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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013531409 
 
THE AGE OF STUCCO 
 
 INVOCATION TO MY PIPE. 
 
THE AGE OF STUCCO. 
 
 IN THREE CANTOS. 
 
 INVOCATION TO MY PIPE. 
 
 By henry O'NEIL, A.R.A. 
 
 LONDON : 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1871. 
 
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 PROLOGUE. 
 
 TO ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 ■pvEAR TROLLOPE,— In this busy world, 
 
 Where — nolens volcns — man is hurled, 
 To pass his meted span of life 
 In pain or pleasure, peace or strife, 
 'Tis wisdom to secure a place 
 (As round and square holes fill the space) 
 Which fits the body to a T 
 (On this point even fools agree). 
 And yet — though making no pretence 
 To superfluity of sense ; 
 Nor being, spite of critics' croak, 
 A greater fool than other folk — 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 I cannot say that I have found 
 
 On earth my proper bit of ground. 
 
 For nature, with a want of care, 
 
 Has made me neither round, nor square, 
 
 Nor oval, rhomboid or isoceles. 
 
 But multiform, as any fossil is. 
 
 ^nd thus I cannot fill a spot, 
 
 / 
 
 ' So tightly, that there entereth not 
 
 iSome base intruder, — flea or scorpion, — 
 
 Which wakes a spirit, antimorphean. 
 
 And drives me off to other places, — 
 
 With like results. And this my case is :- 
 
 At times, I paint ; at times, I write ; 
 
 As either Muse appears in sight. 
 
 Whom equally I reverence. 
 
 In bigotry, if not good sense. 
 
 " Currente calamo," I write, 
 
 And what comes uppermost indite 
 
Prologue. 
 
 With pen, or pencil, at the moment ; 
 'And though small profit or endowment 
 Proceeds from such a hasty measure, 
 To me, at least, it gives some pleasure. 
 What though my fate be that of fools, 
 Who, grasping, sit betwixt two stools ! 
 I'll take my chance of scars or bruises 
 And write, or paint, as fancy chooses. 
 At present — not despising Art — 
 A sudden fancy stirs my heart 
 To drop the pencil for the pen. 
 It may be — nine times out of ten — 
 That very selfsame fancy leads 
 To bad, because imperfect, deeds. 
 Yet, at the very worst, we gain 
 This comfort — it relieves the brain 
 Of lumber ; and a space we find 
 For chattels of a better kind. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Instinct or reason will decide 
 
 Man's thought, and all his actions guide. 
 
 Reason, more often, wins the fight ; 
 
 But instinct, now and then, is right. 
 
 I frankly own that I am swayed, 
 
 At present, by the latter jade ; 
 
 But live in hope — not over strong — 
 
 She may not lead me wholly wrong. 
 
 I know — through Life, unscarred, to keep- 
 
 'Tis well to look before we leap ; 
 
 But if to pierce the void we sigh. 
 
 Better to fail, than Tiot to try. 
 
 Prudence is good, but better still 
 
 The simple honesty of will ; 
 
 Over its faults e'en justice slurs. 
 
 But who forgives when prudence errs ? 
 
 Save they, who in their wisdom rule, 
 
 " 'Tis better to be knave than fool." 
 
Prologue. • 
 
 From such base wisdom may I be, 
 In thought and action, ever free ; 
 A fool's position I would brave, 
 But scorn the profit of a knave. 
 So, if on tender toes I tread, 
 'Tis not from want of heart, but head. 
 I love my brethren — though, to make 
 That love apparent, I may take 
 Those means which, in most cases, tend 
 To bring about a different end. 
 But though some few are not amused, 
 To hear their kind, in lump, abused, — 
 A faculty most men possess. 
 Which, though it be unconsciousness 
 Of self, amongst the few is yet, — 
 To men who know themselves, — a whet 
 To stir them to display how nice. 
 Their love of virtue— hate of vice. 
 a 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 On other heads such men take care 
 To fit the cap themselves should wear ; 
 And pointing at poor innocence, 
 In lieu of kicks get praise and pence. 
 But, reader, keep these facts in sight, — 
 My bark is fiercer than my bite ; 
 And he who strives to tell the truth, 
 To some his speech must seem uncouth. 
 What truth, indeed, would mortals call 
 A truth, which sounds as sweet to all ? 
 
 Now, without any further proem. 
 To you I dedicate my poem. 
 Trust me, though you the gift resent, 
 'Tis kindly, if not wisely, meant. 
 
THE AGE OF STUCCO. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ^"^ OME mighty poets, in the days of old, 
 
 *^ — ^ Vaunted the " age of silver" and of " gold ; ' 
 
 Others, again, have praised the " age of iron ; " 
 
 And that of "bronze " was versified by Byron. 
 
 Sung are the classic and barbaric ages ; 
 
 Whilst that of chivalry fills many pages, 
 
 Revealing to this order-loving nation 
 
 How fighting was man's noblest occupation. 
 
 For woman's smile, a knight would fell a knight— 
 
 Or get knocked over,— and it served him right. 
 
8 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Then, to romance, a dubious fame belongs, 
 When wandering minstrels chanted puling songs 
 From night to morning — in, or out, of season — 
 'And " courts of love " usurped the throne of 
 
 reason. 
 We've had an age of Reformation. Still 
 That kind of work goes on for good or ill. 
 There was an age called " dark," and then came 
 
 light. 
 Which means the faculty to read and write. 
 But in those times — unfortunate, I own — 
 The penny paper was a bliss unknown. 
 (How o'er those nations must we weep or laugh, 
 Who had no Times or Daily Telegraph 
 To guide the state, religion, and the law. 
 Uphold the poor, and keep the rich in awe !) 
 Some monarchs have to ages lent a name. 
 And, in their own, submerged a nation's fame. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 9 
 
 Witness Augustus, or the fourteenth Louis, 
 
 The shrew Elizabeth, or Cromwell, who is, 
 
 By far, the worthiest of all the lot. 
 
 Spite of the railing of the greedy Scot ; 
 
 For if it fell unto that prince of slayers 
 
 To scotch a king, pray, who were the betrayers ? 
 
 And so — though some historians would delude 
 
 us — 
 He comes off best, as Pilate versus Judas. 
 No doubt those ages merited the praise 
 Bestowed upon them in poetic lays ; 
 But still — whatever be their worth and merit — 
 A bard, to catch, of every age, the spirit, 
 Should treat of men and things before his eyes ; 
 For thus he runs less risk of telling lies. 
 To which all poets, more or less, are prone. 
 Spite of " high thoughts " and " much-resounding 
 
 tone : " 
 
lo The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And so, to shed, of light, a little gleam, 
 I'll take the Age of Stucco for my theme. 
 
 O Muse of Humbug ! unacknowledged, though 
 From distant ages — far as man can know — 
 Thy secret worshippers, no doubt, exceed 
 In number those of every other creed ; 
 And whilst denying thee, oh fell enslaver ! 
 'Each devotee is jealous of thy favour. 
 Vainly do men the charms of virtue vaunt. 
 When there's a chance of getting what thfy 
 
 want. 
 Most mortals — all — are earnest in their duty 
 To thee, old goddess, Rachel-painted beauty ! 
 The bounds of thy dominion who can fix ? 
 Yea, in religion, law, or politics. 
 In commerce, or in art, on every field 
 Where mortals congregate, to win or yield. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 1 
 
 Thy worship nerves the weak, and such thy sway, it 
 secures the victory to those who pay it. 
 )ft as I curse thee, still I must confess 
 To burning sundry candles — more or less — 
 Before thy shrine, when no police, in fact. 
 With bull's-eye, can detect the holy act. 
 So, help me, goddess, with thy subtle tongue. 
 To sing of Stucco as it should be sung. 
 
 ^onarch of Shams ! thy white-wash well conceals 
 
 What lies beneath, and till a crack reveals 
 
 The falsehood, which] from sight thou fain would 
 
 keep. 
 It looks as pure as truth, and far more cheap. 
 I treat not merely of thy presence in 
 The palaces of merchants, or of gin ; 
 'Of wider comprehension is my theme — 
 To speak in metaphor — thou reign'st supreme 
 
1 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 J 
 
 /A 
 
 On earth — but chiefly on this favoured spot, 
 Making things seem to be what they are not. 
 
 hou hidest all that's rotten, or unclean, 
 ^nd with thy aid, vice mimics virtue's mien. 
 The selfishness of politicians, whether 
 Whig, Tory, Radical, the lot together — 
 The lust for power in virtuous Gladstone's breast ; 
 The love of trick in Dizzy, ne'er at rest ; 
 The wish for notoriety in Bright ; 
 The poor conceit of the AduUamite ; 
 The thirst for pelf in patriotic Beales, 
 The greed for plunder in his fustian chiels ; 
 The curst intolerance of tolerance. 
 Which, in fanatic blindness, looks askance 
 At the injustice which it perpetrates 
 In persecution of a creed it hates ; 
 The despotism of Liberty — no less — 
 The insolence of freedom (see the Press) ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1*3 
 
 The impotence of power, and, direst flaw, 
 Failure of justice, ev'n by means of law ; 
 The want of moral principle throughout. 
 Loud as of British enterprise we shout ; 
 The hollow progress of the social state, 
 Spite of the boasting paeans sung of late ; 
 In art as well as letters, the decay 
 Of sterling wealth — no matter what men say ; 
 The want of genius in " verse inditers ; " 
 The poverty of wit in " comic writers ; " 
 The absence of invention in our painters. 
 Who lay the blame to fashion, but it ain't hers ; 
 The dearth of melody in Music's strain, 
 Whether the theme be sacred or profane ; 
 The gross neglect of nature on the stage. 
 So strange in such a realistic age ; — 
 All these deceits and shams, with more beside, 
 Does Stucco, with its whitened garment, hide. 
 
14 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And whilst it reigns in triumph, falsehood brags, 
 And modest truth pursues its way in rags. 
 
 How prone to falsehood, and to scurvy tricks, 
 'Are they who make a trade of politics ! 
 A statesman sees no good in any measure 
 Brought in by foes, and yet the same's a trea- 
 sure ; 
 For when he hurls its author from the throne 
 Of office, he adopts another tone. 
 And, with unblushing impudence, proclaims 
 The bill he thought so worthy of the flames. 
 Complete in every sense, — so free from flaw, — 
 'Twere wisdom straight to pass it into law. 
 But, to gain office, men must not be nice. 
 Or look on falsehood as a hateful vice. 
 A politician never dares to state 
 The truth entire ; for, like an advocate. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 ^11 that might hurt his case he's bound to hide 
 /From fear of strengthening the other side. 
 And if to paint in colours he would rush, 
 The touches must be laid with ample brush. 
 What if they're incorrect in form and tone ! 
 Some mud will stick, if lots of it be thrown. 
 For when the field political men step on, 
 Mud — of all missiles —is the choicest weapon. 
 To such low state does " party-spirit " bring 
 The mental vision, that its victims fling 
 The simple truth aside, as out of season. 
 And judge firom prejudice, but not from reason. 
 In Tories' eyes the Whigs are sinners hoary : 
 To Whigs, there is no virtue in a Tory. 
 Whilst both alike the Radicals believe 
 Are " selfish tyrants," eager to deceive 
 The working classes, who have all the merit 
 And virtue which a mortal can inherit. 
 
1 6 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 jl 
 " Nature's true noblemen, by birth and station, 
 
 Free from the hollow gloss of education ; 
 
 The source of England's wealth — ^her pride and 
 
 glory," 
 Et csetera. We have heard that blatant 
 
 story, 
 Usque ad nauseam — ^for the tale, in sooth, 
 Is chiefly falsehood with a grain of truth. 
 
 Yet, what is truth ? as Pilate said one day. 
 When, by the howling rabble, led astray, 
 He did a deed, of which the foul disgrace 
 No washing of the hands could e'er efface. 
 But if, in Pilate's time, 'twas difiicult 
 To judge twixt truth and falsehood, the result 
 Of human progress, spite of Times or ' Tiser, 
 Proves that in such research we are no wiser. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 7 
 
 Though Bright and Gladstone, on the rampage, Say 
 
 The nation has improved in every way. 
 
 Some men, who scorn to flatter, say it's faded, 
 
 And, save in science, wholly retrograded. 
 
 So if, as those mob-orators declare. 
 
 For England's present glory they should share 
 
 The highest praise — then, if it's far from great, 
 
 The blame is also theirs, at any rate. 
 
 Nay, further, they declare the Tory's speech 
 
 Is only fit the ears of fools to reach ; 
 
 But that their own is ever framed for men 
 
 " Of deep intelligence." How comes it then 
 
 Their worshippers come chiefly from those masses 
 
 (I write not to denounce the " working classes ") 
 
 In wliom, spite of electioneering tales. 
 
 Dense ignorance — they know it — most prevails ? 
 
 But if those orators are prone to err 
 
 When judging of their worth the character, 
 
1 8 TJu Age of Stucco. 
 
 On such a knotty question to decide, 
 
 " Public opinion " is no safer guide. 
 
 Some journalists — how much those creatures 
 
 know ! — 
 Declare that Gladstone's heart is pure as 
 
 snow ; 
 And further, that in all his public dealings 
 He's actuated by the best of feelings. 
 But, strange to say, we find some public writers, — 
 Who equally of truth are the inditers, — 
 Paint that great statesman in a darker hue, 
 And swear that he, for ojBELce, would eschew 
 His principles, whatever they may be. 
 Now if, on such a point, men disagree. 
 Who can discern the truth \ In speaking truth, 
 My voice, I fear, to some will sound uncouth. 
 Men, in their love of truth, are far from hearty. 
 And stoop to falsehood, for the sake of party. 
 
The Age of Stucco. i g 
 
 By " Irish Disestablishment "* — a dark case — 
 
 Hopes Gladstone to establish his own carcase, 
 
 And give it strength to win, in spite of Tory, 
 
 The seals of ofG.ce, and a wreath of glory. 
 
 I envy not the latter, for a shame 
 
 Must cling for ever to the very name 
 
 Of one who, in most utter dereliction. 
 
 Betrayed his friends from what he called " convic- 
 tion," 
 
 But what, to use the very mildest word. 
 
 Was simply spite. Had he been still preferred 
 
 By Oxford dons, as one beyond compeer, 
 
 From him the Irish Church had nought to fear. 
 
 Though eloquent, yet plausible and spiteful, 
 
 Why wonder, through inconstancy so frightful. 
 
 That all the confidence which once was placed 
 
 In statesmen is a feeling now effaced ? 
 
 » Written in 1869. 
 
20 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 " Earnest upholder of the Church and State," 
 From him the blow that seals, of both, the fate ; 
 Beginning as a worshipper of Peel, 
 Not only does he condescend to kneel 
 To Bright, but welcomes, with a smiling face, 
 Beales, Potter, Finlen, for the sake of place. 
 And though with cheers men greet his very- 
 name. 
 Chiefly to Stucco does he owe his fame. 
 
 With subtle speech, and temper ever bland. 
 When he may chance to hold the reins in hand, 
 Disraeli, notwithstanding poohs and pishes. 
 Makes friends and foes alike perform his wishes. 
 
 rodger," he's called : but art you must employ 
 curb the forward or to spur the coy. 
 In politics or war, success depends 
 As much on faults of foes as deeds of friends. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 2 1 
 
 Take the last measure, by both houses passed, 
 "The New Reform Bill " * (may it be the last)— 
 Just as a skilful gamester, — at short whist, 
 To hold the crowning card will still persist, — 
 Or only lead it, with a double aim. 
 To save the odd trick or to win the game, — 
 So "Dizzy" manages the cards political, 
 4^eserving all his strength for moments critical ; 
 And when he finds how weakened are his foes. 
 He knocks their leader down and robs his clothes. 
 What though, at first, the fit is rather tight ; 
 A little tink'ring sets the matter right. 
 Then, in his showy garments, he may chatter. 
 Disdaining such poor cries as " Who's your 
 
 hatter ? " 
 Nor throw them off, till patching and repair 
 Have made them other than the things they were. 
 
 * Written in 1868. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 When future writers — may he yet live long — 
 
 Pen Dizzy's life, how strange will be their song ! 
 
 For some will call him " Champion of Democracy," 
 
 Others " a traitor to the aristocracy." 
 
 Both verdicts will be wrong. His only aim 
 
 Is, simply, for intelligence to claim 
 
 In government its due preponderance ; 
 
 And so — to stop the menacing advance 
 
 Of ignorance to power, he passed a measure — 
 
 So Radical — it gave but little pleasure 
 
 To Liberals or Tories ; but to me, it 
 
 Will strengthen the Conservatives— so be it. 
 
 The Whigs may smile — but what resulted through 
 
 Their famous Bill of Eighteen-thirty-two ? 
 
 For which they gained no end of commendation ; 
 
 " Friends of true progress ! Saviours of the nation ! " 
 
 Such were their titles on that glorious day, 
 
 Whilst Tories, sad and silent, slunk away ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 23 
 
 But what elapsed r Triumphant in that hour, 
 For some few years they held the reins of power ; — 
 Unquestioned, unrestricted, they possessed 
 All that can make a politician blest : 
 The cheers of mobs — the favour of a king. 
 And all looked lovely as the fields in Spring ; 
 But, on a sudden, errors and disasters 
 Made the poor nation weary of its masters ; 
 And then. Conservatism, — far from dead, — 
 Refreshed by its long slumber, raised its head, 
 And gathering all its force, at one fell blow, 
 To ruin hurled the over-weening foe. 
 Again were Tories honoured, whilst the name 
 Of Whig was uttered as a mark of shame. 
 So what immediate results may spring 
 From " leaping in the dark," is no great thing ; 
 Or soon, or late, in dread of revolution, 
 A day will surely come of retribution, 
 
 C 
 
24 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 When even Whigs will turn (the fact's so clear) 
 Conservatives, if not from sense, through fear, 
 Which vsrould not happen, had the self-styled 
 
 friends 
 Of Liberty and Progress, gained their ends. 
 But though Disraeli thus may teach the nation 
 Not to o'erlook the rights of Education, 
 And though he showed a deep far-sightedness. 
 Beyond what Gladstone or John Bright possess, 
 The means he used, as statesman or debater, 
 Prove that of " Stucco " he is no fierce hater. 
 
 To Birmingham has clung a reputation 
 For making goods in which adulteration — 
 Deftly concealed by Ormolu or Lacquer — 
 Is freely used. No city, sure, can thwack her. 
 In making Stucco do the work of Stone. 
 E'en in her representatives, I own. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 2 5 
 
 There is a manner plausible and loud, 
 
 So like the articles of which she's proud, 
 
 And suited to the temper of a nation, 
 
 Not over-famous for its education. 
 
