" I 'd rather have ten dollars earned with 

 my oaten flute than a hundred got by 

 bookkeeping." In a word, the ambition 

 of our singer is 



Signatum praesente nota producere nummum. 



Money truly is the root of all evil. What 

 further argument against the old saying, 

 when we even find the Muses singing and 

 dancing to the clink of coins, and measur- 

 ing their smiles by the length of a purse? 



Cur Berecyntiae 

 Cessant flamina tibiae ? 



Cur pendet tacita fistula cum lyra? 



Oh, poetry is a drug in the market ; there 

 is no money in producing it; that is the 

 answer, Mr. Flaccus. A stale joke sells 

 for more than an original poem. The 

 best ode that you ever wrote, sir, would not 

 to-day bring enough money to buy you a 

 pair of trousers. If you doubt my word, 

 try the experiment ; offer an *'Ad Chloen " 

 or an "Ad Melpomenen " for the price of 

 a toga, and then, after you 've been laughed 

 out of the office, my dear Horace, try and 

 172 



