(_THOROUGHLY NEW STYLE._)
[Illustration]
Belinda dear, once on a time
I doted on your every feature,
I wrote you _billets doux_ in rhyme
In which I called you "charming creature."
No lover half so keen as I,
Than mine no ardent passion stronger,
So I should like to tell you why
I cannot love you any longer.
When I was yours and you were mine,
Your hair, I thought, was most delightful,
But now, through Fashion's last design,
It looks, to my taste, simply frightful!
Though why this should be I don't know,
For I can think of nothing madder
Than hair decked out in coils that go
To make what seems to be a ladder.
Unhappy day, when first you dressed
Your tresses thus--how you must rue it!
For you yourself, you know, confessed
It took you several hours to do it.
Oh, tell me, is it but a snare
Designed to captivate another,
Or do you merely bind your hair
Because you're bidden by your mother?
Again--you will not take it ill--
You are, my dear, distinctly dumpy:
A flowing cape it's certain will
Well--_not_ become one short and stumpy.
Yet since, although you are not tall,
You wear a cape, you may take my word
That in the mouths of one and all
You have become a very byword.
So this is why my love has fled--
If ever there should come a season
When you shall show some sense instead
Of such an utter lack of reason,
If I should still be fancy free,
Why then it's only right to mention
That, if you care to write to me,
I'll give your claims my best attention.
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A NOTE.--In _Black and White_ for August 8 there is a large picture
representing a group of English Dramatists, amongst whom please
specially notice a figure intended for Mr. W.S. GILBERT (it was
thoughtful and kind of the artist to put the names below), who is
apparently explaining to a select few why he has been compelled to
come out in this strange old coat and these queer collars. All the
Dramatists look as cheerful as mutes at a funeral, their troubled
expression of countenance probably arising from the knowledge that
somewhere hidden away is a certain eminently unbiassed Ibsenitish
critic who has been engaged to do the lot in a lump. From this
exhibition of collective wisdom turn to p. 203, and observe the single
figure of a cabman, drawn by an artist who certainly has a Keene
appreciation of the style of _Mr. Punch's_ inimitable "C.K."
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[Illustration: "BURYING THE HATCHET".
(_Vide Report of the L.C. & D. Chairman's Speech, "Times," August
6._)]
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