A half-hour's walk, in which Mr. Fishblatt harangued
and expatiated, without limit, upon the iniquity of the Bill
for clearing the Upper Wabash, brought them to the
Great-Kiln Road, abutting on the Hudson, in Greenwich.
And there, with a, flaming red front, and a couple of apothecary's
bottles staring from the first floor like two great
bloodshot eyes, stood by itself the domicil of Mr. Samuel
Sammis. Beyond—standing upon the river, and just visible
across the angle of the house-arose a pair of hay-scales
with an inscription to the effect that Samuel Sammis
was weigh-master and president of' the same.

They were led to an upper story—for Mr. Sammis, like
his friend Fishblatt, possessed the second floor—and being
ushered in they came upon a party of old and young ladies,
scattered about the apartment, in the very zenith and
ecstasy of a full-blown litter of work-baskets, sewing-silk
and small talk. The first object that fixed the attention
of Puffer as they entered, was the dark-eyed young lady
herself, busy fashioning portentous capitals, in white thread,

[figure description] Page 236.[end figure description]

upon a long red banner or bunting; and at her ear that
everlasting old woman, whispering away, apparently, at
the rate of a page a minute at least. There were other
young ladies, each diligent with her scissors and needle,
clipping, binding, patching; none seemed to be engaged
in the literary department but the dark-eyed young lady,
and not one, in Puffer's eye, was half as fair as she!
There was one small and gentle, with auburn hair and
lucid blue eyes; another round and plump; another quite
stately, with wild a flashing look;—there seemed to be a
mould in his heart, and no other image would fit it but that
one.

The dark-eyed young lady smiled a welcome to Puffer—
turned to the old lady at her side, and whispering the
words “my aunt,” as an introduction, invited him to a
seat. Mr. Fishblatt, who was quite at home, was already
in a chair.

“You are quite a stranger, Mr. Fishblatt,” said the
aunt, who was a little prim old woman, dressed with exemplary
neatness and with a pair of dancing eyes. “You
have n't been to see us since last election. What's kept
you away—Rheumatics?—no: perhaps it's been the winds
that has blown down the city for the last month and better.
You was afraid of getting a mouthful if you walked up
this way. Was n't that it? Ah! ah!” And the little
old woman broke into a clear joyous laugh which rung
through the room, and was echoed by the whole company
of stitchers and sewers.

“Oh, no; nothing of that sort, I promise you, upon my
honor,” answered Mr. Halsey Fishblatt, gravely. “My
whole mind, soul, heart and body have been engrossed
with public affairs—horribly engrossed: so many exciting,
and important, and weighty questions. One's no sooner
well disposed of than another pops up. I only despatched
the other day the question about the Aqueduct, and curse
it, here's another water-question. I am borne down with
anxiety and excessive thinking. Where's Sammy?”

To this question the old lady made answer that Samuel
was at the Scales; that he was very busy at this
season; that she would call him in if Mr. Fishblatt would
like to see him; and jumping up, in a minute more, would
have put her head forth towards the river, and summoned

[figure description] Page 237[end figure description]

moned him; but on Mr. Fishblatt's entreaty she refrained,
and he went out to seek him for himself:

Finding the field clear for conversation, Puffer addressed
himself to the dark-eyed young lady to the effect
that she seemed to be a little in public life as well as Mr.
Fishblatt, judging by the use to which she was putting
the bunting on which she was at work.

Oh, I only do as I am bid!" answered the dark-eyed
young lady, "I'd as leave write one thin in here as another;
my thread and needle are neutral, I assure you."

"How can you say so, Fanny!" exclaimed the aunt, smiling
upon her," she is one of the most arrant little politicians
in the city, Mr. Hopkins; she keeps this whole ward in a
constant ferment with her political tea-drinkings, and
dances, and complimentary balls. You know something
of her there, I guess ; and now she's corrupting the alphabet
itself."

"Aunt, I detest politics, and you know I do!" answered
the young lady; "I 'd rather, any day, walk down the
sunny side of Hudson-street, than carry the state for our
party!"

