Black Beetles in Amber

So, Hall McAllister, you'll not be warned—

My protest slighted, admonition scorned!

To save your scoundrel client from a cell

As loth to swallow him as he to swell

Its sum of meals insurgent (it decries

All wars intestinal with meats that rise)

You turn your scurril tongue against the press

And damn the agency you ought to bless.

Had not the press with all its hundred eyes

Discerned the wolf beneath the sheep's disguise

And raised the cry upon him, he to-day

Would lack your company, and you would lack his pay.

Talk not of "hire" and consciences for sale—

You whose profession 'tis to threaten, rail,

Calumniate and libel at the will

Of any villain who can pay the bill—

You whose most honest dollars all were got

By saying for a fee "the thing that's not!"

To you 'tis one, to challenge or defend;

Clients are means, their money is an end.

In my profession sometimes, as in yours

Always, a payment large enough secures

A mercenary service to defend

The guilty or the innocent to rend.

But mark the difference, nor think it slight:

We do not hold it proper, just and right;

Of selfish lies a little still we shame

And give our villainies another name.

Hypocrisy's an ugly vice, no doubt,

But blushing sinners can't get on without.

Happy the lawyer!—at his favored hands

Nor truth nor decency the world demands.

Secure in his immunity from shame,

His cheek ne'er kindles with the tell-tale flame.

His brains for sale, morality for hire,

In every land and century a licensed liar!

No doubt, McAllister, you can explain

How honorable 'tis to lie for gain,

Provided only that the jury's made

To understand that lying is your trade.

A hundred thousand volumes, broad and flat,

(The Bible not included) proving that,

Have been put forth, though still the doubt remains

If God has read them with befitting pains.

No Morrow could get justice, you'll declare,

If none who knew him foul affirmed him fair.

Ingenious man! how easy 'tis to raise

An argument to justify the course that pays!

I grant you, if you like, that men may need

The services performed for crime by greed,—

Grant that the perfect welfare of the State

Requires the aid of those who in debate

As mercenaries lost in early youth

The fine distinction between lie and truth—

Who cheat in argument and set a snare

To take the feet of Justice unaware—

Who serve with livelier zeal when rogues assist

With perjury, embracery (the list

Is long to quote) than when an honest soul,

Scorning to plot, conspire, intrigue, cajole,

Reminds them (their astonishment how great!)

He'd rather suffer wrong than perpetrate.

I grant, in short, 'tis better all around

That ambidextrous consciences abound

In courts of law to do the dirty work

That self-respecting scavengers would shirk.

What then? Who serves however clean a plan

By doing dirty work, he is a dirty man!