It was the
short, or closing session, of a regular Congressional term. The
implication of Judge Lyman in the affair of Green and young
Hammond had brought him into such bad odor in Cedarville and the
whole district from which he had been chosen, that his party
deemed it wise to set him aside, and take up a candidate less
likely to meet with so strong and, it might be, successful an
opposition. By so doing, they were able to secure the election,
once more, against the growing temperance party, which succeeded,
however, in getting a Maine Law man into the State Legislature. It
was, therefore, Judge Lyman's last winter at the Federal Capital.
While seated in the reading-room at Fuller's Hotel, about noon, on
the day after my arrival in Washington, I noticed an individual,
whose face looked familiar, come in and glance about, as if in
search of some one. While yet questioning my mind who he could be,
I heard a man remark to a person with whom he had been conversing:
"There's that vagabond member away from his place in the House,
again."
"Who?" inquired the other.
"Why. Judge Lyman," was answered.
"Oh!" said the other, indifferently; "it isn't of much
consequence. Precious little wisdom does he add to that
intelligent body."
"His vote is worth something, at least, when important questions
are at stake."
"What does he charge for it?" was coolly inquired.
There was a shrug of the shoulders, and an arching of the
eyebrows, but no answer.
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