is 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 drown)
Make such a din that cheeks erewhile aflame
Grow white and in their fear forget their shame,
With impudence imperial, sublime,
Unmoved, the patient actor bides his time,
Till storm and counter-storm are both allayed,
Like donkeys, each by t'other one outbrayed.
When all the place is silent as a mouse
One slow, suggestive gesture clears the house!

FAMINE'S REALM

To him in whom the love of Nature has
Imperfectly supplanted the desire
And dread necessity of food, your shore,
Fair Oakland, is a terror. Over all
Your sunny level, from Tamaletown
To where the Pestuary's fragrant slime,
With dead dogs studded, bears its ailing fleet,
Broods the still menace of starvation. Bones
Of men and women bleach along the ways
And pampered vultures sleep upon the trees.
It is a land of death, and Famine there
Holds sovereignty; though some there be her sway
Who challenge, and intrenched in larders live,
Drawing their sustentation from abroad.
But woe to h