THE DISHONEST POLITICIAN.-H. W. BEECHER.

If there be a man on earth whose character should be framed of the most sterling honesty, and whose conduct should conform to the most scrupulous morality, it is the man who administers public affairs. The most romantic notions of integrity are here not extravagant. As, under our institutions, public men will be, upon the whole, fair exponents of the character of their constituents, the plainest way to secure honest public men is to inspire those who make them with a right understanding of what political character ought to be.

The 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 accommodates himself to all opinions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to each 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, pretending their feelings, simulating their tastes; with this one, he hates a man; with that one, he loves 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 than both sides.

He has associated his ambition, his interests, and his affections, with a party. He prefers, doubtless, that his side should be victorious by the best means, and under the championship of good men; but rather than lose the victory, he will consent to any means, and follow any man. Thus, with a general desire to be upright, the exigency of his party constantly pushes him to dishonorable deeds. He gradually adopts two characters, a personal and a political character. All the requisitions of his conscience he obeys in his private character; all the requisitions of his party he obeys in his political conduct. In one character he is a man of principle; in the other, a man of mere expedients. As a man, he means to be veracious, honest, moral; as a politician, he is deceitful, cunning, unscrupulous,- anything for party. As a

man, he abhors the slimy demagogue; as a politician, he employs him as a scavenger. As a man, he shrinks from the flagitiousness of slander; as a politician, he permits it, smiles upon it in others, rejoices in the success gained by it. As a man, he respects no one who is rotten in heart; as a politician, no man through whom victory may be gained can be too bad.

For his religion he will give up all his secular interests; but for his politics he gives up even his religion. He adores virtue, and rewards vice. Whilst bolstering up unrighteous measures, and more unrighteous men, he prays for the advancement of religion, and justice, and honor! I would to God that his prayer might be answered upon his own political head; for never was there a place where such blessings were more needed! What a heart has that man, who can stand in the very middle of the Bible, with its transcendent truths raising their glowing fronts on every side of him, and feel no inspiration but that of immorality and meanness! Do not tell me of any excuses! It is a shame to attempt an excuse! If there were no religion; if that vast sphere, out of which glow all the supereminent truths of the Bible, was a mere emptiness and void; yet, methinks, the very idea of Fatherland, the exceeding preciousness of the laws and liberties of a great people, would enkindle such a high and noble enthusiasm that all baser feelings would be consumed! But if the love of country, a sense of character, a manly regard for integrity, the example of our most illustrious men, the warnings of religion and all its solicitations, and the prospect of the future, cannot inspire a man to anything higher than a sneaking, truckling, dodging scramble for fraudulent fame and dishonest bread, it is because such a creature has never felt one sensation of manly virtue; - it is because his heart is a howling wilderness, inhospitable to innocence.

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH.*

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of space
Roll on!

What though I'm in a sorry case?
What though I cannot meet my bills?
What though I suffer toothache's ills?
What though I swallow countless pills?
Never you mind!

Roll on!

It chanced a farmer, with his son,
From market walked, their labor done.
The son, in travels far abroad,

With scenes remote his mind had stored;
Yet home returning not more wise,
Though richer in amusing fies.

A mastiff dog now passed them by,
And caught the son's admiring eye.
"This dog," he said, "puts me in mind
Of one far nobler of its kind,
Which in my travels once I met,
Larger than any known as yet;
It was, I think, as large, indeed,
As neighbor Stedman's famous steed;
I'm sure you never had a horse

To rival it in size or force."

*W. S. Gilbert, Author of " Yarn of the Nancy Bell." See No. 7, p. 10.

"Your tale is marvelous, my son,
But think not yours the only one;
For I a prodigy can tell,

To match your story wondrous well:
A bridge we come to, by-and-by,
That lets down all who tell a lie;
Down to the gulf below they fall,
And vainly for deliverance call.
'Tis said none ever yet could find
The artist who this work designed;
But sure it is this very day

We both must cross it in our way."

The startled youth turned deadly pale, Astonished at the fearful tale.

Nay, father, I have said too much,
"Tis clear the case could not be such;
For I remember being told

The dog was only nine months old;
And yet it was a creature rare,
To which no others could compare;
I'm confident that it was quite
Your very tallest heifer's height."

As nearer to the bridge they pressed,
Again his sire the youth addressed:
Large as our heifer, did I say,
The dog I met the other day?
Nay, for that matter, you're too wise
To think a dog could be that size;
But I could on my honor state
That it was pretty near as great,
And, if I may believe my eyes,
Just like a full-grown calf in size."

The fatal bridge now close at hand,
The stripling makes a final stand:
"Father, at what a rate you walk!
Is this the bridge of which you talk?
Hear me, the truth I will declare :
This foreign dog was not so rare,
But much like others in its size,
With nothing to create surprise."

The Bridge thus brought him to the test,
And all his falsehoods were confessed!

There is a bridge which must be passed By one and all of us at last;

To those whose "refuge is in lies," "Twill be, alas! a "bridge of sighs."

Beneath it is a gulf of woe,

Where those who "love a lie" must go;
But over on the other side,

A beauteous prospect, far and wide.
Once landed on this fearful bridge,
One step advanced upon its ridge,
Eternal Truth, without disguise,
Will burst upon our startled eyes.
May He who is the Way, the Truth,
Direct aright the steps of youth,
To do what's pleasing in his eyes,
And" false ways" utterly despise.

WANTED-A PASTOR.

He must be young in years, in wisdom old;
His heart transmuted into purest gold;
Fervent in prayer, calm, earnest, modest, meek,
Yet ever bold the gospel truth to speak.

Solemn, yet social; thoughtful, yet urbane;
His dignity most careful to maintain;
To suit the elders he must be "true blue,"
To please the young folks, must be "jolly" too.

His preaching must be brilliant, yet profound;
Theology, the soundest of the sound;

Must prove his doctrine back from Paul to Moses,
Then down to Calvin, ere his sermon closes.

He must be trained to speaking extempore,
Yet ne'er repeat his phrases o'er and o'er;
And when we want a written sermon, then
Must wield a graceful and a practised pen.

While hurling forth the thunders of the law,

With honeyed sweetness must be skilled to "draw;" Must be a potent instrument to use

In filling up a score of empty pews.

Must preach two rousing sermons every Sunday, And feel the fresher each succeeding Monday; Must bring to every Wednesday evening meeting A burdened heart, yet cheerful Christian greeting.