“Is the President of the United States within?” He said he was, but said sunthin' about his not receiving calls in the mornings. But I says in a very polite way,--for I like to put folks at their ease, presidents or peddlers or any thing,-- “It hain't no matter at all if he hain't dressed up--of course he wuzn't expectin' company. Josiah don't dress up mornin's.” And then he says something about “he didn't know but he was engaged.” Says I, “That hain't no news to me, nor the Nation. We have been a hearin' that for three years, right along. And if he is engaged, it hain't no good reason why he shouldn't speak to other wimmen,--good, honorable married ones too.” “Well,” says he finally, “I will take up your card.” “No, you won't!” says I firmly. “I am a Methodist! I guess I can start off on a short tower, without takin' a pack of cards with me. And if I had 'em right here in my pocket, or a set of dominoes, I shouldn't expect to take up the time of the President of the United States a playin' games at this time of the day.” Says I in deep tones, “I am a carrien' errents to the President that the world knows not of.” He blushed up red; he was ashamed; and he said “he would see if I could be admitted.” And he led the way along, and I follered, and the boy. Bub Smith had left us at the door. The hired man seemed to think I would want to look round some; and he walked sort o' slow, out of courtesy. But, good land! how little that hired man knew my feelin's, as he led me on, I a thinkin' to myself,-- “Here I am, a steppin' where G. Washington strode.” Oh the grandeur of my feelin's! The nobility of 'em! and the quantity! Why, it was a perfect sight. But right into these exalted sentiments the hired man intruded with his frivolous remarks,--worse than frivolous. He says agin something about “not knowin' whether the President would be ready to receive me.” And I stepped down sudden from that lofty piller I had trod on in my mind, and says I,-- “I tell you agin, I don't care whether he is dressed up or not. I come on principle, and I shall look at him through that eye, and no other.” “Wall,” says he, turnin' sort o' red agin (he was ashamed), “have you noticed the beauty of the didos?” But I kep' my head right up in the air nobly, and never turned to the right or the left; and says I,-- “I don't see no beauty in cuttin' up didos, nor never did. I have heard that they did such things here in Washington, D.C., but I do not choose to have my attention drawed to 'em.” But I pondered a minute, and the word “meetin'-house” struck a fearful blow aginst my conscience;' and I says in milder axents,-- “If I looked upon a dido at all, it would be, not with a human woman's eye, but the eye of a Methodist. My duty draws me:--point out the dido, and I will look at it through that one eye.” And he says, “I was a talkin' about the walls of this room.”