Part 29

Contrary to all precedents of the past, the coming of Congress has had little or no effect on the matrimonial market, although it is confidently believed that Charley O’Neill is holding a vast amount of “stock.” Notwithstanding the danger and difficulties of carrying this weight, he has decided to enact the role of the immortal Don Quixote, and has already planted the banner of his famous predecessor on the soil of the capital of the New World. But lest Philadelphia take umbrage at this unnatural exploit, as it looks like spurning the city of his beloved soul, he wishes it understood that had he fixed Philadelphia as a starting-point he would have been confined by the meshes of the Camerons, whereas Washington, being the centre of civilization, offers facilities that cannot be breached until the farthest limit of the whole country is reached. As matters now stand, there isn’t a maid or widow at the capital whose heart is not pit-a-pat, and even married women are providing against a morning of storm which might close in perpetual sunshine. Already the first celebrated battle has been fought, and contrary to the usage of ancient chivalry. But as this is a different age, and bottom side the globe as to Spain, it must not be expected that ancient rules will be followed. When Charley O’Neill attacked the windmills the other day in the House it was found that he had hit Sam Randall in disguise. When he learned that he had got the wrong pig by the ear, he soon scattered his forces and comforted himself by thinking, if he had not destroyed a windmill of which Philadelphia would be well glad to be rid, the skirmish at least had been fought in the “Cave of the Winds,” and if not up to the standard of “knight errantry,” had sufficient of the Quixotic flavor to answer every modern purpose. For the present he has decided to save the expense of a “Squire,” unless Congress will make an appropriation. Besides, Sancho Panza would be in the way if he were the true metal of the Spanish sort. But to remove this difficulty a private secretary has been found who will open his tender missives; escort distressed damsels to the theatre; gorge himself at “society lunches,” and sigh like a “lying trooper” when the proper parties are around. Charley O’Neill wants Philadelphia to know that most of his mischief is performed by proxy, and when he returns he will be none the worse for wear. On account of the slippery pavements he will not be provided with a “Rosinante,” but not to disappoint his constituents he has determined to get upon his “high horse” on the floor of Congress whenever a pestiferous Democrat shows his hand. A magnificent belle of the “West End” has offered him a plume for his hat, but he disdains such marks of frivolity and declares that he will appear only in the simple armor of an American citizen. This consists of a clean white shirt, a neat broad-cloth coat--which under no circumstances can be “swallow-tail”--Wanamaker pantaloons and patent-leathers. The hat--a soft felt hat--capable of almost any expression. When he enters the Capitol in this harmless disguise the sensation would be indescribable if the attention was not divided by the roar of Kelley, he who has played the role of lion ever since his celebrated interview with Bismarck, which settled the bi-metallic squabble in both hemispheres.

The editor of _The Times_ is notified that a column could be furnished concerning Charley O’Neill, the Quaker City’s favorite son, and the article would be as crisp and tender as young radishes in spring, but will it pay to build up a reputation that will last as long in the future as Don Quixote has in the past? Whilst _The Times_ is solving the important problem, the dainty and delicate Acklen shall be served up. Congressman Acklen, of Louisiana, is one of the youngest and handsomest “bachelors” in the House, and whilst attending strictly to his Congressional duties he has been fortunate enough to get mixed up in more “scrapes” in which women have a part than any half dozen members put together. Last winter he figured at Welcker’s in what might be termed a “celebrated case,” or would be if the bottom facts could be found. His partner in the melee was a beautiful golden-haired widow from New York. Telegrams flew all over the country; there was a suspension of the rules of the House. The principal witness, an army officer, who appeared to have conscientious scruples, fearing an “investigation,” escaped to Canada. The widow published a card in the papers, announcing that Congressman Acklen had “offered” to marry her, but she refused to be comforted in that way. This performance healed the young widow’s reputation. Mrs. Welcker published a card also, saying nothing of the kind ever occurred at her house. This saved the honor of the hotel. At the same time a kind of Chinese din was kept up, which proved that the army officer left suddenly to avoid “a debt of honor,” whilst the widow ran away to California and set the whole Russian fleet on fire, which happened to be temporarily stopping in the San Francisco harbor. In the meantime Congressman Acklen occupied his seat in the House, “the observed of all observers,” looking as innocent as a Thomas cat whose whiskers are scarcely bereft of the cream. He had all the sympathy of his brother members, because they felt certain he would learn their caution in time; but, sad to relate, he had hardly set foot in his beloved New Orleans before he tripped and fell into another “scandal.” It would consume too much of the valuable space of _The Times_ to record this part of his history, but it can all be found in any of the files of last year’s Louisiana papers. But he is here again, as clean and bright as ever, and to prove his restoration he has left the unhealthy moral atmosphere of the “West End” and rented a mansion on the pure heights of Capitol Hill, where every spot is hallowed by the virtuous Father of his Country. To be away from temptations of all kinds he has taken an aged widow for housekeeper, with her two beautiful grown daughters, just to keep the sex in mind. In this way he puts down scandal, and he is never seen going to his own house except at the proper hours of the day. Just as the banana and the orange, by their lusciousness, show their tropical origin, Congressman Acklen proves by his appearance that he is the “Son of the Sunny South.” Hardly beyond the middle size, beautifully moulded, with raven hair and scarlet lips, he impresses the beholder with his curious intensity and concentration, just as the diamond flashes out its liquid fire; but he is a real “lady-killer” in the longest, broadest, deepest sense of the word, and he is only 30 years old, and refuses to be sobered by the holy bands of wedlock; but the edge of his wickedness is being borne away by the attrition of national notoriety and the fast-increasing fastidiousness of his own taste, and yet his reputation rather endears him than otherwise to fashionable “society.”

