Shall I hotly oppose Vivisection? Grow warm on the Drainage of Flats? Or strive for the Better Protection Of Commons, Cathedrals, or Cats? Perhaps in orations that thrill, I For freedom (and fever) will fight-- A portion of small-pox bacilli Is simply our right!
However, the choice is a detail; Whatever the fad be about, To trade in it, wholesale and retail, To preach it, in season and out, And so to be reckoned a leader (Although there be little to lead), Yes, that’s, O incredulous reader, The way to succeed!
You find that existence is hollow, The fight for position is hard. A remedy? Yes, if you’ll follow This way, to the fad-monger’s yard: Come, here is a hobby--astride it You settle; I tighten the girth-- So-off, and good-luck to you! Ride it For all it is worth! _Anthony C. Deane._
HERE, my Amanda, let us seat ourselves; Here let us banish sorrow from our minds, By contemplating the delightful view Which stretches all around us. And what joy To be reminded thus, though far from town, Of that which glorifies our native land, Our British Trade! Gaze first at yonder wood: On every tree is tastefully inscribed In scarlet letters, “Use Niagara Soap!” Turn to those meadows (at no distant date But one uninteresting plain of grass), Each bears a dozen hoardings, striking, bright, Decked in resplendent variegated hues, Telling the reader that Excelsior Pills Cure influenza; that Brown’s Tea is best, And costs no more than one-and-six the pound; And that the purchaser, who fain would quaff Smith’s special brand of Sherry, must beware Of spurious imitations. On that hill A grand gigantic sky-sign testifies To Johnson’s Hair Renewer; and beyond You catch a glimpse of ocean, where the boats Proclaim the message, painted on their sails: “Robbinson’s Boots are Warranted to Wear!” Oh, does not such a view delight the heart? Yea, soon the time will come when every inch Of England shall display advertisements; When newly taught, the birds shall add their notes To the glad chorus, “Buy Pomponia Paste!” The nightingale shall sing, and all the glade Echo her music--“Buy Pomponia Paste!” How great a debt of thankfulness we owe To these the benefactors of our time, Who both contribute to the human race Productions to our ancestors unknown, And also glorify each rural scene By the announcements of their excellence! And how we pity those of olden time Who praised the country, but so little knew What beauty could be added to the scene By the artistic advertiser’s aid, To whom the hills, the meadows, and the woods Brought no glad message, such as we receive, Of Soaps and Sugars, Pens, Pianos, Pills!