Mr. Madison was a little surprised; but, with that ready tact which he had brought from his diplomatic experience, he concealed his astonishment. He took down the volume which contained the Constitution of the United States, and explained to this Mr. Swearingin--if that were his name--that the judges held office on the tenure of good behavior, and that Judge Marshall, then the ornament of the bench, could not be removed to make place for him. Mr. Swearingin received the announcement quietly; and, after a moment, said he thought he should like to be Secretary of State. The President said that that was undoubtedly a place where a man could do good service to the country; but that Monroe, like Mr. Swearingin and himself, was a Virginian; and he did not like to remove him. "Then," said Mr. Swearingin, "I will be Secretary of the Treasury." Unfortunately, the President said, the present incumbent was a Pennsylvanian: it was necessary to conciliate Pennsylvania; and he could not remove him. "Then," said Mr. Swearingin, "I think I will go abroad. I should like to go to France." "Do you speak French?" asked the President kindly. "No, no; I speak nothing but Old Dominion English,--good enough for me, Mr. President." "Yes, yes; and for me. But I don't think it will do to send you to the Mounseers, unless you can speak their language." "Then I'll go to England." "Ah, Mr. Swearingin, that will never do! King George might remember how often your father snapped his rifle at Lord Cornwallis." So Europe was exhausted. And Mr. Swearingin fell back on one and another collectorship, naval office, district-attorneyship; but for each application, the astute President had his reply. "I think, then, Mr. President, I will be postmaster at our office at home." Mr. Madison had forgotten where that was; but, learning that it was at Slate Creek, Four Corners, Botetourt County, Virginia, he sent for the register. Alas! it proved that the office was in the hands of one of Morgan's veterans. Impossible to remove him! "Truly, Mr. Madison," said Mr. Swearingin, "I am obliged to you for your attention to my case. I see the difficulties that surround you. Now, seeing you cannot give me the chief justice's place, nor Mr. Monroe's, nor the Treasury, nor any of those others, don't you think you could give me a pair of _old leather breeches?_" Mr. Madison thought he could,--did better; gave him an order on his tailor for the breeches; and Mr. Swearingin went happily on his way. I have changed the name in this story, but tell it much as Mr. Madison told it. Something of that kind has happened every day in Washington, from 1800 to 1880. And it is of the career of one of these very civil servants of the state, who are so easily pleased if only you give them something which they have never earned, that I now am writing. I am by no means sure that our hero is not the grandson of the very man whom, by a pair of leather breeches, James Madison made happy.