Usually, the Senate is as staid as the House is uproarious. All routine business is transacted22 there “by unanimous consent”; it is only when some really important issue arises that the Senators quarrel publicly. When a serious debate is on, there is no commotion24: every Senator who wishes to speak sends his name to the presiding officer, or rises during a lull25 and announces his purpose of addressing the Senate on a specified26 day. The rest of the Senators respect his privilege, and, if he is a man of consequence, a goodly proportion of them will be in their seats to hear him. If a Senator is absent from the chamber when a matter arises which might concern him, some one is apt to suggest deferring27 its consideration till he can be present.{87} It is the same way with appointments to office which require confirmation28 by the Senate: a Senator objecting to a candidate nominated from his State can count upon abundant support from his fellow Senators, every one of whom realizes that it may be his turn next to need support in a similar contingency29. This is what is called “Senatorial courtesy.” So well is it understood that no unfair advantage will be taken of any one’s absence, that the attendance in the chamber sometimes becomes very thin. An instance is often cited when the Vice-president, discovering only one person on the floor at the beginning of a day’s session, rapped with his gavel and solemnly announced: “The Senator from Massachusetts will be in order!”
The strong contrast between the two chambers30 has existed ever since the creation of Congress. This is not wonderful when we reflect that the Senate was for a long time made up of men chosen by the State legislatures from a social class well removed from the masses of the people, and that they held office for a six-year term, thus lording it over the members of the House of Representatives, who, besides being drawn31 directly from the rank and file of the body politic32, had to struggle for re?lection every two years. In the early days, the Senators were noted33 for their rich attire34 and their{88} great gravity of manner; whereas most of the Representatives persisted, while sitting in the House during the debates, in wearing their big cocked hats set “fore and aft” on their heads. Whether the Senate sat covered or bareheaded for the first few years of its existence, we have only indirect evidence, as it then kept its doors closed against everybody, even members of the House. Little by little a more liberal spirit asserted itself, until the doors were opened to the public for a certain part of every morning, with the proviso that they should be closed whenever the subjects of discussion seemed to require secrecy35. By common consent, these subjects were limited to certain classes of business proposed by the President, like the ratification36 of treaties and the confirmation of appointments to office. Such matters remain confidential37 to this day, and the Senate holds itself ready to exclude spectators and go into secret session at any moment, on the request of a single Senator.
As a secret session is always supposed to be for the purpose of discussing a Presidential communication, the fiction is embalmed38 in the form of a motion “that the Senate proceed to the consideration of executive business.” This is the signal for the doorkeepers to evict39 the occupants of the galleries and shut the doors leading into the corridors; but sometimes the real{89} reason for the request is widely removed from its pretext40. I have known it to be offered for the purpose of cutting short the exhibition which a tipsy Senator was making of himself; or to prevent a tedious airing of grievances41 by a Senator who had quarreled with the President over the dispensation of patronage42 in his State; or to silence a Senator who, objecting to the negotiation43 of a certain treaty, kept referring to it in open debate while it was still pending44 under the seal of confidence. In this last instance, the offending Senator was so obstinate45 of purpose that the doors had to be closed and reopened several times in a single day.
On the face of things, there is no reason why the President should not attend any session of the Senate at which business of his originating is under debate. No President since the first, however, has made the experiment. Washington attended three secret sessions, but was so angered by the Senate’s referring to a committee sundry46 questions which he insisted should be settled on the spot, that he quitted the chamber, emphatically vowing47 that he would waste no more time on such trifling48. The Senators excused their conduct by saying that they were embarrassed in talking about the President and his motives49 while he was sitting there.
