet_ line, we find the real beauty of Mount Vernon—its
prospect. Here, looking out upon terraced lawns and forest trees, and
down the gentlest of slopes to the wide Potomac, flecked with milky
sails, steamboats plying its waves, and pleasure-barques drifting and
dozing with the spring-time gales, we see one of the softest and fairest
of landscapes. A gentle sky, the blue air goldened with daffodils and
fragrant with hyacinths, pleasant friends by my side. Thus I think of
Mount Vernon.

Last Saturday was Memorial Day. With banners and bands, music and speech
under the softest of May skies, and in its serenest airs tens of
thousands of our soldiers’ graves were decorated with flowers. Most
lovely was Arlington that day! No words could have been more eloquently
fitting than those which were spoken; no music tenderer, nor fuller of
precious memories, nor sweeter with suggestions of Heaven, than that
sung under those patriarchal trees by fifty orphan children. And no
sight could have been more touching than when these soldiers’ orphans
laid their flower-wreaths down upon ten thousand soldiers’ graves. Yet
the magnetism of the multitude was there. The tide followed the banners
and the bands, the blooming maidens, the eloquent speech.

Miles out Seventh street, beyond Fort Stevens, there is a little
cemetery where forty soldiers lie alone, who fell in defence of
Washington. One of these was a poor widow’s son. She had three; and this
was the last that she gave to her country. She, a poor widow, living far
in northern Vermont, has never even seen the graves of her three soldier
sons, whom she gave up, one by one, as they came to man’s estate; and
who went forth from her love to return to it living no more.

To this little grave-yard on Seventh street one woman went alone with
her children, carrying forty wreaths of May’s loveliest flowers, and
laid one on every grave. Forty mother’s sons slept under the green turf;
and one mother, in her large love, remembered and consecrated them all.
She chose these because, with more than thirty thousand others in the
larger cemeteries to be decorated, she feared the forty, in their
isolation, might be forgotten. No others followed her; and this mother,
alone with her children, scattering flowers in the silence of love upon
those unremembered graves, some way wears a halo which does not shine
about the multitude.

[Illustration:

  THE TOMB OF “THE UNKNOWN.”—ARLINGTON.
  Erected by the Government to the memory of Unknown Soldiers killed
    during the War.
]

We look on Arlington through softest airs. How beautiful it is! how sad
it is! how holy! Again the tender spring grasses have crept over its
sixteen thousand graves. The innocents, the violets of the woods, are
blooming over the heads of our brave. In the rear of the house a granite
obelisk has been raised to the two thousand who sleep in one grave. Four
cannon point from its summit, and on its face it bears this
inscription:—

  “Beneath this stone repose the bones of two thousand one hundred and
  eleven unknown soldiers, gathered after the war from the fields of
  Bull Run, and the route to the Rappahannock. Their bodies could not be
  identified, but their names and deaths are recorded in the archives of
  their country, and its grateful citizens honor them as their noble
  army of martyrs. May they rest in peace.”

The rooms and conservatories of the house are filled with luxurious
plants, soon to be set out on the graves of this cemetery. Beauty and
silence reign through this domain of the dead. There is a hush in the
air, and a hush in the heart, as you walk through it, reading its names,
pausing by the graves of its “unknown,” thinking of the past. Far as the
sight reaches, stretch the long columns of immortal dead. The beauty of
their sleeping-place, the reverent care covering it everywhere, tells
how dear to the Nation’s heart is the dust of its heroes, how sacred the
spot where they lie. In this let us not forget the still higher love
which we owe them; let us attest it by a deeper devotion to the
principles for which they died.




                               CHAPTER L.
   THE LIFE AND CAREER OF JAMES A. GARFIELD, THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT.

The National Republican Convention of 1880—Nomination of James A.
    Garfield as President Hayes’s Successor—The History of His Life—His
    Humble Home—Death of His Father—Hardships and Privations of Pioneer
    Life—Struggles of His Mother to Support the Family—Splitting Fence
    Rails with her own Hands—The Future President’s Early School
    Days—Working as a Carpenter—Chopping Wood for a Living—Leaving
    Home—Life as a Canal Boat Boy—Narrow Escapes—Beginning His Education
    in Earnest—School Life at Chester—How He Paid His Own Way—First
    Meeting with his Future Wife—Early Religious Experience—Enters
    Williams College—Professor and President—His First Appearance in
    Politics—His Brilliant Military Record—His Services at Shiloh,
    Corinth, and Chickamauga—His Congressional Career—Republican Leader
    of the House of Representatives—He is Elected to the United States
    Senate—His Appearance as the Leader of the Sherman Forces at the
    Chicago Convention—He is Himself Nominated amid the Wildest
    Enthusiasm—An Exciting Campaign—His Triumphant Election.


