ay._--Quite a feature. Centre of the Bill with sub-lines of
"Horrible Disclosures," and "Painful Scenes." Becoming a boom. To be
further developed to-morrow.

_Wednesday._--Bill all "Epidemic." Even Cricket sacrificed to make
room for it. "News from Abroad." "Horrors at Hamburg." No idea it
would turn out so well. A perfect treasure-trove at this quiet season
of the year!

_Thursday._--Nothing but "Epidemic"--"Arrival in
England"--"Precautions Everywhere." Let the boom go! It feeds itself!
Nearly as good as a foreign war!

_Friday._--Still "the Epidemic," but requires strengthening.
"Spreading in the Provinces," but still, not like it was. Falling
flat.

_Saturday._--A good sensational Murder! The very thing for the
Contents Bills. Exit "the Epidemic," until again wanted.

* * * * *

SONGS OF SOCIETY;

I.--INTRODUCTORY. TO MY LYRE.

["Smoothly written _vers de Societe_, where a _boudoir_
decorum is, or ought always to be, preserved; where sentiment
never surges into passion, and where humour never overflows
into boisterous merriment."--_Frederick Locker's Preface to
"Lyra Elegantiarum."_]

[Illustration]

Dear Lyre, your duty now you know!
If one would sing with grace and glow
Songs of Society,
One must not dream of fire, or length,
Or vivid touch, or virile strength,
Or great variety.

Among the Muses of Mayfair
A Bacchanal with unbound hair,
And loosened girdle,
Would be as purely out of place
As Atalanta in a race
O'er hedge or hurdle:

Our Muse, dear Lyra, must be trim,
Must not indulge in vagrant whim,
Of voice or vesture.
Boudoir decorum will allow
No gleaming eye, no glowing brow,
No ardent gesture.

Society, which is our theme,
Is like a well-conducted stream
Which calmly ripples.
We sing the World where no one feels
Too pungently, or hates, or steals,
Or loves, or tipples.

And should you hint that down below
The subtle siren all men know
Is hiding _her_ face,
Our answer is: "That may be true,
But boudoir bards have nought to do
Save with the surface."

And therefore, though Society feel
The Proletariat's heavy heel
Its kibe approaching,
Some luxuries yet are left to sing,
The Opera-Box, the Row, the Ring,
And Golf, and Coaching.

Not e'en the Socialistic