The custom of wearing their hats while transacting{90} business was continued by the Representatives for fifty years or more. Even the Speaker, as long as he sat in his chair, would keep his hat on, though he was accustomed to remove it when he stood to address the House. The Senators, whatever may have been their practice during the years of their seclusion51, distinguished52 themselves from the Representatives immediately thereafter by sitting with bared heads. They also avoided the habit, common in the House, of putting their feet up on the nearest elevated object—usually a desk-lid—and lolling on their spines54. English visitors, though accustomed to the wearing of hats in their own House of Commons, nevertheless found a text for criticism in the way the American Representatives did it; and they all had something severe to say of the prevalence of tobacco-chewing in the House, with its accompaniment of spitting, as Mrs. Trollope put it, “to an excess that decency55 forbids me to describe.” Less offensive to the taste of our visitors from abroad was the indulgence in snuff-taking, which was so general that boxes or jars were set up in convenient places inside of both halls, and it was made the duty of certain employees to keep these always filled with a fine brand of snuff. Any of the most eloquent56 orators57 in Congress was liable to stop at regular intervals in a speech to help himself to a large{91} pinch, bury his face in a bandanna58 handkerchief, and have it out with nature. A few of the lawmakers, indeed, cultivated snuff-taking as a fine art, and were proud of their reputations for dexterity59 in it. Henry Clay was one of the most skilful60.
While we are on the subject of indulgences, we must not overlook a drink called switchel, which was very popular, being compounded of rum, ginger61, molasses, and water. Every member was allowed then, as now, in addition to his salary and traveling expenses, a fixed62 supply of “stationery”; and this term, which was elastic63 enough to include everything from pens and paper to jack-knives and razors, was stretched to cover the delectable64 switchel under the thin disguise of “sirup.” In later years, when a wave of teetotalism had swept over Washington, and the open sale of alcoholic65 drinks in the restaurants of the Capitol was under a temporary ban, any member who wished a drink of whisky ordered it as “cold tea,” and it was served to him in a china cup. This stratagem66 fell into marked discredit67 when one of the most respectable and abstemious68 members of the House, who had never tasted intoxicating69 liquor of any sort, ordered cold tea in entire good faith to clear his throat in the midst of a speech, and became maudlin70 before he was aware that anything was amiss.{92}
Besides sprawling71 with their feet higher than their heads, and otherwise airing their contempt for conventional etiquette72, many of the old-time Representatives felt free to read newspapers while debates were going on around them, indifferent to their disturbance12 of both orators and audience. The first pointed73 rebuke74 of this practice was administered by James K. Polk when Speaker of the House. He noticed one morning that substantially every Representative had a newspaper in hand when the gavel fell for beginning the day’s session. The journal was read, but nobody paid any attention to it, and then the Speaker made his usual announcement that the House was ready for business. Still everybody remained buried in the morning’s news. After another vain attempt to set the machinery75 in motion, Mr. Polk quietly drew a newspaper from his own pocket, seated himself with his back toward the House, spread the sheet open before him, and ostentatiously immersed himself in its printed contents. One by one the Representatives finished their reading, and perhaps a quarter of an hour passed before there came from all sides an irregular volley of calls: “Mr. Speaker!” “Mr. Speaker!” Mr. Polk ignored them till one of the baffled members moved that the House proceed to the election of a presiding officer, to take the place of the Speaker, who appeared{93} to be absent. This brought Mr. Polk to his feet with the remark that he not only was present, but had notified the House that it was ready for business and had received no response. The House took the joke in good part and showed by its conduct thereafter that it was not above profiting by the Speaker’s reproof76.
Although women were admitted as spectators to the sessions of both chambers on the same terms as men, there was for many years an undercurrent of feeling against their encroachments. There was limited room in either hall for their accommodation behind the colonnade78. In this space—the original “lobby”—there was an open fireplace at each end, and it soon became a common complaint among the Senators that the feminine guests drew the sofas up in front of the fire and thus effectually shut off the warmth from every one else. Aaron Burr, while Vice-president, was the first person in authority to take cognizance of this indictment79. He notified the visiting women that after a certain date they must cease coming into the lobby and find seats in the gallery. They were appropriately indignant and declared an almost unanimous boycott80 against the Senate. Vice-president Clinton was of a different temper from his predecessor81 and let them all come back again. By degrees, however, as the privileges of the floor became more and more restricted{94} in both chambers, the women were given a special gallery for themselves.
