EXCELSIOR.
The price of meat was rising fast,
As to his daily duty passed
A toiler who, with bitter laugh,
Had read upon his Telegraph,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; because it bore
A costlier hat than e'er before:
His feet were sadder; he'd to pay
For boots that quickly wore away,
Excelsior!
In oyster shops he saw the shells
Wherein the luscious bivalve dwells,
But had no chance of shelling out,
And murmured, as he dreamt of stout,
Excelsior!
"Try this rump-steak!" the butcher said;
"At Tillyfour the ox was bred;
Juicy it is, M'Combie's pride,
And only one-and-six." He sighed—
Excelsior!
"Stay!" cried a maiden of the bar,
"A shilling buys a good cigar—
Ten more some icy dry champagne."
He shook his head and cried again,
Excelsior!
"Take comfort," said a Hebrew mild;
"I love to help a Christian child.
My moderate terms are cent. per cent.
'Twas sixty once," he thought, and went—
Excelsior!
At dead of night that wayward youth,
So saddened by the eternal truth,
Was by a pious peeler found,
Who kindly raised him from the ground,
Excelsior!
He uttered words that can't be told,
Said eating game was eating gold,
Showered maledictions on the souls
Of those who raise the price of coals—
Excelsior!
When morning shone upon the town,
He had to pay five shillings down,
And blessed the rulers of the skies
The price of Justice does not rise,
Excelsior!
MORTIMER COLLINS.
The London Magazine, February, 1876.