while New York dare not vote for me, and I was New England’s dread.  A third said he didn’t believe the middle West would back me up, because a doubt existed as to whether other States would.  These sentiments I heard from down chimney.  My solemn belief is, that I have been sacrificed to a firm and honest belief in the Monroe doctrine; which, singularly enough, had its origin in English minds.  My efforts to carry it into effect seemed not to form a tangible objection; though a voice now and then said it might lead to evil consequences, England and France having formed a very unnatural alliance to put down the aggressive spirit of nations, without respect to the side of the Atlantic on which they were domiciled.  Then, by way of a suspending clause, they said it was not so much my pugnacious propensities they feared, as that, being an old fogy, full of personal grievances against somebody, I would make the gratifying a venerable spleen paramount to the interests of States (all this I heard from down chimney).  That I was not a bad man, nor an inflexible man, they all agreed; but that my time was passed was their verdict, and being passed, I would myself soon pass into political oblivion—­nothing being left but executive expectations and ballet-boxes, with which I might build on high a monument!  The trouble is, friend Smooth, I am not possessed of the tact of making the nation understand me; had I this all-necessary to political fame, the Chief Magistracy had long since been mine.  To me the free press of our country is a sort of infernal machine,—­its effect in my case strengthens the idea.  Having held me up as dangerous, when in truth I am a peaceably disposed man, they have wronged me while misinforming the public.’  Here he paused, as his face assumed its wonted seriousness, and that wart, now historical, looked brighter than ever.  I had long been desirous of scraping acquaintance with the old man, whom I esteemed much better inside than out, so I offered him half of my shingle, at the same time intimating that we would have some whiskey.  At this he lowered his voice, and continued with a slow shake of the head:—­’I’m not so bad as I seem.  Peradventure I wanted a small chance at the Britishers.  I hate them, but that only signifies a trifle.  Mr. Pierce, like a horn lantern for which Uncle Caleb and Jeff furnish the light, is fast getting affairs into a fuzzle; this must be so while the light is thus furnished, and the regulation of its burning be left to Grandpapa Marcy.  Fact is, you see, Mr. Smooth, the administration is become like a steam-engine, Mr. Pierce being used as a piston by Caleb, Jeff, and Co., who, in addition, furnish Southern-rights for fuel, use patronage as a condenser, and make a safety valve of Papa Marcy.  But Papa has yet to take many lessons in National Engineering before his control over the machine is complete.’  I watched the old man’s anxious eye as he spoke; and again suggested the taking a little whiskey:  I pitied him.  ‘It will set ye all right!’ says I, ’it’ll take the fogyism all out, warm up yer inards, and make yer ideas come out with the philosophy of a Mara beau.  Mr. Pierce loves to traffic in the language of war, but like all little creatures, makes his noise and stops.’