THE ‘SEASON’ IN SONG.
o live in hearts we leave behind is not to die,’ and the Season, when ‘dead,’ yet speaks to many through the mouths of the men who have given it perennial life in verse. Its first laureate, one may say, was Mackworth Praed, whose ‘Good-night’ to it still remains the most brilliant epitome of its characteristics ever written. Nothing was omitted from that remarkable series of coruscating epigrams. From
‘The breaches and battles and blunders
Performed by the Commons and Peers,’
we are taken to ‘the pleasures which fashion makes duties’—‘the dances, the fillings of hot little rooms,’ ‘the female diplomatists, planners of matches for Laura and Jane,’ ‘the rages, led off by the chiefs of the throng,’ the ballet, the bazaar, the horticultural fête, and what not. Of later years the Season, as a whole, has been celebrated only by Mr. Alfred Austin, who published, more than a quarter of a century ago, a satire which was indeed formidable in its tone. Mr. Austin was severe about everybody—about the
‘Unmarketable maidens of the mart,
Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint,
And hide their sins in piety and paint;’