idiotic from his dissipations.  One member of Congress I saw years ago seated drunk on the curbstone in Philadelphia, his wife trying to coax him home.  A Senator from New York many years ago on a cold day was picked out of the Potomac, into which he had dropped through his intoxication, the only time that he ever came so near losing his life by too much cold water.  Talk not about the good old days, for the new days in Washington were far better.  There was John Sherman of the Senate, a moral, high-minded, patriotic and talented man.  I said to him as I looked up into his face:  “How tall are you?” and his answer was, “Six feet one inch and a half;” and I thought to myself “You are a tall man every way, with mental stature over-towering like the physical.”  There was Senator Daniel of Virginia, magnetic to the last degree, and when he spoke all were thrilled while they listened.  Fifteen years ago, at Lynchburg, Va., I said to him:  “The next time I see you, I will see you in the United States Senate.”  “No, no,” he replied, “I am not on the winning side.  I am too positive in my opinions.”  I greeted him amid the marble walls of the Senate with the words “Didn’t I tell you so?” “Yes,” he said, “I remember your prophecy.”  There also were Senators Colquitt and Gordon of Georgia, at home whether in secular or religious assemblages, pronounced Christian gentlemen, and both of them tremendous in utterance.  There was Senator Carey of Wyoming, who was a boy in my church debating society at Philadelphia, his speech at eighteen years demonstrating that nothing in the way of grand achievement would be impossible.  There was Senator Manderson of Nebraska, his father and mother among my chief supporters in Philadelphia, the Senator walking about as though he cared nothing about the bullets which he had carried ever since the war, of which he was one of the heroes.  Brooklyn was proud of her Congressmen.  I heard our representative, Mr. Coombs, speak, and whether his hearers agreed or disagreed with his sentiments on the tariff question, all realised that he knew what he was talking about, and his easy delivery and point-blank manner of statement were impressive.  So, also, at the White House, whether people liked the Administration or disliked it, all reasonable persons agreed that good morals presided over the nation, and that well-worn jest about the big hat of the grandfather, President William Henry Harrison, being too ample for the grandson, President Benjamin Harrison, was a witticism that would soon be folded up and put out of sight.  Anybody who had carefully read the 120 addresses delivered by President Benjamin Harrison on his tour across the continent knew that he had three times the brain ever shown by his grandfather.  Great men, I noticed at Washington, were great only a little while.  The men I saw there in high places fifteen years ago had nearly all gone.  One venerable man, seated in the Senate near the Vice-President’s chair, had been there since he was introduced as a page at