[A very fulsome address was presented to Napoleon III. by a deputation of bankers and merchants of the City of London. The matter was brought before Parliament, but was allowed to drop through.] The Merchant Prince of England, What a glorious name he bears! No minstrel tongue has ever sung The deeds the hero dares. Enlist that soldier in your cause, No dangers bar his way, But gallantly he draws his――cheque, If the Cause will only pay. Where Freedom waves her banners He stands her champion bold, The noble English merchant Prince For her unlocks his gold. For her the Prince’s glowing pulse With generous ardour thrills, If only sure that Freedom Will duly meet her bills. When scarce the gory bayonet Upholds the Despot’s throne, The Merchant Prince, all chivalry, Springs forward with a loan. And vain a nation’s cry to scare That dauntless friend-in-need, Provided only that the loan Is safely guaranteed. See, where a sovereign’s crown rewards A venturous Parvenu, Crouches the Merchant Prince to kiss His royal brother’s shoe. For trampled law, for broken vow, No doit his Princeship cares, If that salute can raise an eighth His gain on railway shares, You Christian of the slop-shop, And you usurious Jew, Assert your royal blood, for both Are Merchant-Princes, too. One common creed unites you, Devout professors of it, “There’s but one Allah――Mammon, And Cent. per Cent.’s his profit.” What, blame some petty huckster, That his vote is bought and sold: What, chide some wretched juryman That he blinked at guilt, for gold: What, whip some crouching mendicant, Who fawned that he might eat―― With the Merchant Prince of England At the Third Napoleon’s feet? SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1853 ―――― THE CABS OF LONDON. The dirty Cabs of London! How lazily they stand About the public thoroughfares, Or crawl along the Strand; The omnibuses pass them by With a contempt supreme; E’en the coal-cart overtakes them With slow and heavy team. The crazy Cabs of London! How wretched is the sight Of one of those old vehicles That ply for hire by night! There, cracked is every window-pane, The door is weak and old; The former lets in all the rain, The latter all the cold. The shaky Cabs of London! How impotent the powers Of one poor nervous female fare, When fierce the driver lowers, Swearing, with impudence sublime And ruffianly frown, He can’t afford to lose his time; “His fare will be a crown.”