“‘General ain’t got so mighty big since he moved from New Hampshire?’ I inquired, as the fellow hesitated and again viewed me from the extreme points.  ’Now, Uncle Sam, to you I would say a word, hoping, in the spirit of a very good christian, that it may be received as wholesome advice.  You, Sam, are forgetting that fame which should reflect us in future ages; you, Sam, are assisting those who would lay sullied hands on our pure republicanism—­who would sink it in the political slough, and build over it the reeking bastard of a pitiable tyranny.  Stretch out thy hand, Sam, that we may cease to cut before the world and the rest of mankind so sorry a figure.  Sam! you have sent your little villains out upon the world; recall them ere they prove themselves great fools at our expense.’

“Well, to go back:—­I began to push my way past the flunkey, when he summoned his brass and said I couldn’t come in—­that I must slide myself into costume of the eight stripe!  This to me was neither diplomatic nor polite.  And being deemed impolite, according to the rules of our Young America, I placed the broad front of my knuckle-bones between his observators, (just to bring out his spunk), and demanded to know what they charged in Washington for a few knockings-down.  To which he elongated himself, and with cool assurance said it had never before been his fortune to be put through the process—­hence he was not prepared to figure up the amount.  A place called limbo, he said, was just over at the corner; that I better keep an eye to it.  This last saying gave the crowd outside furniture for a good laugh; they, the citizens, set to quizzing me about the hang of my breeches, which they were pleased to call diplomatic.  This, I inferred, was in consequence of Grandpapa Marcy having gone to there was no knowing how deep into the breeches business, hoping thereby to prevent plain American citizens making very unplain apes of themselves when abroad.  Indeed, neighbor Marcy would demonstrate to the world that cloth and diplomacy were two very different things.  And this doctrine my Uncle Buck—­all praise to his name—­fully endorsed,—­that is, he proved himself the only American minister not given to purloined crests and crimson cloth.

“’Smooth is a nine-cornered citizen in the rough:  he needs polishing down with a federal holly-stone before he can be admitted into good society:’  a voice like the creaking of a door resounded through the passage.  Being a rough sort of citizen didn’t affect me as long as I had the straight up-and-down principles within.  Well, I got up the go-a-head, and walked in steady.  ‘T’wont do! citizen Smooth!’ interposes the flunkey, putting out his right hand as his face reddened into a blaze.  ’Young America must keep within bounds; he must conform to the established etiquette before he can see the General.’  Not liking to be out of sorts, I turned to him, and with the best kind of good nature told him not to come within grasping distance.