the real thing, no soul could tell the difference until he bit one with his teeth, and that he never thought of doing, until he was first bit himself.  Well, its been a standing joke with them southerners agin us ever since.  It was only tother day at Washington, that everlasting Virginy duellist General Cuffy, afore a number of senators, at the President’s house, said to me, ‘Well Everett,’ says he—­’you know I was always dead agin your Tariff bill, but I have changed my mind since your able speech on it; I shall vote for it now.’  ‘Give me your hand,’ says I, ’General Cuffy; the Boston folks will be dreadful glad when they hear your splendid talents are on our side—­I think it will go now—­we’ll carry it.’  ‘Yes,’ says he, ’your factories down east beat all natur; they go ahead on the English a long chalk.’  You may depend I was glad to hear the New Englanders spoken of that way—­I felt proud I tell you—­’and,’ says he, ’there’s one manufacture that might stump all Europe to produce the like.’  ‘What’s that?’ says I, looking as pleased all the time as a gall that’s tickled.  ‘Why,’ says be, ’the facture of wooden nutmegs; that’s a cap sheef that bangs the bush—­its a real Yankee patent invention.’  With that all the gentlemen set up a laugh, you might have heard away down to Sandy Hook—­and the General gig gobbled like a great turkey cock, the half nigger, half alligator like looking villain as he is.  I tell you what, Mr. Slick, said the Professor, I wish with all my heart them are damned nutmegs were in the bottom of the sea.  That was the first oath I ever heerd him let slip:  but he was dreadful ryled, and it made me feel ugly too, for its awful to hear a minister swear; and the only match I know for it, is to hear a regular sneezer of a sinner quote scripture.  Says I, Mt.  Everett, that’s the fruit that politics bear; for my part I never seed a good graft on it yet, that bore any thing good to eat, or easy to digest.

Well, he stood awhile looking down on the carpet, with his hands behind him, quite taken up a cyphering in his head, and then he straightened himself up, and he put his hand upon his heart, just as he used to do in the pulpit, (he looked pretty I tell you) and slowly lifting his hand off his breast, he said, ’Mr. Slick, our tree of liberty was a beautiful tree—­a splendid tree—­it was a sight to look at; it was well fenced and well protected, and it grew so stately and so handsome, that strangers came from all parts of the globe to see it.  They all allowed it was the most splendid thing in the world.  Well, the mobs have broken in and tore down the fences, and snapped off the branches, and scattered all the leaves about, and it looks no better than a gallows tree.’  ‘I am afeared,’ said he, ’I tremble to think on it, but I am afeared our ways will no longer be ways of pleasantness, nor our paths, paths of peace; I am, indeed, I vow, Mr. Slick.’  He looked so streaked and so