 With more than "forty-parson power of speech," 
 
 Bright stumps through Britain, nor disdains to 
 
 preach 
 The spiteful doctrine that the " upper ten " 
 Can feel no sympathy with " working men," 
 And that their kindness is a poor device. 
 Such as cats entertain for silly mice. 
 The Tories, he declares, are " stupid " louts. 
 Because they won't give way to frantic shouts ; 
 Nor yet surrender, at the loud demand 
 Of him, the boldest outlaw in the land. 
 The Whigs, he says, are "brutal, seljfish, 
 
 base," 
 Whose only feeling is a " love of place," 
 
26 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Which to obtain, they think there's little vice in 
 /rheir country or their party sacrificing. 
 To his enlightened mind all lords are asses, 
 In every sense beneath the " working classes ; " 
 " Idlers and foul encumbrances on earth," 
 Not of the slightest use, and nothing worth. 
 Titles he spurns, but chiefly vents his hate 
 On people who " possess a large estate ; " 
 But yet he vastly honours those who've made 
 Millions on millions in the path of trade ; 
 Nor thinks it selfish in himself or neighbours 
 To reap the profits of another's labours. 
 For all our vice and poverty, he's sure. 
 Proceed alone from " Primogeniture : " 
 vSo, to correct the evil, his device is 
 To portion out the land in little slices ; 
 For, by such means, none could accumulate. 
 That nightmare of his brain, a large estate. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 2 7 
 
 Than he, no man's more honest, he believes, 
 
 (So, in a certain sense, are even thieves 
 
 Who live by plunder). In a moral sense 
 
 I can't perceive the slightest difference 
 
 'Twixt those who on our purses put their claws. 
 
 And him who, under cover of the laws 
 
 Made for the purpose, robs a man of what 
 
 He values more than anything he's got. 
 
 A foe to tyranny, Bright hates " minorities," 
 
 But loves it when 'tis practised by " majorities. " 
 
 Some term him " monster," in their jealous 
 
 rage; 
 Others, " the Politician of the Age." 
 I can't say who are right, but this I know. 
 He's stuccoed over — ay, from top to toe. 
 
 Of tiny Russell, wherefore should I sing ? 
 He's quiet now, and that's a happy thing. 
 
I 
 
 The Age of S/ucco. 
 
 f you are timorous of fire, remember, 
 Don't rake the ashes of a smouldering ember ; 
 yor though there's pleasure in such silly games, 
 l^V lifilc spark may set your house in flames. 
 Who can describe that " Father of Reform ?" 
 Earnest in youth, of failings he'd a swarm, — 
 F"ar greater than a statesman should possess, — 
 That barred his way to ultimate success. 
 And which, in later life, stung by defeat. 
 Contrived to make his temper far from sweet. 
 In politics, inconstant, never serving 
 His party with fidelity, but swerving 
 In loyalty, whene'er the times grew hotter, 
 And all his friends in office seemed to totter. 
 Proud of his name and fame, he could not brook 
 The pride of others, and he ever took 
 The wrong time all his sufferings to disclose ; 
 So wrath provoked the ridicule of foes, 
 
The A ^c of Stucco. 29 
 
 And smiles produced, in friends, a doubtful smile, 
 
 As if they felt beneath was hidden guile. 
 
 In foreign politics a constant medler. 
 
 And vaunting his great merit as a pedlar, 
 
 Or " Cheap-Jack " (name appropriate), obtrudes, 
 
 His selfish praise to sell his worthless goods. 
 
 In Europe's squabbles he would be engaged, 
 
 But, brave in threatening war, ere yet it raged. 
 
 He'd slink away until the storm was o'er ; 
 
 As when he chalked " no Popery " on the door. 
 
 Then ran away from fear of being convicted 
 
 (As Leech so admirably has depicted). 
 
 Like those who ever must be something doing. 
 
 He cannot rest, although it brings him ruin. 
 
 Preferring to calm weather any storm. 
 
 The preacher of " Finality," Reform 
 
 Was always on his lips, and even still 
 
 He loves to usher in another " Bill." 
 
30 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Like Banquo's ghosts, they tire : methinks 'twere 
 
 well, 
 After such constant work, in peace to dwell. 
 ' Rest and be thankftil," man ! nor look for glorj^, 
 Henceforward, at the hands of Whig or Tory ; 
 Both hold you now in reverent esteem : — 
 For politicians — nay, all men, I deem — 
 The staunchest foe are ready to revere, 
 When from his presence there is nought to fear. 
 It may be thought my strictures are uncouth. 
 And savour more of party zeal than truth ; 
 So, willingly, this tribute shall be paid 
 To Russell : To his credit be it said. 
 That though, like all of us, his moral skin 
 Is smeared with Stucco, yet the wash is thin. 
 
 Shall learned Ayrton meet with no respect ? 
 Forbid, Apollo ! such a base neglect 
 
The Age of Stucco. 3 1 
 
 Of one who, by the virtue of position, 
 Directs, of Art, the progress and condition. 
 " The government of all the talents " boasts 
 That it selects, for all important posts. 
 Those who, by nature or by education, 
 Axe the most fit to fiU each situation : 
 Then why, in Reason's name, a man select, 
 To treat the claims of Art with due respect, 
 AVho scruples not, in public, to impart, 
 How poor his knowledge and his love of Art r 
 Thinks " market gardeners " of far more weight 
 Than painters, for the glory of a state, 
 And deems good government consists in holding 
 A firm grip on the public purse, and scolding 
 Those who presume, in feeling less obtuse. 
 To think that Art is of the slightest use r 
 What right has he in any place to sway, 
 Where Taste or Sense prevail in some poor way ? 
 
3 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 For one, so void of judgment or of grace, 
 Classic Whitechapel is the proper place. 
 Not in St. Stephen's can your worth be shown, 
 Ayrton ! — in vestry-halls erect your throne ; 
 There you may reap no end of power and fame — 
 In more enlightened precincts — only shame. 
 
 For Lord Carnarvon, much respect I feel. 
 Nor less for Salisbury and General Peel ; — 
 Those three, at least, disdained, unlike some 
 
 creatures, 
 With Stucco to anoint their natural features. 
 But of those stalwart dwellers of the " Cave," 
 Who, in the teeth of Gladstone, dared to brave 
 The anger of his party, would my Muse 
 Could speak in kindness, but she must refuse ; 
 For Independence is of Truth the lamp. 
 But when 'tis Stucco, it can't stand the damp. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 3 3 
 
 All Caves are wet and gloomy, but their own 
 Was trebly so, not being built of stone ; 
 So, weary of the cold and darkness there. 
 They soon came forth into the open air. 
 With more or less of damage to their clothes. 
 No longer loved by friends, or feared by foes. 
 And though e'en Gladstone cannot think it 
 
 strange 
 When politicians their opinions change 
 " From pure conviction," yet, if they repeat 
 The practice constantly, they cannot meet 
 Their friends with confidence, or foes with pride, — 
 In " Coventry " for ever they abide, — 
 Living examples of the retribution 
 That falls on men of " stuccoed " resolution. 
 
 As for the smaller fry, who ape their leaders, — 
 Of whose obesity they are but feeders, — 
 
34 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Our sight with drear monotony they fill, as 
 Rows upon rows of little " stuccoed " villas, 
 I^ooking so clean, but, on a close inspection. 
 The dirt through cracks is open to detection. 
 
 Jn some men " Stucco " wears the mask of fan, 
 
 / 
 
 As if by such the battle can be won ; 
 
 For though a joke is ever dear to youth, 
 
 'Tis a poor way to serve the cause of truth. 
 
 Like harmless crackers fizzing aU about. 
 
 It makes a little noise and then dies out. 
 
 And at the best it only serves to hide. 
 
 The want of solid reasoning inside. 
 
 Nor is the field of politics the place, 
 
 Where calm Philosophy should show its face ; 
 
 There men must act, no time is given for thought. 
 
 By other weapons must the war be fought. 
 
 Philosophers, in short, whate'er their fame. 
 
 As politicians, earn a sorry name ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 35 
 
 And, as a legislator, Mill has made 
 Far more mistakes than any of the trade. 
 
 When Whalley, in his pious anger, mutters, 
 The " Stucco " cracks at every word he utters ; 
 And as the rent grows wider every minute. 
 We see his heart and all that is within it. 
 In lieu of tolerance (a Christian feeling). 
 We find fanatic zeal, which, bent on dealing 
 Death to its foe, the blood-red flag unfurls. 
 Nor cares for all the misery it hurls ; 
 And ne'er will pious Whalley change his tone, 
 Till every creed, but his, be overthrown. 
 
 There's Roebuck too, by soubriquet, " Dog Tear 
 
 'em," 
 Rails at his foes, not he the man to spare 'em. 
 
36 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 By him — if his assertion be believed — 
 
 Alone, has Britain's glory been achieved. 
 
 He vaunts his honesty, 'tis not in fun, 
 
 But from a strong conviction, as if none. 
 
 Save him, had any great regard for truth. 
 
 But be his faults forgiven, for, in sooth. 
 
 One noble thing he did ; and for that same. 
 
 All honest men will reverence his name. 
 
 The more, since by that deed he lost his 
 
 place. 
 For which will cling to Sheffield a disgrace 
 IFar deeper, if that possibly can be, 
 : Than what it gained from the brutality. 
 The violence, and recklessness of life 
 Shown by Trade-Unions in the bitter strife 
 'Twixt masters and their workmen. Yet the 
 
 brute — 
 Most worthy Death — is living in repute. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 37 
 
 And e'en received by men (?) with approbation. 
 As if he were an honour to the nation. 
 
 ose hideous crimes, for many years concealed, 
 iy sturdy Roebuck chiefly were revealed : 
 And if to others he must now concede 
 His weU-eamed seat, the credit of that deed 
 "V\^ yield him more endurable renown 
 Than being M.P. for a branded town. 
 
 When people boast of patriotic zeal, 
 
 I always thrTiTc they've something to conceal. 
 
 And that their indignation and effiront'ry 
 
 Spring from another cause than "love of coun- 
 
 try." 
 To hear Beales talk, no public men inherit 
 Like him, a politician's proper merit. 
 You'd think, in virtue of his bold defiance 
 Of Government, when, by the foul alliance 
 
38 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Of roughs and thieves, he tore the railings down,— 
 
 Entered Hyde Park, and claimed it as his own, — 
 
 That he alone is fit to rule the nation. 
 
 And yet — ^whatever be our detestation 
 
 Of all disturbers of the peace — his error 
 
 Was trifling, when compared to that which terror 
 
 Produced in one whose duty was to crush 
 
 The power of vice ; and when, with frantic rush. 
 
 It stormed the law, to use some stronger force 
 
 Than silly tears, to stay its headlong course, 
 
 Nor stoop ingloriously, with childish sobs. 
 
 To seek assistance from the king of mobs. 
 
 By what diverging means, in speech or deed. 
 
 Do politicians in their aim succeed ? 
 
 The demagogue, to gain his selfish ends. 
 
 To violence incites his zealous friends, 
 
 For all his power depends on agitation. 
 
 A statesman's duty is the preservation 
 
The Age of Stucco. 39 
 
 Of law and order, and to sacrifice 
 Ev'n liberty, to crush the power of vice. 
 But who are statesmen now ? Since Palmerston — 
 To speak in sober sense — I find not one. 
 The man of weight is now the " people's friend." 
 But though some penny papers condescend 
 To call him liy that title, Beales, I see, 
 Is not a statesman, and will never be. 
 For though, by flattery and blatant gabble, 
 He is enthroned as monarch of the rabble, 
 Who, when on high he lifts his tinsel flags. 
 Gathers a mighty host in filth and rags. 
 To do his high behests, and take their pay, 
 By chains and watches "picked up" on the way ; — 
 No mortal, in his sober senses, feels 
 Respect for the " integrity of Beales," 
 But thinks his hatred of official might 
 Is one half malice, and the other spite. 
 
 D 
 
40 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Some strong belief he possibly might share 
 With Danton, that " to conquer is to dare," 
 And though he lost one place by overbearing, 
 He might obtain another by his daring. 
 The end has proved that he was right in think- 
 ing 
 Much may be got when rulers take to 'Winking. 
 Our ministers (Good heavens ! with what inten- 
 tion ?) 
 Have given the self-styled martyr place and pen- 
 sion! 
 Are bribes, not law, henceforth to be the force 
 Employed to stop the agitator's course r 
 If so, the fear of justice we allay. 
 And raise fresh nests of hornets every day. 
 
 A truce to politics. Ah me ! the theme 
 Quickens contempt, and mortifies esteem. 
 
The Ao'e of Stucco. 4 1 
 
 We boast about our " glorious " Constitution, 
 
 And dwell, with rapture, on the distribution 
 
 Of power by means of " party ; " whilst the nation, 
 
 To serve the end, is kept in agitation. 
 
 Wise men are quickly roused, through party zeal, 
 
 To passions, fierce as even fools can feel. 
 
 Just as boys throw the shuttlecock about 
 
 From hand to hand, whilst the bystanders shout. 
 
 Striving which side can keep it up the longest. 
 
 And prove, thereby, who at the game is strongest. 
 
 In such a fashion do our statesmen play 
 
 The game political, and in this way 
 
 From side to side are passed the reins of power ; 
 
 And they who are the masters of the hour 
 
 (When every measure is a cause for strife) 
 
 Have quite enough to do to fight for life. 
 
 So every session drags its weary length 
 
 In constant trial of each party's strength. 
 
42 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Our legislators gabble day and night, 
 But, in the fever of a faction fight. 
 Neglect to do the work, for which the nation 
 Raised them to such an elevated station ; 
 Not without passion, drunkenness and riot, 
 Brickbats and stones, to keep opponents quiet. 
 All which are surely, if I rightly read 'em. 
 The visible and outward signs of freedom ; 
 A boon so precious, that, for its retaining. 
 Men should take broken heads without com- 
 plaining. 
 But what results from victories thus won ? 
 The fights are plentiful ; the work — is none ■ 
 And if there's " progress," be it understood, 
 'Tis rarely of a kind to do much good. 
 
 Some politicians cannot bear to see 
 
 The wheels of government move steadily. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 43 
 
 But, careless of results, they dearly love 
 
 To give the heavy coach a constant shove ; 
 
 Nor will they, to effect the plans they've 
 
 laid. 
 Disdain to call the rabble to their aid. 
 By flattery and " promises to pay," 
 These statesmen (?) o'er the lower orders sway. 
 They call themselves of " progress " the true 
 
 friends ; 
 But only act to thwart the " selfish " ends 
 Of their opponents, whom they would expose 
 As of the " working class " the natural foes ; 
 They only can promote the " people's cause," 
 And, for their benefit, enact wise laws. 
 They say, " The sons of toil are harshly used, 
 Who ask for justice, yet the boon 's refused, 
 And pine for education " (yet would spurn 
 Any attempt by force to make them learn). 
 
44 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 " They wish of poverty to close the door, 
 
 To make the poor more rich, the rich more poor, 
 
 And stop all inequality by putting 
 
 Both ignorance and skill on equal footing. 
 
 The poor," they say, " desire to have a share 
 
 In government, which sadly needs repair. 
 
 For, if they only had the power, they could 
 
 Improve the social state." I know they would ; 
 
 But by what means ? I need not answer. For 
 
 The way they used their power in that fierce war 
 
 'Twixt capital and labour, proves too clearly 
 
 That selfishness and recklessness are merely 
 
 The motives which at present actuate. 
 
 For good or ill, their friendship or their hate. 
 
 Nor, till they learn by force of education. 
 
 To feel for others some consideration. 
 
 Can they be fit — the rash, conceited elves — 
 
 To rule o'er others, even o'er themselves ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 45 
 
 Nor yet is Parliament the place where they, 
 O'er government, could have the slightest sway. 
 In spite of what Mill says (and such like teachers), 
 The tap-room is the stage for pot-house preachers. 
 
 What are the means the "people's friends" 
 
 propose 
 Whereby to stop the croaking voice of those 
 Who, nursed in penury and ignorance. 
 Believe in any change they see a chance 
 Of getting every wish they have at heart, 
 Without a worthy effort on their part ? 
 Firstly, the laws that regulate succession 
 Should be abolished. Further, the possession 
 Of all the land in some few people's claws 
 Is contrary to justice. So the laws 
 Of primogeniture are doomed as vicious. 
 And to a nation's welfare most pernicious. 
 
46 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Lastly, they say the " working men " are chiefly 
 So poor (improvident ?), and, speaking briefly, 
 
 Jiave families (the fruits of selfish pleasure) 
 
 i 
 
 So large, that it were wise to pass some measure 
 
 |To ease the burthen, so could wealth be brought 
 
 Down to a proper level. (Happy thought !) 
 
 With equal justice " Communists " declare. 
 
 No single man has any right to share 
 
 More largely in the products of the earth 
 
 Than any other, whatsoe'er his worth : 
 
 " God gave the earth to all ; " (that truth is deep, 
 
 But they who will not sow should scarcely reap). 
 
 " Because some spots are fruitful, others not. 
 
 Is that a reason why all those whose lot 
 
 Is cast on barren soil should starve and die ? " 
 
 (No, surely, if they've wherewithal to buy 
 
 The needful from the produce of their labours. 
 
 Else, they had better join their luckier neighbours.) 
 
The Age of Stucco. 47 
 
 " If one man has a greater stock of sense 
 Than others have, that same intelligence 
 Is not his doing ; so he should divide 
 His profits with the weak. Man can't abide 
 In cities, with the privilege of Crusoe." 
 (Good, but I'd like to find the man to do so.) 
 
 Now, here, I will a parable relate 
 Of no great length, but yet of mighty weight. 
 A wise old king — a " people's friend," I say — 
 (Not in the senseless jargon of the day) — 
 Felt puzzled and disgusted at the great 
 And growing disaffection in his State, 
 Provoked by agitators who got plunder 
 tey keeping up, of course, the people's blunder. 
 Seeing that some were poor, and others not, — 
 (Themselves amongst the former), o'er their 
 lot 
 
4-8 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 They mourned, and thought the evil they might shirk 
 
 By grumbling, or by any means than work. 
 
 So, summoning the populace one day. 
 
 The king, in gentle accents, thus did say : — 
 
 " My well-belov6d subjects, I regret 
 
 That all my good intentions have, as yet. 
 
 Produced such poor results. It gives me pain 
 
 That any one amongst you should complain 
 
 Of poverty. Now some of you believe, 
 
 If each man, for his labour, could receive 
 
 An equal sum, all grievances would end. 
 
 So be it ; go, and in the evening send 
 
 All you may gain to me, and I'll take care 
 
 That every man shall get an equal share." 
 
 To work they went, and when the day was done 
 
 Each man laid down the money he had won. 
 
 But when the king beheld the little heap 
 
 Before him, then his wrath, so long asleep. 
 
Tlie Age of Stucco. 49 
 
 Burst forth. " Is this," said he, " the sum you've 
 
 gained r 
 Of poverty this morning you complained, 
 And told me that an equal distribution 
 Of wages would produce a diminution 
 Of that sad grievance. Look at the result ! 
 This sum would scarcely fatten one adult 
 For many days. Whence comes it that, to- 
 day. 
 When taken in the aggregate, your pay 
 Is smaller than a single man might gain 
 By one week's labour (and with little pain) ? " 
 The honest workman answered, with respect, 
 " Why should I work the idle to protect ? 
 If God has granted me both strength and health, 
 I thank God humbly : but, whatever wealth 
 I get by my own labour, is mine own." 
 " Good," said the king ; then, in an angry tone. 
 
