“Truly,” said Mr. Weston, “Pennsylvania Avenue is the great bazaar of America.  Here are senators and members—­three and four walking arm in arm.  Here are gay young men, dressed in the latest style; here is the army and navy button; old people and young children with their nurses; foreigners and natives; people of every shade and hue.  There is our President, walking unattended, as a republican president should walk.  And see! there are a number of Indians, noble-looking men, and a white boy throwing a stone at them.  I wish I had the young rascal.  On our right, in their carriages, are the wives and children of the rich; while, scattered about, right and left, are the representatives of the poor.  But what is this, coming along the side-walk?”

The girls put their heads out of the window, and saw a colored man, sauntering along in an impudent, dont-carish manner.  His dress—­indeed his whole appearance—­was absurd.  He wore a stylish, shiny black hat; the rim slightly turned up in front, following the direction of the wearer’s nose, which had “set its affections on things above.”  His whiskers were immense; so were his moustaches, and that other hairy trimming which it is the fashion to wear about the jaws and chin; and for which I know no better name than that which the children give—­goatee; a tremendous shirt collar; brass studs in his bosom; a neck handkerchief of many colors, the ends of which stood out like the extended wings of a butterfly; a gorgeous watch chain; white kid gloves; pantaloons of a large-sized plaid, and fitting so very tightly that it was with the greatest difficulty he could put out his feet; patent leather gaiter-boots, and a cane that he flourished right and left with such determined strokes, that the children kept carefully out of his way.  Several persons looked back to wonder and laugh at this strange figure, the drollery of which was greatly enhanced by his limber style of walking, and a certain expression of the whole outer man, which said, “Who says I am not as good as anybody on this avenue; Mr. Fillmore, or any one else?”

Now it happened, that walking from the other direction toward this representative of the much-injured colored race, was a stranger, who had come to Washington to look about him.  He was from Philadelphia, but not thinking a great deal of what he saw in our capital on a former visit, he had quite made up his mind that there was nothing to make it worth his while to come again; but hearing of the convalescing turn the city had taken since the immortal supporters of the Compromise and the Fugitive Slave law had brought comparative harmony and peace, where there had been nought but disorder and confusion, he suddenly fancied to come and see for himself.  He was not an Abolitionist, nor a Secessionist, nor one of those unfortunate, restless people, who are forever stirring up old difficulties.  He had an idea that the Union ought to be preserved in the first place; and then, whatever else could be done to advance the interests of the human race in general, without injury to our national interests, should be attended to.  He was always a good-tempered man, and was particularly pleasant this afternoon, having on an entire new suit of clothes, each article, even the shirt-collar, fitting in the most faultless manner.