For swift to East and swift to West the glaring joy-flame spread. High on Victoria tower it shone, on the New River Head, In pleasant Kent, in Essex dull, and each surrounding shire The semi-bumpkins gaped and grinned to mark each point of fire. * * * * * The huge sea-lanterns dimly showed on Wren’s cathedral height, But Science rather made a mull with her electric light, The Templars, for their brother Prince, lit up their dingy fane, And you could see their Lamb and Flag made out uncommon plain. Rich was the glare that Mappin’s house (the cab pervader) sent, Fierce glowed the Store that sells the beer from Burton-upon-Trent. And many a hundred grease-pots did their best for Barry’s pile, But that is an Immensity――what say you, Tom Carlyle? SHIRLEY BROOKS. 1863. ―――― THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW. _First Prize._ Hearken, all ye who care to hear my panoramic lay; I sing of that resplendent Show I saw last Lord Mayor’s Day, When forth from “famous London town” to grace their chosen lord Came shields and banners of each Guild, and men of every Ward. It was about the gloomy noon of a dull November day, When from the stately Guildhall’s court set out this pageant gay; The crowds, who long had waited, cheered to see it slowly file Down King-street and across Cheapside come winding near a mile. Forthwith the bells of every church chimed all the “bobs” they knew, While mounted “bobbies” led the way that they might clear it too. Next these appear the Fire Brigade, with engines fully manned, For here behoved that they should march ’twixt men of sea and land―― ’Twixt sailor and ’twixt soldier placed, as though between two fires, Whose ardent spirits they might quench if aught should rouse their ires; So Guards and Rifles in their front played stirring tunes of war, While merrily behind them marched full many a youthful tar. And next on prancing palfreys borne, with plume and nodding crest, Four gallant knights with lances come, in silver armour drest; Look how their war-steeds gracefully lift up their well-trained feet, While underneath their iron hoofs resounds the stony street; So stamp they when at Sanger’s Cirque, in Bosworth’s mimic fight, They Richmond or brave Surrey bear, or some great mail-clad knight. How can one human pen suffice to paint this varying Show, Where Watermen with standards gay in long procession flow? Where Lancers, true to Bacchus, the monarch of the vine, Escort the mighty Vintners with band and strains divine; Where proudly the “Swan-hoppers” bear the banners of the Guild, With master and with wardens comes many a carriage filled; While onwards without ceasing stream more banners, knights, and bands, And louder still the people cheer, still louder clap their hands.