“‘Well, stranger—­glad to see ye this side the big pond!’ croaked out a little sharp voice, peculiarly nasal.  I replied I thought it was rather foggy about these diggins.  ‘No matter about that,’ he rejoined, ’we do clean business in this establishment, notwithstanding the puffing, we deem it necessary to keep up in diplomatic matters.’  The atmosphere clearing a little, and objects becoming bolder outlined, I discovered a figure so singularly lean and sharp of visage that you would have sworn him peculiarly adapted by Providence for cutting his way into a better world.  Upon the walls of the rooms, which were very dingy, hung suspended, tomahawks, bowie-knives, scalping-knives, bows and steel-pointed arrows, an innumerable variety of dressed scalps, much worn Indian uniforms, and various other things—­all adapted to Western warfare.  Here and there stood sundry reed chairs and cronic tables, of Florida pine, while the floor was very liberally set off with what are vulgarly called spit-boxes, which, unlike the pages of an antiquated Bible that lay neglected in one corner, had been very generally used.  Smooth would here say that such adjuncts as the latter, seemed to be, judging from their presence in all our Legations on the Continent, inseparable from Pierce diplomacy.  In the present case there were, in addition to the above-named fixtures, seventeen patent rat-traps, with which members of the Legation amused themselves when not invited to dancing parties.  Smooth could not help thinking there was no need of the latter pieces of furniture, while Mr. Prompt, the sharp gentleman, was in the establishment.  Indeed, Mrs. Grundy would have said he was sharp enough to be used as an instrument for splitting the nicest diplomatic points; while the promiscuous relics of antiquity arranged along the passage she would have sworn illustrated nothing so nicely as Pierce’s confused policy, the saddles being indicative of how easily he rode over the credulity of the people.

“In the centre of the room stood a five-legged round table, somewhat nervous and infirm of age.  Upon it stood, badly arranged, two tumblers of Cuba sixes, an ample stock of fine cut tobacco, about a dozen long and much discolored pipes, a spacious ash-box, and the dirty boots of Prompt, his lean figure sprawled back in a dilapidated arm-chair, a long nine in his mouth, from which he incessantly puffed an immense volume of smoke.  Prompt’s face was a perfect picture of edge-tools; and with his easy air generally, his hands stowed away in the ample pockets of his nether garments; his passion for the Byronic—­made known by the extravagant roll of a turn-down shirt collar—­and his bushy hair thrown back on a veiny and narrow forehead that seemed to have been cut away to fit his hat, had an appearance easily imagined by those who have witnessed in New Hampshire the general make-up of an itinerant stump orator.  I bowed as he cast his eyes along down my figure, and gave a friendly wink.  ‘From York State, I take