"Well, this here other one who just went by is the French Minister, I believe?"
"Really!" says the detective, with a slight cough, "Really, you're wrong again, for that's 'Policy Loo,' the notorious Mexican murderer and thief."
The rural chap bit his right thumb-nail irritatedly, and says he:
"At any rate, I know who yonder tall, gentlemanly person in the black gloves is. It's a famous leader of fashions from Fifth Avenue."
The detective opened his eyes widely at this, and says he:
"Why, there you miss it again. I think I ought to know 'Slippery Jim,' who got that fat contract to supply the army with caps, and made half of them of shoddy."
The chap from the rural districts seemed very much ashamed of himself, my boy, for doing such a wrong to our admirable and refined Best Society; but he was bound to try it once more, and so says he, shortly:
"Perhaps you'll tell me that fleshy individual in a black silk vest, coming this way, an't the British Minister?"
"Wrong again, by thunder!" says the detective; "for all the world knows that respectable cove to be 'Neutral John,' the celebrated rebel-spy and blockade-runner."
Indeed, appearances go so entirely by contraries here, that I really fear, my boy,—I really fear, that many of our veritable great politicians, diplomatists, and Missouri Delegates, are frequently taken for unmitigated rogues by blundering amateurs in physiognomy.