From the time they began coming to Congress in any multitude, the fair visitors have made their presence felt. In the House one day John Randolph drew attention to them by halting a debate to point a long, skinny finger in their direction and snarl82 out: “Mr. Speaker, what, pray, are all these women doing here, so out of place in this arena83? Sir, they had much better be at home attending to their knitting!” In spite of that, they continued to come and to attract attention, till the number of members who habitually84 quitted their seats to repair to the gallery and pay their devoirs to their lady friends threatened to play havoc86 with the roll-calls. This abuse did not last long, and nowadays the visit of a member of either house to the gallery is an incident.
So far from objecting to spectators, both House and Senate now offer distinct encouragement to the public to come and hear the debates. To this end, each chamber has a deep gallery completely surrounding it, with cross partitions at intervals. One section is reserved for the President and Cabinet and their families; another for the members of the diplomatic circle; a third for the members of the press, and so forth87. Control of each press gallery is nominally{95} retained by the chamber concerned, but actually is left in the hands of a committee of newspaper men, who enforce an exemplary discipline, so that a writer guilty of misconduct would be excluded thenceforward from his privileges. On the other hand, the newspaper men have always stood firmly for their right to discuss the members and measures of Congress with all the freedom consonant89 with truth. It has required a long and sometimes dramatic struggle to bring about the present harmonious90 mutual91 understanding between Congress and the press as to the legitimate92 preserves of each body upon which the other must not trespass93.
Some of the battles leading to this result are entertaining to recall. In the later forties, while members of the press were still permitted to do their work at desks on the floor of the House, a correspondent of the New York Tribune named Robinson published an article about a certain Representative named Sawyer, whose unappetizing personal habits he thought it would be wise to break up. Among other things he described the way Sawyer ate his luncheon94: “Every day at two o’clock he feeds. About that hour he is seen leaving his seat and taking a position in the window back of the Speaker’s chair to the left. He unfolds a greasy95 paper, in which is contained a chunk96 of bread and sausage, or some other unctuous97 substance. He disposes{96} of them rapidly, wipes his hands with the greasy paper for a napkin, and throws it out of the window. What little grease is left on his hands, he wipes on his almost bald head.” There was more to the same effect, but this will suffice. When the paper containing the article reached Washington, there was much laughing behind hands in Congress; but, though most of the members rejoiced that somebody should have told the truth for the dignity of the House, few had the courage to come out boldly and say that the satire98 was deserved.
One of Sawyer’s colleagues retaliated99 with a resolution that all writers for the Tribune be excluded thenceforward from the floor; after a brief debate it was adopted, and the offending correspondent was obliged to go up into the gallery and sit among the women. But his pursuers were not satisfied with this measure of revenge; for, reviving a half-forgotten rule that men were to be admitted to the gallery only when accompanied by women, and then must be passed in by a member of the House, they sent a doorkeeper to eject him even from his temporary refuge. At once several ladies volunteered to accompany him for his visits, and among the Congressmen who climbed the stairs from day to day to pass him in was one not less distinguished than John Quincy Adams. Nor{97}
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Where Dolly Madison Gave Her Farewell Ball
was this the end. For the correspondent went home, ran for Congress and was elected, while the wrathful Representative dropped into obscurity under the nickname, which he was never able to shake off, of “Sausage Sawyer.”
Many newspaper publications have been made subjects of special investigation100 by committees of Congress, but in no instance has a threat of expulsion from the gallery or of prosecution101 in the courts produced any practical results; and the locking up of recusant committee witnesses has become a mere102 mockery. The most notable case on record was that of Hallet Kilbourn, a former journalist who had become a real estate broker103 and a leading participant in a local land syndicate which the House undertook to investigate. Kilbourn was commanded to produce certain account-books, as well as the names and addresses of sundry persons who, not being members of Congress, he insisted were outside the jurisdiction104 of that body. For his refusal to furnish the information demanded he was thrown into jail and kept there nearly six weeks. From the first, he had declared that he had no objection to opening his accounts to the whole world or to publishing the data desired, as all the transactions covered by the inquiry105 had been honorable; and this assertion he proved later by voluntarily printing{98} everything. But he was resolved to make a legal test of the right of Congress to arrogate106 to itself the arbitrary powers of a court of justice, and he got a good deal of enjoyment107 out of the experience.
