Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1874-01-01
The Age of AdulteratiOn.

This nineteenth century of ours will
hereafter be surely known as the cage
of adulteration. Gold, brass, iron,
having each reigned over the world.
now seems to have arrived the cycle OF
shoddy. From birth to death our fate
is to be the helpless victims of veneer,
the doomed martyrs to the Juggernaut
of adulteration. On entering this world
of simulacra, we are speedily weaned
upon a diet of typhoid-watered milk,
while our infantine disorders are at
tackled with spurious drugs, infinitely
diluted. Advancing in age, our tender
chests are protected with flannel, half
cotton, our little limbs clad in shoddy
cloth. our chilly feet encased in brown
paper-soled boots, and our cherry ripe
noses operated on with silk handker-
chiefs, heavy with stiffening. Having
survived these crucial tests of constitu-
ton, we place an eight carat gold we'd
ding ring ON a dainty finger, and amidst
sham tears, and equally sham rejoiclngs,
we travel off by that greatest of all
make-believes, an express train, IN
search of an imaginary happiness.
Settling down to housekeeping, we re-
fresh ourselves each morning with a
decoction of Maloo mixture and steel
filings, sweetened with sand, and we
assuage appetite with alumed bread,
larded butter, fresh eggs from Kan-
tschatka, and OK tongues not unac-
uuainted with omnibus life, while on
our return home in the evening, we PAL
take of Dartmoor mutton from North
amptonshire, sanctify it with bottle OF
petroleum champagne and some Ham,
burg sherry, and top off with Swiss
cheese from Ayrshire and glass of port
from any hedge. Then, determined OH
enjoyment, we kick off our brown paper
boots, light delicious Houndsditch
Havana, loll back in an armchair COW
cred with imitation morocco, and stuffed
with ash-pit pickings, warm. our shoddy-
covered legs at brisk slate fire, mix a
tumbler of methylated spirits called
whisky, and conscientiously subscribe a
guinea to a local charity, because our
neighbor has only given pound. Next
day we are i'll the doctor, shamming Ill
terest in our case, writes prescription
in sham Latin; the chemist dispenses
it in diluted drugs the family lawyer,
pretending pity, verbosely writes our
will in sham English phraseology to In
crease his charges and just when our
sham gold repeater, warranted to last
or fifty years, stops, we stop too, and end
with these shams of life. Then amidst
the gloomy faces of expectant heirs, our
Acknowledgement coffin, studded
with lacquered nails, is borne away by
dyed horses proudly bearing sham
ostrich plumes, false names and ficti
tious tails, while hired mourners lengthen
out their funeral faces at so much pei
inch, and cheat at that. Last of all we
are duly covered in with patent stone,
warranted not to dissolve, and our
epitaph pretends that our friends are
inconsolable for their loss. Altogether,
from cradle to grave, we have been sur
rounded by delusions, fictions and por-
teatous authorizations, until the real
true and sterling have at last seemed
to become mere shams, wretched veneers
to cover worthless trash. In which,
perhaps, our clerical friends may find the
reason for that want of faith, of which
they accuse the existing generation
Land and Water.