Chapter X: Preface (10)

One of the rarest imitations is a little octavo religious pamphlet, intended as an answer to atheists and freethinkers, entitled “The Christian House that Jack built by Truth on a Rock,” with portraits of celebrities. 1820.

――――

In 1809, during the O. P. Riots in the new Covent Garden theatre, many parodies were produced, and amongst them one on this nursery rhyme. The riots arose partly from some structural alterations made in the house, but still more from the great increase made in the prices of admission. John Kemble, the manager, and Madame Catalani were the principal objects of public indignation, and the war cries of the rioters were “Old Prices! No Private Boxes! No Catalani! The English Drama!” In the end Kemble had to compromise matters, and Catalani’s name was withdrawn from the bills.

This is the house that JACK[9] built.

These are the _boxes_ let to the _great_, that visit the house that
Jack built.

These are the _pigeon-holes_ over the _boxes_, let to the _great_,
that visit the house that Jack built.

This is the _Cat_[10] engaged to squall to the _poor_ in the
_pigeon-holes_ over the _boxes_, let to the _great_, that visit
the house that Jack built.

This is _John Bull_ with a _bugle-horn_, who hissed the _Cat_
engaged to squall to the _poor_ in the _pigeon-holes_ over the
_boxes_, let to the _great_, that visit the house that Jack
built.

This is the _thief-taker_ shaven and shorn, that took up _John Bull_
with his _bugle-horn_, who hissed the _Cat_, engaged to squall to
the _poor_ in the _pigeon-holes_ over the _boxes_, let to the
_great_, that visit the house that Jack built.

This is the _Manager_ full of scorn, who raised the price to the
people forlorn, and directed the _thief-taker_, shaven and shorn,
to take up _John Bull_ with his _bugle-horn_, who hissed the
_Cat_ engaged to squall to the _poor_ in the _pigeon-holes_ over
the _boxes_, let to the _great_, that visit the house that Jack
built.

From THE REBELLION; _or, All in the Wrong_. A serio-comic Hurly-Burly, as it was performed for two months at the New Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, by His Majesty’s servants, _the Players_, and his liege subjects, _the Public_. London, Vernor, Hood, & Sharp. 1809.

――――

In _The Ingoldsby Lyrics_, by R. H. Barham, collected and edited by his son, and published by Richard Bentley and Son, London, in 1881, there are several parodies, which were doubtless very amusing when they first appeared, but they are now all out of date, especially those relating to politics.

Page 21. “I am partial to table and tray.”――_Cowper._
” 43. On the London University.
“The University we’ve got in town.”
” 181. “Pity the sorrows of a poor old Church.”
” 108. The House that Jack built.
” 117. Various Nursery Rhymes.
” 174. The House that Jack built.

The last parody, which originally appeared in _The Spectator_, refers to the Parliamentary enquiry into the causes of the fire that destroyed the Houses of Parliament in 1834. It commences:――

This is the House that Josh burnt,
These are the sticks that heated the bricks,
That set fire to the house that Josh burnt.

The other parody of _The House that Jack built_ refers to an action that was brought in 1825, against Mr. Peto, a builder, for a breach of contract, in consequence of some failure in the foundations of the new Custom House at London Bridge.

This is the House that Jack built.

This is a sleeper that propped up the House that Jack built.

This is the pile that was short all the while, and wouldn’t go
deeper under the sleeper, that propped up the House that Jack
built.

This is the Peto appointed to see to, the driving the pile that
was short, etc.

* * * * *

This is John Bull with his pockets so full, who “forked out” three
hundred thousand pounds for a tumble down house that fell to the
ground, and paid all the fees, with a great deal of ease, to all
the grave counsellors bouncing and big, every one in a
three-tailed wig, who examined George Rennie that wouldn’t give a
penny, for all the work, etc., etc.

These parodies are both very long, and the above extracts sufficiently indicate their topics.

――――

“_The Palace that N――h built._ A parody on an old English Poem,” by I.
Hume. A small oblong octavo, with plates. Not dated, but about
1830, as it is a skit on Nash, the architect who built
Regent-street, and Buckingham Palace.

