The Era of Reform.

Having eaten a hearty breakfast of corn-beef hash and johnny-cake, President Cleveland put on his hat and overcoat, and strode toward the front-door of the White House.

“Your excellency,” cried Secretary Lamont, “where are you going at this early hour of the morning? It is hardly five o’clock.”

“I am going for a short walk,” replied the President. “I will be back by half-past seven,—in plenty of time to read the paper, look over my mail, write a proclamation or two, and make out a list of nominations before the Senate convenes. I am going around to the various departments to see if my cabinet officers have caught the spirit of the administration, and have returned to the Arcadian simplicity of the Jacksonian epoch.”

And with these words, President Cleveland opened the front-door, and issued forth into the raw, chilly air of the March morning. The brisk breeze blowing from the south-east bore to his ears the faint echo of the din of hammers busily employed in the distant navy-yard at the good work of restoring American sovereignty on the waters of the globe. The lights in the Treasury Department were dim; yet every room was lighted up, and it was evident that all hands were at work, in accordance with Secretary Manning’s order that 299all employees of the civil service should report for duty at half-past four A.M. every week-day. President Cleveland entered the Treasury building, and asked the janitor where Col. Manning was to be found.

“He is down in the vaults, counting the money,” said the janitor; “and he cannot be disturbed.”

Mr. Cleveland expostulated, and was compelled to disclose his identity before the janitor would listen to him. But, being satisfied at last that the visitor really was the President, the janitor conducted him through devious passages, down winding stairways, and under curious moats, until finally the labyrinthine vaults were reached. Here, surrounded by piles of shining gold and silver pieces, sat the Secretary of the Treasury, counting the national hoard by the dim light of a candle.

“I am sorry you came,” said the secretary to the President; “for I really have so much work to do, that I have no time to talk.”

Then Mr. Cleveland observed that Col. Manning was attired in naught but an undershirt, his trousers, and a pair of high-heeled boots.

“Good!” thought the President. Then he said aloud, “But where is the gas, Dan? and why are you using this wretched tallow-dip?”

“I have had the gas-meter taken out of the building,” said the secretary, “and have returned to the good old democratic simplicity of candles. 300By this means, the sum of ninety thousand dollars will be saved to the country annually.”

“And what are you doing now?” asked the President.

“Counting the money in the Treasury,” replied Col. Manning. “I intend to know for myself whether any peculations have been indulged in by my Republican predecessors. Already I have discovered a number of questionable things. For instance, I have found the tail-feathers pulled out of a large number of the eagles on the 1877 coinage of twenty-dollar gold-pieces, and I intend to trace the burglarious outrage to its uttermost until the guilty party is brought to justice.”

“That is right,” said the President; and as he walked away, he felicitated himself and his country upon having secured the co-operation of such an honest, fearless patriot as the Albany journalist.

In the State Department, too, the tawdry gas-fixtures had been removed, to make way for the unostentatious candle. Owing to a dimness of vision, however, Secretary Bayard was compelled to use a kerosene-lamp; and this stood upon his white-pine table, emitting a fragrance which the rose of Sharon might have envied. Bayard wore no collar nor tie. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and the President observed that the shirt was a woollen one; only to preserve the necessary dignity on state occasions, the secretary wore a white celluloid bosom; but otherwise his attire was rigidly plain.

301“Yes, I am very busy,” said Mr. Bayard, “and I have been hard at work since three o’clock this morning. Having abolished the three hundred typewriters and forty-eight stenographers formerly employed in this department, I have my hands full answering the letters. Here,” he continued, as he wearily laid his pale hand on a mass of crumpled sheets of paper, “here are letters from Queen Victoria, King William, Dom Pedro, Kalakaua, Alfonzo, the Czar, Taing-ho, Gen. Barrios, the Ahkoond of Swet, the Emir of Bagdool, the Begum of Mysore, and a hundred other potentates, which must be answered before the noon-mail goes out.”

In the Navy Department, Secretary Whitney was not to be found. Over a work-bench in one corner of the room leaned a boy, contemplating with awe and admiration the model of a patent canal-boat, which calmly floated on the bosom of a tub of cistern-water.

“Can you tell me where to find the Secretary of the Navy?” sternly demanded the President, who was evidently pained to see one of the lad’s years idling in this manner.

“Dunno,” replied the boy, “but guess he’s in the gymnasium over ’cross the hall.”

President Cleveland stepped across the hall, and opened a door on which was pasted a sheet of paper bearing the written legend “Private.” Yes, there was the Secretary of the Navy, attired in a sleeveless 302jersey and a pair of white cotton drawers, and engaged at pulling vigorously at a rowing-machine.

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed President Cleveland. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Learning the business,” replied Secretary Whitney, between pulls. “I am determined to acquaint myself with every detail of the marine and navy service. My arms have grown an inch and a half in ten days. Bill Chandler knew nothing about the minutiæ of the department, and I am resolved to put his administration to the blush. I am learning to swim, and I go to the natatorium twice a day to take lessons.”

As the President strolled toward the War-Department offices, his bosom heaved with emotions of exultation.

“How admirably have I chosen my associates!” he murmured. “On every hand I find irrefutable evidence that the spirit of my administration has infused every subordinate and co-ordinate branch.”

