was that of the old shepherd to the prime-minister Joseph! I see the
old countryman seated in the palace looking around at the mirrors and
the fountains and the carved pillars, and oh! how he wishes that
Rachel, his wife, was alive and she could have come there with him to
see their son in his great house. "Oh," says the old man within
himself, "I do wish Rachel could be here to see all this!" I visited
at the farmhouse of the father of Millard Fillmore when the son was
President of the United States, and the octogenerian farmer
entertained me until eleven o'clock at night telling me what great
things he saw in his son's house at Washington, and what Daniel
Webster said to him, and how grandly Millard treated his father in the
White House. The old man's face was illumined with the story until
almost the midnight. He had just been visiting his son at the Capitol.
And I suppose it was something of the same joy that thrilled the heart
of the old shepherd as he stood in the palace of the prime-minister.
It is