A Latin version of “The House that Jack built” appeared in _The
Hornet_ in 1872, it was also reprinted in _Fun, Ancient and
Modern_, by Dr. Maurice Davies. London, Tinsley Brothers, 1878.
It is too long to be inserted here.

“_The Crystal Palace that Fox built_” a Pyramid of Rhyme, with
illustrations, by John Gilbert. London, David Bogue, 1851.

“These are the workmen, a busy array,
Two thousand and more, as I have heard say,
Who readily, steadily, toiled away,
And finished before the first of May
_The Crystal Palace
that Fox built_.”

The editor offered an apology for not including the name of Mr. Henderson, as it “_would not_ come into the rhyme.” Messrs. Fox and Henderson were the builders of the 1851 exhibition, in Hyde Park.

――――

THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.

This is the house that Barry (ought to have) built.

This is the money laid out on the house that Barry (ought to have)
built.

This is the Reid that wasted the money laid out on the house that
Barry (ought to have) built.

This is the architect that snubbed the Reid that wasted the money
laid out on the house that Barry (ought to have) built.

This is the Brougham that worried the architect that snubbed the
Reid that wasted the money laid out on the house that Barry
(ought to have) built.

This is the press with its newsman’s horn, that took up the Brougham
that worried the architect that snubbed the Reid that wasted the
money laid out on the house that Barry (ought to have) built.

This is the Peerage, all forlorn, that appealed to the press with
its newsman’s horn that took up the Brougham that worried the
architect that snubbed the Reid that wasted the money laid out on
the house that Barry (ought to have) built.

* * * * *

_Punch._ 1846.

Notwithstanding all the faults found with Barry’s designs, there are really only four good reasons of complaint. The Houses of Parliament are built on too low a site; they are built in a style of architecture totally unsuited for their purposes, and our climate; they are built of a very perishable stone, which is already crumbling to decay; and the chamber in which the Commons meet is only just large enough to accommodate one-half of the members.

――――

THE WATER THAT JOHN DRINKS.

This is the water that John drinks.
This is the Thames with its cento of stink,
That supplies the water that John drinks.

* * * * *

(_Millions of Money._)

This is the price that we pay to wink
At the vested int’rests that fill to the brink,
The network of sewers from cesspool and sink,
That feed the fish that float in the ink-
y stream of the Thames with its cento of stink,
That supplies the water that John does drink.

_Punch._ 1849.

――――

THE SHOW THAT SHAM BUILT.

This is the Show that Sham built.
This is the fault that lay in the show, &c.
This is the fat that came of the fault, &c.
This is the hog that eat the fat, &c.
This is the press that worried the hog, &c.
This is the swell, commercially born, who cursed the press, &c.
This is the grammar, all tattered and torn, that belonged to the
swell, &c.
This is the feast of much decency shorn, that aired the grammar,
&c.
And this is the home, better known as _Cremorne_,
Fit place for the feast of all decency shorn,
That aired the grammar, all tattered and torn,
That belonged to the swell (commercially born)
That cursed the press,
That worried the hog,
That eat the fat,
That came of the fault,
That lay in the Show,
That Sham built.

_The Tomahawk._ Nov. 9, 1867. (Lord Mayor’s Day.)

――――

In 1872 a skit on the promoters of the _Emma_ mines was published, as “_A New Nursery Ballad_, embellished with portraits of some of the most _Emma_-nent men of the Day.” Salt Lake City, Utah. Published by and for Emma A. Sell. The frontispiece represented Knaves and Asses, and the other illustrations quaintly represented the various events alluded to in the Rhyme:

This is the mine that Lyon struck
* * * * *
These are the Dupes who insanely tore
To subscribe the Sum the Directors swore,
Was worth a Million of Pounds and more,
On the return of the Swell who was sent to explore,
The mine by a general of the army corps,
Who was backed by the Britishers, one, two, three, four,
Who shared with the Yanks from the Eastern shore,
Who joined with the men who had cleared out the ore,
That lay in the mine that Lyon struck.

