esty is the best policy for everybody but me. I'll none of it. Not I. I do not purpose to steal from any private individual, and make myself answerable to the laws; but if any man wants a job put through, by which the people can be robbed, and a large share of the plunder find its way into my pocket, you may count on me. I am not a common ruffian; I am a hightoned congressman. I do not knock a man down with a bludgeon, and go through his pockets; but I offer my congressional services, and then it is nothing to me who knocks him down after that. I can only say that I fear he would be poor picking after I get through with him. I am a man of enterprise. I go in for railroads and canals-not so much because these things are public benefits, as because they open a channel for wealth to flow into my coffers from the pockets of the unsuspecting public. There is nothing better than money. My religion is money. My patriotism is money. I am perfectly willing to be a patriot, if I am paid for it. I am for sale. Whoever pays my price can have me. I am not the only public-spirited patriot of this kind in the United States. You can find hundreds of them in every place of public trust, from a petty postmaster up to the most dignified senator. They all love their country-for money. Grab and grasp is the watchword of the day. Steal while you can, for when you are dead, politically or physically, you cannot. A few addle-pates talk about putting honest men in office; but it can't be done. We have got the power, for we have got the money; and the more money we get the more power we shall have. We have struck a mine, and we don't mean to let go our grip. Honest men can't cope with us, because they are not up to all the tricks of the professional politician. Oh, no! I tell you honesty is at a fearful discount. The people don't want it. They prefer being bled by knaves and rogues; and I, for one, am perfectly willing to let them have their way. Let them bleed if they like it. Fellow-citizens, these are not my sentiments. They are not the outspoken words of any office-seeker. Oh, no; but actions speak louder than words. LAUGH AND GROW FAT.-W. M. PRAED. There's nothing here on earth deserves One plagues himself about the sun, And puzzles on, through every weather, What time he'll rise-how long he'll run, And when he'll leave us altogether. Now matters it a pebble-stone, Whether he dines at six or seven? At last they'll plague him out of heaven! Another spins from out his brains And Messrs. Longman pay the money. My brother gave his heart away To Mercandotti, when he met her, And raved all day and night about her; But make one very thin and taper; "Thought" is the gazer's brightest star, Her gems alone are worth his finding; But, as I'm not particular, Please God! I'll keep on "never minding." Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at everything! Ah! in this troubled world of ours, There's nothing half so good as laughing! Never cry while you can sing, But laugh, like me, at everything! IN MEMORIAM.-GEO. D. PRENTICE. On the bosom of a river Where the sun unloosed his quiver, At her prow a pilot beaming, In the flush of youth stood dreaming, Like an angel from above: Warbled lays of hope and love. Through those locks so brightly flowing, Swiftly down the stream he glided, On his canvas' snowy fold. Anxious hearts, with fond devotion, But those purple waves enchanted, And woke to life no more. Then there rushed, with lightning quickness, Still rolls on that radiant river, But that vessel's rainbow banner THE OLD WIFE'S KISS. The funeral services were ended; and, as the voice of prayer ceased, tears were hastily wiped from wet cheeks, and long-drawn sighs relieved suppressed and choking sobs, as the mourners prepared to take leave of the corpse. It was an old man who lay there, robed for the grave. More than three-score years had whitened those locks, and fur rowed that brow, and made those stiff limbs weary of life's journey, and the more willing to be at rest where weariness is no longer a burden. The aged have few to weep for them when they die. The most of those who would have mourned their loss have gone to the grave before them; harps that would have sighed sad harmonies are shattered and gone; and the few that remain are looking cradleward, rather than to life's closing goal; are bound to and living in the generation rising, more than the generation departing. Youth and beauty have many admirers while living,-have many mourners when dying, and many tearful ones bend over their coffined clay, many sad hearts follow in their funeral train; but age has few admirers, few mourners. This was an old man, and the circle of mourners was small: two children, who had themselves passed the middle of life, and who had children of their own to care for and be cared for by them. Beside these, and a few friends who had seen and visited him while he was sick, and possibly had known him for a few years, there were none others to shed a tear, except his old wife; and of this small company, the old wife seemed to be the only heart-mourner. It is respectful for his friends to be sad a few moments, till the service is performed and the hearse out of sight. It is very proper and suitable for children, who have outgrown the fervency and affection of youth, to shed tears when an aged parent says farewell, and lies down to quiet slumber. Some regrets, some recollection of the past, some transitory griefs, and the pangs are over. The old wife arose with difficulty from her seat, and I went to the coffin to look her last look-to take her last farewell. Through the fast falling tears she gazed long and fondly down into the pale, unconscious face. What did she see there? Others saw nothing but the rigid features of the dead; she saw more. In every wrinkle of that brow she read the history of years; from youth to manhood, from manhood to old age, in joy and sorrow, in sickness and health, it was all there; when those children, who had not quite outgrown the sympathies of childhood, were infants lying on her bosom, and every year since then-there it was. To others those dull, mute monitors were unintelli GGG |