THE BOTANIC GARDEN.

SOME SIDE GLANCES AT THE EXPENDITURES FOR THAT INSTITUTION.

WASHINGTON, January 18, 1880.

Although a fraction only of the single men in Congress have cut a figure in these papers, a little deviation takes place this week to show the people what it costs to keep Congressmen armed with bouquets, for these are the weapons in modern use which bring down the game which is best worth bagging. But it must not be thought by the reader that the vast greenhouses at the capital, kept in being at government expense, are appropriated entirely by the bachelor Congressmen. On the contrary, married Senators and members leave their orders through a page. This has been proved time after time by a Congressman's wife receiving a bouquet with a card attached bearing another woman's name; but as her husband's, in fact no male signature of any kind appears she immediately seeks her mirror in proof of another conquest. True, she realizes that her youthful hey-day is over; that mutton has taken the place of lamb-chop (Ben: Perley Poore is the authority for declaring that "all men prefer it"), but she knows that some mutton always stays tender, and when this kind can be found even Ben: Perley Poore or Senator Conkling will not disdain it. But coming back to the national greenhouses, which are as distinct from the Agricultural Department as the different Cabinet portfolios; in other words, the Botanic Garden sustains the same relation to Congress as the conservatory of any mansion to its solitary owner. The Republic furnishes another garden and immense conservatory for the exclusive use of the White House; and when it is seen

how hundreds of thousands of dollars of the public funds go for the luxury of flowers alone, it will not be wondered that the growth of "imperialism" is going ahead with breakneck speed, for it is very sweet and lovely when all jobs and bills can be squared by an "appropriation."

A spectator standing on the western terrace of the Capitol sees an innocent tract of land enclosed by a most costly fence. Broad avenues and romantic walks disturb the monotony of the closely-shaven velvet sward; while trees rare as oriental sandal wood have been brought from every portion of the earth's surface to adorn this domain of republican royalty. Almost hidden by the fence and far removed from the vulgar eyes of the common herd outside, the magnificent Bartholdi fountain spurts its fair life away. Instead of putting this exquisite fountain at the intersection of Pennsylvania avenue and Seventh street, or even at the foot of the Capitol, now turned into a graveyard by the mouldy genius of Admiral Porter, it has been smuggled into the low grounds of the Botanic Gardens for the exclusive use of romantic Congressmen who, when wandering slowly with women who incline to be fast, turn their modest faces toward the genius of Bartholdi in the hope that the soothing play of the immortal fountain will at once arrest any demonstration not of the straight-laced kind. To the rear the greenhouses assert themselves with a grandeur of architectural beauty which the Government funds alone can bestow. To get a foretaste of Paradise, or to recall the glory of the Garden of Eden, it is only necessary to wander through the mazes of lovers' paths with which the Congressional greenhouses are profusely intersected. From the foot of the most northern crag kissed by the fiery aurora borealis to the molten girdle that clasps Africa's burning waist the vegetable glory of the earth has been wrested to minister to Congressional comfort. In the pursuit the trackless sea has been plowed alike by war

vessels and merchantmen. The most interesting spot connected with the greenhouses is the "propagating garden," where all sorts of curious experiments are tried. Not content to let each flower produce after its own kind, all sorts of horticultural black art is invoked to produce mongrel types, which come from a curious propagating performance, which even a Congressman cannot understand. Sometimes the gardener succeeds in doubling the leaves of a single flower, to the loss of all sweetness and perfume, just as we have seen the thing happen when the flowers were human instead of vegetable. Striped roses and lilies are obtained in place of the good, old-fashioned solid colors. To produce these freaks, or to make old Mother Nature change her every-day program, appropriations are made that would astonish the people, considering the surroundings of most of the Congressmen before they are born into official life.

