ODE FOR THE MARRIAGE

SEASON. II.

"IF any of you know

Cause or impediment."-
Cause! I should think I do,
That girl to wed I meant!'
She made me drink the cup
Of woe, well-shaken up
With bitter sediment.

If I forbid the banns
With visage pallid,
Ere she's another man's,
And I have rallied,
Because in bygone days
With me she dallied,
Would my forbidding phrase
Be counted valid?

Because her eyes would shine
Once when I praised her,
Because her heart to mine,
When I upraised her
From the low garden chair,
Beat for a moment's space
With sudden, yielding grace
While I just kiss'd her hair,

Which nought amazed her;
Soothed her with loving touch,
Loving, but not too much,
When on her little hand
The buckle of her band
Had lightly grazed her?
Slowly our souls between
Mists of reserve crept in-
I reck'd not, blindly-
A sister she became,
O chill and veal-like name!
A great deal less than kin,
Much less than kindly.

Then on the old sweet ways
Of thoughtless, chummy days,
Turning severely,
Pride, hooded in dislike,
Strack as a snake might strike,
And, in the public gaze,
Froze me austerely.

THAT ADVANCED WOMAN! (A Symposium à la Mode.)

The Author of "A Saddis Aster"

confesses.

I AM much flattered by your kind invitation to discuss the Advanced Woman, but an initial difficulty suggests itself to me. Can one discuss the Advanced Woman if this Advanced Woman herself is non-existent? I am aware, of course, that she has stridden large of late in the pages of feminine fiction, but is she not as extinct (before she has ever existed) as her DODO title? Let me make my own confession. I have used, if I did not invent, the A. W. I have secured a remunerative public. Once on a time I wrote of life as I found it. I used my eyes and ears, and endeavoured to let the world have the result in the old-fashioned, wholesome story. It was a dreary failure. The critics commended my style, and the public let me severely alone. Nous avons changé tout cela. A theatrical manager who finds his musical piece begin to drag, saves the situation by a New Edition-in other words, by two new songs and some fresh dances. In a similar way I secured a reputation by dragging in (at times by her very heel) the Advanced Woman. True that she resembles no one in actual existence, true, indeed, that she is outrageously and offensively improbable, but the public were not happy till they got her. They're happy now. So am I.

sphere, and, queen in her own selected world, she did not aspire to a Sovereignty which naturally belonged to others. If they were alive to-day (and, after all, some of them are), our grandmothers would hardly know their GRAND children-the Heavenly Twins. I am glad that I am permitted to keep burning the sacred lamp of the Old world has hitherto reserved for the Old Maid were being transferred Womanhood. Indeed, it looks as if the jeers which a thoughtless to the Old Woman. Yet to those who have never yielded to the spell of the latter-day notions, there is only dismay in the spectacle of the Advanced Woman sweeping triumphantly on, with her mind full of sex-problems she has not brains enough to understand, and her breath stained with the trace of cigarettes she does not care to conceal. Wholesomeness dies at being dubbed old-fashioned; Modesty does not survive the disgrace of not being up to date. It's a bad world, my masters, and I'm never tired of saying so.

Ann U. Woman

dreams

of the Future.

The fact that you have invited my opinion with full knowledge of what I shall say, emboldens me to speak out. Man's day (which, like every dog, he has had) draws to an end. For centuries he has had Woman at his mercy. What she is to-day, that he has made her. And what is she? His Doll, his Slave, his "Old Woman." But Man made one fatal mistake. In a weak moment he consented to allow Woman to earn her own living. From that moment_our ultimate triumph was assured. Now we know our strength. Told of old that we were brainless, we now become Senior Wranglers. Condemned aforetime to inactivity, we now realise that in life's struggle there are no prizes we are not competent to secure, though, of course, we are not always permitted. We have precipitated ourselves out of a yellow miasma of stagnant sloth into an emancipated, and advanced day. The Advanced Woman has come to stay-but not with any husband. She will be as free as the air, as strong as the eagle. I must stop, as to do any more fine writing would be to anticipate my next novel. Be sure to get it. It will be called[No; I can stand a good deal, but not that.-ED.]

"TRIPPING MERRILY."

THAT holiday cruise on board the good steamship Cannie Donia! Did I dream it? or was it a reality? "Are there wisions about ?" It seems like yesterday or like years ago, and I know it was neither. "Old KASPAR'S," or let us say middle-aged KASPAR'S,-" work was done" pro tem., and he could not neglect so great an opportunity, nor refuse so inviting an invitation as that sent him by Sir CHARLES CHEERIE, the Chairman, to come aboard for the trial trip of the G.S.S. Cannie Donia. So I, middle-aged KASPAR, work done as aforesaid, did then and thereby become TOMMY the Tripper, and, as such, went aboard the gallant SS. abovementioned, all-to-thecontrary, nevertheless, and notwithstanding.

