But I have time to look around sum & how do I find things?  I return to the Atlantic States after a absence of ten months, & what State do I find the country in?  Why I don't know what State I find it in.  Suffice it to say, that I do not find it in the State of New Jersey. There air other cheerin' signs for Ameriky.  We don't, for instuns, lack great Gen'rals, and we certinly don't brave sojers--but there's one thing I wish we did lack, and that is our present Congress. I venture to say that if you sarch the earth all over with a ten-hoss power mikriscope, you won't be able to find such another pack of poppycock gabblers as the present Congress of the United States of America would be able to find--find among their constituents. Gentleman of the Senit & of the House, you've sot there and draw'd your pay and made summer-complaint speeches long enuff.  The country at large, incloodin' the undersined, is disgusted with you.  Why don't you show us a statesman--sumbody who can make a speech that will hit the pop'lar hart right under the great Public weskit?  Why don't you show us a statesman who can rise up to the Emergency, and cave in the Emergency's head? Congress, you won't do.  Go home, you mizzerable devils--go home! At a special Congressional 'lection in my district the other day I delib'ritly voted for Henry Clay.  I admit that Henry is dead, but inasmuch as we don't seem to have a live statesman in our National Congress, let us by all means have a first-class corpse. Them who think that a cane made from the timbers of the house I once boarded in is essenshall to their happiness, should not delay about sendin' the money right on for one. My reported captur by the North American savijis of Utah, led my wide circle of friends and creditors to think that I had bid adoo to earthly things and was a angel playin' on a golden harp.  Hents my rival home was on expected. It was 11, P.M., when I reached my homestid and knockt a healthy knock on the door thereof. A nightcap thrusted itself out of the front chamber winder.  (It was my Betsy's nightcap.)  And a voice said: "Who is it?" "It is a Man!" I answered, in a gruff vois. "I don't b'lieve it!" she sed. "Then come down and search me," I replied. Then resumin' my nat'ral voice, I said, "It is your own A. W., Betsy!  Sweet lady, wake!  Ever of thou!" "Oh," she said, "it's you, is it?  I thought I smelt something." But the old girl was glad to see me. In the mornin' I found that my family were entertainin' a artist from Philadelphy, who was there paintin' some startlin water-falls and mountains, and I morin suspected he had a hankerin' for my oldest dauter. "Mr. Skimmerhorn, father," sed my dauter. "Glad to see you, Sir!" I replied in a hospittle vois.  "Glad to see you." "He is an artist, father," sed my child. "A whichist?" "An artist.  A painter." "And glazier," I askt.  "Air you a painter and glazier, sir?"