Cousin Dempster had got into dead earnest now. He knew what he was talking about, and I couldn't help feeling for him.
"Some day, Cousin Phoemie," says he, "I will take you round and show you the abominations which have been set up in this building--a disgrace both to the taste and integrity of the nation. You will understand the impudent pretension for which our people have been taxed in order that the National Capitol may be made a laughing-stock for foreigners, and those Americans who are compelled to blush for what they cannot help."
"Cousin Dempster," says I, "why don't the press take these things up and expose them?"
"That is exactly what I want," says he. "It is for that very purpose I want you to go around among these distorted marbles and things. Your Reports may do some good."
"But I don't quite understand them myself," says I, blushing a little.
"Trust genius to discover genius," says he. "You could not fail to see faults or merits where they existed. All the arts are kindred. Poetry, painting, sculpture, go hand-in-hand. You understood the beauty that lies in these doors at a glance."
"One must be blind not to see that," says I.
"Of course; well, cousin, we will give a day to these things before we go home; but now, hurry forward, or we shall be too late to see the House open."
"Just as if there was a house in all Washington that wouldn't open for us if we chose to knock or ring," I thought to myself, but said nothing, for Dempster was walking off like a steam-engine, and I followed down one long hall, and up another--all paved with bright-colored stones--till it seemed as if I were walking over a rock carpet.
Dear sisters:--At last we came to some wide marble stairs, with a twist in the middle, and they led us into another long hall with a stone carpet, out of which some doors covered with cloth were opening and shutting all the time for folks to go through.
Cousin Dempster swung one open for me, and I went into what looked like a meeting-house gallery, with long seats a-running all around it, cushioned off with red velvet, or something. Right over what seemed to be the pulpit, was a square gallery by itself, which I took for the singers' seats, but it was full of men--not a female among them--and they all seemed busy as bees laying out their music for use.