――――

This is the land of Austra-_lia_,
These are the mines of silver and gold,
That lay in the land of Austra-_lia_.
This is the mining captain so bold,
Who prospected the mines of silver and gold, etc.
This is the gallant Companie, founded eighteen and fifty-three,
That sent on the mining captain so bold, etc.
These are the lighthearted gentlemen,
The worthy Board of Directors ten, to the gallant, etc.
This is the gent with his ready pen,
Who was “sec” to the light-hearted gentlemen, etc.
These are the lawyers with their “little bill,”
Messrs. Grab and Snatcher of Diddlegate Hill,
Who got up and “rigged” that Companie, etc.
These are the venturers rushing up stairs
So eager to get an allotment of shares, etc.
This is the Court of Chancerie,
That swallowed that ill-fated Companie, etc.
This is the total dividend, _nil_,
Left after paying the lawyers bill,
Messrs. Grab and Snatchem of Diddlegate Hill, etc.
These are the shareholders, County and Town,
Looking all of them “done” most uncommonly brown,
As they gaze on the total dividend――_nil_,
Left after paying the lawyers bill, etc.

EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.

_Will-o-the-Wisp_, a satirical paper, had two amusing parodies, both illustrated, the first, which appeared April 17, 1869, entitled _The Protestant House that Jack Built_, the second, May 8, 1869, _The Comic History of a Comical Ship built by John Bull_:――

“This is the Ship that Jack Built.”

――――

THE HOUSE THAT JOHN BUILT.
(_Indian Version._)

This the House that JOHN[11] built,

These are the Taxes that lay on the House that JOHN built,

This is the War that eat up the Taxes that lay on the House that
JOHN built.

This is the Viceroy that made the War that eat up the Taxes that lay
on the House that JOHN built.

These are the Strings that pulled the Viceroy that made the War that
eat up the Taxes that lay on the House that JOHN built.

This is Big BEN, with his newspaper horn, who pulled the Strings
that pulled the Viceroy that made the War that eat up the Taxes
that lay on the House that JOHN built.

This is BRITANNIA, Jingo-borne, who was witched by Big BEN with his
newspaper horn, who pulled the Strings that pulled the Viceroy
that made the War that eat up the Taxes that lay on the House
that JOHN built.

This is the AMEER, all sulks and scorn, who said “No” to BRITANNIA
Jingo-borne, who was witched by BIG BEN with his newspaper horn,
who pulled the Strings that pulled the Viceroy that made the War
that eat up the Taxes that lay on the House that JOHN built.

_Punch_, 1878.

――――

THIS IS THE RADICAL BRADLAUGH.

This is the Radical Bradlaugh,
These are electors sturdy and strong,
Who greet him with hearty and welcoming song,
Hurrah for the Radical Bradlaugh!
This is the struggle of Right against Wrong,
Thrice won by electors sturdy and strong,
Who lustily echoed the welcoming song,
Hurrah for the Radical Bradlaugh!

* * * * *

These are the people in whom we must trust
To raise us our liberty out of the dust,
To strive and diminish the deep-lying shame
That now is affixed to the Englishman’s fame,
To kick out the bigots so sorely dismayed
And stop all the cowardly tricks of their trade,
To fight in the battle of Right against Wrong,
And aid the electors sturdy and strong,
Who lustily echoed the welcoming song
To get justice for Radical Bradlaugh.

D. EVANS.

_The Weekly Dispatch_. March 12, 1882.

――――

THE FACE THAT ART MADE.

This is the Face that Art made!
This is the rouge for the modest blush,
That is stippled on with a hare’s-foot brush,
On the Maiden’s Face that Art made!

This is the _Blanc de Perle_ in paste
That imparts a background purely chaste,
For the _Rouge_ that makes the modest blush,
That is stippled on with the hare’s-foot brush!
On the Maiden’s Face that Art made!

This is the _Grenadine_ that tips
With a cherry red the pouting lips,
To suit the _Blanc de Perle_ in paste,
That imparts a background wholly chaste,
For the _Rouge_ that makes the modest blush,
That is stippled on with a hare’s-foot brush!
On the Maiden’s Face that Art made!

This is the _Eau de Violette_
(Price 6s. 6d.), the mouth to wet,
When the _Grenadine_ so sweetly tips
With cherry red the pouting lips,
To suit the _Blanc de Perle_ in paste, &c.
On the Maiden’s Face that Art made!

