Punch (89.1885)

110

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[September 5, 1885.

THE NEW ELYSIUM.

There'everybody rushed a* you with cash,

If it should hap that you'had need to be i row,

And if involved by speculation rashj
_ In any species of financial sorrow,

You only had to wave a postage-stamp
As signal of distress, as an old party,

May wave the bulky and 'Bus-hailing Gamp,

And philanthropic folk, with zeal most hearty,

Rushed to your rescue in a perfect crowd,

And placed unbounded wealth at your disposal.
" Ah ! here," my Guide exclaimed—his voice was lout'—

" Men are all friends who upon earth are foes all,;

Here Communism of the truest kind,

The confidence of man in man as brother,

(Upon his simple note of hand) you'll find,

Which shows how much they must love one anothf r! "
Yet over all there hung that smell of paste

Which struck me as a sort of nasal riddle';

And still that whisper came—in dietion chaste—
" It's all a diddle ! »

There every Drama was a " huge success,"

A " mighty masterpiece " was each new Novel";
The which to laud critics in crowds would press,

And hyperbolically gush and grovel.

The Actors all were startlers, and the Actresses

A galaxy of Venuses, whose duty
Was well fulfilled, as public benefactresses,

By free display of genius and bare beauty.

Land of Light
and Love and
Lusciousness! "
So said my Cicerone, sleekly smirking.

" Is it not heavenly ?" I replied, " Oh—yes!

But what is that strange smell in all things lurking ? "
"[Pooh! fancy," he retorted. " Pray remark

How healthy people look. What airs,"what attitudes !
You 're here as safe as Noah in his Ark.

Hygeia is not' in it' with these latitudes.

There is not any ailment you can start,

Or any misery you choose to mention,—

Too little money, too much gooseberry tart,—

But here may find its cure, if not preventic n.

Here no one needs be poor unless he wills,

And no one needs be sick unless he wishes ;

We have the mastery of all human ills,

Born of short commons or of dainty dishes."

I said, " It must be an amazing place,

A land, all men should seek with prompt velocity,

If from its precincts you contrive to chase

The ghouls Ill-Health and Impecuniosity ! "

But, over all there hung a smell of paste,

Which struck me as a sort of nasal riddle ;

And something whispered me—in diction chaste—

"It'sail a diddle!"