New Verse Forms—II W E have- to g o to the United

States for the neat and natty Rhymbel. She was born in America, but .emigrated in early life to Australia. The new species was first noticed by The Century. It is said that the father of the Rhymbel was a Jingle, and its mother a Rondel ; but it is perhaps not fair to trace back its antecedents. The issue of the mating was a feeble- minded daughter, Symbol by name, and four " wanting " sons, Ramble (the eldest), Rondeau and Rhyme (twins), and Jumble (the baby). According to the discovery, a Rhymbel is any poem, preferably of five-lined stanzas, in which the ultimate word in each verse must be the miscue for the subject-matter of the next. Carlyon Wells managed to capture one of these curious little animals, and it is still living in captivity. The standard Rhymbel is a poem of from three to six stanzas, each of five lines, in which the last word, or syllable, of the first stanza _must begin the next stanza, but in another sense, on the analogy of a pun. The last word in the next stanza should similarly be the first word of the succeeding stanza, and—an important point—the last word of the final stanza must round the thing off with the first word of the Rhymbel. The Rhymbel must treat only of one subject, thus :- Rhymbel, welcome, little girl

She's the Muses' latest pet. Mrs. Sonnet was her mother, Mr. Pantoum her brother, And her sister, Triolet.

Try ! Oh, let us try to learn All her meaning, neat and terse.

If a pun were her ancestor, Poets happily have dressed her In a gallant robe of verse.

Versatility we need.

Like a convict-gang of crime, Each verse follows close his brother, Linked with shackles to each other, And the chains are made of rhyme.

The pun must be complete. The best metre for the Rhymbel is the trochaic. The delicate problem of this verse-form is so to adjust the continuity of the narrative with the cleverness of the pun that the reader's mind is first brought up- short and then finds the suspense neatly resolved without a break in the meaning. In miniature, it is the old principle of dramatic suspense ; you wonder, worry, and then, looking back, you suddenly see. The Rhymbel must, above all, have a dramatic climax. The last word, innate in the first, must be carefully concealed. The perfect Rhymbel—and that is rare—begins quite Unobtrusively and ends with an unsuspected emphasis upon the modest key-word.

THE STREAM.

The poets write that silver streams Go down to kiss the sea, That fairy ships a-load with dreams— With elfin spoil each shallop teems— With Ocean haste to be.

Two beastly, sluggish creeks I know ; But ne'er a silver rill.

Those ugly creeks a bard would, show re be brave streams that swiftly flow, With waters clear a-fill.

A Philistine I e'en must be, With dull and blinking eyes, Which in a creek no magic see, While bards in words of ecstasy Do it immortalise. Immortal eyes do bards possess That they see visions bright To never see the streams grow less, Nor forest lose her vernal dress, Are these the poet's right ?

The Rhymballade is a more intricate exercise.. The infant while resembling his mother, the Rhymbel, about the key-word, shows in its structure a close likeness to its French father, M. Ballade. For the Rhymballade the poet has to find four words beginning with the same sound, and has to work them in witliout any sense of effort in a poem complete in itself. -As if the poet had not his other troubles !

ERY3fBALLADE OF LOVE.

" Damsel ! Would I were young again, Sleek of hair and slender of limb," So sang I, a middle-aged swain, Then would my glowing ardour bedim Romeo's love for his Juliet slim ; E'n now, as old and as bald as I am, This is the burden of my hymn : " Love is a torrent you cannot darn ! "

Damask cheeks showed a rosy stain ; Lips I had thought a trifle prim Parted, and where I had feared disdain Smiles like the smiles of cherubim Filled my cup of joy to the brim, Drank it eagerly, dram by dram ! How worshipped that maiden trim! " Love is a torrent you cannot dam ! "

Damocles' sword hangs over me plain.

When my fancy proved only a whim Breach of Promise became her strain Rude reporters my billet-doux skim And treasure each silly pseudonym. Her counsel calls her " Deluded lamb ! "

The little vixen ! I swear with vim " Love's a torrent you cannot dam." ENVOY.

Damages ! Hark to the old Judge grim, Summing me up as a heartless sham I Most of Life's rivers a man can swim : Love is a torrent you cannot. Damn !

The limit of punning ballades' is, however, reached by an ingenious poet. Here is the Rhymrhumballade. It is not merely Rhymbel and Ballade, but it has all sorts of hedges to jump to be in at the death. The difficulties are to be seen : the shortness of the lines ; the necessary pun at the beginning of each stanza ; the second pun for the key-word in the second refrain ; and the other complications—" to make it harder." New beauties— or horrors—appear in almost every line :— Demurely quaint

Is this fresh fad, Or new complaint, The Rhymballade, Adeptly clad In rhymes a-gee To make a glad, Sweet melody.

Diviner saint I never had

Than this I paint—

The Rhymballade.

Admire me pad Its lines with glee, And hear the mad Sweet melody !

Despite constraint And ironclad Conditions, mayn't The Rhymballade Adored be, ad- Vantageously, For never-sad Sweet melody!

ENVOY.

Adopt it, lad ! Displayed here, see The Rhymballade- Curt melody !

Apparently there is nothing left for the ingenious but to take up such technicalities as sonnets composed of only one word in each of the fourteen lines, and make some