And what a goodly company!

46

Sir CHARLES and Lady CHEERIE, perfect host and hostess in themselves. Here too was our TOBY, M.P., waggish as ever. "I am not down on the official list of guests as TOBIAS,' quoth he. And why?" I gave it up. "Because," says he, answering his own conundrum, "I am a free and independent scribe, and there is nothing to bias me. Aha!" The sea air agrees with TOBY, M.P. "And where would the Member for Barkshire be," he asks, pro[ounding as it were another and a better puzzle, "but aboard a bonnie barque? My bark," he continues gaily, may be worse than my bite, but- Here the bugle-call to breakfast sounds, and from ocular evidence I can roundly assert that whatever his bark may be, I will back his bite -and this without backbiting, of which, as I trust, neither of us is capable against that of any two of his own size and weight. Yet TOBY en mangeant is not the dog in a manger, no, not by any means! With one eye to the main chance, and another to the corresponding comfort of his cobreakfasters, so pursueth he his steadfast course, as indeed do we all, to the astonishment of most of us, through the shoals of toast and butter; over the shallows of eggs; safely through the Straits of Kipper and Kurrie; with a pleasant time in Hot Tea Bay; then through a Choppy sea, between the dangerous rocks of Brawn and Bacon; into the calm Marmaladean Sea, where we ride at anchor and all is well.

And I eye her with a look wherein admiration is tempered with pity. It occurs to me that I will say something appropriate, just to show her how I, a stranger and a Saxon, feel for her. It may lead her to express her hearty detestation of these faction-fights, and of these deadly fracas with the armed constabulary, So I say, with a touch of deep indignation in my tone, "It's a shame," say I, "that such things as these"-and I nod frowningly at the shillelaghs which VULCAN, M.P., is twirling meditatively, one in each hand, as if right and left were about to fight it out "it's a shame that such things as these should be permitted!" The pale, sad, beautiful daughter of Erin, regards me mournfully, and then, in a tone expressive of astonishment blended with firm remonstrance, she asks,

"An' what would the poor Boys use, an' they not allowed fire-arms?" That was all. No smile is on the lips of Erin's pale daughter. She is apparently in earnest, though both VULCAN and myself, talking it over subsequently, unite in opinion that, perhaps, she had

After breakfast, the cigar, or pipe, with conversational accompaniment, what time we pace the quarter-deck. Prognostications as to probable weather are "taken and offered" by nautically-attired guests, who, in a general way, may be supposed from their seagoing costume "to know the ropes.' Here is the ever amiable and truly gallant Sir PETER PLURAL, looking every inch the ideal yachtsman, as honorary member of the Upper House of Cowes and Ryde Piers. Wonderful man Sir PETER! knows everybody, is liked by everybody; has been yachting and sailing and voyaging for any number of years; knows even the smallest waves by sight, and, if asked, could probably tell you their names! One day he will publish his reminiscences!

We anchor off Queenstown. The estimable, jovial VALENTINE VULCAN, M.P., from the North, must ashore to purchase some trifling knickknacks by way of mementoes of the visit. Instead of "knickknacks" he lays in a stock of "knock-knocks," yclept "shillelaghs," which are served out to him by a delicately pale beauty of Erin, dark-haired, slim waisted, and as elegant as might be any natty girl from County Trim. She shows us some dozen shillelaghs with hard, murderous-looking, bulbous knobs.

"Phew!" whistles VALENTINE VULCAN, M.P., weighing one of these dainty sticks in his hand. "You might get rather a nasty crack from this." I agree with him, and the sad daughter of Erin regards us sadly and sympathetically.

Maybe," I think to myself, "she has lost a friend or a lover in one of these confounded O'CAPULET and O'MONTAGUE rows. Poor girl!"

been availing herself of this rare

and unique opportunity of "getting at" the Saxon.

So she went on recommending sticks and photographs, and did a good bit of business with our generous VULCAN, M.P., who returned, laden with gifts for various fellow-guests aboard the good SS. Cannie Donia.

What amusing nights and delightful days! The ladies-bless 'em!-all charming, and very Barkisses in their perpetual "willingness" to do anything and everything that might give pleasure and afford amusement. Two fairy-gifted maidens entertain us mightily with a capital dramatic sketch of their own composition; others follow suit, playing the piano; and a sestette perform, without previous rehearsal, glees, madrigals, part-songs, and choruses to popular plantation melodies, under the leadership of that masterly musician Toм TOLDEROL, whose only regret is that he has not been able to bring on board with him his sixteen-horsepower-fifty-stopped-sixteen-pedal organ (designed and made by the eminent firm of BELLOWS, BLOWER & Co., at a cost of some few thousand pounds), though, as he explains to us, he would have done so, had this musical mammoth been only compressible within the limits of an ordinary carpet bag.

