One day in the spring of 1851 my father took me to a little hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue near the Capitol and into a stuffy room, where a snuffy old man wearing an ill-fitting wig was busying himself over a pile of documents. He turned about and was very hearty. "Aha, you've brought the boy," said he. And my father said: "My son, you wanted to see General Cass, and here he is." My enthusiasm over the Cass and Butler campaign had not subsided. Inevitably General Cass was to me the greatest of heroes. My father had been and always remained his close friend. Later along we dwelt together at Willard's Hotel, my mother a chaperon for Miss Belle Cass, afterward Madame Von Limbourg, and I came into familiar intercourse with the family. The general made me something of a pet and never ceased to be a hero to me. I still think he was one of the foremost statesmen of his time and treasure a birthday present he made me when I was just entering my teens. The hour I passed with him that afternoon I shall never forget. As we were about taking our leave my father said: "Well, my son, you have seen General Cass; what do you think of him?" And the general patting me affectionately on the head laughingly said: "He thinks he has seen a pretty good-looking old fogy--that is what he thinks!" VII There flourished in the village life of Washington two old blokes--no other word can properly describe them--Jack Dade, who signed himself "the Honorable John W. Dade, of Virginia;" and Beau Hickman, who hailed from nowhere and acquired the pseudonym through sheer impudence. In one way and another they lived by their wits, the one all dignity, the other all cheek. Hickman fell very early in his career of sponge and beggar, but Dade lived long and died in office--indeed, toward the close an office was actually created for him. Dade had been a schoolmate of John Tyler--so intimate they were that at college they were called "the two Jacks"--and when the death of Harrison made Tyler President, the "off Jack," as he dubbed himself, went up to the White House and said: "Jack Tyler, you've had luck and I haven't. You must do something for me and do it quick. I'm hard up and I want an office." "You old reprobate," said Tyler, "what office on earth do you think you are fit to fill?" "Well," said Dade, "I have heard them talking round here of a place they call a sine-cu-ree--big pay and no work--and if there is one of them left and lying about loose I think I could fill it to a T." "All right," said the President good naturedly, "I'll see what can be done. Come up to-morrow." The next day "Col. John W. Dade, of Virginia," was appointed keeper of the Federal prison of the District of Columbia. He assumed his post with _empressement_, called the prisoners before him and made them an address.