Pennsylvania has more bachelors in the House than its proper quota as compared to other States; but this may be the harmless way which the “Old Keystone” takes to get rid of her extra rubbish. Hiester Clymer is here, apparently cold, hard, and indestructible as Allegheny granite, and he strikes those with whom he is brought in contact by the same feeling awakened at the touch of rugged sublimity. The grandeur of the mountain! The solemnity of the sea! Who would dare to laugh and jest in his presence? The writer has been informed by some of his brother members that he has a remarkably sweet and winning manner to the few privileged to occupy the chambers of his soul; and we should remember the rough, brown husk of the nut is no indication of the kernel. High-toned and kingly in manner on the floor, always the right word in the right place. For nearly if not quite a dozen years, for we write from memory only, his stalwart form has been a landmark in the Pennsylvania delegation, or a sort of Democratic wharf against which the spray and foam of the Republican ocean has madly dashed in vain. In reputation, so far as women are concerned, his character is the reverse of Congressman Acklen; but suppose he had been contrived on a sugar plantation, done up in a creole skin, forged, as it were, under the very eyelids of the tropics? What then? Shouldn’t Pennsylvania get down on her stony old knees and thank heaven that her Congressmen are not made like Southern men?

As if to correct the acidity of the delegation, Congressman Herr Smith is added on, just as the last lump of sugar is put in to perfect the coffee cup. Whilst having all the virtues, he is believed to have none of the vices, and his moral character at the capital is always quoted No. 1; risks few and readily taken. Society knows little or nothing about him, but the quantity, small as it is, may be set down to his decided advantage. He has the reputation of being rich, but there is little show or ostentation. He is always in his seat, always at work, apparently with nothing but his constituents’ interests at heart. It would be better for our sex if it were otherwise, but no delicate-minded woman would think of disturbing the serenity of his soul, and he keeps so far away from the other kind that an accident never can happen. No one doubts but at some period of his life the ocean of sentiment in his bosom has been traversed by gulf streams of romance, and he, too, like Whittier, can sing: “The saddest of all, it might have been.” Blessed be the spiritual hand that touches the human heart-strings only to awaken the divinest melody, and thrice blessed is he who knows how to avoid those pits in the soul whose black depths reflect bitterness, satire, and irony. Side by side in every great mind the Creator has ranged the awful caldrons of good and evil. Congressman Smith knows how to thread the mazy way with pleasure to himself and honor to all concerned.

As it has been the intention to give the South the same fair showing, apples and oranges, hardy roses, and magnolias, Georgia comes in with a Congressman who, though never a “bachelor,” is a festive widower of five months’ duration. “Emory Speer, Athens, Georgia,” is engraved on his cards, and considering what should be termed his “recent grief” it would seem very wrong to embalm him in the papers. But he gives public parties at his hotel, leads off in the “german,” flirts with the girls, and is not that sufficient reason to believe that he is not the kind who enjoys the luxury of grief without some sort of mitigation? Possibly he may have taken this dashing way to cover his sorrow, but the young ladies believe that he is in dead earnest, and if it were not for his five children and lack of permanent fortune he would be considered already one of the “catches” of the season. He was a Confederate soldier when only 16 years of age, served all through the late war, studied law with Ben Hill and became his successor when he was promoted to the Senate. Singularly handsome in person and winning in manner, volatile and boyish to the last degree, he is not to be judged by the hard, stern law to which we cold-blooded Nor’westers bow the knee. At any rate, he is sincerity itself, and probably he may be a big child in disguise. Who knows when the threshold of manhood or womanhood has been passed? There is a character in Hawthorne’s “Marble Faun” always supposed to be romance. But here in Congress is the case that fits it. Who dare sit in judgment on a fellow-mortal? He that is wisest is the most humble, and those who are dearest will give us a rest.

OLIVIA.

THE BOTANIC GARDEN.

