"
Yours, L.S. PRIT D'ESCALIER.
* * * * *
ACCIDENTAL JOKE.--When does an explosion do no harm? When a husband
blows his wife up--and she deserves it.
* * * * *
INFRA DIG.
Sweet, in a sordid age, it is to find
_One_ Abdiel to enticement bravely blind,
_One_ class not thrall to Plutus. But, hurroo!
England rejoice aloud, for thou hast _two_.
Sweet are the uses of--Advertisement,
To huckster souls, whose god is Cent-per-cent.
The Mart, the Forum, and--alas!--the Fane.
Self-trumpeting, in type, cannot restrain;
The leaded column and the poster smart
Seduce the Histrio; e'en the thrall of Art
Bows to the modern Baal of Pot and Paste,
That deadly foe of Modesty and Taste.
The Poet poses publicly, the Scribe
Knows how to vaunt, to logroll, and to bribe.
But there be those share not the general taint;
The pestle-wielding Sage, the silk-gowned Saint.
Redeem our fallen race from the dark shade
That would confuse Professions with mere Trade.
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