that no Smith was ever _the_ Smith for three generations, and
that he knew at least twenty, each of whom was able to set up his
carriage and stand by his colors.

"But then a livery is so elegant and aristocratic," said I, "and it
shows that a servant is a servant."

That last was a strong argument, and I thought Mr. P. would have
nothing to say against it; but he rattled on for some time, asking me
what right I had to be aristocratic, or, in fact, anybody else;--went
over his eternal old talk about aping foreign habits, as if we hadn't
a right to adopt the good usages of all nations, and finally said that
the use of liveries among us was not only a "pure peacock absurdity,"
as he called it, but that no genuine American would ever ask another
to assume a menial badge.

"Why!" said I, "is not an American servant a servant still?"

"Most undoubtedly," he said; "and when a man is a servant, let him
serve faithfully; and in this country especially, where to-morrow he
may be served, and not the servant, let him not be ashamed of
serving. But, Mrs. Potiphar, I beg you to observe that a servant's
livery is not, like a general's uniform the badge of honorable
service, but of menial service. Of course, a servant may be as
honorable as a general, and his work quite as necessary and well
done. But, for all that, it is not so respected nor coveted a
situation, I believe; and, in social estimation, a man suffers by
wearing a livery, as he never would if he wore none. And while in
countries in which a man is proud of being a servant (as every man may
well be of being a good one), and never looks to anything else, nor