Part 3

Mr. Blaine and I were once passing along Pennsylvania Avenue, a third of a century ago, when he remarked that the old building just to our right had once been a high-toned gambling house; that there were traditions to the effect that some well-known statesmen were not wholly unadvised as to its exact location and uses. He then told me that during his first term in Congress he was early one morning passing this building on his way to the Capitol. Just as he reached the spot where we were then standing, the Hon. Thaddeus Stevens came down the steps of the building mentioned, and, immediately after his cordial greeting to Mr. Blaine, was accosted by a negro preacher, who earnestly requested a contribution toward the building of a church for his people. Promptly taking a roll from his vest pocket, Mr. Stevens handed the negro a fifty-dollar bill, and turning to Blaine solemnly observed,

"God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform!"

At the time first mentioned, Mr. Blaine was in excellent health, buoyant in spirits, aggressive to the last degree, and full of hope as to the future. The disappointments and bereavements that saddened the closing years of his life had as yet cast no shadow upon his pathway.

Next in leadership to Mr. Blaine, upon the Republican side, was the Hon. James A. Garfield. He possessed few of the qualities of brilliant leadership so eminently characteristic of Blaine, but was withal one of the ablest men I have ever known. Gifted with rare powers of oratory, with an apparently inexhaustible reservoir of information at his command, he knew no superior in debate. At one period of his life he was the recipient of public honors without a parallel in our history. While yet a Representative in Congress, he was a Senator-elect from Ohio, and the President-elect of the United States. For once, it indeed seemed that "fortune had come with both hands full." In the words of the Persian poet, "he had obtained an ear of corn from every harvest." And yet, a few months later, in the words of his great eulogist, "the stately mansion of power had become to him the wearisome hospital of pain, and he begged to be taken from its prison walls, from its oppressive, stifling air, from its homelessness and its hopelessness."

My personal acquaintance with Mr. Garfield began early in January, 1876, when we were members of the House Committee appointed by the Speaker to convey the remains of a deceased member to his late home, Norwich, Connecticut, for burial. Another member of the Committee was Representative Wheeler of New York. It was late Saturday afternoon when we were conveyed by carriages from the crossing at Jersey City to the depot where the Norwich train was in waiting. Our route lay for some distance along Broadway, through the very heart of the great metropolis. As we passed the hurrying throngs that crowded the great thoroughfare that sombre winter evening, Mr. Garfield remarked that it was a scene similar to the one we were then witnessing that suggested to Mr. Bryant one of the most stirring of his shorter poems.

At our request and in tones that linger even yet in my memory, he then repeated these lines:

"Let me move slowly through the street Filled with an ever shifting train, Amid the sound of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn rain.

How fast the flitting figures come, The mild, the fierce, the stony face; Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some Where secret tears have left their trace!

They pass to toil, to strife, to rest, To halls in which the feast is spread, To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead.

Each where his tasks or pleasures call They pass, and heed each other not. There is Who heeds, Who holds them all In His large love, and boundless thought.

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end."

Norwich, the home of the deceased member, Mr. Starkweather, and where he was laid to rest, is a beautiful city and one of much historic interest. It was here that Benedict Arnold was born, and the ruins of his early home were still to be seen. Of greater interest was a monument standing in an old Indian burying-ground near the centre of the city,--"Erected to the Memory of Uncas." It was within the memory of the oldest inhabitant that the President of the United States and his Cabinet were in attendance at the dedication of this monument, and deeply interested in the impressive ceremonies in honor of "the last of the Mohicans."

An exceedingly courteous gentleman upon the same side of the chamber was the Hon. Nathaniel P. Banks of Massachusetts. He had been a Major-general during the late war and was an ex-Governor of his State. He first achieved national distinction in the thirty-fourth Congress, when after a protracted and exciting struggle, he was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives. In the body over which he had so ably presided in ante-bellum days, he had again taken his seat. While by no means taking the highest rank as a debater, he was familiar with the complicated rules governing the House, and his opinion challenged the highest respect. He and Mr. Blaine were the only members of that House who had previously held the position of Speaker.

Near General Banks sat the Hon. William D. Kelley of Pennsylvania. He had known many years of legislative service, and was long "the father of the House." One of the features of its successive organization, as many old members will recall, was the administration of the official oath to the Speaker-elect by the member who had known the longest continuous service--"the gentleman from Pennsylvania." When in the fulness of times he passed to "the house not made with hands," his mantle fell upon Judge Holman of Indiana.

