Ah! then and there are hurryings to and fro And gathering tears, and poutings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which some short hours ago Glowed with the deep delights of Dance and Dress; And there are sudden partings, such as press The hope from Spoons of promise, meaning sighs Which ne'er may be repeated; who can guess If ever more shall meet those mutual eyes, When Dissolution snaps the Season's tenderest ties? And there is scuttling in hot haste: the steed, The Coaching Meet, the Opera's latest star, The Row, the River, the Vitellian feed,-- All the munitions of the Social War, Seem fruitless now, when peal on peal afar And near, the beat of the great Party Drum Rouses M.P.'s to platform joust and jar, While tongue-tied dullards scarcely dare be dumb, When the Whips whisper "Go!" Wirepullers clamour "Come!" "Too bad! Too bad!" The Influenza chilled, Court-mourning marred, the Season's earliest prime, And now, just as with hope young breasts are filled, When young leaves still are verdant on the lime, When diners-out are having a good time, When Epsom's o'er and Ascot is at hand; To cut all short, is scarcely less than crime. Confusion on that wrangling party-band Whose Dissolution deals the doldrums round the land! Ah! wild and high those Phantom-fiddlings rise!-- All jocund June with palsying terror thrills; Fashion sits frozen dead with staring eyes. How that dread dirge the ambient Summer fills Savage and shrill! Smart frocks, soft snowy frills, Long trains which dancing Beauty deftly steers. Through waltzes wild or devious quadrilles,-- All vanish; bosoms white, beset with fears; Beat flight as that fell strain falls harsh on Beauty's ears. And June yet waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Springtide's night-drops as they pass Grieving,--if aught that's modish ever grieves,-- Over the unreturning chance. Alas! Their hopes are all cut down ere falls the grass. That with corn-harvest might have seen full blow. See how foiled Shopdom flies, a huddled mass Of disappointment, hurrying from the foe, Who all their Season's prospects shatters, and lays low. Last month beheld them full of lusty life. Beauty, and Wealth, and Pleasure, proudly gay; This music brings the signal-sound of strife, This month the marshalling to arms. Away! Party's magnificently sham array The muster of Mode's mob will soon have rent. Play on, O Phantom, ominously play! Death as the Foe! They fly before thee, blent, Maid, Matron, Masher, Mime, in general discontent! * * * * * [Illustration: THE DARWINIAN THEORY--VARIATION FROM ENVIRONMENT. "KNOCKED 'EM IN THE OLD KENT KOAD!" "ATTRACTED ALL EYES AT CHURCH PARADE."] * * * * * ADVICE GRATIS.