For the whole period of his imprisonment108 he lived like a prince at the expense of the contingent109 fund of the House; drove about the city at will in a carriage, merely accompanied by a deputy sergeant-at-arms; and entertained his friends at dinner within the jail walls. Of course, the newspapers exploited the whole episode gladly, and when he had held his prosecutors110 up to popular ridicule111 long enough, he sued out a writ88 of habeas corpus and was released. Then he brought a suit for damages against the Sergeant-at-Arms for false imprisonment and won it on appeal after appeal, till the Supreme112 Court of the United States handed down a sweeping113 decision that “there is not found in the Constitution any general power vested in either house to punish for contempt.” In spite of the efforts of all the judges in the lower courts to cut down the damages granted by their juries, Congress was finally obliged to pay Kilbourn twenty thousand dollars, or about five hundred dollars a day for his forty days’ incarceration114. It took him nine years to carry his case through all its stages.
Both chambers open their daily sessions with{99} prayer. Clergymen of nearly all denominations115 have served as Chaplains, including Father Pise, a very eloquent Catholic priest who was a close friend of Henry Clay and was invited at his instance to lead the devotions of the Senate. As a rule, the prayers are extemporaneous116, and it seems almost inevitable117 that, in periods of political upheaval118, some color of partisanship119 should creep into them. Yet such slips have been very rare indeed. The most startling was made by the late Doctor Byron Sunderland, who was Chaplain of the Senate in 1862. He was the foremost Presbyterian minister in Washington and a strong anti-slavery advocate. One day Senator Saulsbury of Delaware, who was an accomplished120 biblical scholar, made a speech reviewing the references in the Hebrew scriptures121 to human servitude, as proof that slavery was of divine origin. Doctor Sunderland, having left the hall, did not hear the speech made, but was told about it when he arrived at the Capitol the next morning. He was nettled122 by the news, and, before he was fairly conscious of it, he caught himself saying something like this in his opening prayer: “Oh, Lord God of Nations, teach this Senate and all the people of this country that, if slavery is of divine institution, so is hell itself, and by Thy grace help us to abolish the one and escape the other!” These few words{100} caused a great sensation, and later in the day Mr. Saulsbury vented123 his indignation in a resolution to expel the offending clergyman from the chaplaincy; but some quick-witted Senator on the opposite side cut off debate by moving to adjourn124, and the matter died there.
Every day’s proceedings125 of Congress are published in a special journal called the Record; but it must not be too lightly assumed that every speech reported has been made in Congress. One of the rules of the House of Representatives permits a member, with the consent of the House, to be credited with having made remarks which, as a matter of fact, he has only reduced to writing and handed to the Clerk. That is what is meant by the “leave to print” privilege. Into the authorship of these speeches, or even of some that are delivered, it is not wise to probe too far. There are trained writers in Washington who earn a livelihood126 by digging out statistics and other data and composing addresses on various subjects for orators who are willing to pay for them, and Congressmen are among their customers. Once in a while something happens which casts a temporary shadow over this traffic. Several years ago, for example, two Representatives from Ohio were credited in the Record with the same speech. Inquiry developed the fact that it had been offered to one of them, who had refused either to pay the price{101} demanded for it or to give it back; so the author had sold a duplicate copy to the other. But worse yet was the plight127 of two members who delivered almost identical eulogies128 on a dead fellow member, having by accident copied their material from the same ancient volume of “Rules and Models for Public Speaking.”
