for a
second its gold spoon; and, perhaps, a trifle of the turtle spills
before reaching its mouth. Madame rearranges her parure and smoothes
her ruffled lace; while Mademoiselle pouts a little, then studies her
card for the next waltzer. Senator Jenks takes his "nip" just a trifle
more regularly; and Blobb, of Oregon, draws a longer breath before his
next period. As for the lobby-pump, its piston grows red-hot and its
valves fly wide open, with the work it does; while thicker and more
foul are the streams it sends abroad.

For awhile there is some little talk around Willard's about the
"secesh;" and the old soldiers wear grave faces as they pass to and fro
between the War Department and General Scott's headquarters. But to the
outer circle, it is only a nine-day wonder; while the dancing and
dining army men soon make light of the matter.

But the stone the surface closes smoothly over at the center makes
large ripples at the edges. Faces that were long before now begin to
lengthen; and thoughtful men wag solemn heads as they pass, or pause to
take each other by the buttonhole. More frequent knots discuss the
status in hotel lobbies and even in the passages of the departments;
careful non-partisans keep their lips tightly closed, and hot talk,
_pro_ or _con_, begins to grow more popular.

One day I find, per card, that the Patagonian Ambassador dines me at
seven. As it is not a state dinner I go, to find it even more stupid.
At dessert the reserve wears off and all soon get deep in the "Star of
the West" episode.

"Looks mighty bad now, sir. Something must be done, sir, and soon,
too," says Diggs, a hard-working M.C. from the North-west. "But, as
yet, I don't see--what, exactly!"

"Will your government use force to supply Fort Sumter?" asks Count B.,
of the Sardinian legation.

"If so, it might surely drive out those states so doubtful now, that
they may not go to extremes," suggested the Prussian _charge ad
interim_.

"Why, they'll be whipped back by the army and navy within ninety days
from date," remarks a gentleman connected with pension brokerage.

"If part of the army and navy does not go to get whipped with them,"
growls an old major of the famed Aztec Club. And the scar across the
nose, that he brought away from the Belen Gate, grows very uncomfortably
purple.

"By Jove! I weally believes he means it! Weally!" whispers very young
Savile Rowe, of H.B.M. legation. "Let's get wid of these politics.
Dw