Oh, lovers of your lager beer, Drinkers of wine and ale, Ye editors and ministers, Come listen to my tale, And learn the very slight basis Characters are built on, By reading of the fight between FULTON and friend TILTON. In New York City, Broadway street, Friend FULTON took his way, Squinting in ev'ry restaurant, For it was then mid-day; He saw a bottle on a stand, With words all in gilt on, While right before that awful stand Guzzling wine sat TILTON. On Sunday night, while walking down Bow'ry to the ferry, TILTON did spy a lager shop Where the folks were merry, And saw a sight that op'd his eyes, For, in that beery vat, Nine lagers foaming by his side, Reverend FULTON sat. With spirit sword bound at his side, And his hand the hilt on, Brave FULTON smote at hip and thigh Of our little TILTON; Then TILTON took a mighty quill, Called FULTON a liar, FULTON took that to his church, Will he take it higher? Now TILTON says that FULTON lies, FULTON says 'tis TILTON; I wish this epic was told by HOMER or by MILTON. _I_ cannot tell which yarn is true, Nor what each is built on, But surely there's been lying by FULTON or else TILTON. * * * * * A FINE OLD LADY. In this day of monetary papyrus, it is pleasing to read of an ancient matron in Lafayette, Ind., who, at the age of eighty-nine, has gone to her reward, leaving no property save a $20 gold piece. For several years, she has been reserving this honest coin to pay her funeral expenses; and one cannot help surmising that she must have been distantly related to the late Old Bullion BENTON. "No National Bank nonsense at my tomb!" said she; "no grimed and greasy currency for my undertaker! I will have a specie-paying funeral or none at all." As we have the precedent of a great many Old Ladies in the Cabinet, we are rather sorry that it is too late to invite this clear-headed dame to take a chair in Washington. * * * * * [Illustration: A MODEST REQUEST. _Disbursing Agent of Political Organization [to Delegation on biz.]_: "AH! GENTLEMEN, YOU REPRESENT THE----" _Spokesman_. "YES; WE WANT $200. I'M THE KNOCK-'EM-DOWN CLUB, AND HE'S THE TARGET COMPANY."] * * * * * THE WRONG "DUMMIE."