I have alluded129 to disorders130 which occasionally mar10 the course of legislation, when members hurl131 ugly names at each other or even exchange blows. While some such affrays have carried their high tension to the end and sent the combatants to the dueling133 field to settle accounts, others have taken a comical turn which decidedly relaxed the strain. Perhaps the most picturesque134 incident of this kind was the historic Keitt-Grow contest in February, 1858. The House had been engaged all night in a wrangle over an acute phase of the slavery question, and two o’clock in the morning found both the Northern and the Southern members with their nerves on edge. Mr. Keitt of South Carolina, objecting to something said by Mr. Grow of Pennsylvania, struck at him, but Grow parried the blow, and a fellow member who sprang to his assistance knocked Keitt down. From all sides came reinforcements, and in a few minutes what started as a personal encounter of minor135 importance developed into a general free fight.{102}
Potter of Wisconsin, a man of athletic136 build, whirled his fists right and left, doing tremendous execution. Owen Lovejoy, seeing Lamar of Mississippi striding toward a confused group, ran at him with arms extended, resolved on pushing him back, while Lamar as vigorously resisted the obstruction137. Covode of Pennsylvania, fearing lest his friend Grow might be overpowered by hostile numbers, picked up a big stoneware spittoon and hurried forward, holding his improvised138 projectile139 poised140 to hurl at the head where it would do most good; but having no immediate53 need to use it, he set it on top of a convenient desk. Everybody was too excited to pay any attention to the loud pounding of the Speaker’s gavel, or to the advance of the Sergeant-at-Arms with his mace held aloft. Even the unemotional John Sherman and his gray-haired Quaker colleague Mott could not keep out of the fray132 entirely141.
But Elihu Washburne of Illinois and his brother Cadwallader of Wisconsin proved by all odds142 the heroes of the occasion. They were of modest stature143, but sturdy and full of energy. Elihu tackled Craig of North Carolina, who was tall and had long arms, which he swung about him with a flail-like motion; and it would have gone hard with the smaller man had he not suddenly lowered his head and used it as{103} a battering-ram, aiming at the unprotected waist-line of his antagonist144 and doubling him up with one irresistible145 rush. Just then Cadwallader, seeing Barksdale of Mississippi about to strike Elihu, ran toward him; but being unable to penetrate146 the crowd, he leaped forward and reached over the heads of the intervening men to seize the Mississippian by the hair. Here came the culmination147; for Barksdale’s ambrosial148 locks, which were only a lifelike wig149 worn to cover a pate150 as smooth as a soap-bubble, came off in his assailant’s hand. The astonishment151 of the one man and the consternation152 of the other were too much for the fighters, who, in spite of themselves, united in wild peals153 of merriment; and their hilarity154 was in no wise dampened when Barksdale, snatching at his wig, restored it to his head hind77 side before, or when Covode, returning to his seat and missing his spittoon, marched solemnly down the aisle and recovered it from its temporary perch155.
This scene occurred in the old Hall of Representatives. The most dramatic scene ever witnessed in the present hall was one which attended the opening of the Fifty-first Congress, when the Republicans, who had only an infinitesimal majority, had organized the House with Thomas B. Reed as Speaker. Reed, who was a large, blond man with a Shakespearian head{104} and a high-pitched drawl, signalized his entrance upon his new duties by announcing his purpose to preside over a lawmaking rather than a do-nothing body. For several successive Congresses the House had found itself crippled in its attempts to transact23 business by the dilatory156 tactics of whichever party happened to be in the minority. Day after day, even in a congested season, would be wasted in roll-calls necessitated157 by some one’s raising the point of “no quorum158,” although everybody knew that a quorum was present, and that its apparent absence was deliberately159 caused by the refusal of members of the opposition160 to answer to their names. Reed had bent161 his mind to breaking up this practice.
