I wus jest makin' some cream biscuit for supper as he come in, and asked me about it; and a minute is a minute in makin' warm biscuit. You want to make 'em quick, and bake 'em quick. My mind wus fairly held onto that dough--and needed on it; but instinctively I told him he wus in the right ont. Liberty here in the United States wuz a man, and, in order to be consistent, ort to be depictered with whiskers and overcoat and a standin' collar. “And spurs!” says Josiah. “Wall,” I told him, “I wouldn't be particular about the spurs.” I said, “Instead of the spurs on his boots, he might be depictered as settin' his boot-heel onto the respectful petition of fifty thousand wimmen, who had ventured to ask him for a little mite of what he wus s'posed to have quantities of--Freedom. “Or,” says I, “he might be depictered as settin' on a judgment-seat, and wavin' off into prison an intelligent Christian woman, who had spent her whole noble, useful life in studyin' the laws of our nation, for darin' to think she had as much right under our Constitution, as a low, totally ignorant coot who would most likely think the franchise wus some sort of a meat-stew.” Says I, “That will give Liberty jest as imperious and showy a look as spurs would, and be fur more historick and symbolical.” Wall, he said he would mention it to 'em; and says he, with a contented look,-- “I told uncle Nate I knew I wus right. I knew Liberty wus a man.” Wall, I didn't say no more: and I got him as good a supper as the house afforded, and kep' still as death on politics; fur I could not help havin' some hopes that he might get sick of the idee of public life. And I kep' him down close all that evenin' to religion and the weather. [Illustration: JONESVILLE COURTHOUSE.] But, alas! my hopes wus doomed to fade away. And, as days passed by, I see the thought of bein' a senator wus ever before him. The cares and burdens of political life seemed to be a loomin' up in front of him, and in a quiet way he seemed to be fittin' himself for the duties of his position. He come in one day with Solomon Cypher'ses shovel, and I asked him “what it wuz?” And he said “it wus the spoils of office.” And I says, “It is no such thing: it is Solomon Cypher'ses shovel.” “Wall,” says he, “I found it out by the fence. Solomon has gone over to the other party. I am a Democrat, and this is party spoils. I am goin' to keep this as one of the spoils of office.” Says I firmly, “You won't keep it!” “Why,” says he, “if I am goin' to enter political life, I must begin to practise sometime. I must begin to do as they all do. And it is a crackin' good shovel too,” says he pensively. Says I, “You are goin' to carry that shovel right straight home, Josiah Allen!” And I made him. The _idee_.