50 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 He thus addressed the Idler : " On this head 
 
 Pray what have you to say ? " The Idler said, 
 
 " If I can be as well off as my neighbour, 
 
 Without an effort — wherefore should I labour ? " 
 
 And to conclude this little story — then, 
 
 The king rewarded all real " working men ; " 
 
 Sent all the foul impostors out of sight, 
 
 And hung the "Agitators : " — served them right. 
 
 Perfect Equality is but a dream — 
 
 Nay, were it possible, no man, I deem 
 
 Would care to see it realised. The hope 
 
 To prosper in Life's struggle gives a scope 
 
 To human energy, and has its share 
 
 In what renown a nation has to bear. 
 
 That those who labour should enrich the 
 
 idle. 
 Is, of all policies, most suicidal. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 5 1 
 
 Talent and Industry will win the race ; 
 
 And if, through futile laws, they must give place, 
 
 They'll cease to work, or go (the end is hard) 
 
 Where there's a chance of meeting due regard. 
 
 As to dividing land, or — cruel fate — 
 
 Shunting the chief expenses of the State 
 
 On wealth alone, such theory is pretty, 
 
 But scarcely just in practice : here's the pity 
 
 For wealth, so burthened, would " absquatulate " 
 
 To other countries where, at any rate, 
 
 It might be, in a small degree, productive. 
 
 And these fore-threatened measures are instructive. 
 
 As to the justice or consideration 
 
 One may expect to meet with, were the nation 
 
 Placed at the mercy of the " people's friend." 
 
 For sake of argument, I'll condescend 
 
 (In fervent hope to set the matter right), 
 
 To put these simple questions to John Bright : 
 
5 2 Tlic Age of Stucco. 
 
 Why, on the land, should heavier tax be laid r 
 
 Is wealth less noxious when it springs from 
 
 trade ? 
 When with the busy workers in your mill. 
 You'll share the daily produce of the till, 
 I'll do your bidding. But till then, John Bright, 
 I keep my hand upon my pockets tight. 
 You say that laws should come from the majority ; 
 But is there nothing due to the minority r 
 Because most men prefer a wild-duck raw — 
 Or nearly so — must I be forced, by law, 
 To eat it also in that beastly state ? 
 There's little justice there, at any rate. 
 
 Yet one more metaphor, and then I've done. 
 Most luckily, it's but a little one. 
 
 The State is like a pauper — female sex ; 
 The Radical I'll call " Policeman X." 
 
The Age of Stucco. 5 .^ 
 
 The wandering woman, weary and footsore. 
 
 Tried hard to sleep when crouching at a door 
 
 (The rain was pouring, and 'twas ver)- late) : 
 
 " ^Slove on," shouts out the guardian of the State. 
 
 " Ah ! whither shaU I move r " the wretch replies. 
 
 " Go where you like," says X, " but, d — ^n my ejes ! 
 
 You shan't stop here." With that, he gives a push. 
 
 And down she fell into a pool of slush. 
 
 " Gret up," says X — appl5dng sundry kicks — 
 
 " Don't think to gammon me, I know your tricks, 
 
 Old prostitute " — " If Tm a prostitute," 
 
 The poor wretch answers, " and of bad repute. 
 
 To others be the blame. 'Twas not my wUl, 
 
 But forced by man, I'm at his mercj- still. 
 
 Whilst mistress of the noble and the wise. 
 
 Men looked upon me as a worthy prize ; 
 
 But now, alas ! so fall'n am I of late, 
 
 ^Mj- former friends despise my ragged state. 
 
54 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And I am but a slave, at the command 
 
 Of every ragamuffin in the land. 
 
 Don't strike me ! " — " Bosh ! " says X ; " there, go 
 
 away — 
 For if you dare my order disobey, 
 I'll lock you up in prison, as I live." 
 Just then a gentleman — Conservative — 
 Came up, and, recognising an old love, 
 I Contrived between the disputants to shove 
 'His presence. "Hush, my friend," says he 
 
 to X : 
 " 'Tis brutal to maltreat the gentle sex. 
 This crawling wretch is in a state of grief. 
 And, in the place of blows, she wants relief; 
 Respect her sorrow, sure it is not shammed." 
 
 To whom, the stalwart guardian, " You be d d ! 
 
 'Tis not my duty on nice points to battle. 
 But if you interfere, I'll spring my rattle. 
 
The Age of Shuco. 5 5 
 
 And take you to the ' Station ; ' so, my man, 
 You'd better cut." The good Samaritan 
 Was sorely troubled by that observation ; 
 Though brave and kind, he liketh not the 
 
 " Station." 
 So, off he went : and so, that hapless wretch 
 Went also ; seeking whereupon to stretch 
 Her weary limbs, but never to find rest : 
 Now here, now there — down alleys, east and west, 
 She staggers, but on earth can find no peace. 
 And till she dies, her wanderings will not cease. 
 
 Now, to conclude : what good results can come 
 From this perpetual stirring of the scum ? 
 All bodies need, at times, a little quiet, 
 Nor men, nor nations, thrive by constant riot. 
 The filthiest water may be fit to drink. 
 If you will let the putrid matter sink — 
 
 E 
 
5 6 The Age of Shicco. 
 
 However great the bulk ; but, understand, 
 
 The dregs will surely get the upper hand. 
 
 If it be kept in constant agitation. 
 
 As with a man, so is it with the nation. 
 
 Whenever there's a surfeit of the body. 
 
 The nauseous black-draught is the only toddy 
 
 The victim of intemperance should drink. 
 
 So, when a Nation's life is on the brink, 
 
 A revolution is the way most sure 
 
 The body, constitutional, to cure ; 
 
 And when, by passing through a course of rigour. 
 
 Both bodies are restored to pristine vigour. 
 
 They practise total abstinence within — 
 
 The one, of freedom, and the other, gin. 
 
 This lasts awhile, till, void of wholesome terror. 
 
 They each relapse into their former error. 
 
 Alternately, then health and sickness sway. 
 
 And so they struggle on, from day to day, 
 
The Age of Stucco. 57 
 
 Till, weakened by the constant application 
 Of remedies so fierce, the Man — or Nation — ■ 
 Gives up the ghost, too feeble to endure 
 The dreadful process of another cure. 
 
 Now Legislators are the State's physicians. 
 
 And there's a goodly lot, of all conditions. 
 
 We've purgers, bleeders, through our veins or 
 
 noses, 
 And homceopathists who give small doses ; 
 As to the quacks, though millions, they contrive. 
 Like locusts, in unhealthy times, to thrive. 
 But small the comfort that all patients win. 
 For whilst the doctor fattens, they grow thin ; 
 Nor, till a man is on his dying bed. 
 Do doctors quarrel o'er their daily bread. 
 But when they hold a '' conference " about 
 A patient (whose disease they can't find out\ 
 
5 8 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 The poor man's life is not so much their care, 
 As their peculiar crotchets to declare. 
 One swears a blister would bring out 
 The humours which proceed from simple gout. 
 Another recommends a copious bleeding, 
 For sure the illness comes from over-feed- 
 ing. 
 A third declares the cause is want of food. 
 And thinks (good man!) that port would do him 
 
 good. 
 But, whilst they wrangle in a room adjacent, 
 Weaker and weaker sinks the hapless patient. 
 Each remedy is tried out to the letter. 
 But, strange to say, the patient gets no better ; 
 Till, weary of his life, he shuts his eyes, 
 Gives a convulsive kick, and then he dies. 
 So, to repeat my former observation, 
 As with a Man, so is it with the Nation. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 59 
 
 Trust, Man, or Nation ! in a good condition, 
 No wheedling statesman, lawyer, or physician ; 
 They live; by your corruption. Trust alone 
 To common sense, — the virtue most unknown, — 
 So shall you 'scape the pains of long disease. 
 The brutal calls for taxes, or for fees ; 
 And bless (iod deeply, at your latest breath, 
 That Time, and Time alone, has ushered Death. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 If it be really true, as cynics state. 
 
 That this our age is anything but great, 
 
 So blind to the " sublime " in every art. 
 
 That could a Shakspeare, Raffaelle, or Mozart, — 
 
 As once thej^ shone on earth, — again could shine. 
 
 Their worth would be ignored as pearls by swine ; 
 
 If rulers, to enforce a due obedience. 
 
 Act not from sense of right, but from expedience ; 
 
 If politicians are so insincere, 
 
 They feel no shame in changing once a year ; 
 
 If gin-and-water poets get more praise 
 
 Than Pope or Byron got in other days ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 6 1 
 
 If compilation of materials be 
 
 The proof of man's skill to write history ; 
 
 If Tuppers on the throne of wisdom sit, 
 
 And Punsters fizz in the domains of wit ; 
 
 If novel-readers, of good taste so void, 
 
 Shelve " Waverley " to shrine " Aurora Floyd ; " 
 
 If daubers occupy a like position 
 
 In painting, as did Angelo and Titian ; 
 
 If critics, for the deed, accept the will, 
 
 Mistaking flashy cleverness for skill ; 
 
 If noise, not tune, be the musician's claim 
 
 To pence or praise, or ought that clings to fame ; 
 
 If acrobats a richer harvest glean 
 
 IThan ever fell to Kemble or to Kean ; 
 
 ,If ballet-dancers rivet the attention 
 
 j 
 
 By acts my modest muse declines to mention ; 
 
 If honesty be but an empty name, 
 
 And puffing be the only road to fame ; — 
 
62 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 In fine, if men, in favour of pretence, 
 
 Take humbug as a substitute for sense. 
 
 And spend their folly and material wealth 
 
 On things pernicious to their mental health, 
 
 Say whence the cause ? O Goddess of Plain 
 
 Truth ! 
 Assist me to enlighten modem youth. 
 
 Alas ! the love of luxury and ease, 
 Which makes men easy, and yet hard to please. 
 In one sense easy — for so great the strain 
 On one small portion of his little brain, — 
 Or possibly from want of education. 
 Beyond what serves his daily occupation, — 
 He has not wit or temper to love aught 
 That needs the smallest exercise of thought. 
 His senses must be tickled, for they pine — 
 'As drunkards do for alcohol or wine — 
 
The Age of Stucco. 63 
 
 For something that to life the nerves may shake, 
 And keep the eye, if not the heart, awake. 
 Yet, in another sense, how hard to please 
 The slave to luxury and love of ease ! 
 He cares not for the " beautiful and true ; " 
 What he demands is ever something new. 
 But in such endless process of extortion. 
 There must be less of produce than abortion. 
 To meet the base demand, appear precocities, 
 And Yankees ship their Barnum curiosities. 
 A Spirit-rapper or a Talking Seal, 
 Draws shillings even from a heart of steel. 
 A Julia Pastrana sits in state. 
 To please a taste not over delicate. 
 Whilst Tom Thumb, K.C.B., of smallest mien. 
 Holds far more crowded levees than our Queen. 
 See when the pigmy quits that far-famed hall, 
 Built to exhibit talent, great or small, 
 
f i4 Tlic ^-ii,'!? of S/ II ceo. 
 
 What crowds attend from north, south, west, and 
 
 east. 
 Who get a peep for nothing at the least. 
 Or mark another crowd, with dresses torn, 
 Not of " unwashed," but peophi " nobly born," 
 Who push and squeeze and make such mighty 
 
 fuss, 
 To see an infant Hippopotamus. 
 Is it for this that men of worth and station 
 Boast of the " progress " of this mighty nation ? 
 In folly, granted— none can that dispute ; 
 In sense — oh where of " progress " is the fruit ? 
 
 All men, to prosper, take a simple view, 
 
 To please the many or to please the few. 
 
 One course brings money, and the other praise, — 
 
 And who can doubt which course the many 
 
 sways 
 
Tlie Ai^c of Stucco. 6 
 
 I'^ur each man strives, so short his time on earth, 
 To g(;t more; money than " his money's worth ; " 
 And such his strong desire to reap the samo, 
 Hf has no time to lose in seeking fame. 
 What matters ? " After me, the deluge ; " that 
 Is all the progress, " progress " has come at. 
 ('arlyU; — I honour him — may rail and rant. 
 Justly, against the prevalence of Cant ; 
 But yet 'tis clearer than " the light of day," 
 That Cant, for ever, will preserve its sway ; 
 And education, in the narrow sense 
 Our rulers take it, never can dispense 
 The intellect or common sense to gain 
 From stacks of chaff, one little tiny grain. 
 And whose the fault ? Not thine, O Providence, 
 Who amply gifted man with sense 
 To do his work. Let this one plough or mine, 
 Is he, because the " rays of learning " shine 
 
66 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Upon him, made a fitter instrument 
 To carry out of nature the intent ? 
 I say distinctly, No ! and praise inaction 
 In most things, so in one I find exaction. 
 
 There lies the highest wisdom : — ^just to do 
 Your proper work, and not another's too. 
 Man's time on earth for reaping is so brief ; 
 Who sows his wheat with tares, will, to his 
 
 grief, 
 Find that the harvest, though it may be mickle. 
 In quality, is scarcely worth the sickle. 
 " No man can serve two masters," — how much less 
 Two mistresses ! — with prospect of success. 
 Now Art, of mistresses, is far most jealous, 
 And gives her smiles alone to those who, zealous 
 In her pursuit, keep still the end in view. 
 In spite of pleasures plentiful or new ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 67 
 
 And of the many roads that lead to fame, 
 Choose one alone, and ever keep the same. 
 
 For what mean end does youth employ its powers ! 
 Ye ancient seats of learning ! whose proud 
 
 towers 
 Adorn the banks of Isis and of Cam, 
 No more, in these days of pretence and sham. 
 Your inmates burn of knowledge to be martyrs. 
 But pine for victory in other quarters. 
 To wield the cricket-bat, or ply the oar. 
 Thereby comes honour : not from mental lore. 
 Who stirs most envy or receives most praise ? 
 Not he, the Senior Wrangler, who may blaze 
 A future Bentley, Newton, Pitt, or Coke ; 
 But he who of the winning boat is " stroke : " 
 For him with pride a mother's heart is filled, 
 For him alone, the fatted calf is killed. 
 
68 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Youth burns to emulate him, and his name 
 Is blazoned on the topmost roll of fame. 
 
 But surely in this struggle to increase, 
 
 By strengthening the body, life's short lease, 
 
 'Tis folly to neglect, as oft we find. 
 
 That other useful article, the mind. 
 
 Without the health of body, I agree. 
 
 The strongest mind sinks to vacuity. 
 
 But happiness is health and wealth and strength ; 
 
 To ponder o'er days lost brings care at length, 
 
 And vain regrets, which apathy can't shirk, 
 
 Shorten man's life much more than mental work. 
 
 Ye sacred Nine ! before whose altars burn 
 The tapers of the mighty, who, in turn. 
 Have shed on life a joy-inspiring ray. 
 And smoothed the roughness of its rugged way. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 69 
 
 Few now, in robes of modesty arrayed, 
 Implore your blessing, or invoke your aid. 
 Ignoble cares your votaries oppress. 
 And drive their wit or folly to excess. 
 To Plutus pounds of candles they consign, 
 Nor care to burn a rushlight at your shrine. 
 What reverence by man is ever shown 
 To temples, shattered, or to altars, thrown ? 
 
 Most cause hast thou, Melpomene, to mourn. 
 
 Thy far-famed shrine, of worshippers is shorn. 
 
 No poet in thy honour tunes his lyre. 
 
 Or lights his torch at thy celestial fire. 
 
 What once the worthy and the noble prized, 
 
 Is now reviled, rejected, and despised. 
 
 The mighty Shakspeare, erst the nation's 
 
 pride. 
 Each puny dramatist can set aside. 
 
yo The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Few are the wise by Lear or Hamlet drawn, 
 Whilst millions rush to see the Colleen Bawn ; 
 And everything attests how much " sensation " 
 Is the sole " mistress of the situation." 
 Police Courts furnish amply the materials 
 To manufacture five-act plays and serials. 
 The petty ways of ignorance and vice, — 
 'Developed in a manner most concise, — 
 Such are the themes we offer innocence 
 'To keep the heart in pity or suspense. 
 The audience — averse upon the stage 
 To shedding blood from jealousy or rage — 
 For other modes of death feel little awe, 
 So they occur in proper course of law ; 
 And the " detective " fills the solemn part 
 Of Nemesis in modern tragic art. 
 Or lower still, enraptured by the real. 
 With no respect or love for the ideal. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 
 
 The presence of a Hansom cab will cause 
 The house to ring with deafening applause ; — 
 Such as in " less-enlightened " times, I ween, 
 Was roused by Garrick, Kemble, or by Kean. 
 Vainly to mortal ear doth wisdom cry, 
 The only road to conquest is the eye ; 
 And pomp and pageantry securely sit, 
 Perched on the throne of eloquence and wit. 
 
 Nor yet, Thalia ! is thy present state 
 
 'Less piteous. Comedy is out of date : 
 
 And vulgar farce the immediate want supplies, 
 
 To please the foolish and to vex the wise. 
 
 Of Shakspeare's comedies we soon get weary, 
 
 But never are fatigued with Lord Dundreary ; 
 
 Or viler still, Burlesque, with brazen mien, — 
 
 / 
 
 And most successful when 'tis most obscene, — 
 
72 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 As queen of public entertainment reigns, 
 In spite of censors or grand chamberlains. 
 Our feeble praise a Goldsmith may command ; 
 Our pence we give to Byron and Burnand. 
 Some chosen few the Comic Muse delights, 
 Whilst a burlesque will run a thousand nights. 
 So there be nought to hear — and much to see — 
 An actor need not tremble for his fee ; 
 And actresses in public favour grow, 
 'Much less by what they say than what they show. 
 ;Tis said, fair Muse, the fact I don't deplore, 
 Thy dress was shorter than thy sisters wore. 
 In this respect — with sorrow let me own — 
 iXhe foul usurper of thy vacant throne 
 
 Has carried thy precaution to excess, 
 
 t 
 
 And revels m a scantiness of dress — 
 
 Of such transparent texture — I believe 
 
 The modest covering worn by mother Eve 
 
The Age of Stucco. 73 
 
 Was far more fitted to conceal the merits 
 Of form and colour which the sex inherits. 
 But on this theme no further word to waste, 
 We've now become so classical in taste 
 (Already we have got the Grecian bend), 
 I've not the slightest doubt, that, in the end. 
 The purest Grecian fashion we shall follow. 
 And roam undressed, like Venus and Apollo. 
 One trifling thing my heart in doubt immerses. 
 Where could we stow our watches and our 
 
 purses ? 
 But haply, there may come a time on earth, 
 When time and money are of little worth, 
 And man will gratify his taste or passion 
 After the purest communistic fashion. 
 