Early in his Speakership a motion to take up a contested election case was put to vote, and a roll-call demanded as usual by the minority. As the House was then constituted, one hundred and sixty-six members were necessary to a quorum, and four Republicans were unavoidably absent. Following the old tactics, nearly all the Democrats162 abstained164 from voting; but, as the call proceeded, Reed was observed making notes on a sheet of paper which lay on his table. At the close, he rose and announced the vote: yeas 162, nays165 3, not voting 163. Mr. Crisp of Georgia at once raised the point of no quorum. Reed{105} ignored it, and, lifting his memorandum166, began, in measured tones and with no trace of excitement or weakness:
“The Chair directs the Clerk to record the following names of members present and refusing to vote—”
And then Bedlam167 broke loose. The Republicans applauded, and howls and yells arose from the Democratic side. Above the din2 could be heard the voice of Crisp: “I appeal from the decision of the Chair!” But the Speaker, not having finished his statement, kept right on, oblivious168 of the turmoil169:
“Mr. Blanchard, Mr. Bland170, Mr. Blount, Mr. Breckinridge of Arkansas, Mr. Breckinridge of Kentucky—”
The Democrats generally had seemed stunned171 by the boldness of this move; but the Kentucky Breckinridge, at the mention of his name, rushed down the aisle, brandishing172 his fist and shaking his head so that its straight white hair stood out from it. His face was aflame with anger, and his voice quite beyond his control, as he shrieked173: “I deny the power of the Speaker—this is revolutionary!” The other Democrats, inspired by his example and recovering from their stupefaction, poured into the center aisle. They bore down in a mass upon the Speaker’s dais, gesticulating wildly and all shouting at once, so that nothing{106} could be understood from the babel of voices save their desire to express their scorn for the Speaker and their defiance174 of his authority. The Republicans sat quiet, making no demonstration175, but obviously prepared to rush in if the trouble took on a more violent form. The Speaker stood apparently176 unruffled, not even changing color, and only those who were near enough to see every line in his face were aware of that slight twitching177 of the muscles of his mouth which always indicated that his outward composure was not due to insensibility.
So furious was the clamor that he was compelled to desist from his reading for a moment, while he pounded with his gavel to command order on the floor. Then, as the remonstrants fell back a little, his nasal tone was heard again, still reciting that momentous178 list:
“Mr. Brookshire, Mr. Bullock, Mr. Bynum, Mr. Carlisle—”
And so on down the roll, one member after another jumping up when he heard his name called, but subsiding179 as the Speaker went imperturbably180 ahead, much as might a schoolmaster with a roomful of refractory181 pupils. Presently came the opportunity he had been waiting for. Mr. McCreary of Kentucky, a very dignified182, decorous-mannered gentleman on{107} ordinary occasions, had shown by his change of countenance183 and color that he was repressing his emotions with difficulty; and, resolved not to be ridden over ruthlessly as the rest had been, he had risen in his place and stood there, holding before him an open book and waiting to hear his name. The instant it was read out, he raised his disengaged hand and shouted: “Mr. Speaker!”
To every one’s astonishment, the Speaker paused, turning a look of inquiry toward the interrupter, while the House held its breath.
“I deny,” cried Mr. McCreary, in a voice which, in spite of his endeavor to be calm, was trembling with agitation184, “your right to count me as present; and I desire to cite some parliamentary law in support of my point!”
Reed, wearing an air of entire seriousness, answered with his familiar drawl:
“The Chair is making a statement of fact that the gentleman is present.” Then, with a significant emphasis on each word: “Does—the—gentleman—deny—it?”
The silence which had settled momentarily upon the chamber continued for a few seconds more, to be succeeded by an outburst of laughter which fairly shook the ceiling. The Republican side furnished most{108} of it at first, but those Democrats who possessed185 a keen sense of humor soon gave way also. The Speaker, still grave as a statue, maintained the expectant attitude of one awaiting the reply to a question. McCreary held his ground for a few minutes, striving to make himself heard in reading a passage from his book, while the gavel beat a tattoo186 on the desk as if the Speaker were trying to aid him by restoring order; but he was talking against a torrent187, and had to realize his defeat and resume his seat.
