But it was a sight to behold, to see 'em make it. And then, as we stood out on the sidewalk agin, the Smithsonian Institute passed through my mind; and then the Corcoran Art Gallery passed through it, and several other big, noble buildin's. But I let 'em pass; and I says to Sally,-- “Let us go at once and see the man that makes the public schools.” Says I, “There is a man that I honor, and almost love.” And she said she didn't know who it wuz. But I think it was the lamb that she had in a bakin', that drew her back towards home. She owned up that her hired girl didn't baste it enough. And she seemed oneasy. But I stood firm, and says, “I shall see that man, lamb or no lamb.” And then Sally give in. And she found him easy enough. She knew all the time, it was the sheep that hampered her. And, oh! I s'pose it was a sight to be remembered, to see my talk to that man. I s'pose, if it had been printed, it would have made a beautiful track--and lengthy. Why, he looked fairly exhausted and cross before I got half through, I talked so smart (eloquence is tuckerin'). I told him how our public schools was the hope of the nation. How they neutralized to a certain extent the other schools the nation allowed to the public,--the grog-shops, and other licensed places of ruin. I told him how pretty it looked to me to see Civilization a marchin' along from the Atlantic towards the Pacific, with a spellin'-book in one hand, and in the other the rosy, which she was a plantin' in place of the briars and brambles. And I told him how highly I approved of compulsory education. “Why,” says I, “if anybody is a drowndin', you don't ask their consent to be drawed out of the water, you jest jump in, and yank 'em out. And when you see poor little ones, a sinkin' down in the deep waters of ignorance and brutality, why, jest let Uncle Sam reach right down, and draw 'em out.” Says I, “I'll bet that is why he is pictered as havin' such long arms for, and long legs too,--so he can wade in if the water is deep, and they are too fur from the shore for his arms to reach.” And says I, “In the case of the little Indian, and other colored children, he'll need the legs of a stork, the water is so deep round 'em. But he'll reach 'em, Uncle Sam will. He'll lift 'em right up in his long arms, and set 'em safe on the pleasant shore. You'll see that he will. Uncle Sam is a man of a thousand.” Says I, “How much it wus like him, to pass that law for children to be learnt jest what whisky is, and what it will do. Why,” says I, “in that very law Christianity has took a longer stride than she could take by millions of sermons, all divided off into tenthlies and twentiethlies.” Why, I s'pose I talked perfectly beautiful to that man: I s'pose so.