N Caledonia, stern and wild,
Whence scholars, statesmen, bards have sprung,
Where ev'ry little barefoot child
Correctly lisps his mother-tongue,
Like other self-made persons, he
Is surely much to be excused,
Since they have had no choice, you see,
Of the material to be used;
But when his noiseless fabric grew,
He builded better than he knew.
A democrat, whose views are frank,
To him Success alone is vital;
He deems the wealthy cabman's "rank"
As good as any other title;
To him the post of postman betters
The trade of other Men of Letters.
The relative who seeks to wed
Some nice but indigent patrician,
He urges to select instead
A coachman of assured position,
Since safety-matches, you'll agree,
Strike only on the box, says he.
At Skibo Castle, by the sea,
A splendid palace he has built,
Equipped with all the luxury
Of plush, of looking-glass, and gilt;
A style which Ruskin much enjoyed,
And christened "Early German Lloyd."
With milking-stools and ribbon'd screens
The floor is covered, well I know;
The walls are thick with tambourines,
Hand-painted many years ago;
Ah, how much taste our forbears had!
And nearly all of it was bad.
Each flow'r-embroidered boudoir suite,
Each "cosy corner" set apart,
Was modelled in the Regent Street
Emporium of suburban art.
"O Liberty!" (I quote with shame)
"The crimes committed in thy name!"
But tho' his mansion now contains
A swimming-bath, a barrel-organ,
Electric light, and even drains,
As good as those of Mr. Morgan,
There was a time when Andrew C.
Was not obsessed by l. s. d.