Their war is on man's foes, not on mankind. Hygeia is Humanity's "Little Sister." Funds for her service, though, 'tis hard to find; Hence this appeal of good Sir JOSEPH LISTER[1] For money-aid, successfully to urge The war of the new cure on the new scourge. It spreads, it strikes, it slays our little ones In legions; deaths in twenty years it doubles; Now LÖFFLER, KLEBS, ROUX, YERSIN, all great guns, Attack the toxic source of dread throat-troubles, As ROBSON ROOSE explains. Read--and remember-- All in the new _Fortnightly_ for December! [1] Chairman of the Council of the British Institute of Preventive Medicine, who has as yet received only £500 out of the £2000 required to prepare the Antitoxin on an adequate scale. * * * * * CHRISTMAS DIARIES.--_Mr. Punch_ suggests that the publisher of these should prefix as an advertisement to these little diaries, dainty diaries, pocket companions, and so forth, all delightful little gifts, _Ophelia's_ words, "Here's (DE LA) RUE for you." * * * * * WORDS TO THE WISE WOMEN. Woman, in unmeet subjects crudely taught, Stung by the splendour of a well-worn thought, First shrieks, as she had sat upon a pin, Then, like a hen amid her cackling kin, Fills a bewildered world with loud, officious din. In time inconstant even to abuse Our rebel sisters hoist a flag of truce, Through deafen'd ears steals Nature's saner voice, Bending the will to Mrs. HOBSON'S choice, And, half-ashamed, with truer glance they scan The fancy-monster they have made of Man. Left to herself, with ample length of rope, The Pioneer, relenting, bids him hope, And Man, though of his manhood nowise cured. Learns that by women he may be endured. But still, ungrateful or accustom'd grown, He leaves the thorny sisterhood alone, And, bold because his conscience knows no fear, Whispers soft counsel to the Pioneer. First, your _soi-disant_ woman-slaves to raise, You copy silly men's most silly ways, As the rich upstart who to _ton_ aspires Reveals the sordid source of his desires By shunning culture, dignity, and grace, To follow Folly's lead, and go the pace. So boys, first freed from tutelage and rules, Set forth to paint the city total gules, With this excuse for draining Folly's cup, "Boys will be boys,"--but _you_ are _quite_ grown up. Too conscious still, and still the slaves of fuss, You take example by the dregs of us, The lantern-jaw'd Effeminates, who tell How Truth lies wallowing in the foulest well; The critic Zanies, who admire a poet, Only, it seems, for other fools to know it, And found Societies of glorious name That a prig President may filch some fame. Man, still more human as he learns the more, Seeks, like a sportsman true, new tasks to floor.