And here’s the _Etui Mystérieux_,
With its _Henna_ to use _pour les beaux yeux_,
And its velvet _Mouches_, which so black will be,
If stuck on the _Crème de Fleur de Lis_;
And its _House-leek Juice_ to warts remove,
And its _Walnut-water_ to hair improve,
And its wonderful _Incarnate de Chine_,
To hide where the wrinkle once has been,
And its _Powders_ to frost the locks of hair
Which _Sahara Wash_ has made more fair,
And its bright _Eau d’Or_ to turn to gold
The locks that are bound in a massive fold
Above the forehead, deprived of crease
By the far-famed _Crème de l’Impératrice_,
And covered as though with a beauteous calm,
By the secret power of the _Bagdad Balm_;
Above the pupils which _Kohhl_ makes bright,
And _Belladonna_ augments at night,
And to which the _Crayon Noir_ supplies
A finely-arched brow to match the eyes,
And increase the effect of the _Bleu pour Veines_,
Which imparts such a clear and delicate stain
To the skin enamelled with _Blanc de Cygne_,
And powdered over with _Véloutine_,
That enhances the _Grenadine_, which tips
With a cherry red the pouting lips
To suit the _Blanc de Perle_ (in paste)
That forms a background whitely chaste
For the _Rouge’s_ sympathetic blush
Stippled neatly on with a hare’s-foot brush
On the cheeks, to which _Styrian Lotion_ lends
A plumpness that Nature far transcends,
Of the Maiden’s Face that Art made!

_Truth._ December 25, 1883.

――――

ANOTHER VIEW OF A ROOKERY.

This is the House that any one built!
This is the Cadger who’d ruin the House that any one built.

* * * * *

And this is the Writer whose vigilant care shows poverty’s evils exceptional are, nor visit the men who lead with their wives clean, sober, hard-working, respectable lives, and exposes the Rads, who, by stooping to set poor against rich popularity get, and lay their ills at the rich man’s door, as profits to him at the cost of the poor, and support the Paper that (so it may sell) will foster sensation and shamefully tell the Falsehood that stupidly dares to aver it lies with the rich (who, it says, prefer foul tenants to cleanly, and “bullion” can squeeze from starving wretches and dirt and disease), and not with Drink and improvident ways, that they lost the earnings of happier days, and got those Habits of laziness that led to the Tokens of filth and distress, that mark the Cadger who’d ruin the House that any one built.

_A Pen’orth of Poetry for the Poor._ London. 1884.

――――

THE BICYCLE THAT JACK MADE.

This is the bicycle that Jack made.
This is the lathe, all polished and true,
That finished the work, kept under-weighed,
For the bicycle that Jack made.

* * * * *

This the gas oxygen――that you cannot see
Which proportions with iron in atoms three,
To make the chemical of formulæ O₃ Fe₂.
That combines in atoms of twenty-eight times two,
To form the ore, gathered out of the pit,
Which was melted in a furnace, blazingly lit,
That made the iron “carbonised” and clean,
Which was “blown” in the “converter” and “puddled” to steel,
That made the metal properly “tempered” through,
Which was put in the lathe, all polished and true,
That finished the work, kept under-weighed,
To complete the bicycle that Jack made.

P. HOWELL.

_Wheeling Annual._ 1885.

――――

This is the house that Tithe built;
This is the landlord, healthy and lithe,
That made the tenants under him writhe,
That sent their servants to pay the tithe,
That abused the parsons, all so blithe,
That ruined the men that worked the scythe,
That earned no cash,
That obtained the meat
That they had to eat,
That parsons were sent,
That lay in the house that Tithe built.

LEXICON.

_Truth._ September 30, 1886.

A very long parody, entitled “_This is the House Sir John left!_” appeared in _Truth_, August 20, 1885. It had reference to the cruel custom of people leaving their town houses with their dogs, cats, and other domestic pets improperly cared for during their absence.

――――

These are the Michelstown Murders.

These are the constables brutal and base
That committed the Michelstown Murders.