 When mighty poets joined the Olympian game. 
 To win a wreath of olive and of fame, 
 
74 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 The contest waged for such a noble prize, 
 A Muse, without a blush, could patronize. 
 And worthily, Thalia, as 'tis stated. 
 To thee, such festivals were consecrated. 
 But now that jockeys o'er the same preside, 
 
 ' No modest Muse would care to be allied 
 To all the shame and vice which now disgrace 
 
 'The combatants in each Olympian race. 
 Jn ancient times, no woman, we are told. 
 Such games could witness ; or if one, too bold, 
 The audience with her presence dared to shock, 
 ' Swift was she pitched, head-foremost, from a rock ; 
 But ladies now to the arena rush, 
 'And mark the ways of sin without a blush. 
 As for that vice which now supremely reigns, 
 'Our wisdom laughs at, and our honour stains, 
 Of that I'll talk anon ; sweet Muse, to thee. 
 Of what importance can such matter be ? 
 
The Age of Stucco. 75 
 
 Our social errors never can impart 
 
 A subject worthy to be touched by Art. 
 
 What shall I say, Calliope, to thee r 
 My Epic Muse, thou art not wholly free 
 From the demands of that obstreperous crew. 
 Who won't, like Southey, be denied by you, 
 But print huge quartos, of their verse not chary, 
 To grace the shelf of sausage- shop or dairy ; 
 So that the hungry customer may find. 
 Wherewith to sate his body and his mind ; 
 And learn, however slight may be their worth. 
 That Epic Poets have their use on earth. 
 And — modestly, I fear, I cannot say — 
 Supply some want in their peculiar way. 
 
 Nor, Erato, hast thou more cause to smile ; 
 Though in each nook and corner of this isle 
 
76 The Age of Stttcco. 
 
 Unnumbered temples in thy name are raised — 
 (Of all the Muses, thou the most be-praised). 
 Thy worshippers, in Taste, are not so fine, 
 'As they who erst did duty at thy shrine. 
 No longer doomed his hunger to appease, 
 With luscious honey of the Hybla bees ; 
 But eager from the cradle to partake 
 Of juicy chop, or still more juicy steak ; 
 The modern poet writes as an athlete. 
 His verse, more vigorous, if not so sweet. 
 Castalian springs assuage his thirst no longer : 
 The nectar, now in fashion, is much stronger, 
 And apt to make the bard those rules despise — 
 Which poets, less inspired, are wont to prize — 
 And season passions with ingredients hot, 
 As gourmets do their viands with shalot. 
 Spurning the ways of Modesty and Truth, 
 As far too mawkish for our modern youth. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 7 7 
 
 Pride of the fool and terror of the sage, 
 
 He plays his pranks on the poetic stage, 
 
 And does all sorts of things his slaves to please — 
 
 As acrobats, on tight-rope or trapeze — 
 
 With shattered body and disordered brain. 
 
 He makes spasmodic efforts to obtain 
 
 The favour of a world, too prone to shower 
 
 Its praise on promise rather than on power. 
 
 Nor yet, sweet Muse, o'er folks of common 
 
 sense, 
 Though leagued with Cupid, hast thou influence. 
 
 hy firmest devotees, by gold converted, 
 Thy shrine, dear Erato, have long deserted. 
 
 o anxious lovers now invoke thy aid, 
 
 b Plutus all their orisons are paid ; 
 Our virgins burn in luxury to live, 
 And Beauty sells what she was born to give. 
 
 I 
 
78 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 But what of such poor traders is the lot ? 
 
 The marriage-tie becomes a marriage-knot 
 . Of Gordian nature, which defies love's labour, 
 
 And only to be cut by lawyer's sabre. 
 
 The ill-assorted couples lead a life 
 "Of one day's pleasure, and of years of strife. 
 
 And fly at last — of peace to get a chance — 
 
 To that famed court where reigns my Lord 
 Penzance. 
 
 Time was, stern Clio, when a Gibbon knelt 
 In pure devotion at thy shrine : and dealt. 
 With thee and thy belongings, in a way 
 Not much in fashion at the present day. 
 Of Rome's decline he wrote, a mighty theme, 
 And poured, of knowledge, an unbroken stream ; 
 At times, perhaps, with less or greater force. 
 But never once diverging from its course. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 79 
 
 With much to say, he scorned all useless prattle, 
 Nor garnered padding from the tittle-tattle 
 , Of spies, ambassadors, and scandal-plyers, 
 'Who, even to their trumpeters, are liars ; 
 Nor stooped to pick up trifles to assuage 
 The fever of a trifle-loving age, 
 Which, spite of realistic tendencies, 
 Of Cant and Sham still makes divinities ; 
 Nor condescended he, for want of matter. 
 At times whole chapters of bombast to chatter. 
 As is the case with some historians. 
 Who write as journalists and partisans. 
 And will not see what virtue may abide 
 On one side, or what vice on 'tother side. 
 Ay ! in the presence of the scaffold show, 
 How deep their love for friend, their hate to foe. 
 Poor Mary Stuart ! many faults had'st thou : 
 But for the wrinkles on thy care-worn brow, 
 
8o TJie Age of Stucco. 
 
 And grizzled hair — thou'rt surely not to blame. 
 Nor art thou wholly worthy of the shame 
 Some authors heap on thee without remorse, 
 Even to trampling on thy headless corse. 
 And yet thy latest, sturdiest reviler, 
 Is less historian, than a great compiler 
 Of mere material, which a cooler pate 
 Than his would sift through and investigate. 
 And simply pass a verdict in conclusion : 
 Nor publish evidence in such profusion, 
 That in each hundred pages of close print, 
 We scarcely at the author get a squint. 
 Not thus did Gibbon history compile. 
 Nor — spite of much to censure — does Carlyle. 
 
 Dear Polyhymnia, white-veil6d Muse 
 Of Rhetoric ! I pray thee, don't refuse 
 
The Age of Stucco. 8 1 
 
 To grant the prayer I offer at thy shrine. 
 
 Thy votaries, in number, don't decline, 
 
 And that may be a matter for small pride ; 
 
 But though they're sturdy, both in head and hide, 
 
 Nor backward in the strength of " Self-Belief," 
 
 They sadly want the virtue to be brief. 
 
 Look, for a moment, at our legislators — 
 
 With one sole aim to figure as debaters — 
 
 What weary weight of bunkum they go through. 
 
 Wasting the nation's time and temper too ! 
 
 With some intensity, I know, they babble. 
 
 Yet gabble merely from a wish to gabble ; 
 
 Nor, like Demosthenes, the moment know. 
 
 When to restrain of eloquence the flow. 
 
 And what is the result ? No man of note. 
 
 By his palaver, gains a single vote ; 
 
 For each man lends his voice, though far from hearty, 
 
 Not to uphold the right, but serve his party. 
 
8 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 " Men never are convinced against their will : " 
 
 Thus saith the proverb, and I say so still. 
 
 I honour " Instinct ; " though it may refuse 
 
 Its praise in season, and pour out abuse 
 
 With equal want of reason, 'tis a guide 
 
 More safe to follow than is " Party-pride," 
 
 Or fierce sectarian zeal, or dogmatism. 
 
 Or any other cant that wakens schism. 
 
 Oh ! that all orators, for our relief. 
 
 In eloquence would venture to be brief ! 
 
 Dear Muse ! when lovers offer at thy shrine 
 
 Their votive wreaths, just beg them to decline 
 
 From any superfluity of speech ; 
 
 The shortest prayer the inmost heart will 
 
 reach, 
 And they who make parade of their devo- 
 tion. 
 Of the receiver's wit have little notion. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 83 
 
 If " Brevity," indeed, be " Soul of Wit," 
 
 Who, on the throne of Wit, deserves to sit ? 
 
 Prolific Gladstone pours out, so precise, 
 
 A thousand words, where twenty would suffice. 
 
 And, not to talk of Jenkinson or Whalley, — 
 
 Whether from want of wit, or force of folly, — 
 
 All, who can speak, our time will occupy, 
 
 When, to save time, is all for which we sigh. 
 
 Froude takes as many volumes to go through 
 
 Some fifty years, as Hume and Gibbon do 
 
 For twenty times the space. And such the rage 
 
 For quantity in this plethoric age. 
 
 To sate the taste, we're even apt to prize 
 
 A sermon in proportion to its size. 
 
 So there be bulk, whatever food we scatter. 
 
 The matter, after all, is no great matter. 
 
 Whether we seek to purchase gall or honey. 
 
 Be sure we will have plenty for our money. 
 
84 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And so, ye great divines and politicians ! 
 Ye artists, poets, painters, and musicians ! 
 Bear that one fact in mind, nor throw away 
 Your wit in saying what you have to say. 
 Above all, don't spare padding — all dolls must. 
 To please a child, be crammed with sawyer's 
 
 dust. 
 And fatness charms; for men too, have their 
 :' folly, 
 
 In other works of Art besides a dolly. 
 So till the blessed seeds of education 
 Are scattered, broad-cast, all throughout the 
 nation. 
 
 Don't throw your pearls to swine from sheer 
 frivolity, 
 
 But give fools quantity instead of quality. 
 
 If only you can wheedle common-sense, 
 
 Like Tupper, you will get full meed of pence. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 85 
 
 And see editions published by the score, 
 When wiser books are doomed to rot " in store." 
 
 Urania ! most " holy " of the nine, 
 (If blindness to man's need makes Muse " divine,") 
 What to thy temple now the ingress bars ? 
 Why men won't look on stars as simply stars. 
 But, peering through the telescope of science. 
 To all who trust on instinct, hurl defiance. 
 In simple light of stars they find no pleasure. 
 But, tailor-like, of star-world take the measure ; 
 And tell us what the magnitude and course 
 Of things which never can have any force 
 On human progress. I can still revere, 
 Urania, thy pretty-spotted sphere, 
 Aijd dream that, far above, some chosen spot 
 Hath something to give man which earth has 
 not. 
 
86 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 In that belief I'll spend my latest breath — 
 It sweetens life and soothes the sting of death. 
 
 What sudden gloom oppresses heart and brain,* 
 And checks my fancy in its sportive vein ? 
 Dread Parcae ! Brats of Erebus and Nox — 
 To whom 'tis given to unloose the locks 
 Of life and death — in your accursed vocation, 
 Why can't you act with some discrimination ? 
 And snipping fools and idlers from the- earth, 
 Just spare, in manhood's prime, the man of worth ? 
 Some harvest you would glean : and though you must 
 Your scissors ply to keep them free from rust ; 
 The weeds, for slaughter, cannot you select, 
 And, whilst they bloom, treat flowers with due 
 
 respect ? 
 For your dread purpose, surely, you'll admit. 
 All human bodies equally are fit. 
 
 * Written in the month of June, 1870. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 87 
 
 Why then take Dickens ? for to mortals all 
 
 The loss is heavy and your gain is small. 
 
 Thou comforter in life's hard pilgrimage ! 
 
 Beloved by youth, and reverenced by age, 
 
 Far weightier pens than mine will sing thy praise : 
 
 But I, poor sloper through life's busy ways, 
 
 On thy lamented, yet so honoured, bier, 
 
 Can only pay the tribute of a tear. 
 
 And many such I've shed ; for in my time. 
 
 How many friends are gone in summer's prime ! 
 
 Poor Phillip in Elysium takes his ease. 
 
 With gentle Creswick and with true Maclise, 
 
 Good Leech and Thackeray have joined death's 
 
 feast. 
 And now falls Dickens, last, though not the 
 
 least. 
 The busy world becomes a solitude, 
 No force of wit or folly can elude ; 
 
 G 
 
88 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Unmoved, I pace the park, the square, the 
 
 street, 
 And feel that earth is slipping from my feet. 
 
 In mercy, let me drop this mournful theme, 
 
 And still at folly vent a playful scream. 
 
 ]My dear Euterpe ! sweetest, gentlest Muse, 
 
 Whence comes it that thy votaries abuse 
 
 Their privilege, and, thirsting for thy blood, 
 
 'Souse thee, my pretty virgin, in the mud ? 
 
 Thy melody, thy harmony, thy tone. 
 
 Are silenced by great drum and huge trombone. 
 
 And thrills, which come not from the heart, 
 
 declare 
 What pleasure in thy presence mortals share. 
 Most gorgeous are the temples we have reared. 
 To prove how much your muse-ship is revered ; 
 
The Age of Shicco. 89 
 
 And yet the motive of this veneration 
 
 Springs less from love, I fear, than ostentation. 
 
 But what can one expect from fools, I trow. 
 
 Who, to Beethoven, much prefer Gounod ? 
 
 To Handel or Mozart they pay small glory ; 
 
 The Traviata and the Trovatore, 
 
 With other operas of poor invention. 
 
 Are the sole works that rivet their attention. 
 
 And when Fidelio or The Don are played. 
 
 They talk as folks do at a masquerade. 
 
 Except when happily the Diva Patti 
 
 Warbles in tones so wheedling, " Batti, Batti ; " 
 
 But feven then the bravas they prolong 
 
 Are given to the singer, not the song. 
 
 Nay, if by popularity we test 
 
 The worth of music, it must be confest 
 
 How poor indeed are Mozart's strains — alack 
 
 For Art ! compared to those of Offenbach. 
 
go The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Look at the well-dressed crowds that nightly 
 
 press 
 To hear La Barbe Bleue or La Grande Duchesse. 
 Nillson or Patti they may spoil and pet ; 
 Their worship is for Schneider or Finette. 
 Burlesque and ballet-dancers are the rage, 
 And Vice — in gauze — is mistress of the stage. 
 How poor Terpsichore must take to heart 
 This prostitution of her graceful art ! 
 yet virgin, not alone upon the height 
 'Of famed Parnassus, whilome in delight. 
 You wander now in sorrow : all the Nine 
 Have equal cause to grumble and repine. 
 No sounds of joy enliven the bleak spot. 
 And sweet Euterpe's saddest of the lot. 
 
 In music, as in every art that's known. 
 The manner, not the matter, is alone 
 
The Age of Stucco. g i 
 
 The cause whence spring successes or reverses, 
 The " open Sesame " to hearts and purses. 
 'In the pursuit of entertainment, few- 
 Will rail at folly — if it's only new. 
 'Dwarfs, giants, hairy women, each abortion 
 Of nature meets with favour, in proportion 
 As the pet object of our veneration 
 Is monster-worthy of our approbation. 
 But chiefly do we love to stare and gape 
 At poor Precocity, in any shape ; 
 Nor think what endless misery and pain 
 Befall these puny instruments of gain. 
 Poor infant prodigies ! who, in the cradle. 
 Ne'er felt the charm of porridge-pot and ladle ; 
 Blest with no toys, they're doomed their days to pass 
 In eking sounds from catgut or from brass. 
 For them no father quits his evening haunts, 
 O'er them no lullaby a mother chants. 
 
g2 The Age of Shi ceo. 
 
 Nor shelters pity, nor environs peace. 
 Those poor epitomes of golden geese. 
 Others, again, to meet our loud demands. 
 Perform with feet what others do with hands ; 
 Or, more contemptible, with blackened faces. 
 Bones, banjos, flaring dresses and grimaces. 
 Daily and nightly, " all the year," go through 
 Their nigger-nonsense — and with profit too. 
 
 Why to the music halls should I refer ? 
 Those pandemoniums which minister 
 ■JTo tastes, the lowest that to men belong, 
 QBy sickly ballad or by vulgar song. 
 Which most assuredly achieve success 
 By aid of Bass or Barclay, or Guinness. 
 Though Mario to please some few may chance, 
 What are his worshippers to those of Vance ? 
 
The Age of Stucco. 93 
 
 Mark, when the latter issues from the " Cave 
 Of Harmony," how all the " beery " wave 
 Their greasy caps, and cheer with voices hoarse 
 That hero of the vulgar and the coarse. 
 
 I^or yet have I exhausted all the ill — ' 
 In lowest depths we find a lower still. 
 Verdi or Vance their audience may enthral 
 At Covent Garden or at Trevor Hall ; 
 But they who in " sensation " find no joys, 
 Can shun its precincts and avoid its noise. 
 Yet who can drive — most difficult of feats — 
 Its friends, the organ-grinders, from the streets ? 
 In spite of the police and stringent laws, 
 They wander, unmolested. Whence the cause ? 
 
 Our city is a refuge for the dregs 
 Of other countries. If a Briton begs 
 
94 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 He's locked up, — ^for a moment, anyhow : 
 
 But, in our silly freedom, we allow 
 
 All alien paupers to infest the street. 
 
 Under pretence of giving us a treat, 
 
 And making the sad Britons understand 
 
 The sports and pastimes of a happier land ; 
 
 Accompanied with sounds — not sweet, but 
 
 sturdy — 
 Of bagpipe, organ, fife, or hurdy-gurdy. 
 For this the natives of enlightened Prussia, 
 Of France and Turkey, Austria and Russia, 
 Of kingless Spain and brigand-loving Greece, 
 Of conquered Algiers and sequestered Nice ; 
 The subjects of all monarchs in the east, 
 North, west, and south ; and those — though last, 
 
 not least — 
 Of " gallant " Victor and of "Holy " Pope,— 
 All equally averse to use 'of soap, — 
 
The Age of Stucco. 95 
 
 Flock hither, with a base discerning greed, 
 
 The much-enduring Englishman to bleed. 
 
 Had I the seals of office for an hour. 
 
 To some good purpose would I use my power ; 
 
 No more on British soil should such hounds 
 
 roam : 
 Td pack the scoundrels with their vermin home. 
 
 Of all these plagues which thus our life beset, 
 Disturb our slumber and our temper fret. 
 None is more hateful than the " German Band," 
 That tuneless product of a tuneful land. 
 Which justly boasts of having given birth 
 To sons of music of the highest worth. 
 With cornet, fife, bassoon and ophicleide, 
 Trumpets — some with and some without a slide, — 
 With clarionet, drum, horn, — all in excess — 
 And torn and bruised or battered, more or less, — 
 
96 The Age of Shicco. 
 
 These bands of stalwart men or tiny boys — 
 Fixing their stands — belch forth their horrid no 
 In square or street, each haven of sweet peace, 
 Where few the carts, still fewer the police ; 
 And the result is such as might be made, 
 If in a different key each minstrel played. 
 Like wolves, they scent the mansion of disease, 
 And levy " black-mail " when and where t 
 
 please. 
 Woe to the wretch who, spurning doctor's warn 
 Partakes of slumber in the early morning ! 
 Just as vague visions o'er his senses creep, 
 And the poor wearied spirit sinks to sleep. 
 Crash goes the trombone, bang the mon 
 
 drum. 
 And peace and comfort fly to " Kingdom come 
 Vainly have Babbage and John Leech attemptc 
 To punish men, from punishment exempted. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 97 
 
 From blessing's evils there is no release, 
 A land of freedom is no land of peace. 
 
 Apollo ! thou of the unerring bow, 
 
 God of all arts that flourish here below. 
 
