Volume 93 — THE LEGION OF DISHONOUR.

The Modern Autolycus sings:— When parvenus begin to peer, With heigh! the ribbon on the coat! Why, then the love of rank shines clear, In base-blood, spite of the People’s vote. The medal gleaming on the breast! With heigh! the red coins how they ring! The Citizens clamour with eager zest, Despite their hate of crown and king! The bourgeois soul star-honours wants, With heigh! the peacock-aping jay! The hunger for honours finds singular haunts, Their sale is a traffic that’s bound to pay. I have served Princes, and, in my time, worn Imperial livery, but now I am in the Republic’s service. But shall I mourn for that, or fear? Gold glitters, silver’s bright, And decorations not too dear Citizen-souls delight. If pedlars may have leave to live, Though “honours” cram their budget, A good account I yet may give; If caught,—I can but trudge it! Ribbons of all colours, lo! Crosses—mark their gleam and glow! Blue as violets, red as roses, Buy them swift whilst power dozes! Decorated thus you’ll clamber To court-height or lady’s chamber. Golden talismans are these. Parvenus may pass with ease With these gauds to heights the leal Buy with brain or stainless steel. Come buy of me, come buy, come buy! Cheap “honours” now is all the cry! Buy ribbons—like tape, Blue blood you may ape, They’re dainty, and not too dear-a! With peers you may tread, Yet hold up your head, They’re the newest and finest of wear-a! Come to the pedlar, Money’s a meddler, That gets all men by the ear-a! [Has HIS ear suddenly pulled by Madame La République.