Volume 107 — A BALLADE OF THREE VOLUMES.

O awful sentence that we read, O news that really seems to stun, For Messrs. Mudie have decreed, And also Messrs. Smith and Son, Henceforth consistently to shun The trilogies we value so, And that, for thus the tidings run, Three-volume novels are to go! Reflect to what it soon must lead, This rash reform which you've begun; How can the novelist succeed In packing tragedy and fun Within the space of Volume One? Already his returns are low, Soon he'll be utterly undone— Three-volume novels are to go! And then for us, who humbly plead For long romances deftly spun, Will not these stern barbarians heed Our concentrated malison? Alas, your literary Hun Nor sorrow nor remorse can know; He cries in anger, "Simpleton, Three-volume novels are to go!"

Prince, writers' rights—forgive the pun— And readers' too, forbid the blow; Of triple pleasure there'll be none, Three-volume novels are to go!