His face was grim, his nose upturned, Char-co-o-al! In muddy streets he did descry The "moire antiques" held high and dry, And from his lips escaped a yell!— "Don't go there!" was the warning sound; "The pipes have all burst underground, The raging torrent's deep and wide;" But loud his trumpet voice replied, Char-co-o-al! "Oh stop!" good Biddy cried, "and lave "Beware of Main street crossing deep, At set of sun, as homeward went, A voice was heard, both loud and shrill, A man upon the watchman's round, There in the gas-light, dim and gray, And from his nose, turned up still more, Char-co-o-al! THE THE DEMAGOGUE. Observe the most careful conversational style. HE lowest of politicians is that man who seeks to gratify an invariable selfishness by pretending to seek the public good. For a profitable popularity he accomodates himself to all opinions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to every prejudice. He is a mirror, with no face of its own, but a smooth surface from which each man of ten thousand may see himself reflected. He glides from man to man, coinciding with their views, simulating their tastes, and pretending their feelings; with this one he loves a man; with that one he hates the same man; he favors a law, and he dislikes it; he approves and opposes; he is on both sides at once, and seemingly wishes that he could be on one side more. He 'attends meetings to suppress intemperance,—but at elections makes every grog-shop free to all drinkers. He can with equal relish plead most eloquently for temperance, or toss off a dozen glasses of whiskey in a dirty doggery. He thinks that there is a time for everything, and therefore at one time he jeers and leers, and swears with a carousing blackguard crew; and at another time, professing to have been happily converted, he displays all the various features of devotion. Indeed, he is a capacious Christian-an epitome of faith. He piously asks the class-leader of the welfare of his charge, for he was always a Methodist, and always will be, until he meets a Presbyterian; then he is a Presbyterian, Old School or New, as the case requires; however, as he is not a bigot, he can afford to be a Baptist in a good Baptist neighborhood, and with a wink he tells the pious elder that he never had one of his children baptized, not he! He whispers to the Reformer that he abhors all creeds but Baptism and the Bible. After this, room will be found in his heart for the fugitive sects also, which come and go like clouds in a summer-sky. Upon the stump his tact is no less rare. He roars and bawls with courageous plainness, on points about which all agree; but on subjects where men differ, his meaning is nicely balanced on a pivot that it may dip either way. He depends for success chiefly upon humorous stories. A glowing patriot telling stories is a dangerous antagonist; for it is hard to expose the fallacy of a hearty laugh, and men convulsed with merriment are slow to perceive in what way an argument is a reply to a story: men who will admit that he has not a solitary moral virtue, will vote for him, and assist him in obtaining the office to which he aspires.-H. W. BEECHER. THERE'S a euchre, THERE'S GO IT ALONE. game much in fashion,-I think it's called Though I've never played it, for pleasure or lucre,— I think I might venture to "Go it alone." While watching the game-('tis a whim of the Bard's,) A moral to draw from the skirmish in cards, And fancy, he sees in the trivial strife Some excellent hints for the battle of life, Where, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne, When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar, And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name, "I can wait," he replied, "till the truth you shall own," For he knew in his heart, he could "Go it alone." When great Galileo proclaimed to the world. It moves for all that, was his answering tone, There is something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold, The unfortunate owner may fairly regard, Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own, In Battle or Business, whatever the game, HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. To be, or not to be, that is the question! Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer To die, to sleep ;— To sleep!-perchance to dream-aye, there's the rub! For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause! There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life: For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, |