You see she has a party—ah! ah!—Now, Fanny, I
shall expose some of your tricks. What do you think,
Mr. Hopkins? This young lady, here, is so much of a
demagogue, that though her own tastes run in favor of
broad laces and net-work gloves, she tramps, three times
a week, the whole breadth of the city, and spends the
morning in running up and down the stores in Division-
street—you've seen them, the little, square shops, with
a back entry and a glass door, and a green vine dangling
against the fence, and a young lady with twisted ringlets
sitting between the two?—there she goes—and with the
aid of the two-and forty milliners of that street, gets up
dresses and costumes to catch the cartmen's daughters
and the young mechanics!—Now don't deny it, Fanny!"

During this narrative, Fanny glanced stealthily at Puffer,
and blushed as deep a red as the silk she was at work
upon. Before Puffer could enter upon a vindication of
the young lady, which he fully meditated, the little old
lady sprang up from her chair, ran into the corner of the
room where a green shrub of some kind or other was
vegetating in a blue tub, and called Puffer after her.

[figure description] Page 238.[end figure description]

“Here's something great for you to look at, Mr. Hopkins;—
what a stem—did you ever see such a stem to a
seven months' tree?—What leaves!—The lemons are
every bit as big as plums—they'll be twice as large this
time, a year!” There was no limit to the eloquent praises
poured out upon this domestic lemon; which was steadily
exhibited to all visiters. This was Fanny's too—she had
brought it up from a sprig. Then the old aunt—who
seemed to have taken a sudden fancy to Puffer—caused a
sampler to be unhooked from the wall, carried it to the
light and expatiated upon it at equal length. Then she
bustled to the door and whistled in a short-legged yellow
dog, who stumped about the room, looking up in every
body's face in the most comical fashion. He proved to
be the property of Miss Fanny too; and his birth, parentage,
history, and past exploits, (especially the incident
of his drinking gin out of a bottle, in his infancy) were
dwelt upon with edifying particularity. By the time the
short-legged dog had finished the circuit of the company,
a savour of supper began to creep through the key-hole
of an adjacent folding door, and the aunt, breaking off her
discourse abruptly, hoisted the window and shouted to
Mr. Samuel Sammis that tea was ready. Having delivered
this summons, she closed the window; but presently
hoisted it again to say that he had better come at once.
Mr. Sammis failing to appear as soon as she desired,
she raised it a third time to suggest that he had forgotten
they had short-cake! The appeal was not in vain—Mr.
Sammis's soul was touched at last, and he came in with
Mr. Fishblatt.

Mr. Samuel Sammis was a foxy-looking little gentleman,
in drab pants and a weather-washed blue coat, his hair
was thin, his linen questionable, and when he came forward
to greet Puffer, his face was a cobweb of smiles.

“I'm very happy to see you, sir,” he said; “I knew
you well by reputation, although I hadn't had the honor
to be personally acquainted. It's always a pleasure to
become acquainted with gentlemen of tried patriotism,
Mr. Fishblatt?”

Mr. Fishblatt assented to the postulate, and—the folding-door
being cast open—they marched in to supper.
The opening of the folding-door disclosed a table spread

[figure description] Page 239[end figure description]

with a liberal variety of dishes, and steaming with a cloud
of tea-smoke that hung aloft. The chairs were placed,
and the company were about to take seats at random,
when Mr. Sammis begged them to pause.