When the last name on the written list had been read, the Speaker handed the sheet to the Clerk for incorporation188 in the minutes, and, as coolly as if nothing had happened, proceeded to set forth briefly189 the precedents190 covering the case, including one ruling made by a very distinguished Democrat163 who was at that hour the most conspicuous191 candidate of his party for the Presidency192.
The fight was resumed the next day and continued to rage all through the session, the foes193 of the Speaker constantly devising new stratagems194 to outwit him, but in vain. Sometimes there were funny little developments, as when, in a precipitate195 flight of the Democrats from the hall to escape being counted, Mr. O’Ferrall of Virginia inadvertently left his hat on his desk, and the Speaker jocosely196 threatened to count{109}
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Lee Mansion197 at Arlington
that, on the theory that its habitual85 wearer was constructively198 present; or when “Buck” Kilgore, a giant Democrat from Texas, refused to stay in the hall after the Speaker had ordered the doors fastened, and kicked one of them open with his Number 14 boot. Sometimes a tragic199 threat would be uttered by a group of hot-headed enemies, and the galleries would be thronged200 for several days with spectators expecting to see Reed dragged out of the chair by force and arms. But, though every day witnessed its parliamentary struggle, the bad blood aroused was never actually spilled. What did happen was that, at the close of the Congress, when it is customary for the opposition party to move a vote of thanks to the Speaker, Reed went without the compliment. Something far more flattering than thanks was in store for him, however; for in the Fifty-third Congress, the House, which was then under Democratic control, by a vote of nearly five to one adopted his quorum-counting rule with only a technical modification201. Since that day it has never found itself in a condition of legislative202 paralysis203.
The communications in which the President, as required by the Constitution, gives to Congress from time to time “information of the state of the union,” take the form of general and special messages. A general message is sent at the beginning of every session{110} and usually reviews the relations of our Government with its citizens and with the outside world. A special message is called forth by some particular event or series of events requiring a union of counsels between the legislative and executive branches of the Government.
The formalities attending the presentation of general messages have differed at various stages of our national history. John Adams, for example, brought his in person to the Capitol. A military and civic204 procession escorted him from his house to the Senate chamber, where the Senators and Representatives were assembled in joint205 session. He was attired206 with more elegance207 than was his wont208 and was accompanied by the members of his Cabinet, the United States Marshal acting50 as usher209; the Vice-president surrendered to him the chair of honor and took a seat at his right while he read his address aloud. In those days, each house appointed a committee to consider the address of the President and to draft a reply to it; when the reply was ready, a committee waited upon him to inquire at what time it would be agreeable for him to receive it, and on the day appointed, the members called upon him in a body to present it.
The message ceremonial was considerably210 shortened{111} during the administration of President Jefferson, who scandalized some of the sticklers211 for propriety212 by reading his first address to Congress clad in a plain blue coat with gilt213 buttons, blue breeches, woolen214 stockings, and heavy shoes tied with leather strings215. This democratic departure was typical of the way a good many old customs died out. We find most of the later Presidents, till the spring of 1913, rather studiously avoiding the Capitol, meeting Congress seldom outside of the White House, and confining their official communications to written messages presented in duplicate at the doors of the two halls respectively by the hand of an executive clerk. The response of each house, if any is deemed worth while, now takes the form of the introduction of legislation on lines suggested by the President. But the common practice is to cut a message into parts, referring the passages which deal with one class of subjects to one committee, and those which deal with another class to another committee; and in most cases, unless an emergency arises to make further consideration essential, little more is heard of them.
President Wilson has revived the custom of visiting Congress in its own home and there delivering his addresses directly to the lawmakers in a body, assembled for the occasion in the Hall of Representatives.{112} This is a much more effective mode of approaching Congress than sending a written document by messenger, to be drawled through in a singsong voice by tired clerks, simultaneously216 in both halls, to a gathering217 of only half-interested auditors218. It is also a more certain means of concentrating public attention upon the work of the session. There is a subtle something in the very personality of a President which appeals to the popular imagination. As the one high officer of state elected by the votes of all the people, he stands in their minds as a conservator and champion of their broadest ideals, as contrasted with the narrower sectional interests represented by the members of Congress. When, therefore, he takes his position face to face with the men who are to frame whatever legislation grows out of his recommendations, the whole country instinctively219 draws near and listens.
