Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 July 1904 — WASHINGTON LETTER. [ARTICLE]

WASHINGTON LETTER.

Political and Genera! Gossip of the National Capitol. Special Correspondence to The Democrat: On a wall at the Navy Department is a map of the sea giving the changing locations of the derelicts afloat —that is, of the wrecked and abandoned ships which, without a master, go blindly wandering up and down the ocean to the constant peril of every “live” vessel adrift. Upon that scribbled chart their labyrinthine paths are traced round and round in loops and triangles and double bowknots, and day by day as news comes in from the castaways the vigilant skipper in charge with a bit of colored ink gives each track a new angle or a wider sweep and sends word of the danger to the principal port. Our ship of state is a sad derelict this month. Her aimless rudder swinging with the tide and her blistered deck of asphaltum abandoned by Admiral Roosevelt and his Commodores, she swelters and staggers about upon our Saragossa Sea. She sprang a-leak another half billion dollars this year, but it is impossible to scuttle her for she is very stanch and seaworthy, the revenue pumps are in first rate order, and with a vigilant watch on the port quarter she will weather many seasons yet. During the year the treasury has had a big hole knocked in her abaft the binnacle, and has leaked fifty millions extra a tremendous sum, sufficient to swamp an ordinary European craft. And now, within a week of August, nobody is on deck but a few middies and supple-jacks too weak to desert the ship. Northward flee supremest judges— Learned court—its head is Fuller; Northward each official trudges To some port where nights are cooler. Catches breath on bleak Nantucket, Catches cold in Watkin’s dell; QuaffsJ perchance, the sulphurous bucket Drawn from Saratoga’s well. On Bar Harbor’s buckboard riding; Through the Thousand Islands paddling; Down Mount Washington a-glading; In the halls of Newport dawdling; On the pier at Narragansett; In the parlor at Cape May; On the sandy shore of ’Sconset; In the surf at Rockaway, Officially, I say, the ship of state is a derelict. Secretary Metcalf of the Department of Commerce and Labor, and the very newest member of the Cabinet, is the only man left on deck to pipe to quarters in an emergency. Payne was here yesterday, but has fled. Morton is in Nebraska. Hay, Hitchcock and Taft are all away on business, and their business didn’t take them South. It took them to northern New England where they are swinging in hammocks this minute. Shaw is at Oyster Bay. Wilson, too, is off hibernating —or rather, begging pardon of Mercury, estivating. National Chairman Cortelyon is in Philadelphia with his frying pan, and Congressional Chairman Babcock is at Atlantic City with his fishing-rod and a long, cool, glass of something. Inefficient fountains flash lonesomely in the parks and a few hopeful Congressmen take off their coats and vests in their partisan headquarters. The maddest people in town are probably we correspondents, jealous and disgusted at the removal of the capital to Oyster Bay and Esopus.

Up at the vanishing Republican headquarters Secretary Rimer Dover is doing battle with the lithograph and button men who assure him that their wares are indispensable to the snccess of the party. One picture is entitled “Our Perpetual Star” (Roosevelt). It is an allegory of the boyhood, manhood, life and thoughts, stirring scenes of, battle and bivouac, peaceful conquests, with rough and smooth riders: stacks of books all his own; White House in foreground, crossed with swords and discharged cannon, and a dove of peace bearing the olive branch of arbitration. Soon both parties will pull up stakes and fly to New York with scissors, ink, paste-pot, blue pencil, waste-basket, and office oat. Congressional Chairman Babcock will go to New York next week with the Whole Republican outfit, and re-open in the St. James building on Broadway and Twen-ty-sixth street. t t t That a man worth forty or fifty million dollars should be terrorized by his relative? is a singular phenomenon, bnt Senator William A. Clark of Montana has for that reason kept secret the news of his clandestine marriage for three years until his bride had borne him two children. The Senator wanted to marry his lovely ward but feared to face the opposition of his family and the tremendous hubbub resulting. When she was barely seventeen he sent Anna LaChappelle to Europe to study the harp. While the Senator was planning the most sumptuous padaoe in New York city she lived in Paris, served like a princess. She had carriages, maids, a chaperon, private masters in music, vecal and instrumental, and the languages, aud the entree into the most exclusive of musical and artistic circles. Under such auspices she made her debut as a harpist and vocalist and created a Parisian furore. She received flattering offers to go upon the stage. When the Senator reappeared his sister resented it and refused longer to chaperon the girl. Then the secret marriage took place and he deposited in New York with lawyers the marriage certificate, affidavits of witnesses, and a document settling a million dollars on his new wife. There is war between Clark’s relatives and the LaChappelles. It is obvious that he placed himself in an awkward position and opened the way for injurious comments by a clandestine marriage. If he wants to save any remnant of his dignity, he should feel his ground carefully and not make any more mistakes. If his relatives are wise, they will accept the situation philosophically.