What a luxury is Hope! It springs eternal in the human breast. Rather an
awkward place for a spring, but as poets know more than other people, no
doubt it is all right. Hope is an institution. What is the White House,
or the Capitol at Washington, to Hope? What is the Central Park, or
Boston Common, or the Big Organ, to Hope? Not much--not anything, like
the man's religion, to speak of. Hope bears up many a man, though it
pays no bills to the grocer, milliner, tailor, or market man. It is the
vertebra which steadies him plumb up to a positive perpendicular. A
hopeless man or woman--how fearful! They very soon become
round-shouldered, limp and weak, and drink little but unsizable sighs,
and feed on all manner of dark and unhealthy things. It is TODD'S
deliberate opinion that if a cent can't be laid up, Hope should. Hope
with empty pockets is rich compared to wealth with "nary a" hope. Hope
is a good thing to have about the house. It always comes handy, and is
acceptable even to company. So believes, and he acts on the faith, does
TIMOTHY TODD.
* * * * *
~Capitol Punishment.~
Abolition of the franking privilege.
* * * * *
~SKETCH OF ORPHEUS C. KERR.~
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF THE ADAPTER: BEGAD'S HILL, TICKNOR'S FIELDS,
NEW JERSEY.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31