a matter of fact, Dreyfus
does not occupy a cage at all; the notion that he does so arises from a
misunderstanding of the French word "case," which signifies a hut.

However, Twine's cage was a real one of iron wire, and inside of it he
made a business of stamping the books of the library with a mixture made
of alcohol and lampblack. If the observation of casual employees about
the Capitol is to be trusted, Mr. Twine's ghost is still engaged at
intervals in the business of stamping books at the old stand, though his
industry must be very unprofitable since the Government's literary
collection has been moved out of the Capitol.

Ghosts are supposed to appertain most appropriately to the lower
regions, inasmuch as the ancients who described them first consigned
the blessed as well as the damned to a nether world. Consequently, it is
not surprising to find that phantoms of the Capitol are mostly relegated
to the basement.

Exceptions are made in the case of Vice-President Wilson, who, as will
be remembered, died in his room at the Senate end of the building, and
also with respect to John Quincy Adams, whose nocturnal perambulations
are so annoying to the watchmen. Mr. Wilson is only an occasional
visitor on the premises, it is understood, finding his way thither,
probably, when nothing else of importance is "up," so to speak, in the
spiritual realm which now claims him for its own. It is related that on
one occasion he nearly frightened to death a watchman who was guarding
the coffin of a Tennessee Senator who was lying in state in the Senate
Chamber. The startle was doubtless uncontemplated, inasmuch as the
Senator was too well bred a man to take anybody unpleasantly by
surprise.

There was a watchman, employed quite a while ago as a member of the
Capitol police, who was discharged finally for drunkenness. No faith,
therefore, is to be placed in his sworn statement, which was actually
made, to the effect that on a certain occasion he passed through the old
Hall of Representatives--now Statuary Hall--and saw in session the
Congress of 1848, with John Quincy Adams and many other men whose names
have long ago passed into history. It was, if the word of the witness is
to be believed, a phantom legislative crew, resembling in kind if not in
character the goblins which Rip Van Winkle encountered on his trip to
the summits of the storied Catskills.

But--to come down to things that are well authenticated and sure,
compara