The House probably contained no member of rarer attainments in scholarship than Julius H. Seelye of Massachusetts. He stood in the front ranks of the great educators of his day, and was President of Amherst College during the latter years of his life. His political service was limited to one term in Congress. His speech near its beginning upon the General Amnesty Bill challenged the profound attention of the House, and at once gave him honored place in its membership.

The Congressional career of the Hon. George W. McCrary, of Iowa, terminated with this Congress. He was recognized as one of the ablest lawyers of the House, and was one of its most agreeable and courteous members. During the presidency of Hayes he held the position of Secretary of War, and was later a Judge of the United States Circuit Court.

The Hon. Joseph G. Cannon of Illinois, the present Speaker, was just at the beginning of his long Congressional career. For many years he has been an active leader of the House and a prominent participant in its important debates. His characteristic patience and long-suffering courtesy have no doubt at times been sorely tried by attempts to enlarge the sum total of appropriation bills reported by the Committee of which he was chairman. To the important post of "watch-dog of the Treasury," he was, _nem. con.,_ the successor to the lamented Holman. In this connection a suggestive incident is recalled. One of the guides of the Capitol, when some years ago showing a visitor through the Vice-President's chamber, called attention to a little old-fashioned mirror upon its walls. The guide explained that this mirror was purchased at a cost of thirty dollars when John Adams was Vice-President, but when the bill for its payment was before the House, Mr. Holman objected. A Western member, who had just been defeated upon a proposed amendment to an appropriation bill, by reason of a fatal point of order raised by the chairman, promptly exclaimed, "I move to strike out Holman and insert Cannon."

The sagacity and untiring industry of Mr. Cannon have elevated him to the Speakership, and possibly yet higher honors await him. It is a significant fact in this connection, however, that notwithstanding the brilliant array of ambitious statesmen who have held the Speakership for more than a century, only one, Mr. Polk, has ever reached the Presidency.

The forty-fourth Congress was the last of which the Hon. William A. Wheeler of New York was a member. He was elected Vice-president in 1876, and the duties of that office have rarely been discharged by an abler or more courteous officer. He was highly esteemed by his associates during his long service in the House. His principle in action seemed ever to be, "there is nothing so kingly as kindness."

Messrs. Hale and Frye of Maine, Aldrich of Rhode Island, Money of Mississippi, Taylor of Tennessee, and Elkins of West Virginia, were members of this House; all of whom are now Senators of marked ability, and well known to the entire country.

A member of this House, who at a later date, and in the other wing of the Capitol, achieved yet greater distinction, was the Hon. George F. Hoar of Massachusetts. At the close of this Congress he was transferred to the Senate, where for more than a quarter of a century he was a prominent leader. His ability and attainments were of the highest, and he was the worthy successor of Webster in the great body of which he was so long an honored member.

In addition to more solid qualities, Mr. Hoar was gifted with a keen sense of humor, as will appear from one or two incidents to be mentioned. In the House, Mr. Springer, in order to prevent the reconsideration of resolutions and debate thereupon under the rules, had frequently cut off the possibility of such debate by the timely interposition of the words, "Not to be brought back on a motion to reconsider." Now, it so fell out that upon a certain day Mr. Springer received a telegram calling him home just as the roll-call was ordered upon an important bill. Earnestly desiring to vote-- which owing to the early departure of his train was impossible if he waited until his name was regularly reached upon the roll --he moved to the front of the Speaker, and after brief explanation, asked unanimous consent to vote at once. Permission was of course granted, his name at once called, and his vote given. Grateful for the courtesy, he bowed repeatedly to each side of the Chamber, and, hurrying up the aisle, was about to take his exit, when Mr. Hoar, pointing his finger at the retreating figure, solemnly exclaimed, "Not to be _brought back_ upon a motion to reconsider!"

At a much later day the Senate was "advising and consenting" over the appointment of a distinguished gentleman whose name had just been sent in for confirmation as Ambassador to an important European Court. The gentleman in question had voted for the then incumbent of the great office, but his former political affiliations had been wholly with the opposing party. The nomination was about being confirmed without objection when Mr. Hoar, arising with apparent reluctance, said:

"As this is in some measure a family affair, Mr. President, I hesitate to interfere. If our friends upon the opposite side of the Chamber are satisfied with this appointment, I certainly shall interpose no objection. The gentleman named is well qualified, and has more than once held high place at the hands of the party which he has but recently deserted, and to which he will no doubt return in due time. We have, however, in New England an old-time custom, as sacred as if part of the written law, that if a man is so unfortunate as to lose his companion he will not marry again within one year. Now sir, I have always thought this rule, as to time, might well be applied to the matter of office-seeking. Where a man has been repeatedly honored by his party as this appointee has been, but where, prompted by motives purely unselfish no doubt, he has gone over to the camp of the enemy, I think a due sense of modestly should impel him _to serve in the ranks at least one year_ before being an applicant for high office at the hands of his newly found friends."