The occupants of the White House, from March, 1877, to March, 1881, were
Rutherford B. and Lucy Webb Hayes, of Ohio. Mr. Hayes’s nomination by
the Republican National Convention, at Cincinnati, was a surprise to his
party and the country, and his election was for a long time in doubt.
Both the Republicans and the Democrats claimed the electoral votes of
Florida, South Carolina, and Louisiana, and at one time civil war seemed
a not remote possibility, so intense was the partisan excitement, and so
inflammable the state of the public mind. But better and wiser counsels
prevailed, and by the efforts of leading men of both parties an
electoral commission was established to which all doubtful matters were
referred, and Mr. Hayes was declared elected by a majority of one
electoral vote over Samuel J. Tilden, of New York. Many of Mr. Tilden’s
friends and party supporters, and some of those who had opposed his
election, questioned the legality of Mr. Hayes’s election, and contended
that Mr. Tilden should have had the position. Mr. Hayes’s administration
was generally quiet and uneventful, save that it marked the resumption
of specie payments, and witnessed the transition from almost
unprecedented business depression and industrial inactivity to a period
of almost unexampled industrial activity and business prosperity. Mrs.
Hayes was perhaps the most popular President’s wife who had ever
occupied the White House, and more of the people of the United States
saw the inside of the Executive Mansion during her residence there than
during any previous administration, or perhaps all of them combined. No
one of the many excursion parties that visited Washington while Mrs.
Hayes was there was allowed to go away without seeing the “blue room,”
the “red room,” and the famous White House conservatory, if any wish to
that effect was expressed; and besides opening the White House freely to
the people, Mrs. Hayes received her multitude of visitors no less
gracefully and cordially than if they had been neighbors who had
“dropped in” of an afternoon or evening.

[Illustration:

  JAMES A. GARFIELD. THE MARTYRED PRESIDENT.
  (Engraved from a photograph, expressly for this work.)
]

The National Republican Convention, which met at Chicago, in 1880, to
select a candidate to succeed Mr. Hayes, nominated James Abram Garfield.
That Ohio should carry off the first honor of the Republican party for
two successive Presidential terms was an extraordinary circumstance, but
Gen. Garfield’s nomination, while it pleased Ohio men, electrified the
country, and awoke great enthusiasm.

James Abram Garfield was born in a log cabin at Orange, Ohio, November
19, 1831. His father, Abram Garfield, was born in New York from
Massachusetts ancestry, the founder of the Garfield family in the United
States, Edward, having emigrated from England in 1736, and settled at
Watertown, Mass. Two of Edward Garfield’s sons, Abraham and Solomon,
took part in the revolutionary war, and when that war was over Solomon
left New England, and fixed his residence in Otsego county, New York. It
was there that Abram Garfield was born, and after his marriage with
Eliza Ballou, a New Hampshire girl, and a connection of Hosea Ballou,
one of the great apostles of Universalism in this country, the young
couple went to Ohio and wrested a farm from the primeval forest.

The dwelling of the Garfields was built after the standard pattern of
the houses of poor Ohio farmers in that day. Its walls were of logs, its
roof was of shingles split with an axe, and its floor of rude thick
planking split out of tree-trunks with a wedge and maul. It had only one
room, at one end of which was the big cavernous chimney, where the
cooking was done, and at the other a bed. The younger children slept in
a trundle-bed, which was pushed under the bedstead of their parents in
the daytime to get it out of the way, for there was no room to spare;
the older ones climbed a ladder to the loft under the steep roof.

The father worked hard early and late to clear his land and plant and
gather his crops. No man in all the region around could wield an axe
like him. Fenced fields soon took the place of the forest; an orchard
was planted, a barn built, and the family was full of hope for the
future when death removed its strong support. Just before he died,
pointing to his children, he said to his wife: “Eliza, I have planted
four saplings in these woods. I leave them to your care.” He was buried
in a corner of a wheat-field on his farm. James, the baby, was eighteen
months old at the time.

The eldest of Mrs. Garfield’s four children was a daughter, aged eleven;
then came Thomas, aged nine; then a daughter of seven, and the baby boy
of two summers. A part of the farm was sold to pay off the debt, and
Mrs. Garfield and Thomas cultivated the rest, and kept the family
together. Mrs. Garfield split rails for fencing with her own hands,
slight and delicate woman though she was. Some of her neighbors
undertook to give her a “bee” to help her get out rails for fencing, but
went home when she declined to treat them with rum, and the brave little
woman split her own rails. Mrs. Garfield’s anxiety that her children,
and especially James, should have educational advantages was so great
that the first school house in that region was built on land which she
gave for that purpose.