 To thee I turn, as painter, for the Nine 
 
 All supervision o'er my art decline, 
 
 And scorn to shed the smallest of their favours 
 
 On painters, sculptors, architects, engravers ; 
 
 Or on that mongrel tribe of underlings 
 
 Which, to the draggling skirts of Art still 
 
 clings. 
 As stragglers follow at a conqueror's heel. 
 Some trifling fruits of victory to steal. 
 Nor can I grumble, ye devoted Nine, 
 That on this matter you are so supine ; 
 In your vocation you've enough to do. 
 To keep in order all the motley crew 
 
98 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Of hangers-on, who for your favours press ; — 
 Would that your labour met with more success ! 
 
 Nor of thy care, Apollo, can I boast ; 
 
 By photographic work you're so engrossed. 
 
 To higher art you can't attention pay. 
 
 Or keep it moving in a proper way. 
 
 And what has been the immediate effect 
 
 Of calling on your majesty direct ? 
 
 And getting all we want for our vocation. 
 
 By robbery and not by inspiration ? 
 
 What though the thing we steal be " very " truth ! 
 
 Its outward aspect still is so uncouth, 
 
 That even falsehood would appear more true 
 
 When lit by Fancy's beauty-tinted hue. 
 
 How Titian, Rembrandt, and Vandyke would 
 
 laugh, 
 Could but those worthies see a photograph ! 
 
The Age of Stucco. 99 
 
 With what contempt too would they hail the fact 
 
 That such a print from nature was exact ! 
 
 Alas ! Apollo, all thy fire so able 
 
 To kindle Art, like the Atlantic cable, 
 
 Is wasted to supply the wants of trade, 
 
 And higher motives sink from want of aid. 
 
 If lust of wealth, o'er Art, be ruler prime, 
 
 The force of fame must yield to that of time ; 
 
 And whilst upon the latter we lay stress. 
 
 The fastest brush will reap the most success. 
 
 In money-grubbing ages, you must grub 
 
 For money. With what honour ? there's the 
 
 rub. 
 How many, in their after years, complain 
 O'er loss of future fame for present gain ! 
 Who, if obedient to the voice of truth. 
 Had cherished wants of age o'er those of youth, 
 
lOO The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And, honouring the maxim, true though old, 
 
 That gain is silver, but that fame is gold. 
 
 Had spent their time on earth with such pure 
 
 aim. 
 That age might dwell on manhood without shame. 
 
 By crooked ways to reach bright Fame's abode. 
 How Impotence will spurn the common road, 
 Which simple Genius, not without success. 
 Has trodden hitherto ! in humbleness 
 Of heart and single-mindedness of aim. 
 Striving by honest courses to reap Fame, 
 And far too proud to snatch a wreath by guile. 
 Not thus act those impostors who defile 
 The ways of Art, and by sheer impudence, 
 Its progress to perfection influence. 
 Far too impatient in their lust for praise, 
 They strive to get it by less toilsome ways, 
 
The Age of Stucco. i o i 
 
 And think all difficulties can be cleared, 
 
 By simply scorning what was erst revered. 
 
 Nor wonder that success is thus achieved ; 
 
 For daring novelty will be received 
 
 By fools at least (and in the wretched dearth 
 
 Of Genius), as a certain proof of worth ; 
 
 And whilst it wins the never-failing smile 
 
 Of cliques and critics, it will reign awhile. 
 
 Yet, in the very height of its success. 
 
 When from the sham we tear the tinsel-dress. 
 
 We find those marks of impotence and pride, — 
 
 Conceit of self — contempt of all beside. 
 
 Its inward nakedness I will reveal. 
 
 And first, to thee, Euterpe ! I appeal. 
 
 The " Music of the Future " may be known 
 By its contempt for melody alone. 
 
1 02 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Not less it errs from want of continuity, 
 
 Or — to go further still — of perspicuity. 
 
 But music, without melody, must be 
 
 " Lucus a non lucendo." I agree 
 
 That melody must more or less depend 
 
 On harmony ; but, surely, in the end. 
 
 The melody should conquer, and must flow 
 
 In a continuous stream, now high, now low, 
 
 Yet natural in sequence, like Mozart's, 
 
 Not Schumann's, which, revealed by fits and starts, 
 
 In incoherent gasps expires at length : 
 
 Convulsions are no proof of health and strength. 
 
 Nor less to ways perverse is Art inclined ; 
 In " Pictures of the Future " you will find 
 A want of all those qualities which once 
 Were thought to mark the wise man from the 
 dunce. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 103 
 
 To represent, was once the painter's aim, 
 But to suggest, is now the road to fame. 
 And, such our lust for anything that's new, 
 We gaze on falsehood and pronounce it true ; 
 In fumblers' smears detect much subtle grace, 
 And scorn more thorough work as " common- 
 place." 
 
 Set a ball rolling, it will take its course, 
 If down-hill, ever with increasing force. 
 Until it meets a check it cannot master. 
 And then accrues destruction or disaster. 
 But set it rolling up-hill, and the ball. 
 Without some pressure, will not move at all, 
 To reach the height will need assistance too ; 
 But idlers, who have nothing else to do. 
 Are ever ready to mix in a crowd, 
 So that it be demonstrative and loud, 
 
 H 
 
I04 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And he who strives, up-hill, to roll the ball. 
 Will find support, according to his call — 
 With little effort on his part obtain 
 The smoke of Fame, with its ingredient, gain. 
 What is the fiiture ? What to him the past r 
 The present, for his purposes, will last. 
 
 If Fashion all Art's progress thus affects. 
 Who rules o'er Fashion, and its course directs ? 
 The Critics, mighty monarchs of the press, 
 Alone distribute failure or success. 
 Time was when poet, painter, or musician. 
 As witness Shakspeare, or Mozart, or Titian, 
 Had not the benefit of such a nurse, 
 And certainly their work was none the worse. 
 Whence comes it then Art's ways are so em- 
 broiled ? 
 With cooks so dainty, why the broth is spoiled ? 
 
The Age of Stucco. 105 
 
 When Wisdom, with effect, to fools would preach. 
 Harsh is the task, and harsh must be her speech. 
 
 To speak, in fulsome praise, of one man's merit, 
 
 Yet fail to see what others may inherit ; 
 
 To blazon forth the errors of the latter, 
 
 But hide a fault when 'tis their wish to flatter ; 
 
 Such is the slip-shod justice meted out 
 
 By those who never are oppressed by doubt ; 
 
 And who, though held by wise men in aversion, 
 
 By force of impudence and self-assertion 
 
 Are recognised by fools as fit to guide 
 
 The stream of fashion, and its course decide. 
 
 Art, Literature, Music, everything 
 
 Man does, some honest pence or praise to 
 
 wring. 
 These Briarean monsters seize upon 
 As themes to vent their wit or folly on. 
 
io6 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 With bold effrontery, which knows not shame, 
 They doom each worker to contempt or fame ; 
 And thunder out salvation or damnation. 
 As very Luthers of Art-Reformation. 
 
 Yet wherein lies the justice of their claim 
 To be dispensers of contempt or fame ? 
 A heav'n-born judge is not a thing of earth. 
 But mythological, of dubious birth. 
 Who knows if shoes be well or badly made, 
 Unless he's been apprenticed to the trade ? 
 And, spite of leading articles, high-flown. 
 The rule applies to every art that's known. 
 For as to intuition, inspiration, 
 Or other substitutes for education. 
 Although they shed a momentary ray 
 Of flickering light in their erratic way, 
 
The Age of Stucco. 107 
 
 Like that of glow-worm or of shooting star, 
 
 As guides, they're not more safe than drunkards 
 
 are. 
 So, to be poets, painters, or musicians, 
 Men must obey the very same conditions 
 Enforced on every one who, in pursuit 
 Of fame, in humblest paths would gather fruit. 
 
 But critics from some " subtle " sphere are hurled, 
 In mercy, critic-made, into the world ; 
 Or, if they need experience, it is gained. 
 Not as most men that blessing have obtained. 
 For, if report speaks truth — it sometimes does — 
 Anent these monarchs of th' Anonymous, 
 One curious thing we learn : before they tried 
 Their hands at criticism, they had plied 
 Them on the very Arts they criticise, 
 But failed, in any race, to win a prize. 
 
1 08 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And so their scorn and hate they freely chuck 
 At those who, whether from more brains or luck, 
 Have reaped their tiny harvest ; and these 
 
 barkers 
 By Fame unmarked, of Fame become the markers — 
 ' Of opportunity take full possession, 
 And mark the score with love, but not discretion. 
 
 Why marvel if a critic has not sense 
 To settle if 'tis power or impudence, 
 Which makes him, with a charity divine, 
 Expose the treasures of his tinsel mine \ 
 How can he justify his self-election. 
 Except by ever making an objection 
 To rules and principles which influence 
 Those who are only blest with common sense ? 
 What if his doctrines be pronounced untrue ? 
 They have this merit, at the least they're new : 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 09 
 
 And novelty — of all means to ensure 
 
 Profit or honour — is the most secure. 
 
 And thus, Art-critics, to be thought abstruse, 
 
 Select for praise what elsewhere finds abuse ; 
 
 Mere stammering they take for subtle speech, 
 
 And " non-performance " as the highest reach 
 
 A painter can attain. Alas ! for Art, 
 
 When its disciples care not to impart 
 
 Their meaning fully ; but, like poor tide-waiters, 
 
 Just leave it to the whim of the spectators. 
 
 This suits the critics, for they must be bold ; 
 
 From a gold-digging nuggets of pure gold 
 
 The veriest fool may reap ; but to extract 
 
 Gold firom a dunghill is a godlike act. 
 
 Such store of knowledge critics would impart. 
 Perched high upon the judgment-seat of Art, 
 
I lo The Age of Stucco. 
 
 But wanting sadly in that common sense 
 
 Which is the product of experience. 
 
 They, in pursuit of taste, are sorry leaders — 
 
 Muddled themselves, they muddle all their readers. 
 
 As partisans, and not as judges act ; 
 
 Accept the mere intention for the fact ; 
 
 And treat their protegees as mothers treat 
 
 A favoured child, whom mercy 'twere to beat. 
 
 They will not see the errors that abound, 
 
 And picture beauties where none can be found. 
 
 Whate'er is ugly they pronounce divine ; 
 
 What is ungraceful, graceful ; and, in fine. 
 
 Their constant aim is simply to refute 
 
 Established doctrines, and to substitute — 
 
 In lieu of wisdom and experience — 
 
 A mumbo-jumbo, full of sound, not sense. 
 
 'Tis pity, in their struggles to succeed, 
 
 They don't agree upon some given creed. 
 
The Age of Stucco. \ \ i 
 
 But such the envy which the tribe afflicts, 
 What one asserts another contradicts. 
 Each critic lauds some friend, who is a hero 
 To him alone — to all the rest, a zero. 
 But justice, in a way now much in fashion. 
 Culprits and victims smites: whilst blazes pas- 
 sion, 
 In equanimity the painter dwells. 
 And eats the oyster, giving them the shells. 
 
 Nor less pernicious is their influence 
 On legislation ; for the sad suspense 
 Which hinders progress and puts off redress, 
 Springs from the action of the public Press. 
 No statesman, whatsoe'er his fame and power, 
 Can call himself the " Master of the hour." 
 In daily terror of the mighty " we," 
 His hands are paralysed : whereas could he 
 
112 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 But tear the mask which hides the cunning fencer, 
 \ !ie'd snap his fingers at each puny censor ; 
 And, like the hero in th' Arabian story, 
 Pursue his way to conquest and to glory, 
 Unmindful of all warnings, meek or hoarse, 
 Or missiles hurled to stop him on his course. 
 An open foe I honour and respect : 
 But he who skulks in ambush to effect 
 His deadly purpose, is a base Athenian, 
 A brigand, red republican, or Fenian, 
 Unworthy of the noble name of " Briton " — 
 A fouler stigma my Muse cannot hit on. 
 If education only serves to make 
 Men discontented, and a path forsake. 
 Which, rugged though it be, yet leads to peace, 
 Our clamours for that blessing let us cease ; 
 To be a " master of one trade," though small, 
 Is better than to be a " Jack of all." 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 1 3 
 
 The want of knowledge springs from waste of 
 
 learning ; 
 So plentiful the food to stay our yearning, 
 "We have no time such knowledge to obtain, 
 As serves for present or for future gain — 
 'Tis spent on matters which alone amuse, 
 And what of power life gives us we abuse. 
 We fritter time, and, to our bitter cost, 
 Have only time to mourn the time we've lost. 
 Could we but be content to learn our trade. 
 And, for mere pleasure, scorn external aid. 
 How much more perfect would be each man's 
 
 work. 
 How less his sad propensity to shirk ! 
 But of such promised dawn I see no gleams : 
 Alas ! my pictures are Utopian dreams. 
 Resplendent in the solemn gloom of night. 
 But filmy in the blaze of morning's light. 
 
1 1 4 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Here ends this Canto ; in the next I hope 
 My way through shifty " fecial life " to grope, 
 And not immaculate, though void of terror, 
 Unmask hypocrisy and chasten error. 
 Yet, to say fearlessly what must be said, 
 I, Goddess of plain Truth, implore thy aid ; 
 Though, in thy service, if I rise or fall, 
 The punishment is great, the glory small. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 What has been termed " the Spirit of the Age " 
 
 Than worth and wisdom of the mightiest sage — 
 
 Is every way more potent to affect 
 
 Man's social welfare, and his course direct. 
 
 The monarch of the present, it will shower 
 
 Blessings on those who recognise its power ; 
 
 But pain and poverty on all men cast 
 
 Who woo the future, or revere the past ; 
 
 And though, from day to day, in outward guise. 
 
 It ever changes, yet it never dies. 
 
 Truth to promote, or falsehood propagate. 
 
 Wisdom to throne, or folly elevate. 
 
1 1 6 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 t 
 
 'T4-, 
 
 re equally, whilst the short fit may wear, 
 Its dearest object and its " crowning care." 
 
 And of that spirit, what the present state ? 
 It don't betoken health, at any rate ; 
 There need some pills and purges to remove 
 Its grave obstructions, and its tone improve. 
 
 Muse of Satire ! thou must be the leech 
 To cure disease by yet more potent speech : 
 Strike, I beseech you, whilst the iron's warm. 
 Nor yet the patient soothe by chloroform. 
 The " cat " to tears a vicious heart will melt, 
 But for that end the flogging must be felt. 
 Would that its stripes for ever could remain ! 
 
 1 fear repentance perishes with pain ; 
 For, when subside the terrors of the day. 
 Virtue flies off, and Vice resumes its sway. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 1 
 
 The Present, though the offspring of the Past, 
 Is parent of the Future, and will cast 
 Its shadow, when no longer felt or seen, 
 And what will ie, depends on what has been. 
 Each passing moment, fraught with loss oi 
 
 gain. 
 Is but a link in life's unbroken chain. 
 In wit or folly, virtue or in crime, 
 Decline or progress is the work of time. 
 Nor, certes, is it easy to detect 
 The cause of each immediate effect. 
 Nay, whether from gross ignorance or pride. 
 Few mortals take experience for a guide. 
 Nor, spite of multiplied disasters, learn 
 The Past to honour, and its worth discern : 
 The Present is the ruler they obey. 
 And Chance the goddess at whose shrine the 
 
 pray. 
 
1 1 8 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Decline or progress, in our social state, 
 Can never march at one continued rate ; 
 Reaction intervenes in proper time. 
 To keep down virtue, as to keep down crime. 
 And save us from becoming, let me add. 
 Completely perfect or completely bad — 
 For power, when carried to excess, will tend 
 To bring the evil which it strives to mend. 
 Freedom, of Tyranny is but the child. 
 And despots reign when liberty grows wild ; — 
 A reign of saints succeeds a reign of sinners, 
 Then, en revanche, the latter are the winners : 
 Spurning religion or the law's restraint, 
 The saint is sinner, and the sinner saint ; 
 Disease and pain may usher health and ease, 
 And strong health be forerunner of disease ; — 
 Joy oft will weep, and sorrow often smile ; — 
 'virtue may lead to crime, and crime beguile 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 1 9 
 
 Its votaries to virtue's ways no less, 
 
 When motive strength is carried to excess. 
 
 If thus reaction be a trusty guide 
 
 Betwixt the past and present to decide, 
 
 Surely the age preceding must have been 
 
 As great in purpose, as this one is mean. 
 
 Swift turns the moral wheel : now up, now 
 
 down, 
 Virtue and Vice alternate wear the crown. 
 The follies of the present, and its crimes, 
 Are blossoms from the seeds of former times. 
 So, what of blessing or of curse we reap, 
 Should neither lead us to rejoice nor weep ; 
 The only way to soothe our fallen pride, 
 Is not to rail, but simply to deride. 
 
 That " middle course," so vaunted by the sage. 
 Is not the course pursued by any age. 
 
 I 
 
1 20 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Some are too trifling, others much too serious ;- 
 One is too lax, another too imperious ; — 
 Each, too, is prone its virtue to exalt. 
 And, of the others, only see the fault. 
 Thus do we ever tend to ways extreme. 
 But yet, instead of being, ever seem ; 
 Trusting, not vainly, whatsoe'er betide, 
 (Z)ur want of strength audacity may hide. 
 Mohammed found, and Luther too, no less. 
 That weapon was the weapon for success. 
 Whether you strive for fame, or simply pence, 
 You equally must trust to impudence ; 
 And would you reap of conquest the full share. 
 As Danton said, " To conquer, you must dare." 
 
 Nor, be it said in honour or contempt. 
 From " daring " is the present age exempt. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 121 
 
 In Art or Commerce, — yea, on every road 
 
 That leads to Plutus's or Fame's abode,— 
 
 Pushing or pufl&ng is the only way 
 
 To issue forth, victorious, from the fray. 
 
 Virtue and modesty may have their charms, 
 
 feut, in life's struggle, they are wretched arms ; 
 
 And must, like Lazarus in Dives' hall, 
 
 Be grateful for the smallest cru'mbs that fall. 
 
 Nor time, nor temper to investigate 
 
 Man's claims to honour, we are apt to rate 
 
 Each mortal, by a process of inversion. 
 
 Not by his merit, but his self-assertion. 
 
 What though the meteor may turn out a bubble r 
 
 The practice saves us, at the least, from trouble. 
 
 Moreover, in the fever of " sensation," 
 
 What most excites our hatred is stagnation. 
 
 To stir the crowd, you need not even scream. 
 
 The smallest pebble will disturb the stream. 
 
1 2 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Above all, never scruple to find fault 
 
 With other's merits, and your own exalt : 
 
 Who shouts "sum dignus," steals our hearts and 
 
 purses ; 
 Who cries " peccavi," meets with kicks and 
 
 curses. 
 
 'Tis pity, sure, as Wisdom works its way, 
 
 The faculty to use it should decay. 
 
 In youth, we spurn th' experience of the sage. 
 
 And scorn youth's strength, in feebleness of 
 
 age. 
 Alas ! what countless blessings would accrue. 
 Could youth but reason, and could age but do. 
 The times, as Hamlet says, are all awry ; — 
 As nature wills it so, we live and die ; 
 Living, when life can only life's-blood give, 
 Dying, when life has taught us how to live. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 123 
 
 Though we denounce this age as too rapacious, 
 
 At least, 'tis in rapacity sagacious. 
 
