second inauguration, while the bitter and gloomy weather did not tend to make the occasion more cheerful.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Nast went to Washington for the event. They were the guests of Colonel Chipman, and their visit was a succession of gay affairs. They called at the White House the evening before the re-inauguration. President Grant received them in his family circle, and Mrs. Nast was struck with his timidity of manner. He blushed and his voice trembled like that of a bashful boy. When Mrs. Nast spoke of the crowds in the city, he said:

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Yes, but I feel like a man who is going to be hung to-morrow."

The great soldier would rather have faced the legions of Lee than the multitudes who had gathered to hear his public address.

The bitterness of the weather and the crush and tumult of entertainment rather dismayed Mrs. Nast, who was of a domestic temperament and fond of the family fireside. They returned presently to the quieter joys of the Morristown home.

While in Washington, Nast had met General Garfield, but did not take his hand. Garfield reddened, and exclaimed:

"I know why you will not shake hands with me-that will all be explained some day."

But the explanation was never made, and in the Credit Mobilier cartoon of March 15 both Garfield and Colfax appear among those at whom Justice points the finger of scorn. However, the picture was a two-edged sword, for on the other hand were collected the editors who had been most " shocked and outraged" by the exposures, and Justice is saying to these " saints of the press ":

"Let him that has not betrayed the trust of the people, and is without stain, cast the first stone."

In the same issue "The Biggest Joke of the Season" showed Fernando Wood presenting articles for the impeachment of Vice

President Colfax. A week later, March 22, there appeared a final pictorial comment on the subject, showing Ames and Brooks as the "Cherubs of the Credit Mobilier."

Nast now made preparation for his ocean voyage. Secretary Fish had conferred upon him the appointment of U. S. Commissioner to the Vienna Exposition, but this honor was declined, as the artist did not care to attend the great fair. Just

before sailing he paid a bit of farewell attention to the newspaper jokers, who had been "organizing expeditions" to discover his whereabouts. In the issue of March 29 appeared a double-page cartoon entitled "The Meeting of Nast and Watterson in Central New Jersey." Nast, in front of his home, is welcoming the "Louisville Courier Expe

HOW LONG WILL THIS GAME LAST?

dition," led by Henry Watterson, and including the editors of the New York Sun, Herald and Tribune, armed with the American flag and blunderbus guns. On April 12 appeared a caricature of various members of the Tweed and Erie rings, playing Blind Man's Buff with Justice. It was Nast's last cartoon for a period of nearly five months, and the artist was already on the water when it appeared.

CHAPTER XXXI

A TRIP ABROAD AND AN ENGAGEMENT AT HOME

The cartoonist was now to undergo a new ordeal. On the vessel with him was James Redpath, proprietor of the Boston Lyceum Bureau-a lecture agency which later passed into the control of Major J. B. Pond. Redpath had been urging Nast to undertake a series of illustrated lectures during the coming season, and had taken passage on the same vessel for the express purpose of persuading the artist's acceptance of the idea. But the man of pictures was frightened at the thought of going before the public face to face. He finally agreed to consider the matter and to decide upon his return. Yet the more he considered, the greater became his alarm. Finally he pleaded as an excuse that he was thinking of accepting a foreign appointment, to which Redpath replied that he would consider the bargain closed, with the proviso that if his victim abandoned the appointment idea, he was to mount the lecture platform; thus leaving to the artist the old alternative of the frying-pan or the firea condition not likely to ease his already troubled state of mind.

Nevertheless, his vacation was beneficial. He visited old friends in London, including W. L. Thomas, the London News engraver who had attended to collections and remittances for him during the Garibaldian and Civil War periods. From London the artist journeyed into Cornwall and made an extended

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visit at the home of Colonel Peard, where the old campaign was rehearsed, with its glories, its comedies and its results. To his old comrade, Nast was still "Joe, the Fat Boy," and it was "Joe, you rascal, don't go to sleep," or Now, Joe, you're asleep again," as in the old Calabrian days. After his return to London, Nast one morning received the following note, which would seem to require no explanation:

Joseph: Thou hast neglected my orders in not sending the boots. You must give an explanation of your conduct, or shall be tried by court martial. The punishment for disobedience of orders is death, and such other punishment as the court may award. Thou art also absent from headquarters, which is a grave offence. J. W. Peard, Col. Brigade.

Nast saw Redpath again in London and gave a partial consent to the lecture idea. He agreed, if Mrs. Nast approved (his last hope of escape), to let the agent send out a hundred letters to as many managers in different cities, thus to ascertain if there was really a demand for him, which he was loth to believe. Redpath did not wait for further permission, but sailed at once for America to enter into correspondence with Mrs. Nast, and to begin the campaign.

To say that the agent's expectations were fulfilled would be a mild statement. He had calculated on a possible one hundred nights, with a net return to the lecturer of as much as ten thousand dollars for the season. But the desire to look upon the man who had destroyed Tweed and helped to elect Grant-to watch him use his deft crayon and "make faces" before their very eyes was more universal than even an enthusiastic Bureau Manager had dreamed.

Engagements fairly poured in. Before Nast returned in June, his doom as a lecturer was sealed. By July the amount already guaranteed had far exceeded Redpath's most liberal calculations. Every day brought, from Redpath, some line or telegram of new triumphs.