The Millionaire.

In the upper circles

Moves a famous man

Who has had no equal

Since the world began.

He was once a broker

Down by the exchange;

He is now a nabob —

Do n't you think it strange?

In his low back office,

Near the Bowling Green,

With his brother brokers

He was often seen;—

Shaving and discounting,

Dabbling in the stocks,

He achieved a fortune

Of a million ROCKS!’

Next he formed a marriage

With a lady fair,

And his splendid carriage

Bowled about THE square,

Where his spacious mansion

Like a palace stood,

Envied and admired

By the multitude.

Then he took the tour

Of the continent,

Bearer of dispatches

From the President:

A legation button

By permission wore,

And became that worthy,

An official bore.

Charmed with foreign countries,

Lots of coin to spend,

He a house in London

Took a the West End,

Where he dwelt a season,

And in grandeur shone,

But to all the beau monde

Utterly unknown.

England then was “foggy,

And society

Too aristocratic”

For his — pedigree:

So he crossed the channel

To escape the BLUES,

And became the idol

Of the parvenues.

“Dear, delightful Paris!”

He would often say:

“Every earthly pleasure

One can have for — pay.

Wealth gives high position;

But when money's tight,

Man is at a discount,

And it serves him right.”

After years of study

How to cut a dash,

He came home embellished

With a huge — moustache!

Now he is a lion,

All the rage up town,

And gives gorgeous parties

Supervised by — Brown!

The almighty dollar

Is, no doubt, divine,

And he worships daily

At that noble shrine;

Fashion is his idol,

Money is his god,

And they both together

Rule him like a rod.

Books, and busts, and pictures,

Are with him a card —

While abroad he bought them

Cheaply — by the yard!

But his sumptuous dinners,

To a turn quite right,

With his boon companions,

Are his chief delight.

Thee his wit and wassail,

Like twin-currents flow

In his newest stories,

Published — long ago.

His enchanted hearers

Giggle till they weep,

As it is their duty

Till they — fall asleep.

On his carriage panel

Is a blazoned crest,

With a Latin motto

Given him — in jest.

His black coach and footman,

Dressed in livery,

Every day at Stewart's

Many crowd to see.

Well — in upper-ten-dom

Let him rest in peace,

And may his investments

Cent, per cent, increase:

Though on earth for no one

Cares the millionaire,

So does NOT exactly

His devoted — heir!

There's a useful moral

Woven with my rhyme,

Which may be considered

At — some other time:

Crockery is not porcelain —

It is merely delf —

And the kind most common

Is the man himself.