'The breaches and battles and blunders Performed by the Commons and Peers,' we are taken to 'the pleasures which fashion makes duties'--'the dances, the fillings of hot little rooms,' 'the female diplomatists, planners of matches for Laura and Jane,' 'the rages, led off by the chiefs of the throng,' the ballet, the bazaar, the horticultural fete, and what not. Of later years the Season, as a whole, has been celebrated only by Mr. Alfred Austin, who published, more than a quarter of a century ago, a satire which was indeed formidable in its tone. Mr. Austin was severe about everybody--about the 'Unmarketable maidens of the mart, Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint, And hide their sins in piety and paint;' about the Gardens, where 'The leafy glade Prompts the proposal dalliance delayed;' about the ballrooms, where 'Panting damsels, dancing for their lives, Are only maidens waltzing into wives;' about the theatre, where 'Toole or Compton, perfect in his part, Touches each sense, except the head and heart;' and about a number of other things too censurable to be mentioned here. And, in truth, when one thinks of the Season in song, one thinks less of the satire than of the sarcasm, less of the cynicism than of the sympathy, with which it has been treated by its poets. Take, for example, that most conspicuous feature of the Season--the walking, riding, driving in the Row. It was Tickell who made a woman of fashion of his day tell how she 'Mounted her palfrey as gay as a lark, And, followed by John, took the dust in Hyde Park,' and how 'On the way she was met by some smart Macaroni, Who rode by her side on a little bay pony.' In our own time the glories and the humours of the Row have been described with geniality by Mr. Frederick Locker and Mr. Ashby-Sterry, with point by Mr. Austin Dobson, and with smartness by H. S. Leigh. Says Mr. Locker: 'Forsooth, and on a livelier spot The sunbeam never shines; Fair ladies here can talk and trot With statesmen and divines. 'What grooms! what gallant gentlemen! What well-appointed hacks! What glory in their pace, and then, What beauty on their backs!' Mr. Dobson, in a different mood, assures his Roman prototype that the world to-day is very much what it was in the time of 'Q. H. F.': 'Walk in the Park--you'll seldom fail To find a Sybaris on the rail By Lydia's ponies; Or hap on Barrus, wigged and stayed, Ogling some unsuspecting maid. 'Fair Neobule, too! Is not One Hebrus here--from Aldershot? Aha, you colour! Be wise. There old Canidia sits; No doubt she's tearing you to bits.' The Eton and Harrow match, like lawn-tennis, _caret vate sacro_; but the delights of Henley and Hurlingham have been sung in verse, and the Inter-University Boat-race was the subject of some admirable lines by Mortimer Collins and G. J. Cayley: