FEBRUARY 25, i860.
The Old-Fashioned Gas Fixture now in the White House at
Washington, but shortly to be removed to Wheatland, Pa.
Pennsylvania Avenue, in Washington, not far from Willard's,
Time, 11 a. m.
[Enter Mr. Buchanan and Mr.DouGLAS, from opposite sides. They meet.]
Mr. Buchanan.—Ah, Douglas, good day ; why so fast ? Turn
about a little, and go with me a while.
Mr. Douglas (hesitating).— Well you see my time is limited just
now. I have a good many things to prepare, and I have been
turning about with half-a-dozen good fellows or so, who wanted
any company. However, let us walk together, any way. I can't
lose much, for you've only a little time now to spend here yourself, I suppose. [They turn and proceed, with arms locked, in the
direction of the Capitol.]
Mr. Buchanan.—True, I shall have to be getting home presently.
How are you now, Douglas ?
Mr. Douglas.—t flourish. The atmosphere suits me. I hate
your tranquil, placid weather. These swift alternations seem to
suit my frame. But you look jaded. How do you stand it ?
Mr. Buchanan.—Not so well. I suffer a good deal at times.
Mr.DouGLAS.— Is anything the matter with your Constitution?
Mr. Buchanan.—Occasionally I think so. It plays me sad tricks
once in a while. And yet I try to humor it in every way.
Mr. Douglas -^My dear fellow, you expose yourself too much.
No man can endure these sharp winds from the North, and these
hot blasts from the South, coming close upon one another all the
time. You see you should dress more carefully. Trim your
clothes to protect you effectually from the one or the other, but
don't run the risk of suffering from both.
Mr. Buchanan.—Why, Douglas, you are the last man to give
such counsel. Your rashness is known to everybody. You almost
constantly invite infection from all quarters.
Mr. Douglas.—Ah, but I have been vaccinated all around. Besides I am younger than you, and I recover more readily from
these little attacks.
Mr. Buchanan.—Take care, Douglas, you may venture once too
Mr. Douglas.—Oh, if danger comes I can run.
Mr. BucHANAN(s/mZ ing, and glancing at his companion's extremities).—
Oh, can you run ?
Mr. Douglas (reddening).—Come now, Buchanan, don't talk
stuff. One would almost tbink your head was turned. (Furtively
eyeing Mr. B. in the region of his neckcloth.)
Mr. Buchanan.—Nonsense, Douglas ; you know I can look ahead
as well as the best of you.
Mr. Douglas.—But you can't see your way so clear.
Mr. Buchanan.—That's owing to the Scotch Mist.
Mr. Douglas.—What do you mean ?
Mr. Buchanan.—Didn't you know ? I call it Scotch Mist for
want of another name. A malady of three years' standing. I
caught it in New-York, and upon my word, since it has been on
me, I can't tell, half the time, which way I'm going, or what's
Mr. Douglas.—Dear, dear. And can't you get rid of it ?
Mr. Buchanan.—Not while I stay here. That's the difficulty.
They say there is a French cure for it, but it seems to me a desperate remedy, and—well, I was afraid, though I once thought
seriously of applying it.
Mr. Douglas.—If the disease is desperate, the remedy ought to
be so, too. But they say an old Pennsylvania disorder of yours
has just broken out afresh.
Mr. Buchanan (with some excitement).—Yes sir ; the villains told
me I was cured of that forever. I was comparatively comfortable
for a while. But now you see how it has come back to me. More
malignant than ever, sir.
Mr. Douglas.—Don't be agitated. I'm sure we all feel for you..
I know we all look anxiously forward to the termination of your
Mr. Buchanan.—Thank you, my good fellow ; I believe that.
It's foolish of me to give way so. Have you got any tobacco,
Mr. Douglas.—Not a scrap. My Southern friends don't supply
me with everything that I want.
Mr. Buchanan.—You can't rely on them, sir. I cnuld tell you
some things that would open your eyes. But no matter. There's
Mr. Douglas.—The hardest man in the world to stop. But we'll
try. Say, Seward, Seward !
Mr. Buchanan.—Hey, Seward!
[Enter Mr. Seward, who joins them.]
Mr. Seward.—Good morning, gentlemen ; what shall I do for
Mr. Douglas.—Buck wants some tobacco ; have you got any ?
Mr. Seward.—Of course ; I couldn't get along without my Weed.
[Mr. Buchanan Utes off apiece, and restores the balance to Mr. Seward, who offers
it to Mr. Douglas, the Illinois Senator gracefully but firmly declines; whereupon
Mr. Seward Jielps himself, and the three walk on together.]
Mr. Douglas.—How is it with you, Seward. They say your
health has been doubtful for a good while.
Mr. Seward.—Oh, nothing severe. A little weakened, that's
all. My friends sa\ I must keep quiet, and not try to do too much
Mr. Buchanan.—But I heard they said in the Senate that you
had symptoms of lock-jaw.
Mr. Seward.—A childish rumor, nothing more. I shan't die
Mr. Buchanan.—Mr. Seward has no inclination for Toombs.
Mr. Douglas.—I thought it was indigestion. I would have
sworn you had swallowed something which didn't quite agree with
Mr. Buchanan.—Yes ; and although you always were sallow, it
has been noticed that your complexion keeps^growing darker every
Mr. Seward.—Oh! that's easily explained. You know I've
lately been travelling farther into Africa than ever. You can't
get the Brown off very easily, after such an experience as mine.
Mr. Buchanan.—So they say. Speaking of brown, what a pretty
house that is, off yonder.
Mr. Seward.—So, so ; I don't like brown houses to live in, myself.
Mr. Douglas.—I prefer another color, too.
Mr. Buchanan.—Pooh, pooh ; mere imagination. But here we
are, close upon the Capitol grounds. Shall we go in ?