Marse Henry | Page 8

And the general patting me affectionately on the head laughingly said:
"He thinks he has seen a pretty good-looking old fogy--that is what he
thinks!"

VII
There flourished in the village life of Washington two old blokes--no
other word can proprly describe them--Jack Dade, who signed himself
"the Honorable John W. Dade, of Virginia;" and Beau Hickman, who
hailed from nowhere and acquired the pseudonym through sheer
impudence. In one way and another they lived by their wits, the one all
dignity, the other all cheek. Hickman fell very early in his career of
sponge and beggar, but Dade lived long and died in office--indeed,
toward the close an office was actually created for him.
Dade had been a schoolmate of John Tyler--so intimate they were that
at college they were called "the two Jacks"--and when the death of
Harrison made Tyler President, the "off Jack," as he dubbed himself,

went up to the White House and said: "Jack Tyler, you've had luck and
I haven't. You must do something for me and do it quick. I'm hard up
and I want an office."
"You old reprobate," said Tyler, "what office on earth do you think you
are fit to fill?"
"Well," said Dade, "I have heard them talking round here of a place
they call a sine-cu-ree--big pay and no work--and if there is one of
them left and lying about loose I think I could fill it to a T."
"All right," said the President good naturedly, "I'll see what can be done.
Come up to-morrow."
The next day "Col. John W. Dade, of Virginia," was appointed keeper
of the Federal prison of the District of Columbia. He assumed his post
with empressement, called the prisoners before him and made them an
address.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said he; "I have been chosen by my friend, the
President of the United States, as superintendent of this eleemosynary
institution. It is my intention to treat you all as a Virginia gentleman
should treat a body of American ladies and gentlemen gathered here
from all parts of our beloved Union, and I shall expect the same
consideration in return. Otherwise I will turn you all out upon the cold
mercies of a heartless world and you will have to work for your living."
There came to Congress from Alabama a roistering blade by the name
of McConnell. He was something of a wit. During his brief sojourn in
the national capital he made a noisy record for himself as an all-round,
all-night man about town, a dare-devil and a spendthrift. His first
encounter with Col. John W. Dade, of Virginia, used to be one of the
standard local jokes. Colonel Dade was seated in the barroom of
Brown's Hotel early one morning, waiting for someone to come in and
invite him to drink.
Presently McConnell arrived. It was his custom when he entered a
saloon to ask the entire roomful, no matter how many, "to come up and

licker," and, of course, he invited the solitary stranger.
When the glasses were filled Dade pompously said: "With whom have
I the honor of drinking?"
"My name," answered McConnell, "is Felix Grundy McConnell, begad!
I am a member of Congress from Alabama. My mother is a justice of
the peace, my aunt keeps a livery stable, and my grandmother
commanded a company in the Revolution and fit the British, gol darn
their souls!"
Dade pushed his glass aside.
"Sir," said he, "I am a man of high aspirations and peregrinations and
can have nothing to do with such low-down scopangers as yourself.
Good morning, sir!"
It may be presumed that both spoke in jest, because they became
inseparable companions and the best of friends.
McConnell had a tragic ending. In James K. Polk's diary I find two
entries under the dates, respectively, of September 8 and September 10,
1846. The first of these reads as follows: "Hon. Felix G. McConnell, a
representative in Congress from Alabama called. He looked very badly
and as though he had just recovered from a fit of intoxication. He was
sober, but was pale, his countenance haggard and his system nervous.
He applied to me to borrow one hundred dollars and said he would
return it to me in ten days.
"Though I had no idea that he would do so I had a sympathy for him
even in his dissipation. I had known him in his youth and had not the
moral courage to refuse. I gave him the one hundred dollars in gold and
took his note. His hand was so tremulous that he could scarcely write
his name to the note legibly. I think it probable that he will never pay
me. He informed me he was detained at Washington attending to some
business in the