groups surrounding this central assembly, he may discover figures resembling other men well known in the annals of the nation.

In another moment we are in the old Hall of Representatives, with its many statues and its two mosaic portraits. I confess that I am not very fond of all the works of art about the Capitol. I shall take the liberty to pass them by in silence. I ought, however, to praise the figure of History, standing in her marble chariot, with her book of record before her. One of the interesting features of the room is its "echoes"; by putting his ear to the wall, the listener can hear everything that is said by the people passing through the Hall, even to a faint whisper. Another amusing pastime is to try to discover faces and figures in the breccia columns.

A few steps farther, and we enter the present Hall of Representatives, containing a few pictures. Without pausing to look at them, we pass into the lobby and reception-room, and find the walls decorated with the portraits of the many Speakers who have, in the past, presided over the House.

Leaving the House lobby near the Speaker's room, and descending the bronze staircase, we pass around through the long colonnade on the floor below, and soon reach a circular room filled with the pillars that support the Rotunda. Having passed this, we reach the Senate wing of the

chair of the Vice-President, and handle the historic little gavel that has descended with the memories of former times to the senators of to-day. He may also look at the little snuff-boxes, not quite so old, but playing as important a part in the traditionary lore of that body. Near Captain Bassett's chair is another box, containing an instrument that puts in motion the "automatic pages." This is a new contrivance of electric wires, after the fashion of the fire and messenger alarms, and saves the human pages much labor in "hunting up" senators on a call of the yeas and nays, or when their presence is wanted for anything else. The wires connect with all the committee-rooms and other places frequented by the law-makers; and by one, two, three, or four turns of the machine, a tinkle is set up all over the Senate wing, signaling to the senators exactly what is being done. If curious, the stranger may wander into the cloak-rooms and imagine how the law-makers make themselves comfortable when a tedious talker is occupying the floor in the Chamber.

Making our exit by way of the eastern door, and taking a glance into the Reception Room, and perhaps walking out to the bronze doors, we turn to the right and pause at the steps leading to the ladies' gallery. Midway up the stairs, is a representation of the battle on Lake Erie, and on the floor above there are some other pictures.

Walking around the gallery corridor, and noticing upon the doors the sections reserved for the executive officers, diplomatic corps, and families of congressmen, we descend the staircase opposite to that we have just ascended.

At the foot of the steps, and in the same relative position as the statue of Franklin, is a statue of John Hancock, whose bold signature on the Declaration of Independence is familiar to the world.

Half-way up these stairs is a representation (or an alleged representation) of the battle of Chapultepec. Of this painting I do not know what to say. It is mystifying to most spectators. No one knows what the different soldiers are about. They seem to be going in all directions. There are several horsemen in the battle, but one always struck my fancy. He is on a fiery steed, and is apparently leading some gallant and desperate charge. It used to trouble me, when a page, for I was very anxious to know what general it represented. I never knew until recently. During the last special session of the Senate, the galleries were almost daily cleared for the transaction of executive business, guards being stationed at the steps to prevent persons from entering. One day

Continuing the descent of the stairs to the subterranean regions, I show my friend the coal cellars and other dismal places where the pages delighted to roam, and also the heating and ventilating apparatus, with its donkey engines and huge fan that sends air up to the Senate. And on the way up I stop at a dark little room and hint vaguely at its contents. I can not enter, because Captain Bassett has the key. But I have been in it in times gone by, and know some of its mysteries. There is perhaps more valuable bric-a-brac in it than in all the rest of the entire buildingthe exclusive property of the Captain. What he particularly prizes is one of the old lamps used

when the Senate met in its old quarters. The Chamber was then lighted in the style of the eighteenth century. Lamps were fastened to the desks of the Vice-President and Secretary; and on each senator's desk rested a candle. These candles were of sufficient length to burn through half a night, but at the opening of a door a draught would extinguish them. Captain Bassett was one of the two pages then employed, and he had to be constantly answering such calls as, "Here, page, light my candle!" and "Here, page, snuff my candle!" from such men as Daniel Webster and Henry Clay.

Returning to the principal story, we pass around the south side of the Senate to the central corridor, observing opposite the main entrance to the Senate a venerable clock that, being too tall for the shelf, has stood many years on the floor.

A short distance down the corridor we reach the old Senate Chamber, which, as I have told you in a previous chapter, is now occupied by the Supreme Court.

Passing onward, just before we come to the Rotunda, is a door which I open to show the way to the Dome. The ascent is very complicated. We first wind around some iron steps, then enter a cold stone passage and go up other steps, and finally emerge upon an iron walk, in the open air, from which the pages used to clamber out upon the roof. As a visitor is not permitted to do this, however, we continue the journey up some more winding iron steps, and finally reach a door where we pause for a moment to catch breath. Grasping the iron railing, we assist ourselves to the top of a steep flight, and reach a grateful landing where, for the first time, we look down into the Rotunda. We may also go outside and wander on the "battlements."

But we have not yet reached our destination. Up, up, we go, the stairs becoming steeper and

steeper. Stopping occasionally to rest and to view the huge braces and iron net-work that support the Dome, we attain the gallery. We amuse ourselves for a while by looking down from the immense height upon the people on the floor, and also try the whispering properties of the place. Then we continue our climb, pass above the canopy, and, as further ascent is barred by the gate leading to the chandelier which lights the Dome, and immediately beneath the Goddess of Liberty, we go out upon the balcony. This is the pinnacle! I have described a view from it on a summer night. But it is as grand by day as it is entrancing by the light of the moon and stars.

From this extreme height, it is proper to go to the extreme depth; so I hurry the young tourist down and take him to a spot hundreds of feet

If our young friend should wish to see the laws made by Congress since the beginning of the Government (in round numbers, fifteen thousand), I may take him into the Law Library, and show him the statutes-at-large. If he should wish to judge of the amount of discussion expended by the legislators during a century, I should escort him to the Senate Library, and point out hundreds of heavy Journals, Globes, and Records. If he should wish more information as to the performances of the lawmakers, I have only to show him the Document Rooms, and study the amazed look upon his countenance as he gazes about him. Room after room is literally filled with the bills and other measures that have been introduced.

Next in order, our young friend may well visit the Library of Congress, with its myriad of books.