SOME SIDE GLANCES AT THE EXPENDITURES FOR THAT INSTITUTION.

WASHINGTON, _January 18, 1880_.

Although a fraction only of the single men in Congress have cut a figure in these papers, a little deviation takes place this week to show the people what it costs to keep Congressmen armed with bouquets, for these are the weapons in modern use which bring down the game which is best worth bagging. But it must not be thought by the reader that the vast greenhouses at the capital, kept in being at government expense, are appropriated entirely by the bachelor Congressmen. On the contrary, married Senators and members leave their orders through a page. This has been proved time after time by a Congressman’s wife receiving a bouquet with a card attached bearing another woman’s name; but as her husband’s, in fact no male signature of any kind appears she immediately seeks her mirror in proof of another conquest. True, she realizes that her youthful hey-day is over; that mutton has taken the place of lamb-chop (Ben: Perley Poore is the authority for declaring that “all men prefer it”), but she knows that some mutton always stays tender, and when this kind can be found even Ben: Perley Poore or Senator Conkling will not disdain it. But coming back to the national greenhouses, which are as distinct from the Agricultural Department as the different Cabinet portfolios; in other words, the Botanic Garden sustains the same relation to Congress as the conservatory of any mansion to its solitary owner. The Republic furnishes another garden and immense conservatory for the exclusive use of the White House; and when it is seen how hundreds of thousands of dollars of the public funds go for the luxury of flowers alone, it will not be wondered that the growth of “imperialism” is going ahead with breakneck speed, for it is very sweet and lovely when all jobs and bills can be squared by an “appropriation.”

A spectator standing on the western terrace of the Capitol sees an innocent tract of land enclosed by a most costly fence. Broad avenues and romantic walks disturb the monotony of the closely-shaven velvet sward; while trees rare as oriental sandal wood have been brought from every portion of the earth’s surface to adorn this domain of republican royalty. Almost hidden by the fence and far removed from the vulgar eyes of the common herd outside, the magnificent Bartholdi fountain spurts its fair life away. Instead of putting this exquisite fountain at the intersection of Pennsylvania avenue and Seventh street, or even at the foot of the Capitol, now turned into a graveyard by the mouldy genius of Admiral Porter, it has been smuggled into the low grounds of the Botanic Gardens for the exclusive use of romantic Congressmen who, when wandering slowly with women who incline to be fast, turn their modest faces toward the genius of Bartholdi in the hope that the soothing play of the immortal fountain will at once arrest any demonstration not of the straight-laced kind. To the rear the greenhouses assert themselves with a grandeur of architectural beauty which the Government funds alone can bestow. To get a foretaste of Paradise, or to recall the glory of the Garden of Eden, it is only necessary to wander through the mazes of lovers’ paths with which the Congressional greenhouses are profusely intersected. From the foot of the most northern crag kissed by the fiery aurora borealis to the molten girdle that clasps Africa’s burning waist the vegetable glory of the earth has been wrested to minister to Congressional comfort. In the pursuit the trackless sea has been plowed alike by war vessels and merchantmen. The most interesting spot connected with the greenhouses is the “propagating garden,” where all sorts of curious experiments are tried. Not content to let each flower produce after its own kind, all sorts of horticultural black art is invoked to produce mongrel types, which come from a curious propagating performance, which even a Congressman cannot understand. Sometimes the gardener succeeds in doubling the leaves of a single flower, to the loss of all sweetness and perfume, just as we have seen the thing happen when the flowers were human instead of vegetable. Striped roses and lilies are obtained in place of the good, old-fashioned solid colors. To produce these freaks, or to make old Mother Nature change her every-day program, appropriations are made that would astonish the people, considering the surroundings of most of the Congressmen before they are born into official life.

