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."