This is the party that, clinging to place,
Will back up the constables brutal and base
That committed the Michelstown Murders.

This is the bloody undying disgrace
Attached to the party that, clinging to place,
Will back up the constables brutal and base
That committed the Michelstown Murders.

This is the callous, insensible brute
That ordered his men to be “ready to shoot,”
Who shares in the bloody, undying disgrace
Attached to the party that, clinging to place,
Will back up the constables brutal and base
That committed the Michelstown Murders.

* * * * *

These are the Radicals sturdy, with votes,
Who very soon down the Conservative throats
Will cram all the lies that the cowardly crew
Unblushingly utter to carry them through――
Will kick out the callous, insensible brute
That ordered his men to “be ready to shoot,”
Who shares in the bloody undying disgrace
Attached to the party that, clinging to place,
Will back up the constables brutal and base
That committed the Michelstown Murders.

D. EVANS.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ October 2, 1887.

――――

This is the Toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent

This is the Boy
That played with the toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent.

This is the Pain
That worried the Boy
’Till he played with the Toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent.

This is the Doctor who tried in vain
To take away the distressing Pain
That worried the Boy
Till he played with the Toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent.
This is the Nurse who worked amain
To help the Doctor, who tried in vain,
With treatment repeated again and again
To take away the distressing pain
That worried the Boy
Till he played with the Toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent.

And this is the Fund Truth’s friends maintain,
To try to ease dire poverty’s strain,
And to aid the Nurse who works amain
To help the doctor who tries in vain
With treatment repeated again and again,
To take away the distressing pain
That worried the Boy
Till he played with the toy
That was packed in the hamper Truth sent.

_Truth._ December 2. 1886.

――――

THE BOAT THAT JACK BUILT.

This is the boat that Jack built.

This is the girl that sat in the boat that Jack built.

This is the youth that loved the girl that sat in the boat that Jack
built.

This is the man that hated the youth that loved the girl that sat in
the boat that Jack built.

* * * * *

This rhyme, with very humorous illustrations, appeared in _The Lock to Lock Times_, September 15, 1888. _The Lock to Lock Times_ is a clever little paper devoted to angling and aquatics, it often contains amusing parodies.

――――

Several different versions exist of the following imitation, this one has been selected as the best and most complete. It originally appeared in one of the University Magazines about twenty years ago, but the exact reference is wanting.

THE DOMICILE ERECTED BY JOHN.
By A. Pope.

Behold the mansion reared by Dædal Jack!
See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack,
In the proud cirque of Ivan’s Bivouac!

Mark how the rat’s felonious fangs invade
The golden stores in John’s pavilion laid!

Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides,
Subtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides;
Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent,
Whose tooth insidious Johann’s sackcloth rent!

Lo! Now the deep-mouthed canine foe’s assault!
That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt,
Stored in the hallowed precincts of that hall,
That rose complete at Jack’s creative call.

Here stalks the impetuous cow with the crumpled horn,
Whereon the exacerbating hound was torn
Who bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slew
The rat predaceous, whose keen fangs ran through
The textile fibres that involved the grain
That lay in Hans’ inviolate domain.

Here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue,
Lactiferous spoils from vaccine dugs who drew
Of that corniculate beast whose tortuous horn
Tossed to the clouds, in fierce vindictive scorn,
The baying hound whose braggart bark and stir
Arched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur
Of puss, that, with verminicidal claw,
Struck the weird rat, in whose insatiate maw
Lay reeking malt, that erst in Juan’s courts we saw.

Robed in senescent garb, that seems, in sooth,
To long a prey to Chonos’ iron tooth,
Behold the man whose amorous lips incline
Full with young Eros’ osculative sign,
To the lorn maiden whose lactalbic hands
Drew albulactic wealth from lacteal glands
Of that immortal bovine, by whose horn
Distort, to realms ethereal was borne
The beast catulean, vexer of that sly
Ulysses quadrupedal, who made die
The old mordaceous rat that dared devour
Antecedaneous ale in John’s domestic bower.

