THE HEIGHT OF IMPROVEMENT.
Where will improvement stop?
Oh! why will tradesmen soar
Wildly from floor to floor,
Instead of sticking to the shop?
Glass
Never, till now, was brought to such a pass.
If Smith should pull his shop-front down,
Straightway at demolition's work goes neighbour Brown.
Some facts disclosed of late
Have opened people's eyes a little,
Showing that glass concerns are sometimes brittle,
And houses may be dished that put their strength in plate.
It would be well enough if all were fair,
And, like the windows, quite upon the square;
But 'tis not so,
Because we know
Appearances are seldom worth a pin;
Windows and doors immense
Are often a pretence
For letting people in.
Such large concerns
Have sometimes small returns;
And when into a scrape they fall,
The creditors look black,
And want their money back,
Or else their goods, of which there's no return at all.
'Tis wonderful, but true,
People are caught by the delusion;
'Tis odd that glass in such profusion
Is not at once seen through.
How vain to cut a temporary dash,
If, after all,
The windows fall,
With a tremendous smash;
But still they find a falling off in gains,
Who take less panes.
In walking down a London street,
Our gaze what strange announcements meet!
One would suppose,
From many a placard, when you've read it,
That bankruptcy were quite a credit:
And so it is for what one knows
"A Bankrupt's Stock!—look here!
The premises we needs must clear!"
And this is often true;
For clear the premises they do.
And when to carry all before them they're inclined,
They sometimes take good care there's nothing left behind
That assignees can take,
A dividend to make.
And when their books are brought
Before the Court,
Their ledgers to explain
Would puzzle one professing leger-demain.
If shop enlargement should proceed
Beyond its present height,
Some new invention we shall need
For shutting up at night.
The mania did begin
In building palaces for selling gin;
But the infection's regularly caught
By tradesmen now of every sort:
We soon shall see
Tripe from gilt columns hung,
Or sausages festooned and slung
From cornices of richest filigree;
Liver, illumined by the strongest lights,
Will tempt the passer-by at nights;
In mirrors, whose reflection
Is skilfully on all sides thrown.
For general inspection
Hap'orths of cats' meat will be shown.
But here we needs must stop,
Quite beaten in the race;
With the extravagances of the shop
Imagination can't keep pace!