On the walls of the war-office were divers chromos and lithographic prints of Hannibal, Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, Israel Putnam, Zachary Taylor, Andrew Jackson, Winfield Scott Hancock, and other great generals; also a framed daguerrotype of old Admiral Crowninshield, in the costume of an honorary member of the Hull Yacht Club of Boston. Armed soldiers paced to and fro over the sanded floor, or studied the maps of the Sioux, Ute, and Modoc reservations, which were 303spread out on the varnished deal tables. When President Cleveland inquired where Secretary Endicott was, one of the gloomy sentinels pointed in the direction of an inner room; and thither the President drifted. A surprising spectacle greeted him as he entered. Secretary Endicott, clad only in a blouse and trousers of army blue, and wearing a fatigue-cap, stood at one end of the room, holding a cavalry pistol in both hands, and firing at a target at the other end of the room. The target consisted of the head of a barrel, upon which uncertain rings had been described with white chalk. “Bang!” went the big pistol, and the recoil threw the Secretary of War into the President’s arms.

“It is all-fired strange,” explained the secretary, “but I have fired over two hundred cartridges at that gol-darned target, and I hain’t hit it once. I’m a mighty poor shot,—don’t believe I could hit the side of a meetin’-house,—but I’m goin’ to keep on tryin’ till the country owns up I’m the gol-darnedest best cabinet officer they had since Uncle Crowninshield was on deck.”

Then the secretary sat down on the corner of the table, and ate his modest luncheon of nutcakes and cheese, while the President talked with him about the troubles on the Oklahoma border.

“By the way,” said the President, picking up a cartridge from the pile that lay on the floor, “have you been using these all the time?”

304“Yes,” replied the secretary, mopping the powder-dust and perspiration from his undaunted brow. “I’ve fired more’n three hundred of ’em this mornin’.”

“Then, it’s no wonder you haven’t hit the target,” said the President, with an amused chuckle; “for, my dear fellow, these are blank cartridges!”

“Well, I swow!” exclaimed the secretary. “You don’t say so!”

President Cleveland chuckled to himself all the way over to the Post-Office Department. But he was proud of his war-secretary, just the same. Endicott was honest and earnest: that was the kind of man the era of reform demanded.

A beautiful young woman, wearing a calico dress, was carrying a three-hundred-pound mail-sack filled with letters through the hall.

“Is Secretary Vilas in?” inquired the President.

“No, sir,” answered the beautiful being in the calico, as she hurried along with the mail-sack.

President Cleveland was shocked: he had never suspected that Vilas would be the first to grow remiss in his duties. With anguish in his soul, the President entered the Attorney-General’s office. It was in full blast. The subordinates were ranged in two semicircles about Gen. Garland, who, in his shirt-sleeves, was propounding questions upon matters which concerned the intelligent conduct of the department. “What is replevin?” 305“What is the jurisdiction of a Missouri justice of the peace?” “Explain the difference between de jure and de facto.” “What is a posse comitatus, and wherein does it differ from the Arkansas possum?” “What is a change of venue?” These and similar interrogatories did the learned Attorney-General put to his class; and the President was pleased to hear that the responses came quickly, and for the greater part were correct.

“I will not interrupt them,” thought the President; so he retired noiselessly, and slipped over to the Interior Department. All was commotion here, and Secretary Lamar was busiest of the busy.

“We have been hard at work since daylight,” said the secretary. “You see, I have not had time to brush my hair, or comb my beard: in fact, I was in such a hurry that I came down-town with my night-cap on. As Horace said, ‘De juvente pluribus noctantur;’ and in the words of the old Greek philosopher, ‘Kai telos epithalmos gar gignosko.’”

The President applauded the enthusiasm which prevailed. Outside the pension office several hundred one-armed and wooden-legged veterans were seeking admittance: inside the office the crowd of old soldiers was still greater. Standing on tiptoe, and peering over the crowd, the President could see the pension commissioner, Gen. Black, hard at work handing out bags of money to the crippled pensioners.

306“’Tis well,” said President Cleveland, smiling. Then he went back to the Post-Office Department, but Vilas was not there. This was a severe blow,—an awful shock. President Cleveland brooded over it, and the tears came into his eyes. As he passed the Department of Agriculture, he saw the commissioner in the garden, watering the tulips, and pruning the young rhubarb-plants. This sight cheered him somewhat; but still the President brooded over Vilas’s absence from his post of duty, and he indulged in the most melancholy reflections until he nearly reached home,—yes, till he had come to the White-House gate. Then a cheery whistle startled him from his sad revery. Looking up, he beheld Secretary Vilas tripping gayly down the walk, carrying a leathern bag, and whistling a merry air from “Falka.”

“I have just left a bundle of letters with Lamont for you,” said Vilas.

“How do you happen to be here, instead of at your post of duty?” inquired the President gloomily.

“Why, when I got down to the office at four o’clock this morning,” explained Vilas, “I found one of our men sick; so I concluded to carry his route for him myself to-day.”

A few moments later, President Cleveland, having removed his coat, collar, and necktie, seated himself at his desk in the White House, and was ready for work.

307“Daniel,” said he to his private secretary, “I feel encouraged, for I have irrefutable evidence that my cabinet is en rapport with the administration. The republic has indeed entered upon an era of Arcadian simplicity.”