A Fashionable Novel

LORD HARRY has written a novel,

A story of elegant life;

No stuff about love in a hovel,

No sketch of a commoner’s wife:

No trash such as pathos and passion,

Fine feelings, expression, and wit;

But all about people of fashion,

Come look at his caps how they fit!

O, Radcliffe! thou once wert the charmer

Of girls who sat reading all night;

Thy heroes were striplings in armor,

Thy heroines damsels in white.

But past are thy terrible touches,

Our lips in derision we curl,

Unless we are told how a Duchess,

Conversed with her cousin, the Earl.

We now have each dialogue quite full

Of titles—“I give you my word,

My lady, you’re looking delightful.”

“O dear, do you think so, my lord!”

“You’ve heard of the marquis’s marriage.

The bride with her jewels new set,

Four horses, new travelling carriage,

And déjeuner à la fourchette.”

Haut ton finds her privacy broken,

We trace all her ins and her outs;

The very small talk that is spoken

By the very great people at routs;

At Tenby Miss Jinks asks the loan of

The book from the innkeeper’s wife,

And reads till she dreams she is one of

The leaders of elegant life.