 It knows that Wisdom is a plant so slow 
 
 Of growth, that who the seed may timely sow, 
 
 Can scarcely hope that it may be his doom 
 
 To see it in the glory of full bloom. 
 
 But wealth, it knows, can ever satisfy 
 
 Those wants which wisdom never can supply. 
 
 So, casting to the winds the blessed seed 
 
 Of wisdom, it attends to that of greed ; 
 
 By artificial means, or other courses. 
 
 The plant, to blossom prematurely, forces ; 
 
 And for its pains enjoys the sorry savour 
 
 Of pleasure, rich in bulk, but poor in flavour. 
 
 This burning lust to gather wealth betime, 
 Enfeebles virtue, and engenders crime ; 
 
124 77/1? Age of Stucco. 
 
 And leads all men, or rich or poor, to try 
 
 Their fortunes on the chances of a die. 
 
 Of all our vices, and we have full many, 
 
 The vice of Betting is the worst of any : 
 
 It reigns supreme, in places great or small. 
 
 In boudoir, drawing-room, or servants'-hall, — 
 
 In Stock Exchange, in tavern, or in street, — 
 
 In short, wherever two or three can meet. 
 
 " Coming events " are things whereon we stake 
 
 Our money, fortune rapidly to make. 
 
 Yet for each one who rises in success. 
 
 How many thousands tumble in distress ! 
 
 The heir of many acres spends a brief 
 
 Time of excitement, and soon " comes to grief ; " 
 
 Far from his country and his home he flies, 
 
 Unhonoured lives, and unlamented dies. 
 
 Or if we turn to " lower human kind " — 
 
 So vice doth level all men — we shall find 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 25 
 
 A gaol, or workhouse, is the last support 
 Of slaves addicted to the " noble sport." 
 
 If, in pursuit of profit, we become 
 
 To honour callous, or to reason dumb ; 
 
 In the pursuit of pleasure, we dispense 
 
 'With every particle of common sense, 
 
 And hours and days of misery endure, 
 
 A moment of excitement to secure. 
 
 For this, we rush to balls and parties, where 
 
 "We swallow poison, and inhale foul air ; 
 
 Through scorching heat above, and dust beneath, 
 
 We toil to Epsom or to Ascot Heath, 
 
 And mix in crowds, composed, as most crowds 
 
 are. 
 Of brutes, whose vice and filth are on a par ; 
 At fickle fortune vent our bitter curses. 
 And lose our tempers, watches, and our purses. 
 
1 26 The Age of Shicco. 
 
 We leave the festive scene with spirits worn, 
 'With faces dirty, and with dresses torn ; 
 Nor yet enjoy the privilege to say, 
 We come out any wiser from the fray, 
 For the next day's repentance — all our gain — 
 Lasts only whilst our head-aches may remain. 
 When the chance offers, then we swiftly cast 
 To idle wind the lesson of the past. 
 
 Or yet with mental blindness, still more strange — 
 Such is man's quenchless thirst for constant 
 
 change — 
 We traverse continents and seas, to find 
 Pain for the comforts we have left behind ; 
 And novelty, in any shape, to greet. 
 Neglect the beauties scattered at our feet. 
 Yet, what results from all our wear and tear. 
 Is, by no means, the object of our care. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 2 7 
 
 Let Wisdom shake its head, or Age reprove, 
 
 Youth fidgets " to be ever on the move." 
 
 We scale high mountains for the sake of scaling, 
 
 Or sail right round the world from love of sailing ; 
 
 Kill lions merely for the sake of killing. 
 
 Or, to face danger, not at all unwilling. 
 
 Join any Garibaldi who unfurls 
 
 Rebellion's standard, and defiance hurls 
 
 On all who reign " by virtue of descent," 
 
 And "human progress," in its march, prevent, — 
 
 Not, trust me, from devotion to the cause, 
 
 But simple hatred for established laws ; 
 
 To rule supreme, though only for a day, 
 
 Is sweeter far than meekly to obey. 
 
 By force of reason you may forward right. 
 
 But long the progress, and how tame the fight ! 
 
 To keep men moving in a settled course, 
 
 The force of muscle is the cogent force. 
 
128 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Nor wiser they, who, wishing to escape 
 
 " The horrors of the middle passage," gape 
 
 Through all those moments which are spent in 
 
 staring, 
 
 By people who possess more nerve and daring. 
 
 When town is empty, and amusements rare. 
 
 When theatres are shut, and churches bare, 
 
 Materfamilias, with all her chicks, 
 
 ^ines for the sight of livelier things than bricks ; 
 
 And though he grumbles much at the expense, 
 
 Paterfamilias has too much sense 
 
 To spurn the wish of those who have such power 
 
 / 
 
 (His pleasure to enhance, or temper sour. 
 
 And so, with resignation, and, what's better, 
 
 Bank-notes in plenty, or a banker's letter, 
 
 To sea-side rookeries he wends his way. 
 
 And, listless, lists to what " the wild waves 
 
 say;" 
 
The Age of Stucco. 129 
 
 Gets fleeced by beggars, Savoyards, or Germians, 
 Reads novels by the score, and even sermons. 
 To shake off ennui, or remorse to spurn. 
 And, after weeks of " recreation," learn 
 That idleness produces more distress 
 Than mental work, e'en carried to excess. 
 
 Or, if unblessed with children or a wife. 
 With much of strength, yet little reason rife. 
 To Scotland will he hie, and mountains " stalk," 
 In attitudes wherein men never walk 
 (For nature tells us, though with ti-uth so trite. 
 To lie distended, and to walk upright). 
 Yet after all his trouble and turmoil. 
 His stalking and his sweating, what the spoil ? 
 To grace the " turn-spit," or the boiling-pot. 
 The beast he sla,ys is scarcely worth the 
 shot; 
 
1 30 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 A sheep of four years gives more meat and juice"] 
 Than all the deer of Europe can produce. 
 
 Proud of his muscles, the Piscator shoulders 
 His rod, and spurning shingles, rocks, and boulders, 
 Pursues the salmon on the Tweed or Tay, 
 Nor minds his bruises, so he bags his prey. 
 Another tries, with true Piscator's zeal. 
 To catch his hundred- weight of conger-eel : 
 Whilst some, from fat, than muscle, more pro- 
 tuberant. 
 Squat in a punt, nor are they less exuberant 
 With joy, if from the river's wealth they winnow 
 A perch, a roach, a gudgeon, or a minnow. 
 
 Whatever be the difference of view. 
 
 One common aim excites the " sporting " crew. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 131 
 
 And that is, " love of slaughter ; "—as for skill, 
 
 'Tis only the concomitant of will. 
 
 Our will is pleasure ; cannot we obtain 
 
 All that we long for without giving pain ? 
 
 Grant me, kind Providence, some trifling plot 
 
 Of earth, together with a lowly cot, 
 
 Far from a city's pleasures and its strife, 
 
 I there could pass a calm contented life. 
 
 My books and garden all my joy and care, 
 
 With one sweet soul my solitude to share — 
 
 There could I find (what more can wisdom 
 
 crave ?) 
 A home of peace, and, at the last, a grave. 
 
 How can such idle dreams my brain beset ? 
 I'm growing sentimental, and forget 
 That this is not the poet's age of gold. 
 But one wherein e'en happiness is sold, 
 
1 3 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Like every article, by weight or measure, 
 
 Nor need a rich man seek in vain for pleasure. 
 
 How vast and varied are the offers made, 
 
 His wants to furnish, and his search to aid ! 
 
 To win the favour of the great man's smile 
 
 No artifice too mean, no means too vile. 
 
 If meekness cannot crown the good intent, 
 
 When aU the force of iiattery is spent, 
 
 We take to weapons of another sort. 
 
 And scream and fight, each other's views to 
 
 thwart. 
 Whilst in such strife the calm unruffled sage 
 May clearly see the " Spirit of the Age," 
 And tearing off its mask and cloak, reveal 
 The form it vainly struggles to conceal. 
 
 If, by advertisements— which, both in number 
 And size, the crowded ways of life encumber. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 133 
 
 Flooding the journals and the magazines, 
 And crippling editor's and author's means — 
 'Twere possible on this deceptive earth, 
 To truly gauge the advertiser's worth, 
 "With how much virtue must he be invested ! 
 So enterprising, yet disinterested ! 
 Not his the low desire for selfish greed. 
 But simply to supply man's daily need 
 (Witness the shops, established not for sale, 
 But for supplying of " pure Alton ale "); 
 And equally, in hours of toil or leisure, 
 Lessen his labour, and enhance his pleasure. 
 In feeling, cosmtipolitan, he spurns 
 Mere insular or narrow views, and burns 
 To shed the light of his benevolence 
 Where it may blessings cast, and gather pence. 
 Is there a spot on earth, howe'er remote ; 
 Is there a monument of classic note. 
 
134 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Which is not made a medium to declare 
 
 The priceless virtue of his proffered ware ? 
 
 Could Cheops gaze upon the pyramid, 
 
 (Built, Byron says, "to keep his mummy 
 
 hid,") 
 For far more useful purpose would he find 
 It used, than that for which it was designed. 
 On living man life's blessing yet to shed, 
 Is surely better than to shrink the dead. 
 And he who now beholds that pyramid, — 
 Unmindful of past worth within it hid, — 
 Can learn what wholesome virtues now pre- 
 vail 
 In Warren's blacking and in Bass's ale ; 
 Or gazing on the name of Smith or Jones, 
 Scribbled or carved upon the crumbling stones. 
 Feel England's influence is not effaced. 
 And boast of British enterprise and taste. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 3 5 
 
 But of all places where — for work or sport — 
 The public is accustomed to resort, 
 To foster pleasure and spread education, 
 No place so potent as a railway-station. 
 What literary wealth is there disclosed ! 
 What wondrous works of Art are there exposed ! 
 We read " eight reasons " given to attest 
 The value of the Echo as the best 
 Of papers — both frorii matter and from size — 
 Wherein our wants or wares to advertise. 
 We find — alas ! how ignorant we are — 
 The Daily Telegraph enjoys, by far, 
 " The largest circulation in the world." 
 Persistently that mighty fact is hurled. 
 As if the statement — truth, or pure invention — 
 Were worthy of the idlest man's attention. 
 What journal or what magazine to choose, 
 For " high-class," liberal, or tory views, 
 
 K 
 
1 3 6 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 The railway-station, by a pendent board 
 
 Or pasted bill, will every choice afford. 
 
 As for the pleasures it announces, who — 
 
 Possessed of spirits and of shillings too — 
 
 Can growl, with any justice, at the dearth 
 
 Of entertainment, whatsoe'er its worth ? 
 
 If you would really pass a " happy day," 
 
 To Rosherville you're told to wend your way ; 
 
 And, in the Crystal Palace, you may gain 
 
 " The cheapest shilling's-worth " of joy or pain. 
 
 What mortal has the faintest right to grieve. 
 
 Who knows " the Christy Minstrels never leave 
 
 The hall," wherein they're wont to sing or 
 
 bray, 
 "All the year round," and, sometimes "twice a 
 
 day?" 
 If for dramatic pleasures you're inclined. 
 What " triumph of reality " you find ! 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 3 7 
 
 The man, indeed, in feeling must be dense. 
 If a " real forge " won't stir his jaded sense. 
 'But, in this struggle knowledge to impart. 
 How weak is language when compared to Art ! 
 The merit of the goods men advertise, 
 Art sets most palpably before our eyes. 
 We see a " gorgeous swell " pourtrayed, to show 
 How " doubly we may use the rug-paletot ; " 
 Or gaze upon a picture which exposes 
 The " cut" of Hyam, or the "taste" of Moses; 
 And feast on ladies of surprising beauty, 
 Depicted to teach woman 'tis her duty 
 ; To purchase, if pure comfort is her view. 
 
 Sewing-machines, umbrellas, " paper-blue ; " 
 i In short, all articles which are designed 
 Her body to adorn, or please her mind. 
 Further, to show the merit of the wares 
 The advertisers offer, each declares 
 
138 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 That heavy pains and penalties on all 
 
 Who steal his " trade-mark " will most surely 
 
 fall, 
 Or yet presume his " patent " to invade. 
 At present, every article in trade 
 Is " patented," the public to protect 
 From imposition, or from fraud direct. 
 That such a system should command success. 
 Of prudence gives small proof, of wit still less ; 
 And teaches mortals, to their common shame, 
 That " puffing " is the surest road to fame. 
 
 " Our lively cousins in the West" have coined — 
 Or, as some wits assert, have but purloined — 
 A word to specify the difference 
 (Not always patent to man's common sense), 
 'Twixt what in quality is false or true, 
 Rotten within, though perfect to the view. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 139 
 
 That word is *' shoddy ; " and although 'twas made 
 
 To designate an article of trade, 
 
 I fear the noxious term may be applied, 
 
 With equal justice, to all arts beside. 
 
 Few men — so strong in prudence, weak in nerve — 
 
 Will give a guinea when a crown would serve. 
 
 Of all the fools who by sheer folly shine. 
 
 The greatest he who chucks his pearls to swine. 
 
 Why waste your stores of wit or eloquence 
 
 On people who are void of common sense ? 
 
 If — by the outward semblance, you can draw — 
 
 The inward purpose is not worth a straw. 
 
 Those who on wisdom or on virtue lean, 
 
 I fear, in number, will be ever mean. 
 
 If, quite regardless of your mental health, 
 
 Your only object is to gather wealth, 
 
 Two methods for the purpose will suffice — 
 
 Man's folly humour, and incite his vice. 
 
I40 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 When greed prevails, then will imposture live :— 
 For men but get the measure they would give. 
 If they will have things cheap, they must be nast 
 A mutton-pie is not a venison-pasty ; — 
 And photographic portraits, e'en when like. 
 Are poor to those by Titian or Vandyke ; — 
 Sand into sugar cannot well be made, — 
 Nor carrots into orange marmalade ; — 
 You can't brew tea from British sloe-leav 
 
 toasted, — 
 Nor coffee from a kidney-bean when roasted ; — 
 Dust for the snuffer's nostrils won't suffice, — 
 Nor yet can snuff supply the want of spice ; — 
 Tobacco can't be cut from cabbage-stalk, — 
 Nor milk and cream be made from commi 
 
 chalk ; — 
 Malt from molasses you can never glean, — 
 Nor hops from quassia, aloes, or strychnine ; — 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 4 1 
 
 Marsala is not sherry — nor, in short, 
 
 Is gooseberry, champagne — nor elder, port. 
 
 Yet, when such luxuries you want to buy. 
 
 To get them at the cheapest rate you try. 
 
 And pay ten times more for the little particle — 
 
 Which may be therein of the genuine article — 
 
 Than if you bought it at the dearest shop. 
 
 Cheapness, believe me, is a sorry sop 
 
 To sate the stingy, or the poor befriend; 
 
 The dearest things are cheapest in the end. 
 
 Except it be a wife. For when I think^ 
 
 How wives will bring their husbands to the brink 
 
 Of bankruptcy, and merely from a pride 
 
 (Which ever in such angels will abide), 
 
 'Mongst women to be deemed the " better dressed," 
 
 The cheapest wife would suit my purpose best. 
 
 But yet, considering my lonely station. 
 
 Now age has tempered love to admiration, 
 
142 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 I fear it may be thought impertinent, 
 
 To speak in censure, but 'tis kindly meant. 
 
 '^xova. the " short-coming " of our virtues spring 
 More evils than what active vice can bring. 
 If man for honest toil on earth was born, 
 'And woman made its pathways to adorn, 
 How weakly men perform, of man the duty ! 
 How few, of women, show a woman's beauty ! 
 Pursuit of fortune is man's only guide, 
 'And pride of dress is woman's only pride. 
 Whilst both use means to gain their little ends,^ 
 Which virtue scorns, and honour discommends. 
 
 From small heels to great chignons — both in- 
 clusive — 
 How much about you, ladies, is delusive ! 
 Is all within, as all without, unreal ? 
 And man's sweet picture of your sex ideal. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 4 3 
 
 The offspring of a fond imagination, 
 
 Which to plain truth bears very slight relation ? 
 
 But let me drop the theme. 'Tis only fit 
 
 For mention in those classic haUs where sit 
 
 In solemn conclave, all the godlike crew. 
 
 Who fulminate the Saturday Review — 
 
 A journal written, we are told indeed, 
 
 By gentlemen — for gentlemen, to read. 
 
 If, by their writing, you may judge the writers. 
 
 To designate such scurrilous backbiters, 
 
 (In taste so pure, in language so select,) 
 
 The title, self-applied, is incorrect. 
 
 On most things men have different views : none can 
 
 On what may constitute a " gentleman." 
 
 With wit and humour though a man be graced, 
 
 Their presence won't excuse his want of taste ; 
 
 At other folks 'tis sweet to " heave a stone," 
 
 If the offender only be unknown. 
 
1 44 Tlie Age of Stucco. 
 
 But " gentlemen " don't use a blunderbuss 
 
 Behind a hedge : nor are anonymous, 
 
 Unless their present purpose is to do 
 
 More good than harm to the recipient too. 
 
 I leave it to such gentlemen to vex — 
 
 By vulgar jibes and jeers — the gentle sex : 
 
 But I — not being one of the elect — 
 
 Can scarce afford to lose my self-respect, 
 
 By treating those with foul irreverence, 
 
 Whose smiles I covet more than praise or pence. 
 
 Nor can I envy men, whate'er the gain. 
 
 Who find a pleasure in another's pain ; 
 
 Be theirs the honey they extract from gall. 
 
 And mine, what from a purer source may fall. 
 
 My tastes are natural, and not aesthetic : — 
 
 If pleasure, as a dose, must be emetic, 
 
 I'd rather live on, without being pleased. 
 