There, at the age of three, James began his life of study, and that he
was enabled to pursue his studies after he reached the age when he could
work was largely due to the self-denial of his mother and his brother
Thomas. The first pair of shoes which the little fellow had were bought
with money which Thomas had earned, and it was the pleasure of this
elder brother, who is now living near Grand Rapids, Mich., to do
everything in his power to help James along. For that he gave up his own
desire for an education, and he always rejoiced in his brother’s
advancement and renown as though it had been his own.

James was a precocious boy, both physically and mentally. At four, he
received at the district school the prize of a New Testament as the best
reader in the primary class. At eight he had read all the books
contained in the little log farm-house, and began to borrow from the
neighbors such works as “Robinson Crusoe,” Josephus’s “History and Wars
of the Jews,” Goodrich’s “United States,” and Pollock’s “Course of
Time.” These were read and re-read, until he could relate whole chapters
from memory. At the district school James was known as a fighting boy.
He found that the larger boys were disposed to insult and abuse a little
fellow who had no father or big brother to protect him, and he resented
such imposition with all the force of a sensitive nature backed by a hot
temper, great physical courage, and a strength unusual for his age. Many
stories are told of the pluck shown in his encounters with the rough
country lads in defence of his boyish rights and honor. They say he
never began a fight and never cherished malice, but when enraged by
taunts or insults would attack boys of twice his size with the fury and
tenacity of a bull-dog. When he was twelve years old his brother
returned from Michigan, where he had been employed by a farmer to make
clearings, with money enough to build a frame house for his mother.
James assisted him, and did so well that one of the joiners advised him
to follow carpentering as a trade. During the next two years he worked
regularly as a carpenter, going to school only at intervals, but
studying diligently in spare hours at home.

He was as ready to work as he was to study or defend himself. He often
got employment in the haying and harvesting season from the farmers of
Orange. When he was sixteen he walked ten miles to Aurora, in company
with a boy older than himself, looking for work. They offered their
services to a farmer who had a good deal of hay to cut. “What wages do
you expect?” asked the man. “Man’s wages—a dollar a day,” replied young
Garfield. The farmer thought they were not old enough to earn full
wages. “Then let us mow that field by the acre,” said the young man. The
farmer agreed; the customary price per acre was 50 cents. By four
o’clock in the afternoon the hay was down and the boys earned a dollar
apiece. Then the farmer engaged them for a fortnight. James’s first
wages were earned from a merchant who had an ashery where he leached
ashes and made black salts, which were shipped by lake and canal to New
York. He got $9 a month and his board, and stuck to the business for two
months, at the end of which his hair below his cap was bleached and
colored by the fumes until it assumed a lively red hue. About that time
he took a job of cutting 100 cords of oak wood at 50 cents a cord, and
put up his two cords a day without any trouble.

Like most active and restless boys he wanted to become a sailor, and
went to Cleveland to ship on a lake schooner. The first captain to whom
he applied greeted him with such a torrent of profanity that he turned
about to go home, but afterwards accepted an offer from his cousin, Amos
Setcher, to drive horses on the canal boat tow path for “$10 a month and
found,” a dazzling offer in those days. A few months of association with
the rough canal boatmen dispelled much of the romance with which his
fancy had invested an aquatic life, and after falling into the canal no
less than 14 times, the last time barely escaping with his life, he made
up his mind that Providence might have something better in store for him
than driving a canal boat. His brief canal experience was followed by a
long fit of sickness, and after his recovery he took his savings, and
with some assistance from his brother Thomas, began his education in
earnest.

Accompanied by a cousin and another young man from the neighborhood, and
supplied by his mother with a few pots, frying pans and dinner plates,
he set out for Chester, where the academy was located. The three young
men rented a room in an old, unpainted building near the academy, and,
with their cooking utensils, a few dilapidated chairs, loaned by a
kindly neighbor, and some straw ticks, which they spread upon the floor
to sleep on, they set up housekeeping—for they were too poor to pay
board as well as tuition. Garfield paid his own way by taking odd jobs
from carpenters Saturdays and evenings. During the summer he made enough
by chopping wood to pay his board for the next academy term, the price
for his board, washing, and lodging being $1.06 a week.

He now thought himself competent to teach a country school, but in two
days’ tramping through Cuyahoga county failed to find employment. Some
schools had already engaged teachers, and where there was still a
vacancy the trustees thought him too young. He returned home completely
discouraged and greatly humiliated by the rebuffs he had met with. He
made a resolution that he would never again ask for a position of any
sort, and the resolution was kept, for every public place he has since
had has come to him unsought.