"This table," said Mr. Sammy Sammis, evolving a little
piece of pleasantry which he had elaborated in secret,
with great care; " This table," said he, " is the Empire
State, with the various products of its soil. The chairs,
of which you see there are eight, represent the eight
senate districts or divisions. Aunt," addressing the old
lady, "will you be good enough to sit for Dutchess and
Orange—here, opposite the butter, for which Goshen, you
know, is famous. Mr. Fishblatt, I'll send you up the
river as far as wheat-growing Albany—there, that's it,
abreast the short-cake. Mr. Hopkins, you're the member
for New-York, and must take your place at the bottom of
the table, and catch what you can from the river-counties
as it comes down. Will you take charge of the salt-springs
of Salina—I mean the salt-cellars," pointing two
of the young ladies to chairs at the corners of the board ;
"And you," motioning the third to a seat in the centre,
"Miss Erie, famous for your fruits—have the region of the
peaches and preserves. I'll take the Oneida sheep-farms
under my care," settling into a chair opposite a plate
of cold mutton. "And for you, Miss Fanny, who are always
babbling and making a noise, there's the tea-board
for you—the district of Trenton Falls ; you may pour the
tea, but don't put too much water in it. You may begin
as soon as you please."

They were all in their places; the dishes were passed
rapidly from hand to hand, the tea poured—and they were
fairly launched upon the meal. The weight of responsibility
heaped upon them by Mr. Sammis, did not seem to
have impaired their natural powers a jot; but each one—
young ladies and all—fell to as though they were in reality
so many great public characters, each eating for a
county.

After a half hour's sturdy devotion to the products of
the Empire State—as represented by the table—a pause
sprung up, and Mr. Sammis availed himself of it for a little
professional talk.

[figure description] Page 240.[end figure description]

“Fanny, my dear,” said Mr. Sammis, “How far have
you got in your lettering of the banner?”

“The whole inscription,” she answered. “ `Bottomites—
Uncompromising Friendship to the clearing of the
Wabash.'—That was it?”

“How could you make such a mistake?” exclaimed
Mr. Sammis, in a rapture of surprise. “It was `hostility,'
not `friendship.' ”

“I'm sure you told me `friendship,' father,” retorted
the young lady, “and to use the longest letters I could for
the word.”

“It was wrong, my dear,” answered Mr. Sammis
calmly; “Absence of mind—you'll alter it after tea, if
you please.”

The Bottomites had cried aloud in favor of the clearing
as long as they thought it wouldn't pass; now that it had
unexpectedly passed, they changed their cry. The re-lettering
of the banner was the result of an elaborate conference
of Messrs. Fishblatt and Sammis, at the HayScales.

“You think it all important,” said Mr. Sammis, addressing
Puffer after a pause, during which the business of the
table had been diligently prosecuted; “You think it all
important to carry our next state election?”

“Certainly!” responded Puffer.

“We must come down to Cayuga Bridge,” proceeded
Mr. Sammis, “with four thousand, or we are done for in
the next presidential campaign. The river counties are
all right, I am told; Dutchess gives us five hundred, and
Albany county is safe for at least three hundred and
seventy-five.”

“How is the fourth ward of the Capitol?” asked Puffer,
having in mind a political common-place which he was
quite sure Mr. Sammy Sammis would quote upon him.

“We must have it!” averred Mr. Sammis, “as goes
the fourth ward so goes Albany, and as goes the fourth
ward so goes the State, you know.”

“To be sure!” echoed Puffer, “and we must make
what we can out of the Upper Wabash, at the first election
that's held.”

“By all means!” said Mr. Fishblatt, with enthusiasm,
“we must rouse the popular mind with strong appeals;

[figure description] Page 241.[end figure description]

we must show them the enormity of the measure; point
to the results, if the bill is allowed to pass into effect, to
this city and State.”

“Yes—and call upon them in the name of the lamented
Decatur, to save the country from ruin!” added Mr. Sammis.
“Decatur was a man of tried patriotism, I think?”

It was not easy to keep Puffer's mind to the subject:
his eyes wandered constantly to the quarter where a certain
young lady was seated: so that he was soon dropped
out of the discourse, leaving Messrs. Sammis and Fishblatt
to keep it up in their own way. Puffer's glances were
not entirely unnoticed or unrewarded. Miss Fanny, too,
had, somehow or other, grown pensive and uncommunicative
with a marvellous coincidence as to time and circumstance.
When they had returned to the sewing-room she
exhibited to Puffer another flag on which she had wrought
the words “For Congress,” with a blank underneath for
the name of the candidate.

“I wish I were allowed to fill it up,” she said, looking at
Puffer.

