I queried of the ex-member of
Congress next me at dinner. "But he does not appear, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; he's waiting here till his house is made ready. But he
doesn't have a private table; takes his meals like an everyday mortal,
at the ladies' ordinary."

He had scarcely spoken when Mr. Davis entered by a side door and took
his seat, with only an occasional stare of earnest, but not
disrespectful, curiosity from the more recent arrivals.

Even in the few weeks since I had seen him, there was a great change.
He looked worn and thinner; and the set expression of the somewhat
stern features gave a grim hardness not natural to their lines. With
scarcely a glance around, he returned the general salutations, sat down
absently and was soon absorbed in conversation with General Cooper, who
had recently resigned the adjutant-generalship of the United States
army and accepted a similar post and a brigadier's commission from Mr.
Davis.

An after-dinner interview with the President of the Confederacy, to
present the "very important" documents from one of the martyrs pining
for hanging at Washington, proved them only a prolix report of the
inauguration. Mr. Davis soon threw them aside to hear the verbal
account from us.

At this time the southern chief was fifty-two years old--tall, erect
and spare by natural habit, but worn thin to almost emaciation by
mental and physical toil. Almost constant sickness and unremitting
excitement of the last few months had left their imprint on face as
well as figure. The features had sharpened and the lines had deepened
and hardened; the thin lips had a firmer compression and the lower
jaw--always firm and prominent--was closer pressed to its fellow. Mr.
Davis had lost the sight of one eye many months previous, though that
member scarcely showed its imperfection; but in the other burned a
deep, steady glow, showing the presence with him of thought that never
slept. And in conversation he had the habit of listening with eyes
shaded by the lids, then suddenly shooting forth at the speaker a gleam
from the stone-gray pupil which seemed to penetrate his innermost mind.

Little ceremony, or form, hedged the incubating government; and perfect
simplicity marked every detail about Mr. Davis. His office, for the
moment, was one of the parlors of the hotel. Members of the Cabinet and
high officials came in and out without ceremony, to ask questions and
receive very brief replies; or for whispered