SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS.                         297

THE WANTS OF MAN.
BY JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

N1 841, a Washington correspondent of the Albany
Evening 7ournal, writing of the distinguished indi.
viduals then in Washington, says:
John Quincy Adams is one of the intellectual prodigies
whose characters distinguish eras of time. An hundred
years hence I doubt whether the American annals will
show more than two names- Benjamin Franklin and
George Washington -brighter than that of John Quincy
Adams.
"Mr. Adams is now seventy-four years old. But years
have made no impression upon his intellect. That is still
fresh and vigorous. He is, as has been so frequently stated,
always in his seat; always watching the course of business,
and always ready to shed light upon the question before
the House.
,,The Hon. Mr. Morgan, whose seat is near to that of
Mr. Adams, has obtained for me, with permission to publish
in the .7ournal, a copy of the poem which I enclose. It
was written in July, i84o, under these circumstances :-
General Ogle inf6rmed Mr. Adams that several young
ladies in his district had requested him to obtain Mr. A.'s
autograph for them.  In accordance with this request, Mr.
Adams wrote the following poem upon ' The Wants of
Man' each stanza upon a sheet of note paper. What Ameri-
can young lady would not set a precious value upon such an
autograph from this illustrious statesman?"
THE WANTS OF MAN.
"Man wants but little here below,
Nor wauts that little I   oug." t
I.
AN wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
3   'Tis not, with me exactly so;
- 9    But 'fis so in the song.
My wants are many, and, if told,
Would muster many a score;
And were each wish a mint of gold,
I still should long for more.
II.
What first I want is daily bread,
And canvas -backs, and wine;
And all the realms of nature spread
Before me, when I dine.
Four courses scarcely can provide,
My appetite to quell;
With four choice cooks from France, beside,
To dress my dinner well.
III.
What next I want, at princely cost,
Is elegant attire;
Black sable furs for winter's frost,

And silks for summer's fire,
And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace,
My bosom's front to deck,
And diamond rings my hands to grace,
And rubies for my neck.
IV.
And then I want a mansion fair,
A dwelling-house in style,
Four stories high, for wholesome air,
A massive marble pile;
With halls for banquets, and for balls,
All furnished rich and fine;
With stabled studs in fifty stalls,
And cellars for my wine.
V.
I want a garden, and a park,
My dwelling to surround,
A thousand acres (bless the mark!)
With walls encompass'd round,
Where flocks may range and herds may low,
And kids and lambkins play,
And flowers and fruit commingl'd grow
All Eden to display.

I want, when summer's foliage falls,
And autumn strips the trees,
A house, within the city's walls,
For comfort and for ease -
But here, as space is somewhat scant,
And acres rather rare,
My house in town, I only want,
To occupy-a square.
VII.
I want a steward, butler, cooks,
A coachman, footman, grooms;
I want a library of well-bound books,
And picture-garnished rooms,
Correggio's Magdalen and Night,
The Matron of the Chair;
Guido's fleet coursers in their flight,
And Claudes, at least a pair.
VIIl.
Ay! and, to stamp my form and face
Upon the solid rock,
I want, their lineaments to trace,
Carrara's milk-white block,
And let the chisel's art sublime,
By Greenough's hand, display,
Through all the range of future time,
My features to the day.