The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1851-11-04 00:00:00

I've seen your Storehouses of corn and cotton

That rise like batt'ries proudly to the skies;
I've seen great bales and bags piled every spot on,

And, crowds of speculators with anxious eyes;
And, though I fear the trade is forced and rotten,
I cannot help expressing my surprise.
Ah ! all this wondrous credit, and this cash,
May break down some day with an awful crash.

I've glanced at all your Churches, and they're various;
Handsome without—not always fill'd within.

Your congregations are not so gregarious
As in some towns, less pious, I've been in.
Perchance your faith and doctrine are precarious
I'm told so, but know nothing. I'll begin
Some day a lecture on this vital point,"

Will make you, sinners, shake in every joint,

I've noted well your flashy thoroughfares,
Your LORD•STREET, CHURCH-STREET, BOLD-STEEETJ

and the rest—
Their plate-glass shop-fronts, and attractive wares;
I've ey'd the donzels fluttering in their best ;
I've mark'd the Broadway swell, who struts and stares,
And all the tribe of Gents profusely drest.
But midst this show and dazzle I've been shocked
By objects loathsome against which I've knocked.

'Tis dreadful to behold the innocent

Group'd with the guilty, even in the street;
To see the maiden pure, on pleasure bent,
Compell'd the vicious and the foul to meet ;
To hear the language of the vilest blent

With youth's fond questionings, and accents sweet.
At times even I, the not-fastidious Punch,
Have sought to hide my blush beneath my hunch.

I passed into the bye-lanes

Such a sight,

This in a Christian land ! Here women, men,
And children countless, naked, toil, and fight
For the bare life, like wild beasts in a den ;
But worse, for wild beasts have both air and light,
While these poor creatures crawl about their fen
In dirt and darkness. Pah ! my royal nose
Can't bear the stench—eyes, ears, and nostrils close!

I don't think, when my sister Vie. was here,

That she was shewn these realms of shame and woe:
The well-drest Mayor, plump Aldermen, the Peer,
Were all Exhibited, of course; but no
One showed the Queen what I have seen, I fear.
Yes, this would have been an instructive show
For any monarch to behold. Ah ! wise
Sov'reigns, like Punch, see things with their own eyes!

Men who've enquired declare that Lancashire
Stands first in England for mortality,
And that this town of LIVERPOOL counts higher
Than any other place even there. And why ?
Because here is a mass of muck and mire,

And people crowded in it fade and die.
'Tis vain to point to tower, and dome, and hall ;
They're grand, but rniery cowers behind them all.

I can't help thinking that a little water—
And water surely might with ease be had—
Would save some victims from the annual slaughter
That is recorded in the regions bad
Of this great, showy, wealthy, boastful daughter

Of British Commerce. Ah ! 'tis very sad
To think what hearts, hopes, souls, are killed—what slaves
Are born and buried in these living graves.

But Punch is moralising. Ha ! ha! Away !

Let's shut our eyes to scenes and thoughts like these.
Let's to the MERSEY—on its bosom gay
Breathe the refreshing, bracing, sea-borne breeze—
Watch the light gambols of the dancing spray.
Ah, here's a sight a monarch's eye to please !
Yes, this is LIVERPOOL—this glorious tide,
This is its strength, its riches, and its pride.

How nobly floats yon matchless LANDING-PIER.
Bearing its myriads gently on its back ;
Whether the waves roll wild or crouch in fear,

Whether 'tis calm serene, or tempest black,
The crowds embark and land, from far and near,
And forth the ferries hie them o'er their track.
From night to morn, from morn to dewy eve,
The waters bright those sleepless steamers cleave.

And this is BIRKENHEAD, the mushroom city,
Sprung into full-blown greatness in a night.
Such squares, such streets, such houses! What a pity
They should be tenantless and lonely quite !
Their solemn gloom induces a cold fit ; I . .

_
Feel as though ghosts were gliding on my sight.
This is indeed a city of the dead,
Or of inhabitants asleep in bed.

A car before a horse is Irish truly ;
A town before a people 's not less funny.
I don't think those who built these piles unduly,
Will reap a harvest from their ill-sown money.
The hive is here broad, large, and finished newly,
Bat where 're the bees to make the precious honey ?
The " slow" old Monks who whilom kept the ferry
Grin in their shrouds at all this steam-fast hurry.

This place a rival to yon bustling mart ?
'Twill never be so, or I'm much mistaken.
Let us return. I'm tired of this dull part.
Here is a sight far other thoughts to waken 1
How vast the line of docks and ships—how smart
The churches, buildings, look ! from here to Pekin
There's not an equal to this active port,
Where all the trades of all the world resort.

I see you've chosen a Common Council—truly
Conservative, respectable, and trusty.
I hope the blades you have selected newly,
Will keep their edge and polish—not grow rusty.
West Derby wisely threw o'er Earle unruly;
And Toxteth South cast Hindley mute, not crusty.
St. Anne's did well to have no Freme ; your Rads
When they get uppermost are fearful lads.
Between two doctors it was hard to choose;
So if she erred, we must forgive Vauxhall.
I'm sorry, though, that she should Hodson lose.
But Bradley, Banner, Houghton, Beckwith tall,
Stewart, and Royden, Aked—are no " screws,"
But worthy councillors, and good men all.
I see you're to have Albert Smith here—pleasant " feller !
The greatest living Eastern storyteller.

I see you've got your concerts—right, quite right.
" The man who bath not music in his soul"—
You know the rest—'tis very true, though trite.
You've had Sims Reeves, too, whose harmonious roll
Thrills the rapt bosom with supreme delight.
You've got Jack Buckstone, merry old King Cole!
You've got the wizards Robins ; I'll be bound
Their magic tricks the " natives" will astound.
Well, now I think I've ta'en a general glance.
Some other day, perhaps, I'll be particular,
And state minutely whatsoe'er I chance
To note while saunt'ring through your streets reticular.
I'll mark down all your sins, and then perchance
Will make a full confession, and auricular.
And now 'tis time to take my royal lunch.
Adieu, good peoplel You're great sovereign,
PUNCH.