In 1836, or nearly half a century ago, the beaux in Congress concluded it would be a good thing to have bouquets fashioned for their buttonholes at the public expense. Flowers in those primitive days were obtained with much trouble and expense, so the initiatory steps to free flowers was taken by an appropriation of $5,000 to be used in this way: “For conveying the surplus water of the Capitol to the Botanic Garden, making a basin, and purchasing a fountain from Hiram Powers.” Before the year was ended it was found that $5,000 would not relieve the Capitol of its surplus water, and an additional appropriation was made the same year of $3,614.04. From 1836 to May, 1850, nothing was taken from the public funds for flowers. In place of nosegays to titillate the Congressional nostrils these rough old forefathers used snuff, but this was also provided at Government expense and the modest snuff-boxes on either side of the Vice-President’s chair, and those to be found in the House, will remain for all time as simple reminders of the habits of our modest ancestors in comparison to the ravages of the Congressional greenhouses as they stand in the pillory of public opinion to-day. With the departure of dear old Thurman the last of the old-time snuff-takers disappears. The last wave of his ancient bandana heralds the Senatorial coming of one of the most aggressive movers on the stronghold of all the appropriations. In 1850, $5,000 was taken from the public funds and in 1851, $750 only. A rest came here until 1855, when $1,500 was taken to build a house in which to store the plants brought from Japan, and during the same year $12,000 was taken at one time and $3,000 at another to fix up the grounds of the Botanic Garden and put them in proper order. In 1856 the grounds still wanted to be fixed to the amount of $5,650 at one time and $11,000 at another of the same year, and the “grounds” hardly a scant half-dozen acres in extent; in fact, only two squares long, but not two whole squares deep. Following up the official figures it is found that $6,000 more was expended on the Botanic Garden, taken from another appropriation, making for the year 1856, $22,650. This it was claimed was paid for “draining the grounds in the vicinity of the national greenhouses.” In 1857--$2,600 at one time, $5,000 at another, but all the same year, and from another appropriation $3,360, making in all $10,960 for the year 1857. In 1858, $2,600 at one time, $3,360 at another, making the round sum of $5,960. The years 1859 and 1860 only required a thousand each for the bouquets, and during the war, to the credit of Congress let it be recorded, not a dollar was sunk in the Botanic swamp so far as can be ascertained in the Congressional records. But in 1866 the rage for flowers broke out afresh, and it required $2,500 to stop the wound, which continued when the vast sum of $25,057.90 was required to build the bouquets to the right proportion--a sum which exceeded the President’s yearly salary the same year. In 1867 it took $35,000; in 1868, $41,784.05, etc., etc. The figures alone stretch out until the crack of doom. Let it be understood that such men as that pure statesman Garfield held the strings of the public purse and helped on these appropriations. General Garfield is promoted to the Senate; Thurman, the statesman, remanded to private life.

In 1874 the last of the large appropriations was made, and this represented $16,925. About this time the Republican party began to weaken, and with it the innocent taste of lovely flowers. It must not be understood these vast sums represented the flowers at so much apiece; but it always happened that the Botanic Garden was crying for tools, more greenhouses, fertilizers, brick walls, iron fences, glazing and painting. Its pathways were in a constant state of eruption; its gates always hanging on broken hinges. Seneca stone was constantly giving out and always in peremptory demand. The substantial fences were always going out of fashion and needed to be replaced as often as a woman’s headgear. The call for “tubs, pots, packing materials, labels, seeds, envelopes, grading, repairing, sewers, horse hire and manure,” ascended to heaven like the cry of the young ravens for food. Could Garfield, chairman of the Committee on Appropriations, withstand these demands on the public funds? During these historic days of fat appropriations the Woodhull sisterhood attempted to establish a “colony” at the Capitol. Brisbane, of pneumatic fame, succeeded in getting a $15,000 appropriation to sustain life whilst he should dig a ditch from the Capitol to the Government printing office. The colony was being planted, the ditch was being dug all at the same time, and extra flowers were needed for the Christian statesmen in Congress to reclaim the “colony,” or at least make it so fragrant that the citizens of the District could endure the new innovation sustained by Congressional influence and protected by the sacrifices of the Christian statesmen. Flowers in the missionary cause were needed, and Parson Garfield, chairman of the Committee on Appropriations, stood at the mouth of the public purse and dealt out the shining thousands as Aladdin showered the sequins brought him by the genii invoked by his wonderful lamp. To the credit of a Democratic Congress let it be recorded that no vast sums have been “appropriated” to keep the bouquet business in full bloom. If the Confederate brigadiers wear the “society” bouquet, they pay for them as they do their cigars. It is declared by those who ought to know that the Botanic Garden is on the road to swift decay; that it has little or no support, except from the water which flows from the Congressional baths, and considering the source, it is astonishing what excellent results have been achieved. Sam Randall declares that so long as the greenhouses can be made to flourish in this way he will not “object” to the cleanliness if it will prevent an “appropriation;” besides the bouquets derived from such a source are almost sentimentally equal to the flower which the maiden sent her lover that had been “watered with her tears.”

For many years the luxurious accessories of the toilet have been on the free list in the Senate. Thousands of dollars are invested yearly in soap, tooth brushes, infant powder, perfumery, brandy and whiskey, combs, Turkish toweling, lemons, and tea. And this is one of the safest investments of the public funds. What right has the nation to elect Senators if they cannot afford to keep them clean? Isn’t cleanliness next to godliness; and isn’t this purity of the body about as close to the Creator as the average Senator attempts to reach? Free flowers have been the only free luxuries in which the less aristocratic branch had the same right, and is it a wonder that it required more than $41,000 in a single year to make the sweets go around?

OLIVIA.

WHITE HOUSE RECEPTIONS COMPARED.

CUSTOMS PREVAILING UNDER THE LINCOLN, GRANT, HAYES AND JOHNSON REGIMES.

WASHINGTON, _February 6, 1880_.