only save six cents;—' can put Mr. Smooth into the machine and send him up in a jiffy. Further, we have got some dozen old gents here who go to bed by steam every night!' I shook hands with the fellow, exchanged glances, bid them good night all round, and trotted off, following the darky, who wound his way round corridors, up stairs, and through passages for more than an hour, (at least, I thought it was!), until I fancied we had got lost in an interminable labyrinth of narrow passages. It was just after inauguration, which fact was duly made known through the medium of sundry corks of champagne bottles, which were sounding pop! pop!! pop!!! Again merry voices were heard announcing the misfortunes of those about to pass out: while another whose voice seemed somewhat mellow, said he had in his eye the office he wanted—exactly. A third voice, as if echoed through a subterranean vault, said they must all be forbearing—the General was so undecided in his opinions. Pretty soon, the negro, having wound his way high up in the world, turned a corner, gave a tremendous guffaw, and opened the door of a place that looked very much like a closet in which to stow away lean lawyers. 'Now, Cuff! ye ain't goin to stow this citizen away in that ar place, be ye?' says I.
"'Mas'r,' returns he, ''tis just the snuggest place ye ever did see; why! tain't da length on ye, seem how mas'r can double himself up anyhow,—just as Gineral Pierce do.' The darkey laughed and drew back with a bow, as I began to philosophise that, being now so well up in the world, it was the best policy to coil up and invoke Morpheus,—which I did, bidding good-night to all below, and promising myself a pleasant interview with General Pierce on the following morning.
"
Smooth
had just stowed himself away in the shape of a figure 4, when there came a voice as husky as Uncle Zack Peabody's conk, (which said conk had been used to blow his way through the fogs of Newfoundland for nearly half a century), saying:—'It's mighty tight squeezing there, ain't it, stranger?' Where the voice came from seemed a puzzle for all creation. No room was there in the place for another soul—all became as still and watchlike as the tomb. In fear and anxiety I gazed upon the dark wall, and along it to the little window facing the avenue; and there, behold! but tell it not in the Capitol, was the broad, burly face of General Cass, like a wet moon in discontent. Unhappy with himself, he was peering in at the window. Again he muttered:—'I can't get in!—such has always been my fate.' The much-disappointed old gentleman
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