However, à propos of organs, we have with us a representative of one of the greatest organs-of the Press-full of wise saws and modern instances; as jolly as a sandboy, or rather as a schoolboy out for a holiday. A sailor every inch of him, and this is saying a great deal, as he must be over six feet, and broad in proportion. Appropriate, too, as aboard "the craft," is the presence of the Great Grand Secretary, Mr. BENJAMIN BOAZ, A.M., P.G.M., &c., &c., and the still Greater, Grander Something Else, P.P.M., &c., Sir JONATHAN JACHIN, mysterious officers, Arcades ambo, of the Secret Rites of Masonry, full of nods, winks, becks, wreathed smiles, signs, secrets, fun, frolic, and tales galore.

Ah! the happy days! And the happy evenings! What excellent "toasts" and returnings of thanks" by my Lord AFFIDAVIT, by Sir POSEIDON À VINKLO (President of the Anchorite Court), by ANDREW MCJASON (senior of the Argonautic Firm that built the good ship Cannie Donia), and the sprightliest speech of all by Sir CHARLES CHEERIE!

66

Round to Falmouth, up the Fal, "with our Fal, lal, la," as singeth our brilliant sestette to piano, or, to quote Sir JONATHAN, our P. an' O." accompaniment.

Then S'uth'ards! Then.... But "here break we off." Thus do I briefly make some record of a "trial trip."; and may no trip that any of us may make, whether involving a trial or not, have worse results than has this, of which, beginning and finishing happily and gloriously as it has done and such be the Cannie Donia's fate evermore-I am privileged to write this slight record, and proud to account myself henceforth as ONE OF THE TRIPPERS.

Writers of verse, here is news to elate you! "Poets" (the title you value the most), Simply magnificent offers await you!-

Vide this paragraph, cut from the Post. Hasten, ye bards (who surely a debt owe To this MECENAS, this opulent man), Hasten with joy to prepare a libretto Fit to accomplish his excellent plan! He will fulfil your most lofty ambitionsSuch generosity simply astounds!You will receive (under certain "conditions") Honour, and glory, and fame, and-fice pounds!

A PARADOX OF THEATRICAL SUCCESS.-At the Criterion very difficult to get into Hot Water.

Now I shall face, serene and calm, Those persons, often rather pressing

For little gifts, with outstretched palm.
To some of them I'll give my blessing.
To others "service" being paid-
Buona mano, pourboire, trinkgeld:
They fancy Englishmen are made

Of money, made of (so they think) geld.

The garçon, ready with each dish,

His brisk" Voilà, monsieur" replying To anything that one may wish;

His claim admits of no denying.

The portier, who never rests,

Who speaks six languages together To clamorous, inquiring guests,

On letters, luggage, trains, boats, weather.

The femme de chambre, who fills my bain;

The ouvreuse, where I see the acteur.

A cigarette to chef de train,

A franc to energetic facteur.

I give each cocher what is right;

I know, without profound researches, What I must pay for each new sightCathedrals, castles, convents, churches.

Or climbing up to see a view,

From campanile, roof or steeple.
Those verbal tips I had from you
Save money tips to other people.
Save all those florins, marks or francs-
Or pfennige, sous, kreutzer, is it ?-
The change they give me at the banks,
According to the towns I visit.

I seem to owe you these, and yet

Will money do? My feeling's deeper. I'll owe you an eternal debt

A debt of gratitude, that's cheaper.

TO SENTIMENT.

(After a Long Course of Cynicism.)
"SENTIMENT is come again."
So says clever Mr. ZANG WILL.
Most things tire the human brain;
Mugwump mockery and slang will:
Pessimism's pompous pose,
Hedonism's virus septic;
Cynicism's cold cock-nose,

Creedless dismals, doubts dyspeptic,
All are wearying-being sham.
Twopenny Timon tires and sickens.
Bitters bore us! We'll try jam!
Back to LYTTON, HOOD, and DICKENS?
Sorrows of sweet seventeen?

Vows that manly one-and-twenty meant? Yes! we're sick of Cynic spleen. Let's hark back again to Sentiment! Saccharine surfeit, after all, Though it be a trifle sickly, Changes our long gorge of gall.

Come back, Sentiment, and quickly!

THE INVASION OF WOMAN.

WHEN STREPHON shuts the ledger to,
Relinquishing his duties,

And takes the train from Waterloo
For Clapham's rural beauties
He dearly loves en route, we read,
To smoke the solitary weed.

His hopes, alas, are
quickly dashed,
For CHLOË, maid
provoking!
Alertly enters, un-
abashed,

The carriage la-
belled Smok-
ing";

His frown, his power-
ful cigar,
His match-all un-
availing are.

Yes, CHLOE comes, and brings no doubt,
A friend to talk of fashions,
While STREPHON lets his weed go out,
A prey to angry passions,
Which, later on, released will be
Within the excellent D. T.