Next morning, while still in the depths of despondency, he heard a man
call to his mother from the road, “Widow Gaffield” (a local corruption
of the name Garfield), “where’s your boy Jim? I wonder if he wouldn’t
like to teach our school at the Ledge.” James went out and found a
neighbor from a district a mile away, where the school had been broken
up for two winters by the rowdyism of the big boys. He said he would
like to try the school, but before deciding must consult his uncle, Amos
Boynton. That evening there was a family council. Uncle Amos pondered
over the matter, and finally said, “You go and try it. You will go into
that school as the boy, ‘Jim Gaffield,’ see that you come out as Mr.
Garfield, the school-master.” The young man mastered the school, after a
hard tussle in the school-room with the bully of the district, who
resented a flogging and tried to brain the teacher with a billet of
wood. His wages were $12 a month and board, and he “boarded around” in
the families of the pupils.

In the fall of this term he first met Lucretia Rudolph, whom the whole
world now honors as Mrs. Garfield. English grammar, natural philosophy,
arithmetic and algebra were his principal studies, and he soon had
sufficient knowledge of them to teach in a district school. For three
years he continued his work at the academy, at the school, and in the
carpenters’ shops in autumn and winter, and in the woods in the summer,
thus managing not only to pay his expenses at the academy, but to save
something toward the expenses of his college education. It was while he
was teaching during his academy life that he became personally
interested in religion and joined the Christian Disciples, or
Campbellites as they are often called from their founder. Of this
denomination he was ever after a consistent and active member. In the
fall of 1851 he went to Hiram and asked of the trustees of the
institution there the privilege of making the fires and sweeping to pay
a portion of his expenses. He soon became a teacher, and in 1854, was
ready to enter college in advance and had $350 saved toward meeting his
expenses. His decided anti-slavery opinions led him to seek admission to
some New England college, and a friendly reply from President Mark
Hopkins, of Williams College, to a letter of inquiry, secured for
Williams her most illustrious alumnus. He graduated at Williams in 1856,
returned to Hiram as professor of Greek and Latin, and two years later
was married and elected president of Hiram College.

Up to 1856 Mr. Garfield had taken but little interest in public affairs,
but with the Kansas-Nebraska legislation his political pulses began to
stir. He then became an active Republican, and entered into politics
with the same ardor that characterized his efforts as an educator. His
first political speech was made at Williamstown in 1856, just before he
left college, in behalf of Fremont, the first Republican candidate for
the Presidency. His first vote was cast at the Presidential election
that fall. In 1859 he was elected by a large majority to the Senate of
Ohio from the counties of Portage and Summit, and though yet scarcely
28, at once took high rank as a man unusually well informed on the
subjects of legislation, and effective and powerful in debate. His most
intimate friend in the Senate, Jacob D. Cox, afterward became a
Major-General, Governor of the State, and Secretary of the Interior.
Garfield pushed his law studies forward, and early in the winter of 1860
was admitted to the bar of the supreme court. He was serving in the
State Senate when the war broke out, and when the President’s call for
75,000 men was read in the chamber, amidst the tumultuous acclamations
of the assemblage, he moved that 20,000 troops and $3,000,000 at once be
voted as the quota of the State. When the time came for appointing the
officers for the Ohio troops, Gov. Dennison offered him command of the
Forty-Second Infantry, but he modestly declined, on account of his lack
of military experience, and, resigning the Presidency of Hiram College,
he accepted a position as Lieutenant-Colonel. A few weeks later, when
the Forty-Second was organized, he yielded to the universal desire of
its officers, and accepted the Colonelcy. His first military duty was
the conduct of an expedition against Humphrey Marshall, in Eastern
Kentucky, by which he won a Brigadier-Generalship. He was at Shiloh, at
Corinth, and at Chickamauga, where he wrote every order but one, and for
his gallant bravery at Chickamauga he was made a Major-General. While he
was in camp, after the battle of Shiloh, a fugitive slave took refuge
with the Union soldiers. A few moments later the owner rode up and
demanded his property. Gen. Garfield was not present, and the
slaveholder passed on to the division commander, who ordered Garfield,
by written order, to deliver the fugitive. Garfield answered by simply
endorsing on the order: “I respectfully but positively decline to allow
my command to search for or deliver up any fugitive slaves. I conceive
that they are here for quite another purpose.” This position was
sustained by a general order subsequently issued by the war department.

