a soft pumpkin sorely squeezed.  In this position he stared, and stared, until his countenance assumed an anxiety, equalled only by that of a stump lecturer about inaugration time—­say one, who had hoped for the mission to the court of St. James, but as a matter of patriotism would not decline the Dublin Consulship.  At length he condescended to say, with an air of languishing endurance, that ’he could do me up brown, in the way of comfortable quarters.’  I thanked him for his great kindness, said I wanted to exercise a judicious economy, and could not do the extensive, like those persons sprawling in easy arm chairs at the left hand corner, to whom I pointed, and who, like Mr. President Pierce’s representatives abroad, were making a great noise to no purpose.  After looking quizically at the tie-up under my arm, then at my tall white hat, and again at the coarse weave of my homespun, he inquired if that (pointing to the bundle) constituted my baggage.  Instantly I told him it was none of his business; that there was no occasion for his feeling so large, though Mr. Pierce was President.  He made an upright of himself, and very civilly rejoined that there was no place this side of Cape Horn—­and he doubted if there was on the other side—­where it was so necessary to see the colateral as this Washington.  He was proceeding to say much more, and something about the doubtful character of General Pierce and his friends, when I interrupted by saying, I thought he must have forgotten my name.  ‘Smooth is my name,’ I reiterated, ’of the Young American party, the party that intends doing up the manifest destiny for mankind.’

“’Manifest destiny never pays debts:  must see the collateral ’afore we tie ye up!  Fact is, stranger, we must have the hold-fast for fear of the shot falling short.  The General has got so many tin-less friends, who visit Washington on a small affair of business (here he gave his shoulders a significant shrug), that a body has to keep a sharp eye in the wind.’  Suddenly he began to drum on the mahogany, screw his face into a disc of puckers, and look so wise.  So glad did he seem, that he whistled Yankee Doodle with the variations, looked every which way, and then laughed right out at what he called Smooth’s outfit.

“‘Needn’t laugh at the fixens—­old feller!’ says I, ’Uncle Sam and me are going into the tin business, and Sam, being a generous old butt, will stand all the treats and hotel bills.  Besides that, I was born in the very sand heap where Tom Coffin was raised.’

“‘Who cares for Tom’ says he, turning aside, and making a polite bow to a thirsty senator from the far west:  the senatorial gent bent his neck over, and approaching with his lips the ear of the important individual, whispered something from out the smallest corner.  This something, when translated into decent English, might be rendered thus:—­If justice and gin slings are administered at your bar, pray direct me the way to it!  The