"When we got to Washington, he took me up to see the President. He knew the President well--claimed to know lots of things about the President that made him more or less feared by the administration. He was acquainted with a thousand little vices of all our public men, which virtually placed them in his power. He knew how the President conducted himself at home, and was 'on to everything' in public life. "Well, he shook hands with the President, and introduced me. I could see that the President was thinking about something else, though, and so I came away without really feeling that I knew him very well. "Then we visited the departments, and I can see now that I hurt myself by being towed around by this man. He was so free, and so joyous, and so bubbling, that wherever we went I could hear the key grate in the lock after we passed out of the door. "He started south with me. He was going to show me all the battle-fields, and introduce me into society. I bought some strychnine in Washington, and put it in his buckwheat cakes; but they got cold, and he sent them back. I did not know what to do, and was almost wild, for I was traveling entirely for pleasure, and not especially for his pleasure either. "At Petersburg I was told that the train going the other way would meet us. As we started out, I dropped my hat from the window while looking at something. It was a desperate move, but I did it. Then I jumped off the train, and went back after it. As soon as I got around the curve I ran for Petersburg, where I took the other train. I presume you all felt sorry for me, but if you'd seen me fold myself in a long, passionate embrace after I had climbed on the other train, you would have changed your minds." He then passed gently from my sight. THE OLD-FASHIONED CHOIR BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR I have fancied, sometimes, the Bethel-bent beam That trembled to earth in the patriarch's dream, Was a ladder of song in that wilderness rest, From the pillow of stone to the blue of the Blest, And the angels descended to dwell with us here, "Old Hundred," and "Corinth," and "China," and "Mear." All the hearts are not dead, not under the sod, That those breaths can blow open to Heaven and God! Ah! "Silver Street" leads by a bright, golden road-- O! not to the hymns that in harmony flowed-- But to those sweet human psalms in the old-fashioned choir, To the girls that sang alto, the girls that sang air! "Let us sing to God's praise," the minister said, All the psalm-books at once fluttered open at "York," Sunned their long dotted wings in the words that he read, While the leader leaped into the tune just ahead, And politely picked out the key note with a fork, And the vicious old viol went growling along At the heels of the girls in the rear of the song.