In 1862 Ohio Republicans of the 19th Ohio District elected Gen. Garfield
to succeed Joshua R. Giddings in the House of Representatives. At
President Lincoln’s suggestion he reluctantly resigned his commission in
December, 1863, to enter Congress, where he was the youngest member.
From that time until 1880 he represented his district in the House, and
came to be the Republican leader of that body and the party candidate
for Speaker. It is impossible to detail here his congressional services,
but he did most faithful and valuable work as chairman of the important
committees on military affairs, banking and currency, and
appropriations. In the winter of 1880 he was elected U. S. Senator to
succeed Allen G. Thurman, receiving the vote of every Republican member
of the Ohio Legislature in the nominating caucus, an honor never before
accorded to any politician in the Buckeye State. Gen. Garfield went to
the Chicago convention as the leader of the Ohio delegation, and when
the nominations were made he presented the name of John Sherman,
Secretary of the Treasury, in a most eloquent speech.

When the balloting began, a single delegate from Pennsylvania voted for
Garfield. No attention was paid to this vote, which was thought to be a
mere eccentricity on the part of the man who cast it. Later on a second
Pennsylvania delegate joined the solitary Garfield man. So the balloting
continued, the fight being between Grant, Blaine, and Sherman, with
Washburne, Edmunds, and Windom in the field.

Some unsuccessful efforts were made on the second day’s voting to rally
on Edmunds and Washburne. Finally, on the thirty-fourth ballot, the
Wisconsin men determined to make an effort in an entirely new direction
to break the deadlock. They threw their seventeen votes for Garfield.

General Garfield sprang to his feet and protested against this
proceeding, making the point of order that nobody had a right to vote
for any member of the Convention without his consent, and that consent,
he said, “I refuse to give.” The chairman declared that the point of
order was not well taken, and ordered the Wisconsin vote to be counted.
On the next ballot nearly the whole Indiana delegation swung over to
Garfield, and a few scattering votes were changed to him from other
States, making a total of fifty votes cast for him in all. Now it became
plain that, by a happy inspiration, a way out of the difficulty had been
found. On the thirty-sixth ballot, State after State swung over to
Garfield amid intense excitement, and Gen. Garfield was finally
nominated on the tenth day of the convention, in a whirlwind of
enthusiasm. His election followed by a large majority, the Electoral
College standing 214 for Gen. Garfield to 155 for Gen. Hancock.




                              CHAPTER LI.
        THE HISTORY OF THE ASSASSINATION AND DEATH OF PRESIDENT
                      JAMES A. GARFIELD—THE GREAT
                          TRAGEDY OF THE AGE.

Inauguration of President Garfield—Kissing His Venerable Mother—Chief
    Magistrate of Fifty Million People—Illness of Mrs. President
    Garfield—Tender Solicitude of the President for the Welfare of His
    Wife—She goes to Long Branch—The President’s Plans to Meet Her—His
    Arrival at the Depot of the Baltimore and Potomac R. R. at
    Washington—His Buoyant Spirits—Joyous Anticipation of Meeting His
    Wife—The Assassin Lying in Wait—The Fatal Shot—Tremendous
    Excitement—The Wounded President—His Assassin, Charles J.
    Guiteau—Who He is—His Infamous Appearance and Character—His Cool
    Deliberation—His Capture and Imprisonment—A Thrill of Horror
    Throughout the Country—Removal of the President to the White
    House—Arrival of Mrs. Garfield—Her Courage and Devotion—The Fight
    for Life—Anxious Days—Removal of the Wounded President to Long
    Branch—A Remarkable Ride—Great Anxiety throughout the
    Country—Fighting Death—Slowly Sinking—After Eighty Days of
    Unparalleled Suffering the President Breathes His Last—Grief and
    Gloom throughout the Land—The Whole Civilized World in
    Tears—Unprecedented Funeral and Memorial Honors—His Burial at
    Cleveland—Attendance of Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand People—His
    Life and Character Reviewed.


No President was ever inaugurated under happier and more favorable
auspices than was President Garfield. From the day that the electric
wires flashed over the country the unexpected news of his nomination up
to his inauguration, his popularity had steadily increased. Of the
hundreds of speeches which he was called upon to make under all possible
circumstances during the campaign and after his election, every one was
appropriate to the occasion, and gave a new revelation of his
versatility and capability. His first act after taking the oath of
office at Washington, March 4, was to turn and kiss his venerable
mother, who had lived to see her “baby” inaugurated as chief magistrate
of a nation of 50,000,000 people. His inaugural message was eloquent,
patriotic, and courageous, and was cordially indorsed. The people
everywhere felt that it was one of their own number whom they had placed
in the White House, and they knew that he would not forget them, but
would sympathize with their toils and trials. Everything went on
smoothly until the President’s appointment of William H. Robertson to
the New York collectorship antagonized Senator Conkling, who endeavored
to have the nomination withdrawn. President Garfield adhered to his
nomination, and Senator Conkling and his colleague, Mr. Pratt, resigned.
The Senate then confirmed Mr. Robertson’s nomination without opposition,
and the President’s quiet and dignified bearing throughout the whole
contest rather strengthened him than otherwise with the country at
large, though many politicians of his own party regarded the alienation
of Mr. Conkling as something that had better been avoided than
precipitated.

