“I told him,” said Charlie Foster, “that he must not drive so fast. That his black beast was a dray horse and not a ‘roadster.’” But the immense black animal, the two black wheels, the sable driver, with the tiger skin flying, thundered up and down the Avenue, a target for the witty Stilson Hutchins, whose paragraphs on the subject were looked for in the _Post_ with keener relish than the most aromatic coffee. Thin-skinned Anthony could stand it no longer and the black horse disappeared from Congressional history. It has never been ascertained whether it was a real horse or one of those uncanny creations “conjured” by means of the “black art,” but as everything about it was black and all in the highest style of art, it is safe to pronounce it black art until a better word can be invented. Just as long as Senator Burnside is in the Senate Senator Anthony will have his hands full. In the meantime matrimonial schemes will be laid over as unfinished business, and this is peculiarly trying, for the loss to some fair woman in not being allowed to cling to Senator Anthony is more painful than pen can describe. As altogether too much space of this valuable paper has been given to the irreclaimable old single-tops of the Senate, it is high time the gay and festive “House” should be reached; but, alas! if this is done, the “catchables” of the Cabinet will be overlooked, and what will Mrs. Hayes say? The writer knows very little about General Devens, but it has been ascertained that he was not imported from England, but belongs to an entirely different breed, whilst President Hayes claims all the honor of original discovery. At any rate, it is well known that he was picked up on the codfish shores of Massachusetts in a remarkable state of preservation. General Devens is blue-blooded to the last degree, and it is claimed that a large portion of the fluid that runs in his veins was imported in the _Mayflower_, and this accounts for the small quantity of it. Whilst there is enough for all Cabinet purposes and to occasionally amuse Mrs. Hayes, the illuminating power seems to require some such tinker as the hero of Menlo Park to bring it to the required point of perfection. Like Edison’s electric light, though it “shines,” there is very little heat, and a girl complains that in his presence she always has a cold nose, but it is declared that he shall not go out of the Cabinet on this account, and the probabilities are that he has come to stay.