I am something of a politician. My friends do not think I am. But they are prejudiced--friends always are. I go, on principle, for the greatest good of the greatest number. You know that humble, initial figure. I confess to a love of loaves and fishes. A nice French loaf, and a delicious salmon in the suburbs of green peas--who wouldn't be a politician about that time? I have run for office--and at least half a dozen times. But, bless you, I never caught it. Some big, burly, brainless cur of a fellow was always ahead of me. Very queer in politics--the less the head the more one gets ahead. A head is little or nothing; but face, cheek, assurance--such is much; is every thing. What are politics but audacity? what professions of public good but pretences for private pap? I like politics. Politics, however, don't seem to like me. I call myself a patriot; but, strangely enough, or otherwise, I have never been called to fill a patriot's office--say for $5000 and upward per year. As for a patriot's grave--it's a fine thing, no doubt, but I have never regarded it as my "mission" to fill that. It affects one's activity and usefulness, and cuts off going to FECHTER BOOTH, _Frou-Frou_, the _Twelve Temptations_, and opera. I declined all such honors during the war, and on principle; the principal thing being that I had no taste for lead and iron. Iron, I know, is good for the blood; but taken in bullets, it lessens instead of increases the circulation. These metals are quite too much for a delicate stomach. Shells as a drink I like; shells as bombs I do _not_ like. They are unhealthy. As a beverage I can surround it several times a day, and bless the climate that grows it, and the cask that makes it. But of shells, as of company, I prefer to make my choice. I, too, have my choice of office. I am strong and can draw well. My _forte_ is drawing salary. That may not be the highest form of art, but it is unquestionably artful. Moreover, it is the one mankind, if it could, would cultivate with the most assiduity. It is the plaster every man would put to his back. As a politician I believe in myself first, my pocket second, my country third. This platform is strong and satisfactory--at least to your friend, TIMOTHY TODD. * * * * * ALBANY COCK-ROBINS. Who killed the Charter? I, says the _Herald_, With wit _a la_ JERROLD. As Assemblymen I ferruled, And I killed the Charter. Who killed the Charter? I, says the _World_, With my blunders hurled And black flag unfurled, And I killed the Charter. Who killed the Charter? I, says the _Sun_, With my sensation fun, Or my Sol-ferino gun, And I killed the Charter. Who killed the Charter? I, says PUNCHINELLO, With my wit so mellow, I was the very fellow Who killed off the Charter. * * * * * THE DWARF DEJECTED.