[Illustration:

  MRS. JAMES A. GARFIELD.
  (Engraved from a photograph, expressly for this work.)
]

Very early in President Garfield’s administration Mrs. Garfield was
prostrated by illness, the result of overwork and anxiety, and for a
time her life was despaired of. The social demands made upon her during
the campaign and after the election at their Ohio home were continuous
and exacting, and she went to the White House weary and worn.

Mrs. Garfield is a lady of refinement, devoted to her family and averse
to display, although thoroughly at home in the best society. Her home
life and quiet has always been more pleasure to her than the attractions
of fashionable society. But from the nomination of General Garfield
until he left his delightful home for the last time there was no quiet
at Mentor. The quiet country house was turned at once into a hotel,
crowded with political workers of aspirants for office from morning to
night, all of whom had to be courteously received while many had to be
entertained with meals and lodgings.

An intimate friend of General Garfield, who assisted him during the
campaign, asserts that during a large portion of the time Mrs. Garfield
and “Mother” Garfield were compelled to dine or lunch from forty to
sixty persons every day, while the children were sent away at night to
make room for the guests who had to be entertained. Many of these were
persons without claims of any kind upon such hospitality except that
they were engaged in political work.

Then came the excitement incident to the removal to the White house, the
inauguration, and the daily necessity of giving receptions for the
thousands of sight-seers and office-seekers. The break-down came at
last, and for weeks the President’s wife was prostrated with severe
illness, her life for a time hanging by a thread.

As soon as she was able to bear the journey, the President took her from
Washington to Long Branch, and, when her condition warranted, returned
to Washington to prepare for a trip through the Eastern States, the
central object of which was attendance upon the exercises of
commencement week at Williams College, where the members of his class
were to celebrate the 25th anniversary of their graduation. Mrs.
Garfield’s rapidly improving health, the prospect of a week’s recreation
from public duties, and the anticipation of renewing the pleasant
associations of college life, all combined to give him great buoyancy of
spirits. He was to be accompanied from Washington by several members of
the Cabinet and their wives, was to meet Mrs. Garfield at Jersey City,
and arrangements had been made at the places included in his tour for
most cordial and hearty receptions.

Saturday, July 2, had been fixed upon for leaving Washington, and on the
morning of that day the President and those of the party who were in
Washington drove to the depot to take the special train which was to
convey them to Jersey City, where Mrs. Garfield was to join them. The
President walked into the waiting-room of the depot, arm-in-arm with
Secretary Blaine, toward the door leading to the train, when a man, who
had been lounging about the room, stepped forward and fired two shots at
the President from behind, one taking effect in the lower portion of the
body, the other inflicting a wound in the arm. The wounded man sank to
the floor, and was surrounded by an anxious and excited crowd. As soon
as possible he was removed to the railroad office in the building and
surgical aid summoned, and after the preliminary treatment of his
injuries he was taken to the White House, where his long and patient
suffering has become matter of history. The assassin was speedily
captured and conveyed to prison, where he was strongly guarded, as
threats of summary punishment were freely made by the angry and
horrified populace. His name was ascertained to be Charles J. Guiteau, a
man of notoriously bad reputation and ill-balanced mind, although he
possessed a certain amount of intelligence and shrewdness. He had long
been an applicant for office, and had greatly annoyed the President and
other officials by the persistence and impudence of his demands. Neither
then nor afterwards did the miserable assassin express any regret over
his murderous deed, the only sorrow which he expressed being that he did
not kill the President instantly, as he had hoped and intended. His
plans had all been made with cool deliberation, and his villainy stands
out without a parallel in history.

