Sir, I was born and raised in Connecticut; Bolted to sea, and was wreck'd in Japan; Quite a respectable figure I 'spect I cut, When coming back to keep school I began. Guess at the saw-mill I proved a top sawyer, And as a minister made a small splurge; Reckon I felt more at home as a lawyer, Ere as a doctor I learn'd how to purge. But the long words in the medical lexicon Soon I forgot from a couple of years Spent in campaigning against the darn'd Mexican, When I commanded the Bragg Volunteers. Just for a change, then a paper I edited, Scorch'd politicians, and pitch'd into books; That was before I was envoy accredited-- Austrian plenipo--General Snooks. 'Tis a slow life--that of Minister resident-- Posting despatches to kings, and what not; But, as they propose to run me for President, Hang'd if I care to repine at my lot. COLD PICTURE.--97. An eminent artist, American, of course, lately painted a snow-storm so naturally that he caught a bad cold by sitting near it with his coat off. LINCOLN ON NIGGER MATHEMATICS.--98. Our humorous Chief Magistrate was lately visited by one of the "On to Richmond," sword of Gideon gentry, who confidently expressed the hope so common among the abolition noodles, that Lee's army would be "bagged." The President grinned to the utmost of his classic mouth, and remarked that he was afraid there would be too much "nigger mathematics" in it. The visitor smiled at the allusion, as he felt bound in politeness to do, supposing there must be something in it, though he could not see the point. "But I suppose you don't know what 'nigger mathematics' is?" continued Mr. Lincoln. "Lay down your hat a minute and I'll tell you." He himself resumed the sitting posture, leaned back in his chair, elevated his heels on the table, and went on with his story. "There was a darky in my neighbourhood called Pompey, who, from a certain quickness in figuring up the prices of chickens and vegetables, got the reputation of being a mathematical genius. Mr. Johnson, a darkey preacher, heard of Pompey and called to see him. 'Here ye're a great mat'm'tishum, Pompey.' 'Yes sar, you jas try.' 'Well, Pompey, Ize compound a problem in mat'matics.' 'All right, sar.' 'Now Pompey, spose dere am tree pigeons sittin' on a rail-fence, and you fire a gun at 'em and shoot one, how many's left?' 'Two, ob coors,' replies Pompey, after a little wool scratching. 'Ya! ya! ya!' laughs Mr. Johnson; 'I knowed you was a fool, Pompey; dere's none left; one's dead, and dudder two's flown away.' That's what makes me say," continued Mr. Lincoln, "that I am afraid there was too much 'nigger mathematics' in the Pennsylvania campaign." And the result showed that in this instance, at least, the anecdote suited the fact. Lee's army was the three pigeons. One of them was taken down at Gettysburg, but the other two flew over the Potomac.