venture in this direction. America, thanks to German singing societies and the like, is more musical to-day than ever; but the campaign clubs are overhauling old songs, and look in vain, in their repertoires, for something specially appropriate to the day. The "New York Herald" lately gave a full page of election ballads, as specimens of what both parties have thus far produced; but there was not one good popular song in the whole collection. Some were filled with general patriotic aspiration, others were mere metrical muck and mire, of the sort which the worst partisan papers daily fling in prose. The influence of the popular song is almost incredible. With a good song, a doubtful election can be carried. Harrison was fairly sung into the White House. The refrain "We'll sing a Harrison song by night and beat his foes by day," expressed the ordinary employment of the Whigs of that day during the whole campaign. A stout book of campaign songs was published, in the times of "Tippecanoe and Tyler too;" and that "Matty Van" was a "Used-up man," could be heard from every street corner and village shop. "Song charms the sense." The influence of the Berangers of any nation on its national destiny has never been overestimated. The famous saying "Let me write the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes its laws"—words attributed to many authors, and probably uttered in that exact form by none—contain a profound philosophic truth. It was Andrew Fletcher, of Saltoun, who, according to Bartlett, first brought out the idea, in his "Letter to the Marquis of Montrose," declaring, "I know a very wise man that believed that, if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation." From the times of Tyrtæus to our own, the power of song in stirring up popular emotion has been unquestionable. The present dearth of stirring lyrics is attributable, doubtless, to the fact that the war called all our "poets to the front," and produced a splendid outburst of minstrelsy. By contrast, the political occasion does not so stir the muses. But that gives all the more chance for the coming balladist.
— "It is unseasonable and unwholesome in all months that have not an R in their name to eat an oyster." So says the old volume, published in 1599, whose instructions were probably derived from centuries of tradition, as indeed they have faithfully descended in the same form to the present day. The result is comical. Exactly to the day, on the 1st of September, the oyster, which had disappeared from hotel and restaurant bills of fare four months before, resumed its wonted place, in all its wonted charms of variety, from roast to broil. What is still more amusing, on the 30th of April, an enormous quantity of oysters was done to death, while on the 1st of May the bivalves had fallen into almost universal disgrace—a man was stared at who essayed them. It may be doubted whether there is another example so vivid of the practical power, through centuries, of a popular proverb. The difference of a day in the healthfulness of this food is of course nothing; but whoever doubts the restraining efficacy of the proverb needs only to get statistics, at wholesale or retail, of the consumption of oysters on the 30th of April, as compared with that of the 1st of May, and on the 31st of August, as compared with that of the 1st of September.
— It is dimly rumored that a man has been discovered in one of the assessor's districts in New York, who has a watch that he values at more than $100, and on which accordingly he pays a $2 tax. Should this prove true, it need hardly be suggested to the new museum in New York that it would be well to secure this eccentric person forthwith.
— It is noteworthy how, in a hot political campaign, the editors draw forth from the armory where they have been stored, all the terrific artillery of polysyllables, and, choosing the most formidable words in the dictionary, discharge them full against the enemy. "Tergiversation" is one of these ponderous missiles which always turn up before election, especially in the rural press. Ordinarily, there is little use for such a tearing double-headed chain-
