"Lo, with what pomp the daily prints proclaim The rival candidates for Attic fame; In grim array though HAGGARD'S Zulus rise, Yet 'Q' and dull GRANT ALLEN share the prize; Then come the little train of 'Pseudonyms'-- A set of female faddists full of whims-- Who pour their vapid follies o'er the town, Excusing Vice and sneering Virtue down; Next see good BENTLEY'S list of writers small: I wonder where the deuce he finds them all? Some 'novel new' he issues every week, A fiction of the kind that housemaids seek-- Mild tales of goose-love, which he thinks may please, Sure only geese would purchase books like these! Broughton's half-vulgar, half-lascivious stories, And Mrs. Henry Wood's posthumous glories; Here Madam TROLLOPE whirls her small 'Wild Wheel,' There Mistress HENNIKER unwinds her reel, And silly 'fictionists' of no repute Spring up like weeds to wither at the root. Excellent BENTLEY! stay thy lavish hand, Continuous trash were more than we could stand; Give us good authors who deserve their name, And save thy once distinguished firm from shame; Give prominence to Genius--publish less, Or rivals new thy 'house' will dispossess, In spite of folks who think the works of Shelley Inferior to romances by CORELLI. "GRANT ALLEN hath a 'heaven-sent' tale to tell, But much he fears its utterance would not 'sell' Wherefore, to be quite certain of his cash, He writes (regardless of his 'inspiration') trash; Practical ALLEN! Noble, manly heart! Wise huckster of small nothings in the mart,-- To what a pitch of prudence dost thou reach To feel the 'god,' yet give thy thoughts no speech, All for the sake of vulgar pounds and pence! God bless thee, ALLEN, for thy common sense!