Mike Walsh

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MIKE WALSH.

So Mike Walsh is dead—found yesterday at day-light, by a policeman, on the sidewalk at the bottom of a stoop, with his neck broken!¹ A horrible end to one whose career for twenty years has been such a strange mixture of ups and downs. A man of original talent, rough, full of passionate impulses, commencing with the noblest intentions,quite unpurchaseable and unterrified, when he began—fighting the old fogies of the Democratic party in New York years ago—cutting and slashing right and left—tenacious of his friends, and held-to by them with deathless tenacity—such are some of the points mentionable of Mike Walsh.

We saw Mike not more than five or six days ago, standing talking with some one in Broadway; and he certainly seemed better in person, health, complexion, dress, &c., than we have seen him in many years. We fancied at the time that he might yet have before him something of that "future" which, we know, he fondly counted on, in his youthful years.

Mike's life affords a profitable lesson of the course, influences, and tendencies of the vortex of New York city politics—when one gets the taste of their maddening excitement, and becomes a part of them. We should say that they are too much for most men who take a part in them—they require a far more robust race, both in physique and mentality, than is afforded by the streams of young lawyers, students, and the graduates of primary conventions, bunk-rooms, and "hotels," who at present supply most of the material of the subjects for party management and political station.

Mike had more talent than the average of those who go into politics—but he lacked balance, caution,—the ship often seemed devoid of both ballast and rudder.

What a career! A New York b'oy—up to all the smartness and deviltry of the east side of the town—fond of his friends, and they idolizing him—soon a member of Democratic Ward Conventions—working his way into Tammany—finding the principalities and powers determined on spilling his blood—then as publisher of "The Subterranean", indicted for libel—sent to Blackwell's island—when his time was out, received back in New York with a popular ovation—afterwards a member of the State Legislature—then a member of Congress—much liked at Washington—still pretty quarrelsome—is defeated by Kelly in his second run²—goes to Europe—travels among the dukes, royalties, and flunkeys, remaining just the same Mike as ever—on his return hither entrusted, by the President, with confidential Missions in Mexico, and, we believe, in South America;—and here with such as abrupt pulling up, after such a chequered life, comes the be-all and the end-all of poor Mike!

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