potent charm is
  In grubbing muck-rake Money on the Mart,
    Or squandering it on Turf, or Gambling Table. 
  Squabbling o’er the Morality of Art,
    Or fighting o’er the Genesis of Fable. 
  You’ll find him—­as a Frank—­in comic rage,
    Mouthing mad rant, fighting preposterous duels,
  Scattering ordures o’er Romance’s page,
    And decking a swine’s snout with Style’s choice jewels. 
  You’ll see him—­as a Teuton—­trebly taxed,
    Mooning ’midst metaphysical supposes;
  Twirling a huge moustache, superbly waxed,
    And taking pride in slitting comrades’ noses. 
  You’ll meet him—­as a Muscovite—­dead set
    On making civic life a sombre Hades,
  Shaking a knife with tyrant’s blood red-wet,
    Or—­aping “Paris-goods” in art, dress, ladies. 
  You’ll spy him—­as a Yankee—­gassing loud
    About his pride, and yet chin-deep in snobbery;
  Leaving State matters to corruption’s crowd,
    And justifying (literary) robbery. 
  Whilst as a Briton!  Bless us, ’twould take time
    To picture Homo in his guise Britannic. 
  Here he is making a fine art of crime,
    There he is fussing in a Puritan panic;
  Here with MCMUCK he plays the prurient spy,
    And there with OSCAR in a paroxysm
  Of puerile paradox spreads to Cultchaw’s eye
    The fopperies of “Artistic Hedonism”! 
  Oh, EVANS, noting Man (not Tertiary)
    In Church or State, the Studio or the Tavern,
  One wonders—­not was he contemporary
    With Danish Kjoekkenmoeddings or Kent’s Cavern,—­
  No, thinking of his work with Swords, Tongues, Pens,
    Of most of which Wisdom would make a clearance,
  One wonders whether Homo Sapiens
    Has really truly yet made his appearance!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  COLLAPSE OF “CORNER MEN.”

(As understood by Our Christy Minstrel Artist in Black and White.)

[Mr. ——­ was a prominent operator on the Market, in connection with an attempted great “Cotton Corner.” ...  The Corner ended in a collapse.]]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

In consequence of the taking in or taking out of Nobodies’ luggage, the train had been considerably delayed, and this delay had been protracted by the thirsty condition of the panting and enfeebled engine.  Stopping to water the horses in the olden days took much less time, I should imagine, than stopping to supply the engine with water in our own day.  Be this as it may, the stoppages had already been considerable, and the Baron was ruminating on the best method of passing his valuable time for the next two hours, when it occurred to him that in his bag he had been carrying about for some time past three books, in the hope that there might occur some opportunity, of which the Baron could avail himself, to peruse these works, and remark upon them for the benefit