HERE, my Amanda, let us seat ourselves;

Here let us banish sorrow from our minds,

By contemplating the delightful view

Which stretches all around us. And what joy

To be reminded thus, though far from town,

Of that which glorifies our native land,

Our British Trade! Gaze first at yonder wood:

On every tree is tastefully inscribed

In scarlet letters, “Use Niagara Soap!”

Turn to those meadows (at no distant date

But one uninteresting plain of grass),

Each bears a dozen hoardings, striking, bright,

Telling the reader that Excelsior Pills

Cure influenza; that Brown’s Tea is best,

And costs no more than one-and-six the pound;

And that the purchaser, who fain would quaff

Smith’s special brand of Sherry, must beware

Of spurious imitations. On that hill

A grand gigantic sky-sign testifies

To Johnson’s Hair Renewer; and beyond

You catch a glimpse of ocean, where the boats

Proclaim the message, painted on their sails:

“Robbinson’s Boots are Warranted to Wear!”

Oh, does not such a view delight the heart?

Yea, soon the time will come when every inch

Of England shall display advertisements;

When newly taught, the birds shall add their notes

To the glad chorus, “Buy Pomponia Paste!”

The nightingale shall sing, and all the glade

Echo her music—“Buy Pomponia Paste!”

How great a debt of thankfulness we owe

To these the benefactors of our time,

Who both contribute to the human race

Productions to our ancestors unknown,

And also glorify each rural scene

By the announcements of their excellence!

And how we pity those of olden time

Who praised the country, but so little knew

What beauty could be added to the scene

By the artistic advertiser’s aid,

To whom the hills, the meadows, and the woods

Brought no glad message, such as we receive,

Of Soaps and Sugars, Pens, Pianos, Pills!