A VALEDICTION TO ST. VALENTINE.
(By an Old-fashioned Fellow.)
Old friend of the lass and the lover,
They say you are moribund now,
Your rule—it was gentle—is over,
Because—it is "vulgar" to vow,
"No class" to be vassal to Cupid,
"Bad form" to go wooing in verse!
Well, Saint, your old rhymings were stupid
But new ones seem worse.
Your hearts and your darts were as healthy
As daffodils, larks or Spring lamb.
But now we're so wise, and so wealthy,
Simplicity strikes us as sham;
Your empire was kind, if despotic,
And blent of the smile and the tear.
But now we're all "new" and "neurotic,"
And slaves to the queer.
A Beardsley design, now, would shock you.
And so would a verse by Verlaine.
Our Art, modern Art, would but mock you,
Our poetry give you much pain.
Oh Woman, New Woman, thou clamorest
Loudly for right to revolt.
But oh! from our latter-day Amorist
S. V. would bolt!
'Tis well, good Saint Valentine, truly,
That you have got notice to quit,
For, faith! you must find us unduly
Devoted to cynical wit.
The poor dear conventional passions,
You voiced, with bird-pipings, in Spring,
Are not "up to date." Love's new fashions
You never could sing!
Good gracious! Le Gallienne's lyrics,
And Davidson's Lavender-scent,
Would certainly give you hysterics.
Song now, just like wine, must ferment.
The dewdroppy old dithyrambics
You loved, in our day don't go down.
Our maidens like brisk galliambics
On which you would frown.
Indeed ithyphallics—but, bless us!
Our poesy, Saint, unto you
Would be like a new shirt of Nessus.
Our art is all yellow—or blue.
And so, poor old boy, 'tis a blessing
You're off, with a tear in your eye.
Like soft hearts and simple caressing,
You're vulgar! Good-bye!
Strange Omen.—Sir Frank Lockwood, Solicitor-General, was "entertained," says the Daily Telegraph, "to dinner"—(observe, not "entertained at dinner"; perhaps he had to do the entertaining, then)—"at the House of Commons, his host, Mr. John Aird" (always a host in himself), "being a Conservative," while the other guests were either Conservatives or Unionists. Daniel in the lions' den is the parallel that arises to everyone's mind; but in this instance Daniel actually dined with the lions, and probably felt none the worse for the "feast of reason and the flow of soul."
We haven't as yet seen An Artist's Model at Daly's, but as the piece seems to depend for its "go" mainly on the music composed for it by Mr. Owen Hall (to clever lyrics by Mr. Greenbank), it would not be unfair to say that it is to its music it is Owen Hall its success.
Anticipatory.—Should Henry Irving, as the acknowledged leading representative of the Histrionic side of Dramatic Art in this country, receive the honour of knighthood, the Lyceum bill might be headed, "Great Success! First Knight!"
"'Ad any Breakfus' 's Mornin'?"
"Not a Drop!"