Punch (86.1884)

204 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Apart. as, 1884,

THE TOWN,

I.—Cheapside.

I sing the Town ! Furl, Muse, your plumy wing!

’Tis not our present task to soar or flutter ;

Our ways are not by the
fg af/ fo'j Pierian Spring,

i ^ - sfl But muddy pavement and

I 1 ,:C fl PI — malodorous gutter.

1 WFIF ^ Not sylvan shades, but

[11 Ay*1 ^ 4 a j urban slums I sing ;

^TipaN-'r''' Shopdom’s cold shibboleth

your lips must utter
If you’d attend^your er-

^ ^ Nature is no road-maker.

|ni^jp if 1 ^ves oeean wastes and

w 1\, .jmjj fjr The rest she leaves to the

Ifm^i niffll nfl H I ml ;1 Who in that way has com-

§kf\ Jf \tfhX\ passed some successes.

^3^1^ uj Bumble-ruled Bull, the

§ 1 fl if J ' where, makes sad messes,

-W^<r/ j j. LJ ... And Summer’s morn or

M /ijlmij-W / Winter’s dreary dusk in

^ A London Street ’s^ un-

Buskin!

And yet what panorama of blue hills,

What shadow-flecked perspective of green forest,

Soul’s inner sympathies so strongly thrills

As does that strait-walled world of woes the sorest
And joys the wildest, that mad war of wills

And wits our City shows ? Oh, Bard, who porest
O’er little lyrics of the rose and lily,

What make you of Cheapside or Piccadilly ?

Cheapside ! The Cit’s true earthly Paradise,

The dreamer’s chill Inferno ! Here converge
An unseen world’s tumultuous energies ;

To trace the forces clashing here, which urge
The human horde of atoms, draw all eyes,

And bend all brains, which madly seem to merge
In aimless hustling, were a task immenser
Than ever set to Buckle, Mill, or Spencer.

Here is a quiet entry, placed aside

Some twenty steps from the eternal jostle
Of Trade’s tremendous and continual tide.

’Tis hushed ; the piping of a prisoned throstle
Is actually heard. With quiet glide,

And face as grave as that of an apostle,

A little man, close-shaved, tight-buttoned, snuffy,

Plods up a spiral stairway dim and stuffy.

He holds—no sceptre, not a sword. Oh no!

But swords and sceptres move at Mammon’s nodding;

His gait is shambling, and his pace is slow,

A City clerk he seems, ill-paid, pale, plodding,

But should he those close-clutched blue papers show,

Empires might feel much troublesome foreboding.

Few know to what extent the Great World dances
To tunes set by the fiddlers of finances!

A little bundle of ink-scribbled paper,

And yet who grasps them is the modem Legion;

Of a land’s destiny may be the shaper,

Bless a whole race, or blast a fertile region ;

A force not weighed by Tadpole or by Taper,

But one the world may some day lay such siege on
As—Juan did upon the hearts of ladies.

And saints fain would on the strongholds of Hades.

Belasco Brown is smooth and plump of limb,

Bo Cit who ever trod the flags of ’Change
Has whiskers more punctiliously trim :

Boreas at fullest blast could scarce derange
His natty locks. And yet the ogre grim,

Or many-pistolled pirate of the strange
Quaint sheets of youth-loved Skelt, with fierce black frown,
Hath gentler bowels than Belasco Brown.

j

A Merchant Prince ! So thrift-adoring Smiles
Might grandly dub him. Worshipful is Thrift
Sublime Self-help ! A man of many wiles,

And amply dowered with the Midas gift,

Self-made and self-assertive. Golden piles
Beward his thirty years of toil and shift,

Toil—in extracting gain from others’ slavery ;

Thrift—which, when unsuccessful, men call knavery.

Belasco came to town a smooth-faced boy,—

Some fancy cunning only hides in wrinkles,—

Men were his tools, and principles his toy ;

His voice, which fatly purrs or gaily tinkles
At will, was ever Subtlety’s decoy ;

That hazel eye, which cynically twinkles
Above a bargain, then could smile as simply
As good Sir Joshua’s cherubs plump and dimply.

Ten years of craft built up a showy trade,

Sold for a fortune to a moneyed noodle,

A slip of rank on whom Belasco played
As plays a showman on a dancing poodle ;

And then Belasco, free and unafraid,

With a well-chosen partner, one Fitzroodle,

A subtle Stock-jobber, all gems and chaff,

Became full votary of the Golden Calf.

A cult mysterious save to the initiate

As that of Moloch’s self, and thrice as cruel.

That idol of good Christians to propitiate,

How many hearts and fortunes serve as fuel!

Honesty ? Faith ? Compassion ? These might vitiate
Belasco’s chances in the desperate duel;

“They’re luxuries,” chuckled he. “ I can’t afford them.”
And most consistently the man ignored them.

Belasco sits at banquets, honoured much
By Statesmen and Toastmasters ; he ’ll preside
At thunder-throated meetings, and can touch
Hot thousands to acclaim. His nets spread wide,

His baits are many. An incarnate clutch
Is the man’s soul, as ruthlessly applied
In gathering prey to satiate want- or wish,

As the dread arms of Hugo’s Devil-fish.

Only the human octopus full fed
On widow’s flesh, on poor men’s blood and bones.

On Bourse-bred wars with their unnumbered dead,

And the tax-tortured slaves’ unheeded groans,

Is canonised by Cant! The world’s nose-led
By the sly tyrants of Shares, Stocks, and Loans,

More than by old Plantagenet or Tudor,

And will be—till the populace grows shrewder !

SUGGESTIONS FOB ALTERATIONS IN THE LUNACY LAWS.

{To the Editor, from an Expert evidently.)

Sir,—No Doctors ought to be allowed to give an opinion in questions
of sanity. They ’re not in it, at least they oughtn’t to be. The
simplest plan is this:—If A and B say that C is a lunatic, let D and
E be called in to see if A and B are sane. If D and E cannot agree
—which is a rhyme—call in a jury of specialists from F up to S,
selected from the establishments of Bethlehem, St. Luke’s, and so
forth. If I want to know whether my coat fits, I call in a tailor.
Judge Jefferies and Julius Caesar always did. Who’s the best judge
of paints 1 A painter. Who’s the best judge of Lunacy ? A Lunatic.
There you are. A jury of Lunatics should be caUed in to decide whether
So-and-So is insane or not. That’s My idea ; patented: so let’s have
no more of this, but send me to the seaside to obtain the benefit of the
doubt. Tell the Marines to forward an order for my extradition
under the Pneumatic Negotiations Act (Cap. 1, Vic. iii., and long may
she reign!), and, wheD I come out, I shall be delighted to give any
further information compatible with my position and dignity. When
1 was young I lost a lot of valuable time, and I am now trying to get
it back again by buying up old watches. Do you know any old
watchmen ? This is strictly entre nous. But, my goodness, that was
a bad case, the other day, when the late lamented Julius C.esar and
Judge Jefferies—but ’scuse me—hush !—’tis Oliver Cromwell !! If
he finds me with my candle alight under the bedclothes where I am
now writing, off goes my head, and I can’t do without it, because I ’ve
just bought a beautiful new hat,—so—no more. P.S. I send this by
the Early Bird. If I were out of this I’d call on you myself and
explain. Tremble Tyrant!

Yours affectionately,

Alias Ninety in the Shade and More
Where that Came From.

Colwell Hatchney College.