not our young, at least our pigs may claim Exemption from the spectacle of shame! Are you not he who lately out of shape Blew a brass trumpet to denounce the grape?—   Who led the brave teetotalers afield And slew your leader underneath your shield?—   Swore that no man should drink unless he flung Himself across your body at the bung? Who vowed if you'd the power you would fine The Son of God for making water wine? All trails to odium you tread and boast, Yourself enamored of the dirtiest most. One day to be a miser you aspire, The next to wallow drunken in the mire; The third, lo! you're a meritorious liar![C]   Pray, in the catalogue of all your graces, Have theft and cowardice no honored places? Yield thee, great Satan—here's a rival name With all thy vices and but half thy shame! Quick to the letter of the precept, quick To the example of the elder Nick; With as great talent as was e'er applied To fool a teacher and to fog a guide; With slack allegiance and boundless greed, To paunch the profit of a traitor deed, He aims to make thy glory all his own, And crowd his master from the infernal throne! 

   [Footnote A: We are not writing this paragraph for any other purpose than to protest against this never ending cant, affectation, and hypocrisy about money. It is one of the best things in this world—better than religion, or good birth, or learning, or good manners.—The Argonaut.]    [Footnote B: Now, it just occurs to us that some of our temperance friends will take issue with us, and say that this is bad doctrine, and that it is ungentlemanly to get drunk under any circumstances or under any possible conditions. We do not think so.—The same.]    [Footnote C: The man or woman who, for the sake of benefiting others, protecting them in their lives, property, or reputation, sparing their feelings, contributing to their enjoyment, or increasing their pleasures, will tell a lie, deserves to be rewarded.—The same.] 

 

 AN ACTOR

   Some one ('tis hardly new) has oddly said The color of a trumpet's blare is red; And Joseph Emmett thinks the crimson shame On woman's cheek a trumpet-note of fame. The more the red storm rises round her nose—   The more her eyes averted seek her toes, He fancies all the louder he can hear The tube resounding in his spacious ear, And, all his varied talents to exert, Darkens his dullness to display his dirt. And when the gallery's indecent crowd, And gentlemen below, with hisses loud, In hot contention (these his art to crown, And those his naked nastiness to 

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