Volume 100 — THE COLISEUM—AT CHICAGO!
Reading edition
(Imitated—at a respectful distance—from E.A. POE.)
["It is stated that a Syndicate of American Capitalists has been formed with the object of purchasing the remains of the Coliseum at Rome, and transporting them to Chicago."]
"Bartered to make a Yankee Holiday."
I. Type of wolf-nurtured Rome! Rich reliquary Of splendour (and of slaughter) left to Time, By centuries of ante-Yankee pomp! At length—at length—after so many days, Of ruined majesty, and rotting pride (Pride which Chicago will transmute to dollars), There is a chance for you, a right smart chance, Of turning to some profitable end Thy size, thine age, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! II. Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! Where are ye now? POE said he felt your strength, But POE was but a poet. Better far Be turned to "bizness" in a dime Museum, Or trotted out, for cents, at the World's Fair Than rot away beneath Rome's ruddy stars! III. Here a smart Syndicate shall set you up, Here, where we slaughter swine as Rome did slaves, (A sanguine carnival of sausage-meat), Here, where Chicago belles their braided hair Pile in Greek knots,—to gaze on brawn and gristle! Here, where in gilded cars the pork-kings loll, Driven Mammon-like unto their marble homes, Lit by the wan light of the electric arc, Swift-wheeled and silent-tyred o'er wood or stone. IV. You'll pay! These walls—these ivy-clad arcades— These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts— These vague entablatures—this wreck—this ruin— Are worth the carriage o'er the Atlantic foam, And the tall price that Italy will ask,— If she should cell you to Porkopolis! V. "No fear!"—Bourse Echoes answer me—"no fear!" Italy is hard up, her bare Exchequer Forebodes financial ruin to her realm. We many-dollared Syndicates rule all. We rule the hearts of Ministers—we rule With a despotic sway ambitious minds; We are omnipotent. Shall pallid stones Contend for power with us?—shall antique fame, Or mere word-wizardry of old renown, Match the gold-magic that encircles us, "Rings," "Corners," "Syndicates"? Ridiculous! Not all the mysteries that hang upon Old Edax Rerum like a wizard's garment, May match that Master-Mage—the Almighty Dollar!!
OUR PARTICULAR TIP COMES OFF RIGHT!
You may remember that last week, just before the Derby, I furnished you with a prophecy. So that there might be no doubt about it, I named the absolute First, Second, and Third. Said I (page 255), "We may take it that the winner will be found out of the Common." But this was not enough. That all should secure One, Two, and Three, I wrote, "Well might FRANÇOIS PREMIER have observed (as I do), 'Bravo, Gouverneur!'" implying that the French horse was certain of a place. But I went further still; I gave the Third. I carefully introduced in my short article the name of every probable starter, save Martenhurst, who consequently became "the Field." And what did I say of the Field? Why, "This year's Derby will be won by one of two. It will either fall to the Favourite or the Field." Surely this was good enough to point out No. 3? Cheques from grateful backers may be sent to 85, Fleet Street, addressed to THE ODD MAN OUT.
SAM WELLER ON "THE MELINITE DISCLOSURES."—"This here's the bold Turpin."
UNCONSCIOUS CONFESSION.
Old Bachelor (who caters for himself). "MRS. SMITH, I DIDN'T CARE FOR THAT LEG OF MUTTON I BOUGHT YESTERDAY. IT HAD A QUEER FLAVOUR!"
Landlady. "OH, SIR, IT WAS A BEAUTY! AND SO DELICIOUSLY TENDER!"