San Andreas independent., 1858-09-11

WE Know You, SIR-WE Know You.-Yes
sir we know you well. We have too often
crossed your trail easily to forget you. Your
image is as clearly pencilled upon the tablets
of our memory beauty is pencilled upon the
lovelest rosebud We know you, sir, as Da-
vid knew his lyre-as Solomon knew his mis-
tresses-as Adam knew his nakedness. We
know you and we love you as the devil loves
holy water. You are by profession, a sneak
by practice, slanderer-by nature COM
pound of both. You are at once the most
plausible and the most treacherous--the most
silken in voice-the most vile IN purpose-oi
created beings. You are worse than a thieI,
for we cannot lock you up-you are more con-
temptible than bare-faced liar, for you exag-
gerate and pervert the truth-you are more
dangerous than a common murderer, for you
generate the most deadly of posons and inoc-
ulate society with it. Your face is fair-your
form is comely-your hair is glossy fine-your
forehead is nwrinkled-your nose is straight
your mouth is small-your teeth are white
and regular-your fingers are tender and un-
soled-your waist is narrow-your calves are
plump-your feet are delicate. Your dress is
perfect-your broadcloth shines-your rings
glitter-your boots are polished-your hat is
brushed How bright, how pleasant, how ele-
CANT is your appearance. You bloom like a
flower-you sing like bird-you charm like
the serpent. No upheaving OF the elements
within ever destroys your equanimity-no hot
blood ever escapes from your heart and rushes
to your brain-nor gentle thought nor soft
emotion, nor a raging passion ever speaks
through your sleepy eyes. You are man of
marvellous propriety-a man to be noticed
to be talked about-to be complimented-to
be respected. You are a wonderously symme-
trical vessel !" fair and pleasing to look up
on picture as innocent in appearance as
one of Rafael angels. What a pity it is that
we cannot turn you inside out-that we cam
not hang your heart upon pole and show
the big black spots with which it is blotched
that we cannot follow the sinuosities of your
brain and point our finger at the traces of
green slime with which it is be-fouled-that
we cannot exhibit the thickness and yellow
ness of your blood to every man and woman
you know-to every victim you have immesh-
ed. What pity it is that your soul, if you
have one, is impalpable-that it cannot be
daguerreotyped upon canvass, or upon paper,
and all its elements of corruption, its vice, its
deceit, its utter unscruplousness, exposed to
the public gaze. What pity it is that the
world is made up of so large proportion of
"honest FOOLS" who, in their ignorance, fur
nish you with the materials, which you
range in your distorted mind and cement with
your own excretions-which you ingeniously
frame into libels and slanders of every hue and
shade TO injure your dearest friend-your
brother-the wife of your bosom-the guar
dian of your youth. How much is to be de-
plored that you cannot be held up before the
world, in all your naked deformity, as liar
pilferer of reputation-a violator of conf
dence-a betrayer of trust--a pryer into Sc
crets--a perverter of truths-a moral contor-
tionist-an inhuman anomaly-an unblushing
thief, living upon the character which you
have stolen from others But language fails
it is useess-it is dumb when it seeks to
hold the mirror up to your moral nature
The vilest forms of expression that were ever
extracted from human indecency and obsceni-
ty are so pure that they would illustrate you
as an angel compared with what you are
You are so low, so utterly depraved, so stepped
in villainy, so dead to honor, SO facile and so
unfinching in your hypocrisy that you are
absolutely indescribable. You are outwardly
so pure that father-confessor might swear
that you were incapable of sin. You are in
wardly so vile-such a seething mass of vii
lainy-that the pen of Dante could not do
you justice. You are, in a word, which ex-
hausts our vocabulary of epithets-a profess
sional sldnderer! We dismiss you with the
fervent hope that soon, very soon, you may go
sDown to the dust, where thou rottst away,
Een worms may perish on thy poisonous clay"
IS. r. Spirit Of the Times