FULTON taps TILTON for wine, TILTON taps FULTON for beer; FULTON gets a _tilt,_ because TILTON finds him full. In case of a trial, the verdict would probably be, that a full FULTON ran _full tilt_ against a full TILTON. * * * * * "AURI SACRA FAMES." I saw a parson at his desk, Silk-gowned and linen-ruffled; The organ ceased--he rose to preach, And smirked, and mouthed, and snuffled; He talked of gold, and called it dross, And prophesied confusion To all who loved it--told them that Their trust was all delusion. 'Twas filthy lucre, dust and dirt, The root of every evil; And its pursuit,--too strongly urged,-- Would lead straight to the Devil. Midst other wicked (Scripture) rogues, He talked of ANANIAS,-- He and his wife SAPPHIRA were The wickedest of liars. He showed us clearly, from their fate, The sin of overreaching, And making small the salaries Of those who do the preaching. And when his half-hour's work was done, The miserable sinners Rolled home in easy carriages To Aldermanic dinners; And as I plodded home on foot, I thought it was all gammon, To build a temple to the LORD Of curses against Mammon. The sin of gold is its abuse, And not its mere possession,-- Wine may turn vinegar, and gold May turn men to transgression. Then tell the truth, O men of GOD! Nor scorn the loaves and fishes, Lest we should take you at your word, And leave you empty dishes! * * * * * CHEERFUL PHILOSOPHY. We remember a writer who merited more notice than he actually received, for his well-considered thoughts on the behavior of Mourners,--whose conduct, as a general thing, is certainly open to criticism. It is all well enough--"due to decency," in fact--to wear "mourning," and now and then look grave; but "this idea of closing your house," observed our philosopher, "and silencing your piano, and abstaining from your customary amusements and habits _for months_ [only think of it!], because some one has departed from misery to happiness, is not alone supremely ridiculous [though _that_ is bad enough], but it is sublimely preposterous and [what is yet more] disgraceful to the last degree of shame." Precisely; just what we have always said, whether we believed it or not. It is what any feeling man _would_ say. The fact is, people sacrifice too much to their friends. Especially after the friends are dead. "The cream of the joke is," as our lively essayist remarks, "that the dead do not dream of your sufferings on their account." And suppose they did: what _is_ a friend, any way? Why, something you would do well to rid yourself of as soon as possible. There is scarcely anything mean, sordid, contemptible, and disgusting, that an average friend won't do without winking.