It is impossible to express in words the thrill of horror which the
country, and indeed the whole world, experienced as the news was flashed
abroad that the President had been shot. From that moment until the time
when his wasted form was carried to its burial on the beautiful shore of
Lake Erie, there were no distinctions of party and no fractional
dissensions in the United States. Everything was forgotten and hushed in
the absorbing hope and agonizing prayer that the President might recover
and live to complete the administration which had been so auspiciously
begun. With varying hopes and fears, the whole world watched at the
President’s bedside, and eagerly devoured every word of information sent
out from the sick room by the physicians and attendants. Mrs. Garfield,
rudely awakened on the day of the assassination from her dream of
recreation with her husband by the touchingly thoughtful message
dictated by the President, that he was hurt, he knew not how badly, and
sent her his love, and wished her to come to him at once, sped from Long
Branch to Washington as fast as steam could carry her, and, invalid
though she was, bravely took her place by her husband’s side, and
comforted and cheered him during his long and weary fight for life. How
grandly she rose to the occasion, how tenderly she endured the weary
weeks, always wearing a cheerful face, while her heart was breaking with
its cruel load, the whole world knows. Her heroic devotion to her
husband grandly typified the loyal and self-sacrificing spirit of
wifehood, which finds nowhere more conspicuous illustration than in our
American homes, and when one of the New York merchant princes proposed
the raising of a fund to testify the Nation’s appreciation of Mrs.
Garfield’s quiet heroism, money flowed in from every quarter until over
$300,000 had been subscribed.

July and August slowly wore away, the hopes aroused by one days’
favorable indications being dashed by the appearance of some new
complication, or the development of some alarming symptom, and early in
September the physicians were importuned by the President to take him
away from Washington. He wanted most of all to go to his Ohio home, but
being told that was impossible his next thought was Long Branch, where
he could see the ocean and breathe its life-giving air. The journey was
undertaken, and so complete were the arrangements and appliances for his
comfort that he endured the railroad ride of 250 miles with apparent
advantage, rather than discomfort. Weak as he was he enjoyed the ride,
and at one time said to Mrs. Garfield, “Well, Crete (his pet name for
Lucretia) this is a great ride, isn’t it.” It certainly was a great
ride, and the whole country stood with bated breath, watching the
telegraphic reports of the progress of the swift-moving train. Quartered
at Long Branch in a luxurious cottage tendered by a British subject, Mr.
Francklyn, of New York, the cool sea-breezes for a time seemed to send
life into his blood, and once or twice after his arrival he, at his own
request, was permitted to recline in an easy position by the window
where he could look out upon the ocean. One day while Mrs. Garfield was
in the adjoining room, love, hope, and gratitude filling her heart, she
sang the beautiful hymn commencing—

                   “Guide me, O thou Great Jehovah!”

As the soft and plaintive notes floated into the sick chamber the
President turned his eyes upon Dr. Bliss and asked:

“Is that Crete?”

“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “it is Mrs. Garfield.”

“Quick, open the door a little,” anxiously responded the sick man.

Dr. Bliss opened the door, and after listening a few moments Mr.
Garfield exclaimed, as the large tears coursed down his sunken cheeks:

“Glorious, Bliss! isn’t it?”

But the hopes that were awakened were illusive and short-lived, and at
10.35, Monday evening, September 19, on the anniversary of the battle of
Chickamauga, in which he won great distinction for personal heroism and
cool, clear-headed generalship, the earthly life of James Abram Garfield
was ended.

The sad event was announced in many of the principal cities by the
tolling of the bells at midnight, and never did the death of a man cause
such general lamentation and inspire such a universal outburst of public
and private grief. Dispatches of condolence and sympathy were sent to
Mrs. Garfield and the State Department from every government in the old
world, and Queen Victoria, mindful of that dark hour when the noble
Prince Consort was taken from her side, sent touching messages of
womanly sympathy, and directed her ambassador at Washington to lay a
rich and costly floral offering upon the coffin of the dead President.
After funeral services at Long Branch the remains were borne back to
Washington over the same route which the President traversed on his way
to the sea, and after imposing funeral ceremonies in the Capitol
building the cortege once more pursued its mournful way to Cleveland,
where, on Monday, September 26, 250,000 people from all parts of the
country participated in the final obsequies. That day was also observed
throughout the United States, and in England and other countries as
well, as a general memorial day, and was marked by the total suspension
of ordinary business and the holding of public services in all the
cities and towns. These observances in this country were invited by
President Arthur and the State executives, but in truth no official
summons was needed to stimulate every possible tribute of respect. The
whole country was in mourning, and, as it was when the Prince of Orange
died, “the little children cried in the streets.”

President Garfield was large-framed, large-brained, and large-hearted.
He was six feet in height and was a splendid picture of a man. His
personal character and habits were clean and pure, and his home life at
Mentor or Washington was simply delightful. No husband and wife ever
lived happier together than President and Mrs. Garfield, and no man who
honored his mother as did President Garfield could fail to be idolized
by his children. Five of his seven children survived him, two of whom,
Harry and James A., entered Williams College as freshmen during their
father’s illness.

