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As sure to do you ultimate insult and injury as a suppli-
cating sufferer whom you have helped out of his distress.

The Congregational graveyard at Washington—stones
even for ex-members of Congress buried elsewhere.
Chuckle-headed vanity of brief grandeur can no further
go. Congressman is the trivialest distinction for full-
grown man.

To go abroad has something of the same sense that
death brings. I am no longer of ye—what ye say of me is
now of no consequence—but of how much consequence
when I am with ye and of ye. I know you will refrain
from saying harsh things because they can't hurt me,
since I am out of reach and cannot hear them. This is
why we say no harsh things of the dead.

Going abroad we let up on the weight and wear and
responsibility of housekeeping—we go and board with
somebody, who is suffering it but it troubles us not. Here
we are helping the nation keep house—we go abroad and
become another nation's guests—we don't have to feel
any responsibility about his housekeeping, nor about our
nation's that we've left behind. So, to go abroad is the
true rest—you cease wholly to keep house, then, both
national and domestic.

How insignificant a Senator or an M. C. is in N. Y.—
and how great a personage he is in Washington!

We should have a much better sort of legislation if we
had these swollen country jakes in N. Y. as their capital.
Congress ought to sit in a big city.

I remember how those pigmy Congressmen used to
come into the Arlington breakfast room with a bundle of
papers and letters—you could see by their affection for
it and their delight in this sort of display that out in the