and more misty and majestic proportions; and in this congenial air, the

Colonel seemed even to himself to expand into something large and

mysterious. If he respected himself before, he almost worshipped Beriah

Sellers now, as a superior being. If he could have chosen an official

position out of the highest, he would have been embarrassed in the

selection. The presidency of the republic seemed too limited and cramped

in the constitutional restrictions. If he could have been Grand Llama of

the United States, that might have come the nearest to his idea of a

position. And next to that he would have luxuriated in the irresponsible

omniscience of the Special Correspondent.

Col. Sellers knew the President very well, and had access to his presence

when officials were kept cooling their heels in the Waiting-room. The

President liked to hear the Colonel talk, his voluble ease was a

refreshment after the decorous dullness of men who only talked business

and government, and everlastingly expounded their notions of justice and

the distribution of patronage. The Colonel was as much a lover of

farming and of horses as Thomas Jefferson was. He talked to the

President by the hour about his magnificent stud, and his plantation at

Hawkeye, a kind of principality--he represented it. He urged the

President to pay him a visit during the recess, and see his stock farm.

The President's table is well enough," he used to say, to the loafers

who gathered about him at Willard's, "well enough for a man on a salary,

but God bless my soul, I should like him to see a little old-fashioned

hospitality--open house, you know. A person seeing me at home might

412

The Gilded Age