 And leave such " keg-meg " to the mind diseased. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 145 
 
 Let Jacob Bright, with all who share his 
 
 views, — 
 For worship, — a "strong-minded" woman choose; — 
 And strive, by Act, to let her show her face. 
 Where woman's virtues would be out of place. 
 Such views will never meet with deference 
 From women or from men of common sense. 
 The noblest epitaph a man can write 
 On woman, is, what feebly I indite — 
 " She, who lies in this grave, passed through her 
 
 life, 
 A tender mother and a faithful wife." 
 To be, through life, the ever worthy mate, — 
 Joy to enhance, or grief alleviate, — 
 Much as the worth of learning I respect, 
 A learned woman I should ne'er select. 
 JvTo. Give me some dear little fool whose charm 
 /Lies in her wish to please, not wit to harm ; 
 
146 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Who has such common sense as will suffice 
 To teach her that obedience is not vice, — 
 Still less a badge of slavery ; and who 
 Glories in doing all she's born to do. 
 Ah me ! I quite forget that in an urn, 
 Love's ashes long have laid. So, to return, 
 Dear ladies — (if you're really women, you 
 Will scarcely need advice, however true. 
 My observations are addressed to those. 
 Who, to life's blessings, much prefer its blows ; 
 And who, from envy or dislike of man, 
 Would drop what female attributes they can) — 
 If^adies, in Parliament don't show your faces, 
 But use your influence in other places. 
 I beg you — with a folly suicidal. 
 To be more fussy — don't make men more idle : 
 Nor think your task will be Epicurean, 
 But, like to that of Hercules, Augean. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 147 
 
 If, in this world's hard work you would be misters, 
 Think of the fate that meets your foreign sisters : 
 They plough, they sow, they harrow, and go 
 
 through. 
 Daily, their own work, and their husbands' too ; 
 Whilst their sweet mates — as low or highborn 
 
 dandy — 
 Pass all the day in sipping beer or brandy. 
 God made you, in his wisdom — well you know — 
 To be the firiend of man, and not his foe ; 
 Your duty's clear, if only you will do it. 
 As well you can: — if not, you'll only rue it. 
 Be things of joy, wherever you may roam ; 
 And, above all, be angels in your home ; 
 And trust me, therein you will find a blessing. 
 Far greater than you look for in possessing 
 A place in physics, law, or legislation : 
 Or taking on you, without reservation, 
 
148 The Age of Stucco . 
 
 The sterner duties which belong to men. 
 When they usurp your duties — not till then — 
 Can you, with show of reason, interfere, 
 Let fall the distaff and take up the spear. 
 Meanwhile, what instinct leads you to pursue- 
 Because most natural — must be most true ; 
 In such appointed course let each sex move, 
 And be the only struggle one of love. 
 
 Anent the " social state," what can I say ? 
 The theme is harassing in every way. 
 There Stucco reigns supreme, and e'en the wise 
 Are forced to tolerate what they despise ; 
 As fashion orders, must their course arrange. 
 Obey each wish, and change with every change. 
 Brave as to speech, but cowardly in deed. 
 Our love of virtue yields to lust for greed. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 149 
 
 The purest instincts of the heart we spurn, — 
 As childish follies, — after all to learn, 
 With loss of physical and mental health. 
 That happiness is not the gift of wealth. 
 For though we taste of pleasure to excess, 
 Pleasure is all distinct from happiness. 
 The one is but a torch, however bright, 
 Which needs fresh fuel to prolong its light ; 
 The other feeds upon itself, and dies — • 
 Only when Death shall cut off the supplies. 
 
 Time was, in days more unsophisticated. 
 
 When boys and girls, through love, were chiefly 
 
 mated. 
 And both depended solely on its force. 
 To calm the storms of life, and smooth its course. 
 Love lives, whilst yet remaineth a desire 
 In the beloved, its labour to inspire. 
 
1 50 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 And this, the doctrine Nature's instincts preach — 
 The want of each unfolds the strength of each ; 
 Whilst both of life's chain drag no weary- 
 length, ' 
 But as they reap, in reaping gain more strength. 
 
 Who cares the field of happiness to plough r 
 The wisdom of the past is folly now ; 
 The harvest of the present we must reap, 
 And leave the future and the past asleep. 
 No matter what the power of will and health, 
 Those gifts are poor, indeed, to that of wealth ; 
 And brides are won by promises of spoil, 
 'Such as age only gains from years of toil. 
 " Sir," to the father, says the comely youth, — 
 Proud of his outward strength and inward truth, — 
 " I love your daughter, and my aim through life — 
 Should you be pleased to let me call her ' wife ' — 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 5 1 
 
 Shall ever be directed to secure 
 Her comfort, and her happiness ensure. 
 I pray you, to my suit, your favour lend." 
 To whom' the sire : " I do not doubt, my friend. 
 The truth and honesty of your intention, 
 But there's a little matter I would mention ; 
 If you — from all your rivals, I select — 
 Tell me, what fortune may my child expect ? " 
 " Fortune, alas ! I've none," the youth replied. 
 " Your suit then," says the father, " is denied." 
 Anon there cometh one — with tottering gait 
 And feeble voice — the self-same wish to state. 
 Quoth he : "I love your daughter : and will give 
 /Thousands on thousands, so that she shall live 
 ' In luxury and pleasure all her life ; — 
 Will you be pleased to let me call her 'wife ? ' " 
 The prudent sire of forty, with great glee, 
 Accepts the son-in-law of sixty-three. 
 
 L 
 
1 5 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Oh, shame to fathers ! and still greater shame 
 To daughters who — forgetful of the aim 
 Which nature teaches them to keep in view — 
 Are neither to themselves or others true. 
 
 t 
 
 If wealth acquired awakens more desire 
 han wealth — which love and strength may yet 
 acquire — ■ 
 Who, in the name of justice, can complain, 
 
 That young men from the marriage-bed abstain, 
 
 / 
 
 And eat whole cartloads of forbidden fruit ? 
 
 Bar virtue's path — man must be dissolute : 
 
 And virgins — inwardly, as chaste as ice — 
 
 ' Will imitate the outward mien of vice 
 
 Without a blush — so sad is virtue's doom, 
 
 The blush, in these fast times, precedes the 
 
 bloom. 
 
 Cunning destroys the innocence of youth, 
 
 And artifice supplies the want of truth. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 153 
 
 If funerals are anything but sad, 
 
 Our wedding-feasts are anything but glad. 
 
 Like beast condemned to sacrifice, the maiden 
 
 Before the altar kneels, with wreaths o'erladen, 
 
 And utters vows which spring not from the heart. 
 
 Then — spite of all the artifice of art — 
 
 Soon comes estrangement, and, in time, remorse ; — 
 
 iGuilt, shame, then follow : and, at last, divorce. 
 
 No prostitute so foul as she who sells 
 
 'Her beauty, at the peal of marriage bells ; 
 
 Nor joy, nor bodily or mental health, 
 
 Attends the greedy worshipper of wealth. 
 
 " For rich or poor, for better or for worse. 
 
 In sickness or in health " — thus we rehearse 
 
 The duties to a married state assigned. 
 
 Alas ! such vows are impotent to bind 
 
 People unfit, by temper or from age, 
 
 To be companions in life's pilgrimage. 
 
1 54 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 But law has given most ample means of 
 
 late, 
 Such ill-assorted pairs to separate. 
 Few scruple to endure, of sin the taint, 
 'If they escape the pangs of self-restraint. 
 Put all the freedom granted to untie 
 The knot, has caused the sin to multiply. 
 Though — in all times, existing in full might — 
 'Twas left for us to drag it into light. 
 To give fresh impetus to rampant vice. 
 And virtue from the " narrow way " entice. 
 But why on such a theme my verse prolong ? 
 If to please only be the task of song ; 
 If, of philosophy, the only use 
 Is to be transcendental or abstruse ; 
 If wisdom, for expedience, we spurn, 
 And every one would teach, whilst none would 
 
 learn ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 5 5 
 
 In short, in all things, if the moment's pleasures 
 'Be worthier of search than future treasures, — 
 Then, who can wonder that the " Progress 
 
 made 
 In human welfare," is a bliss delayed ? — 
 Till something like humility is brought 
 To bear upon the teacher and the taught. 
 
 When that blest time arrives — but not till then — 
 
 Will satire make her bow, and drop the pen. 
 
 E'en now, how impotent its voice to cure 
 
 A single evil, which we but endure. 
 
 Because — like Pharisees — we feel that pride, 
 
 A multitude of sins will safely hide ; 
 
 And, in or out of church, this strophe sing : 
 
 " For us the laugh, to others be the sting. 
 
 Thank God, unlike your publicans and sinners. 
 
 From poverty's great need we're not the winners. 
 
1 5 6 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 To public charities we give our mite, 
 
 And raise an income, or procure a site ; 
 
 The lunatic, the maimed in limb, the blind, 
 
 Full measure of relief can, gratis, find 
 
 In hospitals ; erecting which, the architects 
 
 Get much the largest share of our effects. 
 
 Nor yet the orphan's claim do we forget, 
 
 Unless the parents were to us in debt, 
 
 In that case long through life you will not 
 
 roam, 
 To learn that ' charity begins at home/ 
 Our broken victuals any tramp can claim, 
 If he respects our property in game ; 
 To him let sparrows (and the like) supply 
 The taste of partridge-breast and pheasant-thigh ; 
 No cause has he the ways of vice to tread, 
 Whilst gives a 'Union' meed of straw and 
 
 bread ; 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 5 7 
 
 In fine, our duty in the State we do, 
 
 And prosper — what shall make us prosper too." 
 
 Alas ! if " charity begins at home," 
 When from its precincts does she ever roam, 
 In such transparent guise, that all who view 
 Her goodly presence can pronounce it true ? 
 Nor yet doth virtue, like a despot sway. 
 Though loud that homage vice is said to pay. 
 With little time or temper to bestow. 
 We, for the substance, gladly take the show, 
 And fix, of human merit, the degree. 
 Not by what is, but by what seems to be ; 
 Trusting, not vainly — as I frankly own — 
 The same forbearance may to us be shown. 
 In tenements, our moral life we pass. 
 Though built with bricks, yet glittering with 
 glass. 
 
1 5 8 The As^e of Stucco. 
 
 When none of peace or comfort can be sure, 
 The feebleness of all makes each secure ; 
 Except from those brutes who, in spite or fun. 
 Their missiles hurl, and round the corner run. 
 Vain the pursuit — the culprit's out of sight — 
 And friends are neutral in protecting right. 
 Wholly renew or patch the broken panes. 
 The evidence of weakness still remains ; 
 Nor less inevitable the disaster 
 That waits on walls of stone, or brick and plaster ; 
 The outward cracks with stucco you may hide. 
 But whilst you glory in your white-washed pride, 
 Dimly, unseen, unfelt, it takes its course. 
 With slow, but never deviating force : 
 At last, convulsive, springs with sudden bound. 
 And crash — the ruin tumbles to the ground. 
 There, like poor Marius, you may weep and sigh. 
 O'er many an opportunity gone by ; 
 
The Age of Sttccco. 1 59 
 
 Or else, still mindful of your manly duty, 
 Like Caesar fall, and murmur, " Et tu. Brute ! " 
 
 Such is the fate that ever must attend 
 
 The mightiest human projects in the end. 
 
 So swift the flight of change ! what we respect 
 
 To-day, upon the morrow we reject. 
 
 Though history repeats itself, between 
 
 The sunset and the dawn must intervene 
 
 An interval, when generations rise, 
 
 Who spurn the future and the past despise, 
 
 And with great tact, if not discrimination, 
 
 The present only hold in estimation. 
 
 To such sad warning let my Muse attend, 
 
 And swiftly of her censure make an end. 
 
 Though epic poets have eternal sway, 
 
 A satirist lives only for the day. 
 
1 60 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Having exhausted now my evidence 
 (For what I have to offer, in defence, 
 Had best be uttered in extenuation 
 Of Stucco — not by way of disputation) — 
 To sum up, I proceed, with all due care, 
 But leave to you the sentence to declare. 
 My patient reader ; — and, for your relief, 
 I promise, in this matter, to be brief. 
 
 And first, my duty leads me to dilate 
 On human beings — in the aggregate. 
 In times esteemed so " highly civilised," 
 That any nation should be chiefly prized 
 According to the means it may possess 
 To force, by might, subservience or redress, 
 Proves " moral force " has not that potent 
 
 sway 
 So vaunted by the writers of the day. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 6 1 
 
 However," inwardly, we may respect 
 The claims of reason as the most select. 
 Yet, outwardly, we must confess, with pain, 
 The power of fist o'ermasters that of brain. 
 Though reason marches onward, stage by stage, 
 A week of fighting sends it back an age ; 
 And this the sole result that we obtain — 
 What has been done must just he done again. 
 
 So it has been, and so will always be. 
 Until each nation has the wit to see 
 That what is good for all is good for one. 
 What nation now that maxim honours ? — None. 
 In feeling it may do so — not in act ; 
 And I can give a reason for the fact : — 
 The justice, or injustice, nations meet 
 In war will not atone for a defeat ; 
 
1 62 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Success breeds enemies who ne'er forget. 
 
 E'en men with such ingratitude have met. 
 
 But, for the latter, time will work a cure ; 
 
 Who, for the former, can the same ensure ? 
 
 Not " human progress." Every man is bent 
 
 On reaping, for the present, his content ; 
 
 So, for the future, he has little care 
 
 What blessings or what evils it may share. 
 
 But nations must, at least, have longer life ; 
 
 And as the life is, so will be the strife. 
 
 From conquest springs defeat ; from revolution 
 
 Springs tyranny ; but ever — retribution. 
 
 When two great nations little Denmark hurled 
 
 To brink of very death, then all the world 
 
 Cried " shame " on the performers. What resulted ? 
 
 To one, at least, who in the deed exulted. 
 
 It brought dishonour in the end ; and sure 
 
 The other culprit will the same secure. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 63 
 
 And Prussia soon (the one that now remains) 
 Must reap, of conquest, all the after pains. 
 France never can forget that hated day. 
 When Paris, to the Prussians, fell a prey. 
 Nay, spite of all that we may say or do, 
 England may have to pay for Waterloo. 
 The hint is sad ; but let us be prepared 
 For ills from which the present yet is spared : 
 And, thinking of the future, place our trust 
 On men and ammunition — free from rust. 
 For "human progress," after all, I ween. 
 Is but a sorry thing whereon to lean — 
 Mere Stucco, laid on to conceal, of course, 
 Man's firm belief and trust in brutal force. 
 
 Nor, in promoting peace upon the earth. 
 Good-will 'mongst men, and other things of 
 worth. 
 
1 64 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 However much the bitter truth we shirk, 
 Is Stucco less an agent in the work. 
 Of Europe's conquests over savage nations, 
 Which have aroused stentorian adulations 
 (And who, than we, in shouting have been louder ?), 
 Which have been gained by reason, which by- 
 powder ? 
 With little fear of active contradiction, — 
 Much of the pride, which serves for pure convic- 
 tion, — 
 We boast that, by our means, barbarians — 
 
 " steeped 
 In ignorance and vice " — have largely reaped 
 The blessings which attend the march of reason. 
 But, though you may accuse me of "high trea- 
 son," 
 I can't but think that all our efforts made 
 To spread religion, virtue, and free trade. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 165 
 
 Have not sprung from benevolence indeed, 
 But, chiefly, from insatiate love of greed. 
 What are the blessings which, so highly prized. 
 Barbarians gain from men more civilised ? — 
 Cheap cotton goods, — but not so cheaply sold ; 
 Glass beads, — exchanged for thrice their weight in 
 
 gold; 
 The purifying gifts of flint and steel, 
 And all the rancour of religious zeal ; 
 Together with the vice, disease, and sin, 
 Which wait the "faithful" at the shrine of 
 
 gin. 
 If, of our boasted efforts to amend 
 The poor " benighted " savage, such the end, 
 (And history will yet attest the truth 
 Of this dark picture, howsoe'er uncouth), 
 I'm bound to say that our " benevolence " 
 Is Stucco — Stucco, in the vilest sense. 
 
1 66 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Nor is the prospect brighter when I come, 
 
 Of social worth the evidence to sum. 
 
 Is there — on earth — an agent we employ 
 
 To soften sorrow, or to foster joy, 
 
 More coated o'er with Stucco than is law ? 
 
 Well may we of its influence stand in awe ! 
 
 Who ilies to law, for justice, can't be sure 
 
 That justice in the end he will procure. 
 
 'Tis like a labyrinth ; of which no clue 
 
 That ever is employed is wholly true ; 
 
 And he alone can pocket pence or praise. 
 
 Who leads the foolish wanderer in the maze. 
 
 But, with all due respect for their profession, 
 
 I think those leaders need some slight suppression. 
 
 Of two sides, one is wrong ; the other, right ; 
 
 And he who, for the former, wins the fight, — 
 
 On life's stage, — may be deemed a skilful actor, 
 
 But scarcely can be termed a benefactor. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 167 
 
 By subterfuge injustice thus succeeds, 
 
 And crime escapes the guerdon for its deeds. 
 
 When law, by laws, with justice can dispense, 
 
 It strengthens guilt and weakens innocence. 
 
 And teaches virtue, in a way not nice. 
 
 That muchrmore profit may be made from vice. 
 
 On other matters, there is little need 
 To ponder for a moment. For, indeed. 
 In every art — still more, in every trade — 
 That mighty goddess, " Stucco," is obeyed ; 
 And none can hope to prosper or to shine, 
 Unless they pay their homage at her shrine. 
 Though few the words I utter in defence. 
 They prove my kindliness, if not my sense. 
 Although 'tis not in Stucco to reveal 
 True merit, but the want of it conceal, 
 
 M 
 
1 68 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 Let me be just, at least. As population 
 Increases, so decreases abnegation ; 
 The strife' grows keener to attain success, 
 " The ways and means " — proportionately less ; 
 And evils multiply in such a state, 
 Which even " education " can't abate. 
 Then vice — within the letter of the law — 
 In human nature knowing well the flaw — 
 (In spite of preacher's voice, or pretty story. 
 To prove that honest people reap most glory) — 
 Its way to fortune and to fame will carve, 
 Whilst modest virtue is condemned to starve. 
 But though we rail against the present age. 
 Because imposture is so much the rage. 
 Throughout all ages we must yet confess 
 That Stucco has prevailed — or more or less — 
 And will prevail, whilst human imperfection 
 In " human progress " has the chief direction. 
 
The Age of Stucco. 1 69 
 
 Nor needs it any prophet to predict 
 That Reason never Stucco can restrict ; 
 If ever from its presence earth is free, 
 'Twill only be when man has ceased to be. 
 
 Lastly, this doctrine, teeming with good sense, 
 I yet would promulgate in man's defence. 
 Herein, if 'tis accepted, may be found 
 The cause for all the evils that abound. 
 
 Whether it tendeth to our good or ill. 
 
 All human action springs from Nature's will. 
 
 As she directs it, will our course be run ; 
 
 And as she wills it, so each deed is done. 
 
 If reason, over instinct, has the sway, — 
 
 Or instinct, over reason, — either way, — 
 
 Nature alone produces the result. 
 
 Let us in strength of will no more exult. 
 
1 70 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 If man gives vent to passions unrestrained 
 He only acts as Nature has ordained ; 
 And if he scruples to obey each whim, 
 To Nature be the credit — not to him. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 "TAEAR TROLLOPE, in no churlish mood, 
 
 Nor blindness to the much of good 
 Our age possesses, I have penned 
 This satire. Not as foe, but friend, 
 My brethren I survey. Perplexed, 
 Smiling or sighing, pleased or vexed. 
 Yet owning, frankly, all the while, 
 There's much less cause to weep than smile. 
 To toil on earth, not merely muse, — 
 To enjoy life's blessings, not abuse, — 
 Thus should we spend our mortal lease. 
 And toddle to the grave in peace. 
 
1 7 2 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 But ah ! whilst thus our course we run, 
 How many duties are undone ! 
 And, far worse, how inveterate 
 Our errors, and our sins how great ! 
 From such confession we should take 
 (All good men that confession make) 
 A wholesome lesson, and forbear 
 The censure we deserve to share. 
 And here a fable I'll relate. 
 In plainer terms my views to state. 
 
