And the President took the boy upon his knee, wantin' to do something agreeable, I s'pose, seein' he couldn't do the errent. And he says, jest to make himself pleasant to the boy,-- “Well, my little man, are you a Republican, or Democrat?” “I am a Epispocal.” And seein' the boy seemed to be headed onto theoligy instead of politics, and wantin' to kinder show him off, I says,-- “Tell the gentleman who made you.” He spoke right up prompt, as if hurryin' to get through theoligy, so's to tackle sunthin' else. He answered as exhaustively as an exhauster could at a meetin',-- “I was made out of dust, and breathed into. I am made out of God and dirt.” Oh, how deep, how deep that child is! I never had heard him say that before. But how true it wuz! The divine and the human, linked so close together from birth till death. No philosipher that ever philosiphized could go deeper or higher. I see the President looked impressed. But the boy branched off quick, for he seemed fairly burstin' with questions. [Illustration: “I AM A EPISPOCAL.”] “_Say,_ what is this house called the White House for? Is it because it is to help white folks, and not help the black ones, and Injins?” I declare, I almost thought the boy had heard sunthin' about the elections in the South, and the Congressional vote for cuttin' down the money for the Indian schools. Legislative action to perpetuate the ignorance and brutality of a race. The President said dreamily, “No, it wasn't for that.” “Well, is it called white like the gate of the City is? Mamma said that was white,--a pearl, you know,--because every thing was pure and white inside the City. Is it because the laws that are made here are all white and good? And _say_”-- Here his eyes looked dark and big with excitement. “What is George Washington up on top of that big white piller for?” “He was a great man.” “How much did he weigh? How many yards did it take for his vest--forty?” “He did great and noble deeds--he fought and bled.” “If fighting makes folks great, why did mamma punish me when I fought with Jim Gowdey? He stole my jack-knife, and knocked me down, and set down on me, and took my chewing-gum away from me, and chewed it himself. And I rose against him, and we fought and bled: my nose bled, and so did his. But I got it away from him, and chewed it myself. But mamma punished me, and said; God wouldn't love me if I quarrelled so, and if we couldn't agree, we must get somebody to settle our trouble for us. Why didn't she stand me up on a big white pillow out in the door-yard, and be proud of me, and not shut me up in a dark closet?” “He fought for Liberty.” “Did he get it?” “He fought that the United States might be free.” “Is it free?” The President waved off that question, and the boy kep' on. “Is it true what you have been talkin' about,--is there a great big ring put all round it, and is it bein' drawed along into a mean place?” [Illustration: WAR DECLARED.]