President Garfield was one of the closest students this country has ever
known. No man at Washington ever made so much use of the vast literary
treasures of the Congressional library as he, and when he was tired and
worn by committee and legislative work, he used to find recreation in
general literary study. At the close of a long and busy session of
Congress, a caller found him surrounded with every edition of the Latin
poet, Horace, which he could find in the library, and he was hard at
work “resting himself,” as he called it. It has been well said, since
his death, by one of our well-known scholars and public men: “The future
historian will declare Garfield the most thorough student of political
problems in the Presidential chair since John Quincy Adams; the man of
most scholarly breadth in statesmanship since James Madison; the most
eloquent parliamentarian since John Adams. His had been a life, a
career, a character which would have satisfied the highest hopes of
Washington and Jefferson for their successors in the chief magistracy.”

In a word, James A. Garfield was a man physically, intellectually, and
morally who was an honor to his country and to his race, and no more
imperishable name will ever adorn our country’s annals.

THE END.

(Whole number of pages with illustrations, 705.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           Transcriber’s Note

The Table of Contents refers the reader to p. 92 for Chapter IX. The
chapter begins on p. 93 and the Table was amended.

President Fillmore’s name was spelled with a single ‘l’ in nearly all
appearances.

On p. 298, the author provides a list of Secretaries of the Treasury
which mis-names Walter Forward (as Howard) and George Bibb (as Beble).
The mistakes are retained but noted. The name of the last
Postmaster-General appointed by Washington was also corrupted being
Joseph Habersham, rather than Haloshan (p. 395).

Some compound words are hyphenated inconsistently. When the hyphenation
occurs on a line break, the hyphen is removed unless there is clear
evidence that it should be retained.

Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected,
and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the
original.

  vii.32   “Poor Hallet[t]” and His Plan                  Removed.

  viii.22  Bust of Koscius[c/k]o                          Replaced.

  x.36     A Well-Regulated [A ]Lady                      Removed.

  xv.45    “She’ll do it _Cheaper[]_”                     Added.

  xx.25    The Tra[d/g]edy of the Decatur House           Replaced.

  21.27    but as a Capital he never entered it[.]        Added.

  23.11    Rhode Island, Newport; Maryland, An[n]apolis;  Inserted.

  27.22    in the State of Pennsylvania.[”]               Added.

  74.9     of a suddenly growing city[.]                  Added.

  143.6    every Vice[ /-]President who reigned in the    Replaced.
           Senate

  147.25   The gown worn by Judge Mc[C/L]lean still hangs Replaced.

  109.9    Bust of Koscius[c/k]o                          Replaced.

  123.2    where we witness a _teté-a-teté>_              _sic>_
                                                          tête-à-tête

  157.19   to repeat the _Unter de[r/n] Lindens_          Replaced.

  190.5    he is a poet after all.[”]                     Added.

  203.6    Mr. John [O/A]gg’s Little “Poem”               Replaced.

  243.17   “Bare-necked Dowagers[”]                       Added.

  256.11   [“]The Census of Spittoons”                    Added.

  256.13   “More Than Shak[e]speare’s Women”              Inserted.

  273.18   The President looks decid[ed]ly cooler         Inserted.

  278.18   A Protest again[s]t “Shams”                    Inserted.

  298.30   Walter [Howard], of Pennsylvania;              _sic_
                                                          Forward

  298.31   George M. [Beble], of Kentucky                 _sic_> Bibb

  302.1    to succeed Vice[ /-]President Henry Wilson     Replaced.

  334.13   Such is its acknowle[d]ged value               Inserted.

  364.25   in the Dead[ /-]Letter Office                  Replaced.

  365.13   for an entire State,[”]                        Removed.

  381.1    Yet there was scar[c]ely a Member              Inserted.

  389.26   As early as the year [1792]                    _sic_ 1692

  393.32   This experiment brought him in debt £9[0]0     Unclear.

  394.23   at a salary of $100 per ann[n/u]m              Inverted.

  395.18   Joseph [Haloshan/Habersham]                    Replaced.

  405.22   amounting to $33,658,740[,/.]27                Replaced.

  406.3    any sum over $5 is sent by money[ /-]order     Replaced.

  452.12   [“]On the other side                           Added.

  428.21   within their respective districts[.]           Restored.

  486.16   Fort Conch[a/o], Texas                         Replaced.

  494.5    for its especial service at Al[la]toona, Ga.   Inserted.

  558.6    on the river[-]side of the old Burns cottage   Probable.

  502.23   the central office at Washington.[”]           Added.

  568.23   and silver shoes.[”]                           Removed.

  575.1    stands jus[t] in front of the old site         Added.

  576.18   [“]The brother of Lord Ellenborough            Removed.

  578.15   [“]There he stands, in marble,                 Removed.

  588.15   amid the Wildest Enthusia[s]m                  Inserted.

  590.3    and awoke great enthusi[s]am.                  Inserted.