["When women no longer interest themselves in silks and satins, ribbons and furbelows, it will be an infallible sign that the great drama of humanity is at length played out, and that the lights are to be turned down, and the house left to silence and the dark."--_Daily Chronicle_.] I. Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the "Rational" latter years! A female throng, dowdy, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sits in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, Whilst the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. II. Mimes, dressed in fashion now gone by, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly: Mere puppets they who come and go At the bidding of a huge formless Thing That shifts the scenery to and fro, Ruling the World from flat and wing-- Paris and Pimlico! III. That motley drama--oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased for evermore By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot; With much of Folly, and waste of Tin, And Vanity soul of the plot. IV. But see, amid the mimic rout A mystic shape intrude! A formless thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! it squirms!--with mortal pangs, Mocked at by laughter rude; There's no more snap in its sharp fangs, Which once that crowd subdued. V. Out--out are the lights--out all! And over each pallid form, The curtain, Mode's funeral pall, Comes down amidst hisses in storm; And the audience, dowdy, but human, Uprising proclaim, with wild mirth, That the play is the Comedy "Woman," And the hero the conquered "WORTH." * * * * * EXTREMES MEET. It is a noticeable thing That when Kent bines produce their crop, Swelldom is always "on the wing," And Slumdom "on the Hop"! * * * * * THE LATEST WEATHER-WISE DOGGEREL. _BY A SCIENTIFIC RAIN-MAKER._ [It is stated that rain may be brought down by the explosion of dynamite and blasting-powder attached to oxyhydrogen balloons and kite-tails.] Evening red and morning grey Will send the traveller on his way; But--blasting-powder on kites' tails spread, Will bring down rain upon his head. _RETORT BY A WASHED-OUT WAYFARER._ If dynamite would bring _fine_ weather, Scientists might be in fine feather, As 'tis, I sing, to the schoolboy tune, "Yah-bah! (oxyhydrogen) balloon!" * * * * * FATHER AND SON. (_A POSSIBLE DIALOGUE AFTER A RECENT DECISION AT MARYLEBONE._) _Father_. And now, my dear Son, I must ask you for your rent. _Son_. But surely, Father, I am entitled to a room in your house? _Father_. Out of my love and affection; but this is a matter of business; and, if you desire to be a Voter, you must behave as such. [Illustration]