Lo! Here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinct
Of saponaceous locks, the priest who linked
In Hymen’s golden bands the man unthrift
Whose means exiguous stared from many a rift,
E’en as he kissed the virgin all forlorn
Who milked the cow with implicated horn,
Who in fierce wrath the canine torturer skied,
That dared to vex the insidious muricide,
Who let auroral effluence through the pelt
Of that sly rat that robbed the palace that Jack built.

The loud cantankerous Shanghai[12] comes at last,
Whose shouts aroused the shorn ecclesiast,
Who sealed the vows of Hymen’s sacrament
To him who, robed in garments indigent,
Exosculates the damsel lachrymose,
The emulgator of the horned brute morose.
That on gyrated horn, to heaven’s high vault
Hurled up, with many a tortuous somersault,
The low bone-cruncher, whose hot wrath pursued
The scratching sneak, that waged eternal feud
With long-tailed burglar, who his lips would smack
On farinaceous wealth, that filled the halls of Jack.

Vast limbed and broad the farmer comes at length,
Whose cereal care supplied the vital strength
Of chanticleer, whose matutinal cry
Roused the quiescent form and ope’d the eye
Of razor-loving cleric, who in bands
Connubial linked the intermixed hands
Of him, whose rent apparel gaped apart,
And the lorn maiden with lugubrious heart,
Her who extraught the exuberant lactic flow
Of nutriment from that cornigerent cow,
Eumenidal executor of fate,
That to sidereal altitudes elate
Cerberus, who erst with fang letiferous
Left lacerate Grimalkin latebrose――
That killed the cat
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

――――

_The Pall Mall Gazette_ for April 22, 1887, contained a Political Parody, entitled “Jubilee Coercion Bill, No. 87.” It was profusely illustrated by F. C. G., and without these illustrations the letterpress would read flat and dull, especially as the fun of calling Goschen, Chamberlain and Caine, “_Rats_,” however true it may have been in 1887, is pretty well exhausted by this time.

The parody concludes with a portrait of _John Bull_ waving a Home Rule flag, under him are the following lines:――

This is the Farmer who’ll blow his horn――(_John Bull._)
When he hears the Cock that’ll crow one morn,――(_Justice to Ireland._)
And rouse John Morley shaven and shorn,
That stands by the Peasant tattered and torn,
That loves poor Erin all forlorn,
That cheers the Bull with a lofty scorn,――(_Sir W. V. Harcourt._)
That tosses the Pup,――(_Lord R. Churchill._)
That snaps at the Cat,――(_W. E. Gladstone._)
That’ll kill the Rats,――(_Goschen and Chamberlain._)
That swallow the Stuff,
That lay in the Bill
The Tories built.

――――

During the trial in America of the action for Crim. Con. brought by Mr. Tilton against the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, a well known journalist, Mr. W. A. Croffat, published a parody in the _New York Daily Graphic_ called “The House that Bowen Built,” but it would be of no interest to English readers.

――――

SCHOOL BOARD VERSION OF THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

This is the domiciliary edifice erected by John.

This is the fermented grain which was deposited in the domiciliary
edifice erected by John.

This is the obnoxious vermin that masticated the fermented grain
which was deposited in the domiciliary edifice erected by John.

This is the domesticated creature of the feline tribe that
completely annihilated the obnoxious vermin that masticated the
fermented grain which was deposited in the domiciliary edifice
erected by John.

This is the sagacious scion of the canine genus who disturbed the
equanimity of the domesticated creature of the feline tribe which
completely annihilated the obnoxious vermin that masticated the
fermented grain which was deposited in the domiciliary edifice
erected by John.

This is the graminivorous female of the bovine race who with her
curvilinear and corrugated protuberances considerably elevated
into atmospheric space the sagacious scion of the canine genus
who disturbed the equanimity of the domesticated creature of the
feline tribe that completely annihilated the obnoxious vermin
that masticated the fermented grain which was deposited in the
domiciliary edifice erected by John.

