I have in my mind a parasitical vampire in human form who had a friend moving in political circles where railroad passes where supposed to be gifts of friendship. This was before the anti-free pass law came into effect. The parasite begged his friend to secure a pass for him, and it was secured and given to him, midst a shower of profound thanks and pledges of eternal gratefulness. The pass was used to a gluttonous extent, and renewed at its expiration, and again accepted with many obsequious bows and renewed pledges of everlasting friendship. A few years ago the friend died, and his relatives expected words of kindly remembrance from the parasite. Even the dead man’s enemies spoke kindly of him after death had silenced his tongue and put the eternal chill upon his warm heart. It is one feature of our higher civilization to always speak well of the dead—to overlook the dead man’s faults and remember only his good qualities. To spurn the dead body of one’s fellow man is considered cowardly, dastardly and inhuman. But when a supposed friend turns on the body of one whom he made a victim of his hypocrisy and deceit while living, and stings the dead with the venom of a treacherous viper, the world looks on and blushes for very shame. This was the case with the parasite I have referred to. No sooner had the breath left the body of the man who had so often befriended him, than he began circulating stories that told how corrupt his dead friend had always been during life. Did the public applaud the ungrateful parasite? Did he gain favor from even the dead man’s most bitter enemies? Far from it! Those who remembered how the fawning sycophant had groveled at the feet of the dead man for the favors so lavishly bestowed while life lasted, had only feelings of contempt for the cowardly traducer of a dead friend’s character. The world said: “If the dead man was as bad and corrupt as this false friend paints him, why did he wait until after death has sealed his tongue with the lock of eternal silence? Why did he court the dead man’s society as long as there was a favor within reach? Was it not his sacred duty to reform the corrupt man, instead of sharing gluttonously all the good things with him, with the greed of a vampire sucking the life’s blood from a sleeping child?” The story he now tells of his dead friend is but the flapping wings of the vampire fanning his new victims to sleep while he sucks favors from the veins of their unsuspecting generosity. Once a parasite, always a parasite, and the attempt to build a character out of abuse heaped upon the memory of a dead friend, is but wasted energy. The public is a pretty good judge of humanity, and the human vampire can not paint his wings and pass for a dove, no odds how saint-like he may “coo” to the other birds of prey.