d votes and
rostrums, till such things have become nostrums--excuse the rhyme, if
you don't happen to be a poetical young man," says I; "it isn't
extraordinary that such things are neglected, and that the great New
English dish introduced by the Pilgrim Fathers has degenerated into
this."

Here I pointed sarcastically at the pebble-stones, and, with killing
irony, asked him to send me something to eat.

He took up the dish, and seemed glad to go--no wonder, my words had cut
him to the soul. By and by he came back, and handed me that thin book
which hadn't half a dozen leaves in it, and, says he:

"Will madam make her choice?"

I opened the book, and tried to see what it was all about; but there was
nothing to read. A lot of English words twisted out of all shape and
meaning, with some figures cut up in short rows, were scattered over the
pages as if they had been shook out of a pepper-box. The only thing I
could make out that seemed to have a sensible meaning, was--beef. This I
read out loud--glad to find one good wholesome word to light on.

"Roast beef," says the fellow, and away he went.

There was no use trying to get anything like reading out of that ghost
of a book; so I sat still and looked on, wondering what brought so many
ladies into the Capitol, as they are not considered Congressmen yet.

XLIII.

PHOEMIE DINES WITH A SENATOR.

Dear sisters: I had moved my chair back a little, for it seemed rather
lonesome sitting there with nothing but a table-cloth spread before me,
and a castor on it, when a gentleman came in and sat down on the other
side of the table, just as if I hadn't been there.

He took up the skimpy book, and began to read, as if he understood every
word of it--figures and all. By and by a young fellow came up to him.
They whispered together a minute, and the gentleman kept pointing at the
book.

Just then, the young man that I had been so sociable with, came up with
some dishes in his hand, which he set down on the table, then spread his
hands a little, as much as to say, politely: "Set to, ma'am, and help
yourself;" which I did.

Sisters, the national kitchens want renovating. There is female
missionary work here enough to keep half our Society busy for a year.
That beef was never roasted by a fire. I'll take my oath of that. It
never swung on an iron skewer, inside of a tin oven before a
hickory-wood fire, since it was a born calf. There's no cheating me in
such things. W