The Democrat

VAN TRUMP'S LETTERS.
Written for The Democrat.
NUMBER SEVEN.

Van Trump visits the Capital—His views of matters and things—The assembled wisdom of State—Fleming, Pinnell, Farnsworth &c., &c.

It's been a good while since I travelled any to speak of, and I thought this was about as good a time as I ever would have to indulge my inward yearnings to take a peep at the grizzly and rugged seniors who make our laws for us—the more so, as a certain friend of mine introduced me to a certain gentleman, and told that certain gentleman that I was a rising, shining, brilliant, lustrous, and all the time getting bigger light in newspaperdom, and was moreover, a valued correspondent of The Democrat. The certain gentleman was mighty glad to see me, and extended the hospitalities of the occasion, and I took a glassful. He inquired after my health and the health of Mrs. Van and the little Trumps. Then he took me into his back room, and after taking a little more of the "hospitality" presented me with a free pass to Wheeling and back. So I told Mrs. Van to wash my other shirt &c., etc., and on Monday I left the weeping idol of my heart and all the little idols, and that night I arrived at Wheeling. I saw a good many people racing round, and after a while I saw General Northcott leaning up against a wall, looking just as handsome as ever, a holding on to a feller by the coat sleeve, squirting his tobacco juice around kind a miscellaneous like. I knew something was up, and I walked mighty slow past, and sure enough the feller he had was one of the "assembled wisdom," and Northcott was a telling him as how Fleming ought to be Speaker. Pinnell was a flourishing round considerable, and it seemed a kind of a race to see who would get hold of a new comer first. I got a good deal of "hospitality" that day from fellers what thought I was one of the "wisdom." They'd ask me to take something, and after a while they'd want to know what county I represented. Then I got on my dignity and I'd say, "Sir, do you mean to insult me?" Then they'd sneak off.

Tuesday morning I went up to the Senate chamber to see what sort of fellers they were. They'd just got through praying and I sat down and waited. By and by a little feller with a yaller mustache, and mighty slick like jumped up and said, "I nominate D. D. T. Farnsworth, of Upshur, as President of the Senate." I never was so surprised in my life. I looked at the feller mighty close, and sure enough it was Will Drummond. Then I just sat down and wondered how in the name of common or any other kind of sense, he ever got there. Why he used to be a regular—well he was the only man I ever saw who could conceal more "hospitality" than your corresp. Well lots of fellers voted for Farnsworth, and when the feller at the desk got up and read off the list, sure enough Farnsworth had 10 votes and all the rest had only nine. Then they had another palaver, and then a couple of fellers come along and took hold of Farnsworth, one on each side, and I thought sure he had been doing some more business in Pork, and they was a going to take him to jail, but instead of that they took him up on a platform all by himself, and let him there. Dan rather seemed to like this, for he got up and commenced making a beautiful speech, (that same one he always makes about the army and the loyal fellers.) Then he sat down, and after awhile they went to dinner.

After dinner they come back, and pretty soon a short pussy feller with a red nose and a big voice got up and said, "Mr. President." Then Dan said back mighty polite, "The gentleman from Berkeley," and sure enough it was Jo Chaplin, and he just handed a little boy what they give $2 a day for running round, a slip of paper and he took it to the Clerk and the Clerk read it. "Resolved, That the Sergeant-at-Arms be instructed to furnish each member of the Senate with ten dollars worth of postage stamps," and then I wished I was a Senator, too, and could get lots of postage stamps and sich.

Then I went up stairs to see how the Lower House was getting along. They'd had an awful quarrel before dinner. Heermans, of Preston; Pinnell, the old doctor, you know, and Fleming, all wanted to be Speaker, and one was afraid and the other darsent; so they adjourned, and all the rads went into a caucus, and made us other fellers go out. I didn't know what they done in there, but I seed the old Doctor come out looking mad as a wet hen. Then Heermans come out looking mighty blue, and finally out hopped old Fleming. He was smiling clear round his face and his bald pate shone like a skinned onion and old Northcott was talking to him and punching him in the ribs and spitting over everything. Then I know'd Fleming was ahead, and the old Doctor's cake was dough. Sure enough, after dinner, Heermans jumped up and nominated Fleming for Speaker. There was a long silence, but finally the old Doctor riz to his feet and moved "that the nomination be made unanimous." It was a mighty bitter pill for him, but he had to swaller it, and so Fleming took his seat, and then he got up and made a speech telling them how he thought things ought to be managed. I don't know much about Fleming, but he seems a pretty respectable sort of an old feller, and everybody seems to be tickled nearly to death because the old doctor got beat. I think I'll stay around here a few days and maybe you'll get another line from
VAN TRUMP.