"The moment she uttered these last words," says the Honest Abe, "the moment she uttered these words, my friend Podger, who had been standing near the door, the very picture of misery, suddenly gave a start, brightened up with a look of intense joy, beckoned the clergyman to follow him into the kitchen, and fairly danced down stairs. In fact, the good minister found him dancing about the kitchen like one possessed, and says he: "'Mr. Podger! Job Podger! I am shocked. What can you mean by such conduct?' "My friend Podger caught him around the neck, and says he: "'She's going to get well--she's going to get well! I knew she wouldn't go and leave her poor old silly Job in that way. Oh, an't I a happy old fool, though!' "The clergyman stepped back in alarm, and says he: "'Are you mad, sir? How do you know your wife will get well?' "Poor Podger looked upon the parson with a face that fairly beamed, and says he: 'How do I _know_ it? Why, didn't you hear her yourself? _She's commenced to call me names!_'" Here the Honest Abe smiled abstractedly out of the window, and says he: "She did get well, too, and lived to suffer often again for Podger's sake: You see," says the Honest Abe, turning suddenly upon the political chap, as though he had not seen him before,--"you see, Mrs. Podger had been so much in the habit of suffering everything for my friend Podger's sake, that when she spoke of suffering even for the noblest cause, he naturally thought she was only calling names. And that's the way," says the Honest Abe, cheerfully, "that's the way with your Democratic Organization. It has been so long in the habit of sacrificing everything for the sake of the sunny South and Party, that when it talks of sacrificing both for the sake of the holy cause of Union, it seems to me as though it is only calling names!" Immediately upon the termination of this wholesome domestic tale, the political chap sprang from his seat, smiled feebly at the ceiling for a minute, crammed his hat down over his eyes, and fled greatly demoralized. The New Year, my boy, dawns blithely upon our distracted country as accurately predicted by the Tribune Almanac; and having given much deep thought to the matter, I am impressed with the conviction that the first of January is indeed the commencement of the year. There is something solemn in the idea; it is the period when our tailors send in their little bills, and when fresh thoughts of the negro race steal upon our minds. How many New Years have arrived only to find the unoffending American, of African descent, a hopeless bondman, toiling in hopeless servitude, and wearing coarse underclothing! Occasionally, my boy, he would wear a large seal ring, but it was always brass; and now and then he would exhibit a large breastpin, but it was always galvanized. When I see my fellow-men here wearing much jewelry, I think of the unoffending negro, and say to myself, "from the same shop, by all that's bogus!"