In 1836, or nearly half a century ago, the beaux in Congress concluded it would be a good thing to have bouquets fashioned for their buttonholes at the public expense. Flowers in those primitive days were obtained with much trouble and expense, so the initiatory steps to free flowers was taken by an appropriation of $5,000 to be used in this way: "For conveying the surplus water of the Capitol to the Botanic Garden, making a basin, and purchasing a fountain from Hiram Powers." Before the year was ended it was found that $5,000 would not relieve the Capitol of its surplus water, and an additional appropriation was made the same year of $3,614.04. From 1836 to May, 1850, nothing was taken from the public funds for flowers. In place of nosegays to tintillate the Congressional nostrils these rough old forefathers used snuff, but this was also provided at Government expense and the modest snuff-boxes on either side of the Vice-President's chair, and those to be found in the House, will remain for all time as simple reminders of the habits of our modest ancestors in comparison to

the ravages of the Congressional greenhouses as they stand in the pillory of public opinion to-day. With the departure of dear old Thurman the last of the old-time snuff-takers disappears. The last wave of his ancient bandana heralds the Senatorial coming of one of the most aggressive movers on the stronghold of all the appropriations. In 1850, $5,000 was taken from the public funds and in 1851, $750 only. A rest came here until 1855, when $1,500 was taken to build a house in which to store the plants brought from Japan, and during the same year $12,000 was taken at one time and $3,000 at another to fix up the grounds of the Botanic Garden and put them in proper order. In 1856 the grounds still wanted to be fixed to the amount of $5,650 at one time and $11,000 at another of the same year, and the "grounds" hardly a scant half-dozen acres in extent; in fact, only two squares long, but not two whole squares deep. Following up the official figures it is found that $6,000 more was expended on the Botanic Garden, taken from another appropriation, making for the year 1856, $22,650. This it was claimed was paid for "draining the grounds in the vicinity of the national greenhouses." In 1857-$2,600 at one time, $5,000 at another, but all the same year, and from another appropriation $3,360, making in all $10,960 for the year 1857. In 1858, $2,600 at one time, $3,360 at another, making the round sum of $5,960. The years 1859 and 1860 only required a thousand each for the bouquets, and during the war, to the credit of Congress let it be recorded, not a dollar was sunk in the Botanic swamp so far as can be ascertained in the Congressional records. But in 1866 the rage for flowers broke out afresh, and it required $2,500 to stop the wound, which continued when the vast sum of $25,057.90 was required to build the bouquets to the right proportion-a sum which exceeded the President's yearly salary the same year. In 1867 it took $35,000; in 1868. $41,

784.05, etc., etc. The figures alone stretch out until the crack of doom. Let it be understood that such men as that pure statesman Garfield held the strings of the public purse and helped on these appropriations. General Garfield is promoted to the Senate; Thurman, the statesman, remanded to private life.

In 1874 the last of the large appropriations was made, and this represented $16,925. About this time the Republican party began to weaken, and with it the inno cent taste of lovely flowers. It must not be understood these vast sums represented the flowers at so much apiece; but it always happened that the Botanic Garden was crying for tools, more greenhouses, fertilizers, brick walls, iron fences, glazing and painting. Its pathways were in a constant state of eruption; its gates always hanging on broken hinges. Seneca stone was constantly giving out and always in peremptory demand. The substantial fences were always going out of fashion and needed to be replaced as often as a woman's headgear. The call for "tubs, pots, packing materials, labels, seeds, envelopes, grading, repairing, sewers, horse hire and manure," ascended to heaven like the cry of the young ravens for food. Could Garfield, chairman of the Committee on Appropriations, withstand these demands on the public funds? During these historic days of fat appropriations the Woodhull sisterhood attempted to establish a "colony" at the Capitol. Brisbane, of pneumatic fame, succeeded in getting a $15,000 appropriation to sustain life whilst he should dig a ditch from the Capitol to the Government printing office. The colony was being planted, the ditch was being dug all at the same time, and extra flowers were needed for the Christian statesmen in Congress to reclaim the "colony," or at least make it so fragrant that the citizens of the District could endure the new innovation sustained by Congressional influence and protected by the sacrifices of the Christian statesmen. Flowers in the missionary cause were needed, and Parson Garfield,