"Lyrical Communism will not fright Those 'Molochs of the Mart' this Son of Light Keeps his poetic eye on. 'Who takes a Singer _au grand serieux_?' Mrs. MAECENAS asks. So he's on view, Her Season's latest lion. "But not alone," I said. "If all this host Are right authentic Leos, she must boast As potent charm as CIRCE'S. What is her wand? Is't wit, or wealth, or both?" "Listen! That's MUMPS the mimic, nothing loth, Rolling out VAMPER'S verses! "VAMPER looks on and smiles with veiled delight. Boredom's best friends are fellows who recite. None like, not many listen, But all must make believe to stand about And watch a man gesticulate and shout, With eyes that glare and glisten. "'Tis hard indeed to hold in high esteem The man who mouths out _Eugene Aram's Dream_ In guttural tones and raucous. All these have heard a hundred times before Young Vox, the vain and ventriloquial bore They'd fain despatch to Orcus. "So have they listened many and many a time To little JINKS, the jerky comic mime, And his facetious chatter. But ill would fare Town's guest if he refused For the five hundredth time to be 'amused' By gush, or cockney patter. "HORACE'S _Piso_ were a pleasant chum Compared with slangy laureates of the slum. Hist! There's a tenor twitter, A tremulous twangle of the minor strings. 'Tis SERAPHIN, sleek Amateur, who sings, 'Glide where the moonbeams glitter!' "'To puling girls that listen and adore Your love-lorn chants and woful wailings pour!' Sang HORACE to HERMOGENES. SERAPHIN'S a TIGELLIUS, and his style Would bring the bland Venusian's scornful smile The scowl of sour DIOGENES. "'Twere 'breaking butterflies upon the wheel' To let such fribbles feel the critic steel With scalpel-like severity? Granted! But will no pangs the victims urge To abate that plague of bores, which is the scourge Of social insincerity? "Wisdom is here, and Wit, Talent and Taste: The latest wanderer from the Tropic Waste, Sun-bronzed and care-lined, saunters In cheery chat with mild-faced MIRABEL, Who with Romance's wildest weirdest spell Has witched your Mudie-haunters. "Colossal BAYARD, _beau-sabreur_, whose blade A dozen desert spearmen faced and stayed, Stoops his high-shoulder'd stature To hear the twittering tones of Tiny TIM, A midget, but the soul of whit and whim, The genius of good-nature. "Boy-faced, but virile, vigorous, and a peer, Lord MOSSMORE talks with VIOLET DE VERE, The latest light of Fiction; Steadily-rising statesman, season's star! Calmly he hears, though Caste's keen instincts jar, Her strained self-conscious diction.