Coming over to the Democratic side of the Chamber, well to its front sat the Hon. William R. Morrison of Illinois. By virtue of his position as Chairman of the Committee on Ways and Means he was the traditional leader of the House. Possessing little of the brilliancy of the leader of the minority, Colonel Morrison was none the less one of the ablest and most useful members of that body. He had for many sessions been a member of the House, and had been a soldier in the Mexican and in the Civil War. His record was honorable, both as soldier and legislator. He was the author of the Tariff Bill which was fully debated during the first session of that Congress, and was in some measure a determining factor in the Presidential campaign that soon followed. At a later day, Colonel Morrison was a prominent candidate for nomination as President by the national convention of his party. His personal friendships and antagonisms were well known. It is related of him that during a serious illness, apprehending that the dread messenger was in near waiting, arousing himself to what appeared to be a last effort, he said in scarcely audible tones to a sorrowing colleague at his bedside: "I suppose when this is all over they will have something to say about me, as is the custom, in the House. Well, if Springer, and Cox, and Knott, and Stevenson want to talk, let them go ahead, but if old Spears tries to speak _just cough him down."_

Never in any political gathering has there been a more effective speech, of a single sentence, than that in which Colonel Morrison presented to the Democratic caucus of the House members the name of the "Blind Preacher" for Chaplain. Three or four candidates were already in nomination when Morrison arose and said: "Mr. Chairman, I present for the office of Chaplain of the House the name of Doctor Milburn, a man who loves God, pays his debts, and votes the Democratic ticket!" Before the applause that followed had entirely died away the names of his competitors were withdrawn, and the "Blind Preacher" was nominated by acclamation.

The Hon. William M. Springer, of the same State, had just entered upon his twenty years of continuous service in the House. He came promptly to the front as a ready debater and skilful parliamentarian. He was thoroughly educated, ambitious, and withal an excellent speaker, and was the possessor in full measure of the _suaviter in modo._ His personal popularity was great, and a more obliging, agreeable, and pleasing associate it would have been difficult to find. He was optimistic to the last degree. To him every cloud had a silver lining,--the lining generally concealing the cloud. It was said of him by one of his colleagues that when the election returns were coming in, showing overwhelming defeat to his party,-- even before they were fully summed up,--Mr. Springer with beaming countenance would promptly demonstrate by figures of his own how we were sure to be victorious four years later.

The Hon. Carter H. Harrison was a prominent member of the Illinois delegation. He soon took high rank as an orator, and never failed to command the attention of the House. Few speeches delivered during that session of Congress were so generally published, or more extensively quoted than were those of Mr. Harrison. At the end of four years' service in Congress he was elected Mayor of Chicago, an office he filled most acceptably for many years. His tragic death, upon the concluding day of the great Exposition, was universally deplored throughout the entire country.

The Hon. John H. Reagan, of Texas, was a Representative in Congress before the war. At its beginning he resigned his seat in the House, and cast in his fortunes with the South. He was early selected a member of the Davis Cabinet, and continued to discharge the duties of Postmaster-General until the fall of the Confederacy. He was a citizen of Texas while it was yet a Republic, and took an active part in securing its admission to the Federal Union. Judge Reagan was a gentleman of recognized ability, and of exceedingly courteous and dignified bearing.

An old-time statesman, on the same side of the Chamber, was the Hon. Fernando Wood of New York. A generation had passed since he first entered Congress. He was a Representative in the old hall of the Capitol while Webster, Calhoun, and Clay were in their prime. Erect, stately, faultless in his attire, and of bearing almost chivalric, Mr. Wood was long one of the active and picturesque personages of the House. At the time whereof we write, his sands were almost run, but, courageous to the last, he was in his accustomed seat but a little time before the final summons came, and he died, as was his wish, with the harness on. All in all, we shall hardly see his like again.

Surrounded by his colleagues near the centre of the hall sat one of the most remarkable men of his day, philosopher, jurist, statesman, orator, Lucius Q. C. Lamar of Mississippi. In his early manhood he was a member of the House, and even then was recognized as one of the most brilliant of the many brilliant men his section had sent to the national councils. During the war his services in field and council were given to the South, and something less than a decade after the return of peace, Mr. Lamar, still in his prime, again took his seat in the hall where his first laurels had been won. His great speech--one that touched all hearts--was not long delayed; the occasion was the day set apart in the House for tributes to the memory of the lamented Sumner. Many eulogies were delivered; that of Lamar still lingers in the memory of all who heard it. "The theme was worthy the orator; the orator, the theme." As a splendid tribute to a great tribune, as a plea for peace,--abiding, eternal, between all sections of a restored union,--it stands unsurpassed among the great masterpieces of ancient or modern eloquence.

