When the practice of 'reversing' Revolutionised the dance, Dear Mamma was heard aspersing Fashions introduced from France. With invectives harsh and stinging She abused those youthful dancers Who were over fond of 'swinging' Partners in the Kitchen Lancers; Ragging, as a ballroom sport, Made Mamma get up and snort! [Illustration] Now, when Bunny-hugging habits Elevate maternal hairs, When our daughters act like rabbits, And our sons behave like bears; When the modern ballroom gang goes Through the complicated mazes Of those pseudo-Spanish Tangoes (Last of corybantic crazes!), We can only gaze aghast, Like our forbears in the past! But although each he (or she) grows More and more inclined to romp, Emulating am'rous negroes In some Mississippi swamp, Recollect, when Gossip chatters, Though the best hotels taboo it, 'Tisn't _what_ we dance that matters, But the way in which we do it! Chaperones may look askance: _Honi soit qui mal y_--dance! THE PUBLIC INTEREST ['We are entitled to use courteous or discourteous language, according as we think the public interest requires it.'--Lord HUGH CECIL.] When rivals in the Party fray, Their sluggish blood unwarmed, An old-world courtesy display ('My honourable friend,' they say, 'Is surely misinformed?') Such feeble methods I despise, My principles are higher; Opponents I apostrophise With piercing and persistent cries Of 'Renegade!' or 'Liar!' For I can hear, above the din, A voice within my breast That bids me use such language, in The public interest. Some golfers, when they miss a putt, Look mortified or frown, Keeping their lips discreetly shut, They say 'Good gracious!' or 'Tut-tut, 'That makes me seven down!' Such self-control is hard to bear, I loathe their sickly phrases, And much prefer, to clear the air, An honest 'Blast!' or 'Blazes!' Explaining, if the caddies grin Or partners should protest, That I am simply swearing, in The public interest! When ladies whom I chance to meet In crowded Tube or tram Attempt to oust me from my seat Or tread upon my tender feet, I always murmur 'Damn!' And when upon the telephone, 'Exchange' remarks, 'Line's busy!' My choice of language, and its tone, Makes hardened operators groan And supervisors dizzy. For I maintain, through thick and thin, Discourtesy is best, So long as you display it in The public interest! THE MILITANTS Though Man, who alas! is our master, Declares us unfit to be free, Ignoring the placards we playfully plaster On paling and pavement and tree; And though ev'ry journal, with cunning infernal, Our speeches refuses to quote, Our conduct bears witness to feminine fitness, And shows we are ripe for the Vote!