othing,
apparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is
merely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends;
for tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship,
obligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an
effective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an
adroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association
with greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch
living hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if
they had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the
pawn-broker! "Dead men tell no tales," says the proverb. One wishes they
could! We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and newspaper
literature; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living.

But we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridicule, no indignation
seems to touch it. People must make the best they can of their glass
houses; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars.

The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism.

The old-clothes business has never been considered respectable. It is
supposed to begin and to end with cheating; it deals with very dirty
things. It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the
men who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their
heads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them,
down--or up?--to the bigger wretches who advertise that "ladies and
gentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by
calling at No. so and so, on such a street," they are all alike odious and
despicable.

We wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the
business. We think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on
their very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear it said of a sorry
sneak, "He looks like an old-clothes dealer."

But what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in journalism? By the
very name we have defined, described them, and pointed them out. If only
we could make the name such a badge of disgrace that every member of the
fraternity should forthwith betake him or herself to some sort of honest
labor!

These are they who crowd the columns of our daily newspapers with the
dreary, monotonous, worthless, scandalous tales of what other men and
women did, are doing, or will do, said,