It is hard to guess what might happen should it fall to the lot of President Wilson to appear before Congress in person with such a trumpet-call as was sounded in President Harrison’s message on the maltreatment of our sailors in Chile, or President Cleveland’s on the encroachments of England in Venezuela, or President McKinley’s on the failure of his peaceful efforts for freeing Cuba. If the mere reading of these formal messages was so impressive as to paint a vivid{113} picture of the attendant scenes on the memory of all who witnessed them, what an extra touch of the dramatic would have been added had the chief executive of the nation appeared at the Capitol to tell his story himself!
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antagonisms
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accusations
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8
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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9
mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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10
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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11
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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12
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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13
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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14
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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15
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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16
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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17
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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19
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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20
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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21
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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22
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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23
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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24
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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25
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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26
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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27
deferring
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的现在分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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28
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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29
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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30
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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31
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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32
politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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33
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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34
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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35
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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36
ratification
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| n.批准，认可 | |
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37
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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38
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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39
evict
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| vt.驱逐，赶出，撵走 | |
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40
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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41
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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42
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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43
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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44
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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45
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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46
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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47
vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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48
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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49
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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50
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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51
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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52
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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53
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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54
spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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55
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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56
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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57
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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58
bandanna
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| n.大手帕 | |
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59
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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60
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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61
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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62
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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63
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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64
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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65
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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66
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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67
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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68
abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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69
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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70
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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71
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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72
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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75
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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76
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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77
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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78
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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79
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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80
boycott
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| n./v.(联合)抵制，拒绝参与 | |
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81
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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82
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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83
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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84
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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85
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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86
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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87
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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88
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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89
consonant
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| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
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90
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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91
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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92
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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93
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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94
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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95
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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96
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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97
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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98
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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99
retaliated
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| v.报复，反击( retaliate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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101
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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102
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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103
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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104
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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105
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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106
arrogate
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| v.冒称具有...权利，霸占 | |
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107
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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108
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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109
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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110
prosecutors
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| 检举人( prosecutor的名词复数 )； 告发人； 起诉人； 公诉人 | |
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111
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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112
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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113
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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114
incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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115
denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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116
extemporaneous
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| adj.即席的，一时的 | |
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117
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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118
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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119
Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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120
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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121
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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122
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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123
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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125
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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126
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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127
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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128
eulogies
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| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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129
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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131
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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132
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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133
dueling
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| n. 决斗, 抗争(=duelling) 动词duel的现在分词形式 | |
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134
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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135
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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136
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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137
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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138
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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139
projectile
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| n.投射物，发射体；adj.向前开进的；推进的；抛掷的 | |
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140
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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141
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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142
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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143
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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144
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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145
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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146
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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147
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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148
ambrosial
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| adj.美味的 | |
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149
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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150
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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151
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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152
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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153
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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154
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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155
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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156
dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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157
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
quorum
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| n.法定人数 | |
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159
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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160
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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161
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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162
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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163
democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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164
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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nays
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| n.反对票，投反对票者( nay的名词复数 ) | |
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166
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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167
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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168
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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170
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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171
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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172
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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173
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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175
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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176
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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177
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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178
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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179
subsiding
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的现在分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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181
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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182
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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183
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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184
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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185
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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186
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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187
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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188
incorporation
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| n.设立，合并，法人组织 | |
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189
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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190
precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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191
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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192
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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193
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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194
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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195
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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196
jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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197
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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198
constructively
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| ad.有益的，积极的 | |
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199
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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200
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
modification
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| n.修改，改进，缓和，减轻 | |
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202
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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203
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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204
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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205
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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206
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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208
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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209
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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210
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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211
sticklers
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| n.坚持…的人( stickler的名词复数 ) | |
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212
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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213
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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214
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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215
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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216
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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217
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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218
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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219
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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