_Servant._ "MASSA FENTON AND MASSA CONKLIN HAVE SENT DIS YERE FOUNDLIN'
TO YER, TO TOOK KEER OF FOR A FEW WEEKS."

_Matron Greeley._ "O: DEAR, DEAR! AND IF IT SHOULD DIE ON MY HANDS,
WHO'S TO PAY THE FUNERAL EXPENSES?"]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN AMONG THE FAT MEN.

The "Last Gustive" attends the Annual Clam-Bake.

Empires may totter and Dienastys pass in their checks.

Politicians may steal the Goddess of Liberty poorer than JOB'S old
Maskaline Gobbler.

J. FISK, Jr., may set the heel of his bute down onto the neck of Rail
Rodes--Steambotes--ballet gals, and all that sort o' thing, and this
mundane speer will jog along, as slick as a pin, and no questions asked.

But deprive a Fat man of his little clam-bake, and it would be full as
pleasant as settin' down onto a Hornet's nest, when the Hornet family
were all to home.

That's so.

Another cargo of clams has gone to that born whence no clam returns,
onless you ram your finger down your throte, or take an Emetick.

In the words of Commodore PERRY, who is, alas! no more.

"The misfortenit bivalves meet the Fat man, and they're his'n."

Altho' I'me not much on the fat order myself, I received an invitation
to attend the grate Clam-bake. Mrs. GREEN put me up a lunch to eat on
the cars, and robin' myself in a cleen biled shirt, I sholdered my
umbreller and left Skeensboro.

The seen at Union Park was sublime with plenty of Ham fat. If all flesh
is grass, thought I, when old _tempus fugit_ comes along with his mowin'
masheen to cut this crop of fat men, I reckon he will have to hire some
of his nabor's barns, to help hold all of his hay.

Great mountins of hooman flesh were bobbin' about like kernals of corn
on a red hot stove, remindin' me of a corn field full of punkins set up
on clothes pins.

The little heads on top of the great sweating bodies, looked as if they
were sleev buttons drove in the top of the Punkins.

When a fat man laffs, his little head sinks down into his shirt collar,
and disappears in the fat, like a turtle's head when you tickle his nose
with a sharp stick.

And then to see them eat clams. I've seen men punish clams by the
bushel--by the barrel--but never did I see men shovel clams in by the
cart load before.

"Gee-whitaker," said I, to a Reporter of a N.Y. Journal, "them critters
must have a dredful elastic stomack."

"Yes," said he, "when Fat-men get clam hungry, the sea banks has to give
up he