Later, Mr. Lamar was a prominent participant in one of the fiercest debates the Senate has ever known. A leading Senator upon the opposite side of the chamber, in advocating the passage of the "Force bill," reflected bitterly upon Mississippi and her Senators. In replying to the personal portion of the speech, Lamar said, "the Senator has uttered upon this floor a falsehood--knowing it to be such. The language I have used, Mr. President, is severe. It was so intended. It is language, sir, that no honest man would deserve, _and that no brave man will wear!"_

Mr. Lamar was one of the most absent-minded of men. A number of years ago, by invitation of the Faculty, he delivered an address to the graduating class of Centre College, Kentucky. The day was quite warm, the exercises somewhat protracted, and, at the close of his able and eloquent address, he was very much exhausted.

An excellent collation, prepared by the ladies connected with the College, was served in the chapel near by, at the close of the exercises. Seated upon the platform, with Mr. Lamar at the head of the table, were Doctor Young, the President, Justice Harlan, Governor Knott, the Rev. Doctor Bullock, Chaplain of the Senate, Judge McCormick, and others.

At the plate of each guest a large tomato was in readiness and, excellent itself, was, moreover, the earnest of better things to come. Immediately upon being seated, Mr. Lamar "fell to" and, wholly oblivious of the surroundings, soon made way with the one viand then in visible presence. Just as its last vestige disappeared, the President of the College arose and, with a solemnity eminently befitting the occasion, called upon Doctor Bullock to offer thanks. Deeply chagrined, Mr. Lamar was an attentive listener to the impressive invocation which immediately followed. At its conclusion, with troubled countenance, he turned to Knott and said, "I am humiliated at my conduct. I should have remembered that Presbyterians always say grace before meals, but I was very hungry and exhausted, and the tomato very tempting; I have really disgraced myself." To which Knott replied, "You ought not to feel so, Mr. Justice; the blessing of Doctor Bullock's was broad and general; in large measure retrospective as well as prospective. It reminds me of a little incident that occurred on the 'Rolling Fork.' An old-time deacon down there was noted for the lengthy blessing which at his table was the unfailing prelude to every meal. His hired man, Bill Taylor, an unconverted and impatient youth, had fallen into the evil habit of commencing his meal before the blessing thereon had been fully invoked. The frown and rebuke of the good deacon were alike unavailing in effecting the desired reform. Righteously indignant thereat, the deacon, in a spirit possibly not the most devout, at length gave utterance to this petition, 'For what we are _about to_ receive, and for what William Taylor _has already_ received, accept our thanks, O Lord!"

In cheery tones the great orator at once replied, "Knott, you are the only man on earth who could have thought of such a story just at the opportune moment." The temporary depression vanished; Lamar was himself again, and was at once the brilliant conversationalist of the delighted assemblage.

The surviving members of that Congress will recall a little chair that daily rolled down the aisle to the front to the Speaker's desk. It contained the emaciated form of a man whose weight at his best was but ninety pounds--Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, "whose little body lodged a mighty mind." No one who saw Mr. Stephens could ever forget him. He looked as though he had just stepped out from an old picture, or dropped down from the long-ago. There was probably as little about him "of the earth, earthy" as of any mortal this world has known. Upon his weak frame time had done its work, and, true it is, "the surest poison is time." And yet, his feeble piping voice--now scarcely heard an arm's length away--was potent in the contentions of the great hall when he was the honored associate of men whose public service reached back to the formation of the Government. In the old hall near by--now the Valhalla of the nation--he had sat with John Quincy Adams and contemporaries whose names at once recall the Revolutionary period. After serving as Vice-President of the Confederacy, whose rise and fall he had witnessed, Mr. Stephens, with the shadows falling about him, was, by unanimous voice of his people, again, in his own words, "in our father's house." His apartments in the old National Hotel, as he never failed to explain to his visitors, were those long ago occupied by his political idol, Henry Clay. His couch stood in the exact spot where Mr. Clay had died; and he no doubt thought--possibly wished-- that his own end might come just where that great Commoner had breathed his last. This, however, was not to be. His last hours were spent at the capital of his native commonwealth, which had, with scarce a dissenting voice, just honored itself by electing him to its chief executive office.