Yet grieve not so, ungallant swain,
Nor curse this innovation,
Or, even if you do, refrain

From words like "frequentation,"
But really, you should do no less
Than cease to curse, and wholly bless.
For if the charm this female band
Finds in you so immense is,
That they contentedly can stand
The smell your weed dispenses,
A compliment they pay you then
You will not gain from fellow-men!

By bold speculation seem hardly to pay; Though "Turks" may decline, do not grieve at your plight,

TO ALTHEA IN CHURCH. You weren't so far off but I knew you, I instantly knew you were there! On my Ancient and Modern I drew you Between the first hymn and the prayer. I'm glad that my eyes keen and quick are, When there are such prospects to see. You're looking straight up at the VicarI wish you'd look over at me! You've a hat that is gauzy and shady, Your gown is a delicate greySo fair and so dainty a lady

Ne'er entered the Church till to-day!
Your chaperon quietly dozes.

Would I were a wizard, for you!
A wave of my wand, and with roses
Should suddenly blossom your pew

ROBERT'S PICTER.

By some stordinary mistake on the part of some wery hemenent taker of Poortraits, I was last week requested for to go to him and set for my Picter.

He told me in his letter that his reason for wanting me to set to him was, becoz he wanted to have the Picters of all the Members of the Copperation, and of course they wood not be complete without mine, for tho of course he knew that I was not a real Common Counseller, still, he thort that I had left sitch a mark among them by my ten years constant service and unwarying atention to em, that the hole matter woud be wanting in completeness if my Picter was omitted, even if it was only as "Mr. ROBERT the City Waiter" a leading off the presession or a bringing up the Reer! I remembers werry well when the other City Picter was printed, about a year ago, when the LORD MARE's three Footmen, all in their werry hansumest uniforms, was placed exactly in the front, and all being fine hansum fellers, as they undowtedly is, they were thort to

quite cut out the Picter at Gildall last summer.

have taken the shine out of the hole Picter, but that was in course quite a diffrent thing, and this new one is to be quite werry diffrent from that one, and carried out in quite another style altogether, and will, I shoud think,

atract such uniwersal admiration as will

Gallery as was shown

Sum few of the werry hansumest of the hole Court as has bin and got taken already, has bin and stuck theirselves up in the Reading Room, and werry proud they is of their apperience, and BROWN and Me has got sum of the Atendents to let us go in before the Members comes, and see em privately. BROWN says as how as he's quite sure as there must be sum mistake about me, becoz as he carn't at all see how I shoud fit in with the rest. But there's werry little dout in my mind that it's all a case of gelosy with BROWN, who woud werry much like to have sitch a chance.

"Don't grieve at existence, but taste of its sweets!"

A TERRIBLE TRANSFORMATION; Or, Evolution Gone Wrong.

["It is probable that the butterfly postillion, by an inverse process of evolution, becomes in time the sombre fly-driver."-James Payn.]

Он, polychromatic postillion,

Who scoureth the Scarborough plains, And beareth the travel

ling million

For infinitesimal gains; Oh, butterfly, picture thee -there is the rub!Developing backwards to worse than a grub!

It fills me with doldrums and dolour.

To picture thy scarlet and blue [colour," Becoming so sadly "off Descending to bumblebee hue;

To dandy-grey russet; dunducketty dun! Oh, PAYN, this is painful. You must be in fun!

A fly-driver frumpy and fusty?

You might as well just be a fly, All fuzzy, and buzzy, and dusty, A horror to ear and to eye, A-booming about and fly - blowing the crockery,

No, no, gentle PAYN, this is surely mere mockery.

Would DARWIN were here to demolish

"Development" turned upside down. Yon urchin in pink and high polish

Degraded to rain-beaten brown?

A butterfly turned a blackbeetle were sad, But nought to the fate of our postboy, poor lad!

A Hansom may sink to a "Shoful,"
A racer descend to the rank;

But this metamorphosis woeful

Is fortune's most pitiless prank. Smart urchin in emerald, cobalt, vermilion, Turn fly-driver? Far better die a postillion.

MORGENLIED.

(By a Light Sleeper.) "YE little birds that sit and sing"

Outside my window when the day is dawning. How I should like your little necks to wring,

I fain would sleep, with weariness I'm yawning. Although for rest you may not feel inclined, Do cease, I beg of you, that aimless twitter:

Try without noise the early worm to find. Why should you seek my rest-time to embitter?

No doubt you think your maddening cheep

Sweeter than song of nightingale or linnet, But, tossing here with imprecations deep, I do declare I find no sweetness in it. "Higher up! move on!" or stay and hold your tongues,

I

Had I a gun, the twig you'd quickly hop it; wish you'd exercise your little lungs

A thousand miles from here. In mercy stop it!