 A sage, once walking on a road. 
 Spied on his path a common toad. 
 Quoth he : " You ugly beast ! what right 
 liave you to share in life's delight ? 
 Wherein, I pray, consists the worth. 
 Which fits you for a place on earth ? 
 
Epilogue. 173 
 
 To look at you is no great treat, 
 Nor are you even fit to eat." 
 
 " Sir," said the toad, " there's space below. 
 Where you and I may freely go, 
 l^or in such pleasure interfere, 
 'As waits us in our proper sphere. 
 So, prithee, let me have my croak. 
 Nor, in my wheel, insert your spoke." 
 
 " But," said the sage, " for human bliss 
 One thing is needful, and 'tis this. 
 That human wisdom should pronounce 
 (Ay, even to the very ounce) 
 A verdict which shall fix the worth 
 Of every animal on earth." 
 
 " But tell me, how were you deputed," 
 The toad replied, " how constituted. 
 
1 74 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 (Except by force of human pride). 
 
 Creation's merits to decide ? 
 
 Nature made me, as well as you. 
 
 To carry out some hidden view, 
 
 Which — though in pride you walk erect — 
 
 You're no more able to detect 
 
 Than I, poor toad, whom — were you wise — 
 
 You might dislike, but not despise." . 
 
 " But," said the sage, " 'twixt you and me, 
 Eternal hatred there must be. 
 Though not a serpent, you are one 
 Of that foul tribe I'm taught to shun, 
 pver since Eve it could entice 
 Knowledge to eat, and bring forth vice. 
 So long as earth is man's abode, 
 A reptile — be it snake or toad — 
 
Epilogue. 1 7 5 
 
 Will be (a simple fact I state), 
 The object of man's bitter hate." 
 
 " Oh, lump of ignorance and pride ! " 
 In anger, thus, the toad replied : 
 " If Nature, to work out her plan. 
 Made me a reptile, — you, a man, — 
 When we were ushered on the earth. 
 To show of Nature all her worth ; 
 Sure, something of the man I drew, 
 And something of the reptile you. 
 If venom you detect in me. 
 From venom are you wholly free ? 
 With all your boasted power to cliarm. 
 Have you not equal wit to harm ? 
 Which poison — animal or moral — 
 Is worst, on that point I won't quarrel ; 
 
1 76 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 To each its duty is assigned, — 
 
 This kills the body, that, the mind. 
 
 So — if what you are pleased to call 
 
 ' Your mind,' is highest gift of all 
 
 The gifts that Nature can bestow — 
 
 Who, tell me, is man's deadliest foe ? 
 
 Why, simply man. So take your road. 
 
 And learn this lesson from a toad : — 
 
 Pon't waste your wrath on things which jar 
 
 The moral appetite, or mar 
 
 Pleasures which only are acquired. 
 
 But which are equally desired, — 
 
 In virtue of some common aim, — 
 
 By every being you can name. 
 
 E'en moral force can but exist 
 
 By force which is antagonist ; 
 
 If earth of folly you deprive, 
 
 How, on the earth, could wisdom thrive ? 
 
Epilogue. \~ii 
 
 Beauty and ugliness are things 
 Which spring from mere imaginings 
 Of fancy, not of reason. Nay, 
 To virtue, vice may lead the way : 
 Truth may be false, and falsehood true, 
 When seen in different points of view." 
 
 It strikes me, Trollope, that the toad 
 
 Most wisdom in this contest showed. 
 
 The man who must be deemed most wise, 
 
 Is he who simply shuts his eyes 
 
 At what his senses will annoy. 
 
 And open them to what gives joy. 
 
 No mortal sure is justified 
 
 In saying — from excess of pride — 
 
 That other mortals have no right 
 
 To live, because their deeds excite 
 
1 78 The Age of Stucco. 
 
 His hatred, rather than his love ; 
 They may be equally above 
 His comprehension as beneath. 
 Who would of wisdom wear the wreath, 
 Should learn humility, and strive 
 To do — so long as he's alive — 
 What Nature meant that he should do, 
 Thereby comes fame and profit too ; 
 Who strives for more, will get a fall, 
 Who strives for less, get naught at aU. 
 
 So, having this confession made. 
 There's nothing further to be said. 
 Therefore, I humbly take my leave. 
 Trusting no mortal will perceive. 
 In my contempt, or even ire, 
 The slightest symptom of desire 
 
Epilogue. 179 
 
 To hurt his feelings ; further, this : 
 
 In his pursuit of pain or bliss, 
 
 My interference will resent, 
 
 Or take offence where none was meant. 
 
INVOCATION TO MY PIPE. 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 TO HENRY KESTG, M.A. 
 
 "pvEAR KING, in my " unholy" state, 
 
 I often think how kind is fate, 
 From heart-distress — in any shape — 
 To leave a loop-hole of escape. 
 Though round me no wife twines her arms, 
 My pipe unfolds a thousand charms ; 
 Which, though impervious to sight. 
 Most palpably my heart delight, 
 ^weetly and softly through the brain 
 They steal, removing care and pain ; 
 N 
 
I- hivocation to my Pipe. 
 
 And — what is grateful beyond measure— 
 They can be summoned at my pleasure ; 
 So swiftly too — I only fear. 
 Their presence may become so dear. 
 That other charms I sacrifice, 
 'And love, at last, may sink to vice, 
 put to that state should I decline, 
 The fault is not the pipe's — but mine. 
 
 How oft, together, we have sat, 
 Discoursing upon this and that ; 
 You, calm, inflexible, scholastic ; 
 I, wild, illogical, sarcastic. 
 But when the " pipe of peace " was lit. 
 How soon was changed each smoker's fit ! 
 It's soothing fumes made me appear 
 More calm — and you, far less severe. 
 
Prelude. 1 85 
 
 Ay, such their magic to allay 
 The virulence of party-fray : 
 The Tory's virtue sinks to sleep. 
 And Liberal visions o'er me creep. 
 No longer " stupid," — though, I fear. 
 The new-bought wisdom is not clear, — 
 For Bright and Gladstone I then feel. 
 All I have felt for Pitt and Peel. 
 To crown its virtues, when I smoke, 
 I cease to rail at critics' croak ; 
 Regarding them as angels sent, 
 To mete reward and punishment. 
 More could I add, had I the time. 
 Or you the temper for more rhyme — 
 Sufficeth it for me to say. 
 That fancy leads me, calm and gay. 
 Whilst yet my gratitude is ripe. 
 To pay a tribute to my pipe. 
 
) Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 Though trifling be the theme I take, 
 Whereon some hundred rhymes to make- 
 To you, that trifle I address. 
 Which — trust me — not from worthiness 
 Of your acceptance, do I send ; 
 But, as a whiff, from friend to friend. 
 
INVOCATION TO MY PIPE. 
 
 A /r IDST all the care, the trouble, and the strife, 
 Which man must meet with in his path 
 through life, 
 He shows much wisdom, and yet greater skill. 
 In finding remedies for every ill, 
 By hook or crook contriving to obtain 
 A pound of pleasure for each ounce of pain ; 
 So he has wit, those blessings to command 
 Which nature scatters with unsparing hand. 
 Unlike those waiters on a turn of luck. 
 Who rail at fortune for their want of pluck. 
 
1 88 Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 And in each strait to Jupiter appeal, 
 Rather than put their shoulders to the wheel. 
 
 Of all the plants that bounteous earth supplies 
 To feast our bodies or to charm our eyes, 
 Whether for simple pleasure or for cure, — 
 To eke a comfort or a pain endure, — 
 
 thy leaf. Tobacco ! hath most power to charm 
 he mind or body, and less wit to harm. 
 
 Though moralists say smoking is most vicious, 
 
 (' 
 
 'And doctors call the' appetite pernicious, 
 
 Men who hate smoking love some other vice 
 
 As perilous to health, and not so nice. 
 
 They fall to eating — smokers never do it ; 
 
 Or take to drinking — smokers too eschew it. 
 
 And this I know : so long as man can smoke 
 
 The doctor's aid he scarcely need invoke. 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. 189 
 
 To strengthen pleasure and diminish grief, 
 The more so that our time on earth is brief. 
 Such the sole end for which the wise man 
 
 lives. 
 And plentiful the means that Nature gives. 
 Some boast that happiness is found in health ; 
 Others would seek it in pursuit of wealth ; 
 Many are tickled by the voice of fame ; 
 Still more enslaved by drink, or love, or 
 
 game. 
 In mad excitement man his days will pass. 
 At the last day " to write himself an ass." 
 But sweet content is all for which I live. 
 And that my meerschaum never fails to give. 
 Fortune may vanish from me like a ghost, 
 And love desert me when I need it most. 
 But thou, my Pipe, remainest to the end, 
 My " silent guide, philosopher, and friend." 
 
1 90 Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 Spurn not, O moralist ! the " fragrant weed "— 
 
 Envy or hatred it can never breed ; 
 
 Nor think that pleasure is the only thing 
 
 A timely pipe for human aid can bring : 
 
 It curbs ambition when it flies too high, 
 
 And spurs it when too indolent to fly. 
 
 Soar we, too much elated by success. 
 
 Or droop, unnerved by visions of distress, 
 
 Its suble vapours penetrate the brain, 
 
 Dispel the mists, and reason shines again. 
 
 If pent within a lighthouse, far from shore. 
 With naught to soothe me but the billow's 
 
 roar, 
 I'm doomed " to pass my dull, unvarying days," 
 Condemned, in short, " to meditate and gaze ; " 
 If driven from that sacred ark — my home — 
 I track the main or through the desert roam ; 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. 1 9 1 
 
 Whether I strive some mountain peak to reach, 
 Or wisely lounge beneath the spreading beech ; 
 If Betsy Jane be fickle, false, and frail, 
 Or Jones decline his dearest friend to bail ; 
 When tradesmen dun me for a " little bill," 
 And lose all Confidence in honest Will ; 
 If Fortune, with a face as hard as flint. 
 When passing by me only takes a squint. 
 And scatters all her favours — little need — 
 On those whose sole ambition is but greed ; 
 If fame — I love so fondly — will decline 
 The prayers I daily offer at her shrine ; 
 If, in my autumn scampers, — ^far or near, — 
 Lodgings are dirty and hotels are dear ; 
 If, when I long to get my " quantum suff," 
 The fish be stinking and the mutton tough ; 
 If partners at the sober game of whist 
 In bottling all their aces will persist. 
 
192 Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 And play false cards from strategy or joke, 
 
 Or make, through fault or malice, a revoke ; 
 
 If, to conclude, I'm tortured by a bore 
 
 Who, from loud cackle, sinks to louder snore, — 
 
 Whatever evils on my path may fall, 
 
 I puff my meerschaum and forget them all. 
 
 Who, with a pipe, heeds sudden calms or 
 
 storms ? 
 In heat, it cools us — and in frost, it warms — 
 Cheers all who for their gain or pleasure roam, 
 And turns the very desert to a home. 
 What comfort can our doctors of degree. 
 Or barristers, no matter what the fee. 
 Render in times of grief and tribulation. 
 As they who smoke a pipe " in consultation ? " 
 If joy escape me, or if grief distress. 
 My pipe soon puts an end to each excess ; 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. 193 
 
 It shortens the duration of deep grief, 
 And lengthens that of joy, however brief. 
 
 In that benighted state of Europe, when 
 Tea and tobacco were unknown to men, 
 The stimulants they took, of every kind. 
 Were more exciting, but far less refined ; 
 And tended, after ecstasy's brief reign. 
 Rather to muddle than to clear the brain. 
 Our ancestors in comfort could exist 
 Without free-trade, free-speech, or e'en short- 
 whist. 
 And could be happy as, in other climes. 
 People are now who never read the Times. 
 (Not that the few who glory in possessing 
 That privilege are happier for the blessing) ; 
 But he who never smoked a pipe must miss 
 The ne plus ultra of terrestrial bliss. 
 
1 94 Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 Poor Horace ! when upon the Appian way 
 A chattering dandy made your worship stay 
 And list to tittle-tattle without end, 
 To show the world a poet was his friend ; 
 When, notwithstanding your grave, solemn 
 
 air. 
 You longed the daily tete-a-tete to share 
 
 "^ith Pyrrha "fair," or Chloe the "divine," 
 
 / 
 /Whilst sipping goblets of Falemian wine ; 
 
 Then, up his nostrils, in your hour of need. 
 
 Could you have puffed the blest Virginian 
 
 weed, 
 
 ,Or tainted his crisp ringlets at the least. 
 
 Reeking with perfumed ointments of the East, 
 
 Swiftly had dropped that sacrilegious hand 
 
 Which, by the toga, held you at command. 
 
 And left you free your little game to follow 
 
 Without the intervention of Apollo. 
 
Invocation to m.y Pipe. 195 
 
 When Csesar penned (to make a slight digression) 
 
 His " Veni ! Vidi ! ! Vici ! ! ! " in succession, 
 
 As on the battle-field he proudly glanced, 
 
 How much his pleasure had been then enhanced 
 
 Could he have added, to complete his jest, 
 
 That crowning word, " Fumavi ! " to the rest ! 
 
 Or when poor Marius sat desolate 
 
 O'er fallen Carthage, and bewailed his fate, 
 
 Had he, in that sad hour, a pipe procured. 
 
 With what philosophy had been endured 
 
 The very worst of evils ! For, indeed. 
 
 Let fortune smile or frown, the fragrant weed 
 
 Is, of all stimulants, the one most meet 
 
 To welcome triumph or accept defeat. 
 
 More lucky Raleigh ! in a prison pent. 
 To feed a greedy monarch's discontent, 
 
196 Invocation to 7ny Pipe. 
 
 Though robbed of freedom by the state's strong 
 
 gripe, 
 Thou had'st the consolation of a pipe. 
 What though a tyrant hurled his counterblast 
 'Gainst smoking, full of fury and bombast, 
 And scraps of Latin gathered in a school. 
 The work was the production of a fool. 
 Whereas, if in proportion to the pleasure 
 Men give their fellow-creatures, we may measure 
 Their value or utility on earth, 
 How few, dear Raleigh, equal thee in worth ! 
 Earliest of " cloud-compellers," whilst remains 
 A single smoker on earth's blessed plains. 
 Time never shall thy memory efface, 
 Thou benefactor to the human race ! 
 
 Oh, happy Tityrus ! beyond the reach 
 
 Of books and journals, 'neath the spreading beech. 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. i<^l 
 
 Tou revelled in the bliss of idleness, 
 Without a thought your bosom to oppress ; 
 [And yet our modern swain is far more blest, 
 To whose day-dreaming smoking gives a zest. 
 Nor think the practice idleness destroys — 
 The half-unconscious act promotes its joys, 
 And aids the mind in its attempt to chain 
 The thoughts engendered in the busy brain 
 By books, or other enemies to peace : — 
 So much the same, in magnitude, increase, 
 That, to digest the so-called " blessing," men 
 Need more of life than three-score years and ten. 
 Oh ! whilst sweet Nature smiles on us, 'twere wise 
 Against all other charms to close our eyes. 
 Much do we owe — and pay, too, without stinting — 
 To the inventors of the art of printing ; 
 But dear the man who, by God's mercy sent, 
 That art so much abused, could un-invent. 
 
igS Invocation, to my Pipe. 
 
 The Times and Telegraph might vent a curse, 
 But their freed readers would be none the 
 
 worse ; 
 And vain the childish appetite for " news," 
 For nobler ends their faculties would use. 
 
 Had I the time or patience, I could name 
 Mortals by hundreds on the rolls of fame — 
 Philosophers, inventors, politicians. 
 Historians, poets, painters, and musicians — 
 Who smoked their pipe ; not only to obtain 
 A respite from the pressure of the brain, 
 But that they found the dreamy occupation 
 Aided the efforts of imagination ; 
 And, possibly, to such slight cause we owe 
 Much of the progress Art and Science show. 
 I'm sorry, though, to say the progress made 
 In all the arts is rather retrograde ; 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. 199 
 
 Only to take, I trust, a loftier sweep, 
 
 As jumpers do to make a longer leap ; 
 
 Nor can art-failures, more than mere revok- 
 ing 
 
 At whist, with justice be ascribed to smoking. 
 
 I know physicians say it enervates 
 
 The mind and body, and such ills creates. 
 
 As baffle all our doctors to redress ; 
 
 So do all pleasures taken in excess. 
 
 People there are who, not content to use 
 
 The gifts of life, their privilege abuse : 
 
 In ■ search of pleasure all their time 's em- 
 ployed. 
 
 Till every manly virtue is destroyed. 
 
 But of such folly fools must pay the price ; 
 
 Though stronger their propensity for vice. 
 
 The poor capacity grows poorer still. 
 
 And virtue triumphs much against the will 
 
 o 
 
200 Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 Emblem of peace! when men and nations, 
 
 tired 
 Of slaughter, are by softer passions fired, 
 'Tis thine to chasten all ignoble zeal, 
 To tame the victor, and the victim heal. 
 When passed around the "calumet of peace " 
 Revenge and greed their wildest longings 
 
 cease : 
 A mutual puff the loud palaver ends, 
 And bitter foes become the firmest friends. 
 Nor, in those battles which, in social life. 
 So oft produce a weary weight of strife. 
 Less potent is thy presence to allay 
 The bitterness engendered in the fray. 
 Oh, far more generous than Lethe's stream ! 
 Thy soothing fumes produce a filmy dream 
 Which waft, through dim recesses of the brain, 
 Return of joy, forgetfulness of pain. 
 
Invocation to my Pipe. 
 
 201 
 
 Companion of my youth and manhood ! age 
 Clings closer to thee as my pilgrimage 
 Nears that fixed hour, when life, with all its care. 
 Shall, like a whiff of smoke, dissolve in air. 
 
FINALE. 
 
 T~\EAR KING, whatever be our age, 
 
 However prudent, calm, and sage. 
 Is there a year that passes by — 
 Commenced with aims, so pure and high. 
 But wooed by voices which invite 
 More often to do wrong than right — 
 Wherein we have not often sighed 
 O'er time, or talents, misapplied ? 
 Alas ! in dropping now my pen. 
 It strikes that, of mortal men, 
 I need the most to bear in mind 
 The moral I have just defined. 
 
204 Finale. 
 
 The truth I scorn to waive or shirk, 
 
 Months upon months I've spent on work 
 
 Which may not profit man or beast. 
 
 If it be so, indeed, at least, 
 
 This I can say : beyond all measure. 
 
 My work has been a work of pleasure. 
 
 And who shall say that pleasure's vain. 
 
 So that it gives not others pain ? 
 
 At fifty-four, 'tis time should fail 
 
 The insatiate greed for " cakes and ale." 
 
 But, though Life's pleasures, one by one, 
 
 From my embraces daily run, 
 
 Three things I'll hold, in firmest gripe, — 
 
 My friends, my brushes, and my pipe ; 
 
 In them, from ennui find release, 
 
 And toddle to the grave in peace. 
 
 PRINTED BY VIRTUE AND CO., CITY ROAD, LONDON.