* * * * *

This is the agriculturist who placed in the alluvial deposit that
grain which germinated, flourished, multiplied, and subsequently
became the sustenance of the bold chanticleer who by his shrill
vociferations, at early dawn, awoke from his slumbers that
ecclesiastical gentleman whose cranium was devoid of its hirsute
covering who united in the bonds of h-o-l-y matrimony that humble
individual whose garments presented a disintegrated and unseemly
appearance who sipped the sweet honey from the lips of the young
damsel of dejected mien whose occupation consisted in extracting
the nutritious lacteal beverage from the graminivorous female of
the bovine race who with her curvilinear and corrugated
protuberances considerably elevated into atmospheric space the
sagacious scion of the canine genus who disturbed the equanimity
of the domesticated creature of the feline tribe that completely
annihilated the obnoxious vermin that masticated the fermented
grain which was deposited in the domiciliary edifice erected by
John.

This imitation forms one of a parcel of 14 “Modern Sermons,” as they are styled, published by F. Passmore, 124, Cheapside, E.C., the whole of which may be had, post free, for 13 pence. The following is the introduction to another Sermon founded on the same plot:――

MODERN SERMONS.

“This is the house that Jack built.”

That is the first portion of my text, dear friends, so you see that for a start we have something definite: we are not simply told that this is the house; but that it is “the house that Jack built.” Now, if Jack was anything, he was a far-seeing man; for do we not read that

“This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.”

Anticipating a rise in the price of barley, and wishing to profit by that rise, Jack bought up all the malt that he could get. But, like many other men, he had an enemy. This was a rat, and of him it is said that

“This is the rat that ate the malt.”

Now I do not wish to impute any greedy or selfish motives to this rat. Probably he was well aware that it was through malt that many men make beasts of themselves. “Beasts,” said the rat to himself, “are already too numerous. If their number is increased, the struggle for existence will become fiercer: so it amounts to this, if I do not, by eating this malt, save men from becoming beasts, we shall have to eat our ‘brothers and our sisters, our cousins and our aunts.’ I will either prevent such a catastrophe, or perish in the attempt.” He perished in the attempt, for we are introduced to his destroyer in the following words:

“This is the cat that killed the rat.”

As I dealt generously with the rat, even so will I deal with the cat. There is every reason for supposing that he was a friend of publicans and sinners. Hear him speak for himself: “If this rat eats all the malt, the publicans must either raise the price of beer, or they must supply their customers with an inferior article. This shall not be.” Having spoken these words, he pounced on the robber, and, intoxicated with success, imprudently shook the fruits of his victory in the face of one of whom it is written:

“This is the dog that worried the cat.”

* * * * *

――――:o:――――

SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE.

Sing a song of Sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing;
Was not that a dainty dish
To set before the King!

The King was in the parlour
Counting out his money;
The Queen was in the kitchen
Eating bread and honey;
The Maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
Down came a blackbird
And perched upon her nose.[13]

――――

CARMEN DENARIUM.

Incipe cui titulo ‘Denarius,’ incipe cantum!
Huic tumido loculo massa secalis inest;
Sex quater in patina merularum corpora, crustum
Queis super impositum pista farina fuit,
Procubuere simul; sed quando adaperta farina est,
Concordes merulis insonuere modi:
Mirum opus harmoniæ! nonne inter fercula posset
Haec vel regificae laux placuisse gulæ?

Rex erat in camera, numerans sibi pondera nimmi,
Pondera plebeio non numerando viro;
Mel maudit panemque morans Regina culina;
Dulcia plebeia non comedenda nuru.
Ad solem vestes siccans Ancilla per hortum
Ibat; et expansas aere funis habet;
Quum merula, affini descendens arbore, nasum
Ancillæ insilluit seque ibi constituit.

From _Arundines Cami_. Cambridge, 1841.

――――

When _Bentley’s Miscellany_ was started in 1837 it was supported by the most brilliant writers of the day, George Cruikshank designed a cover for it, and Dr. Maginn wrote the following poem which pretty accurately describes Cruikshank’s design:――

THE SONG OF THE COVER.

“Sing a song of half-a-crown――
Lay it out this minute;
Buy the book, for half the town
Want to know what’s in it.
Had you all the cares of Job,
You’d then forget your troubles,”
Cried Cupid, seated on the Globe
Busy blowing bubbles.

