His colleagues pitch upon Aaron to prepare the address for the Senate, since he is supposed to have a genius for phrases. The precious document in his pocket, Vice-President Adams on his arm, Aaron leads the Senate delegation to the President’s house. They find the big Virginian awaiting them in the long dining room, which apartment has been transformed into an audience chamber by the simple expedient of carrying out the table and shoving back the chairs. Washington stands near the great fireplace. At his elbow and a step to the rear, a look of lackey fawning on his face, whispering, beaming, blandishing, basking, is Hamilton. Utterly the sycophant, wholly the politician, he holds onto Washington by those before-mentioned tendrils of flattery, and finds in him a trellis, whereon to climb and clamber and blossom, wanting which he would fall groveling to the ground. The big Virginian--and that is the worst of it--is as much led by him as any blind man by his dog. Washington has changed as a figure since he and Aaron, on that far-off day, disagreed touching leaves of absence without pay. Instead of rusty blue and buff, frayed and stained of weather, he is clad in a suit of superb black velvet, with black silk stockings and silver buckles. His hair, white as snow with powder, is gathered behind in a silken bag. In one of his large hands, made larger by yellow gloves, he holds a cocked hat--brave with gold braid, cockade, and plume. A huge sword, with polished steel hilt and white scabbard, dangles by his side. It is in this notable uniform our President receives the Senate delegation, Aaron and Vice-President Adams at the head, as it gathers in a formal half-circle about him. Being thus happily disposed, Adams in a raucous, pragmatic voice reads Aaron’s address. It is quite as hollow and pointless and vacant of purpose as was Washington’s. Its delivery, however, is loftily heavy, since the mummery is held a most important element of what tinsel-isms make up the etiquette of our American court. Save that the audience chamber is less sumptuous, the ceremony might pass for King George receiving his ministers, instead of President George receiving a delegation from the Senate. No one is more disagreeably aroused by this paltry imitation of royalty than Aaron. Some glint of his contempt must show in his eyes; for Hamilton, eager to make the conqueror of the rusty Schuyler as offensive to Washington as he may, is swift to draw him out. “Welcome to the Capitol, Senator Burr!” he exclaims, when Adams has finished. “This, I believe, is your earliest appearance here. I doubt not you find the opening of our Congress exceedingly impressive.”