When a man's safe at his bankers,
What does it mean, let us think--
Freedom from care and its cankers,
Plenty of victuals and drink?
Nay, but it opens the garden
Of tender illusion and joy,
Where faults find immediate pardon,
And worrying ways don't annoy.
In the light of futurity's favours
Fair gratitude burgeons amain,
And the flittermouse Love never wavers
In truth to the Psyche of gain.
Bountiful Money! 'Twill make you
Worthy in manners and birth;
Beauty for better will take you
(Little as that may be worth),
Hosts by the hand kindly shake you,
Crowds, when you wish to be funny,
Mind doing homage to Money,
Laugh with inordinate mirth.
Sages and moralists blame thee,
Stoics stand gloomy above thee,
Preachers with obloquy name thee,
Hermits and anchorites shame thee,
But symbol of all that is sunny,
Coy, courteous, flattering Money,
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee!
* * * * *
"BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!"
(_AN OPEN LETTER TO SOMEBODY._)
DEAR NOBLE CORRESPONDENT TO THE _TIMES_,--We see that you are doing
your best to defend the proposed destruction of the Lincoln's Inn
Gateway in Chancery Lane.
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