Puffer felt his heart beat quick, but did not venture to
ask whose name it would bear. They seemed to understand
each other better from that moment.

“My aunt was right,” she continued after a pause,
speaking now without reserve. “I put a constraint upon
my feelings to please my father: you understand now
what I said at the Ball! For my own part, and on my
own account, I would rather lead a quiet life, aside from
the bustle and face making of politics. Have you ever
had such a feeling in your busy life?”

“Many and many a time!” answered Puffer, calling
to mind his poor neighbor, and the gentle quietude of
his little chamber. “The life that glides away, like the
stream that clings to its bed, I sometimes think may be
happier than if it had foamed, and brawled, and was broken
in pieces in the clamor of a water-fall.”

“And yet I don't deny,” continued Miss Fanny Sammis,
“that I would like to have my carriage, with one sleek
horse, and ride through Broadway once a week. I would
not care about it oftener.”

“Come, Miss Fanny, we must have some music!”
cried Mr. Sammy Sammis, stepping out upon the floor,

[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]

leading out one of the young ladies by the hand. “We
have rested long enough—John, take a partner,” to one
of a swarm of young clerks that had come in after
tea. “Mr. Fishblatt—aunt. Aunt—Mr. Fishblatt. Start
up, William,” to another of the young clerks—and to the
last of them. “Mr. Jones, there's another young lady left—
lead her out!”

Puffer had walked with Miss Fanny into the other
room, where, in a recess behind the door, stood an
old red piano. Miss Fanny ascended the stool, and Mr.
Sammis cried out to his partners in the dance, “Now, recollect—
it's the Northern and Western Districts”—his
head was still running on the political divisions of the
State. “It's Northern and Western against Eastern and
Southern: the first couple that breaks down is in a minority,
and incapable of taking partners for the next three
dances. Strike up, Miss Fanny: the Governor's March, if
you please.”

Miss Fanny, with Puffer at her side, struck the first few
notes with a bold hand, as Mr. Sammis desired—but presently,
as in spite of herself, a gentler air crept upon the
keys, and, instead of a cotillion, she was playing a pathetic
ditty.

“Louder and livelier!” shouted Mr. Sammis. “We
want the Governor's March—four thousand strong!”

She essayed the tune; but the notes came again softened
from her fingers, and seemed sighing back to the
words that Puffer breathed gently in her ear.

With constant remonstrances on the part of Mr. Sammy
Sammis, who was dancing for the whole northern tier of
counties (the six war-dancing tribes included,) and constant
relapses on the part of Miss Fanny, the evening wore
away.

At a late hour, Mr. Fishblatt, who, being a slow and solid
dancer, had, to the surprise of all parties, carried the
day, called for his hat; had Mr. Sammis aside in a whispered
conversation, with occasional glances at Puffer, for
a quarter of an hour; and, gallantly kissing the old aunt,
summoned Puffer, and left.

Miss Fanny thought the travel of the stair-way so perilous,
as to bring a light event to the very front door; what
passed there between the dark-eyed young lady and the

p264-254 [figure description] Page 243.[end figure description]

young politician, while Mr. Halsey Fishblatt stood in the
street calling to him, remains a profound mystery. The
spectacle—could he have looked upon it as an observer—
would have doubtless seemed to Puffer infinitely more
agreeable than that of the old aunt with her wrinkled
visage inside of the dark-eyed young lady's hood.
Marching arm in arm with Mr. Fishblatt, it is well known
that Puffer put several pointed and searching questions to
that gentleman, the answers to which were to the effect
that Mr. Sammy Sammis was an incessant letter-writer to
all parts of the state; a wire-puller and waker-up of counties
and villages; that Miss Fanny was his only child,
the old lady, his aunt, and Fanny's grand-aunt—and being
an unincumbered woman, with a round sum out at interest,
Fanny was her favorite. After procuring which results,
Puffer fell silent, and although Mr. Fishblatt addressed
him in several most elaborate and animated harangues,
he kept on musing, till they parted for the night.