"'Lord love yer political faith, General!' said I, rising up and taking him firmly by the hand. "'Ye'll do for the Young America, that ye will! There'll be no more old-fogyism--no more of the slow-coach school! Take another bumper, and you'll be ripe for the new party.' The General, with less dignity than you might have supposed him capable of condescending to, filled his glass, drew his chair back, threw his square figure well over the arms, and roared right out until it became dangerous. At length he began to drink his whiskey, and that stopped his joy for a time. But he soon broke out afresh. 'What on earth is the matter with you, stranger? you ain't going to make a shaking machine of your broad sides, be ye?' says I, giving him a look that would have pierced a stone wall. "'You must excuse me, Mr. Smooth, but the principles of your party would make anybody laugh; why!--its sprouting members are all growing out of their breeches. Where, in that stretchy imagination the party possesses, can you find a place for the moon, which of necessity must follow in the train of annexation?' he inquires seriously. "'Put it? Why, Gineral, you have been stowed away so long, keeping dog-watch over fogyism, that you don't comprehend how Uncle Sam has been transformed into a go-ahead chap to suit the times. Consul Saunders 'll bridge the Gulf Stream, and thus unite Cuba and Cape Florida; and, his pockets well lined with letter-writing materials, be first to march over it and proclaim manifest destiny to the natives. As for the moon, George will find a place in the compact for her.'