some of my
ungrateful countrymen apply the spiteful term "junket" to a journey of
this description. When one considers the sacrifices we Congressmen make
in order to serve the nation, it is hard to believe that unthinking
persons begrudge us a little pleasure. In many cases we give up all home
life, business interests, and personal comfort, and take up our abode in
second-rate hotels and boarding-houses. We are continually pestered and
annoyed by office-seekers, book-agents, cranks, and reporters; and,
alas, we form habits that cling like barnacles, try as hard as we may to
shake them off. A taste of public life is fatal to most men, and the
desire to feed from the public crib goes right to the bone. It is like a
cancer, and it is removed only with grave danger to the afflicted.
Everything, therefore, which may lighten our burdens and tend to relieve
the situation should be the aim and study of our constituents. But this
may be digression.

The trip out was necessarily a quiet one, though a well-stocked buffet
kept the delegation from absolute depression. Leaving Washington early
in the afternoon we arrived at the little Kentucky town the next morning
about eleven o'clock, and found that we had yet some five miles to go
over bad roads to the homestead. We were met by two nephews of the
deceased, with a host of relatives and friends. The son, Albert Thurlow,
came on with us from Washington. There was ample accommodation in the
way of conveyances, and we proceeded slowly up into the higher country.
In something more than an hour the house was reached--a big home-like
structure, large enough for us all, and the entertainment most lavish.
The estate was an extensive one, and the innumerable outbuildings and
well-stocked barns gave evidence of wealth and thrift. A long drive
between rows of lofty poplars led to the main entrance, and the view
from the front of the house down to the river was superb. There were
servants in abundance, and nothing had been overlooked to insure our
comfort. The stables were the attraction for most of our party, and
several kings of the turf were brought out for inspection. We were taken
all over the place, and many things of interest were shown us. A Bible
and powder-horn, once the property of Daniel Boone, books with the
autograph of Henry Clay, duelling pistols, quaint and almost priceless
silver and china, and a rare collection of old prints and family
portraits. The walls in one room were fa