The Morning News

CONGRESSIONAL CLEANLINESS.

Luxurious Bathing Facilities for Legislators and Their Friends.

From the Washington Star.

When a Congressman wants to show especial attention to a visitor he asks him to take a bath.

This watery refreshment is much appreciated by those who have once tried it, but sometimes the kindness is misunderstood by the uninitiated. The bath accommodations of the House are a luxury that brings to the mind of back county constituents fairy visions of oriental grandeur. Away down in the depths of the Capitol, down still yet below the basement, the marble tanks of tempered water into which the members plunge are located. When the elevator bumps against the bottom and can go down no farther there are three steps with a brass rail on each side, and then you are in a little square room, almost as warm as a steam bakery. An old green velvet carpet that used to be in the House covers the floor, and photographs of some of the natural wonders of the West hang on the wall. Just the other side of a glass door a little toy of a steam engine is breathing hard as it tugs away at the elevator ropes, hauling a load of heavy-weight legislators. It gives a long sigh as the elevator strikes bottom and the members make for

THE BATH-ROOMS.

This room is the lobby or vestibule of the bath. A double door on one side leads out to the vaulted passages that run down with many turns and angles among the foundation walls of the building, where are all the organs of life—the engines that warm the great marble monster, pumping the warmth through its veins like a great heart, and firing the electric nerves, and there are the big fans that are the lungs to pump air into its great body.

But that's not the way to the bath-room. The new members would get lost if they proceeded by this route.

HOW TO GET THERE.

There is another door leading from the little square room. This leads into a short passage between the heavy foundations. Here the air is warmer than in the room. Suddenly it turns at right angles into another short passage, where the thermometer registers still higher. Another turn and another thermometric jump and there are the bath rooms. The plural applies to the big walnut cabinets with blind doors which stand in a row along the wall. There are nine of these, and in each is a large tank or bath tub, which can be filled with hot or cold or tepid water in a very few minutes.

These are all in a narrow L-shaped room, which is presided over by a big colored man and his assistant. The cabinets, or baths, are about the size of an ordinary hotel bedroom, and the tubs are big enough for the larger-sized statesmen to wallow about in with ease and comfort. Tom Reed, and Barnes, of Georgia, test their capacity more than any other members, but they, even, can roll over and flounder about in one of the marble tanks with as much ease as they could perform the same evolutions anywhere.

LEGISLATIVE BATH TUBS.

Some of the tubs are simply iron nicely painted, but the newer ones are made of marble and each looks like a great sarcophagus. Three ordinary men might get in one of them without much crowding. The marble sides are as slippery as glass and as warm as the flesh that touches them. Thermometers are hung in each bath and on the walls in the passage. The temperature is kept always the same, and a member might promenade for three hours in nothing but his epidermis without danger of cold. It was here that Mr. Reagan struggled with a tight undershirt on the occasion of his famous bath while the vote on the Morrison bill was being taken.

The temperature is just at a point where the least exertion would bring on a profuse perspiration, and but little rubbing in the bath is sufficient to bring a ruddy glow. Members come up in the elevator from these regions with the hair curling about their temples and their cheeks as pink as a baby's.

A BATH BEFORE SPEAKING.

Some of the older members take a bath as the last step in their preparation for making a speech. They write the speech commit it to memory, take a bath, and then deliver it. If a member has the rheumatism or a cold, or for any other reason feels the necessity of being parboiled, there is a Russian steam bath at the end of the bath room to which he resorts. It is a little close room furnished with a wooden bench and a coil of steam pipes that cover the walls of the compartment. When the door shuts there can't much heat get out, and the thermometer naturally runs up into the big figures. A member lies on the bench, the door is shut, and the steam is turned on. He is then in about as hot a place as he is likely to enter in this life. He gets enough of this in a little while, and he has to be cooled off gradually by being plunged first into a tub of hot water, next into cooler water, then cooler and cooler, until he gets back to the temperature of ordinary mortals. It takes about an hour or an hour-and-a-half's cooling before he ventures out into the colder atmosphere of the House; and it is best for him to walk rapidly on his way home.

WHO MAY BATHE.

Members of Congress can bathe here any day, provided not more than 100 select the same day; but on Saturday none but members can enter. On other days employes of the House, or men who have been given tickets by members, may bathe. On Friday business is most brisk, and the swashing of the water may be heard from early morning until the place is closed in the evening. It is hard to tell how many people are bathed on this day, but ordinarily 100 is as many as can be handled "in hours." After an all-night's session the capacity of the rooms is strained. Members have all their toilet made here except their barbering. The air smells moist with steam, and is fragrant with perfume and scented soaps. The very finest toilet furnishings are used. The "black man of the bath" will rub you down and perform all the services of the bath.

THE CONGRESSIONAL CHIROPODIST.

Besides this, he has proper instruments for the purpose, and he will trim off the corns and keep the feet in order. When a new member is elected from a country district it generally takes "a right smart while" to get his feet in condition. They require much care and attention. But this man keeps all the Congressional feet in order, without regard to size or previous condition.

Some members visit these rooms every day, some three times a week, some twice, some only once a week, while a few do not call so often.

ATTENTION TO CONSTITUENTS,

The last mark of attention from a member to his visiting constituents is "to give him a bath." After showing a voter through the building, explaining and testing the mysteries of the echoes in the statuary hall, giving him a lunch, and finally conducting him to the Speaker's gallery, where he can sit and watch the "whirligig of the House whirl," as a final and special honor the Representative invites him to take a bath. If the Representative makes this offer in the right way and to the right man, it is appreciated; but they have been known to make enemies by making the proposition too abruptly and without explanation.

AN EMBARRASSING MISTAKE

The story is told of an absent-minded member who always went to the utmost to entertain his visitors, but did it in that perfunctory way that comes from habitual courtesy without discrimination. He was showing a lady the wonders of Congress. He had taken her to the north wing and pointed out all the great Senators; he had rung the changes on the echoes, had sat with her in the Speaker's gallery, pointed out his own seat and then the seats of all the other great members, and they were going down in a crowded elevator—when suddenly a thought flashed upon his preoccupied mind, and he asked quickly:

"Won't you come down and take a bath?"

Some one in the elevator tittered, and the member awoke to a realization of his position. The lady with a scornful and indignant look pretended she had not heard him and their parting was cold and embarrassed.