Rosy summer, pretty spring,
See them scattering flowers――
“Catch who can!” the song they sing;
Heart’s-ease fall in showers.
Autumn, tipsy with the grape,
Plays a pipe and tabor;
Winter imitates the ape,
Mocking at his neighbour.

Bentley, Boz, and Cruikshank, stand,
Like expectant reelers――
“Music!” “Play up!” pipe in hand,
Beside the _fluted_ pillars!
Boz and Cruikshank want to dance,
None for frolic riper,
But Bentley makes the first advance,
Because he “pays the piper.”

“Then sing a song of half-a-crown,
And make a merry race on’t.
To buy the book, all London town;
There’s wit upon the face on’t.
Had you all the cares of Job,
You’d then forget your troubles,”
Cried Cupid, seated on the globe,
Busy blowing bubbles.

DR. MAGINN.

――――

CANTUS SEX DENARIORUM.

Sex denariorum
Cane cantilenam,
Viginti quatuor merulis
Artocream plenam.
Artocreâ apertâ,
Aves canebant grege;
Nonne erat bonum hoc
Locare coram rege?

Rex erat in conclavi
Nummos putans bellè,
Regina in coenaculo
Edens panem melle.
In horto vestes regias
Ancilla suspendebat;
Quum pica fortè veniens
Nasonem rapiebat.

_The Hornet._ 1872.

――――

Chansonnette de six sous,
La poche pleine de blé,
Vingt-quatre merles, tous
Cuits dans un pâté.
Quand on y mit le couteau,
Les merles chantérent, ma foi!
N’était-ce pas un spectacle beau
Mettre devant le roi?

EDWARD A. MORTON.

_Mirth._

――――

CHILDREN’S CORNER.

Sing a song of Christmas,
A pocket full of pie,
Four-and-twenty puddings
Oh how ni’――how ni’!――
When the feast is over,
Then the doctor comes,
Twirling golden eye-glass,
Twiddling both his thumbs.

Little Jack Horner,
Glum in a corner
After his Christmas Pie,
He wants more to stuff,
But Ma says “Enough!
Little pig, or you’ll certainly die!”

Mary had a little doll
With curls as white as snow,
And whersoever Mary went
That little doll must go.
But brother Billy, back from school,
To Mary he cried “Bo!”
Then smashed that little doll to bits
And in the fire did throw!

――――

NURSERY SONG IN PIDGIN ENGLISH.

Singee songee sick a pence,
Pockee muchee lye; (rye)
Dozen two time blackee bird
Cookee in e pie.
When him cutee topside
Birdee bobbery sing;
Himee tinkee nicey dish
Setee foree King!
Kingee in a talkee loom (room)
Countee muchee money;
Queeny in e kitchee,
Chew-chee breadee honey.
Servant galo shakee,
Hangee washee clothes;
Chop-chop comee blackie bird,
Nipee off her nose!

ANONYMOUS.

_Pidgin English_ is the dialect in use between the Chinese and the English. The Chinese pronounce our letter _r_ at the commencement of a word as _l_.

――――

THE TANNER’S CHANT.

Carol forth a canticle of demi-solidus
With grain in a commensurate degree,
Two-dozen darkly-feathered victims of a blunderbuss,
All coarctate ’neath pastry made with ghee,
By patient terebration, the aperture of the pie
Was effected with a lever-handled spoon;
When, judge the consternation of the monarch sitting by,
All the birds set up a sympanising tune.
They were only slightly wounded――chiefly suffering from surprise
(It was fortunate the oven had been slow)
And the warmth, though it alarmed them, which it’s useless to
disguise,
Made them quickly convalescent from the blow.

Now, shortly after this the mighty monarch of the land
Was ensconced with heaps of bullion untold,
Engaged in what he evidently didn’t understand――
Rhabdologic computation of his gold.
Her Majesty, his spouse, was in her boudoir far away,
Employed in manducation of her lunch;
On a dessicated loaf she gave her appetite full play,
Which, with honey, was as much as she could munch.
The feminine domestic was just then in the parterre,
Suspending some habiliments to dry,
When a darkly-feathered victim saw her standing on a chair,
And amputated her olfactory.

――――

Sing a song of Season,
Pockets full of naught,
Four-and-twenty Prince-lings
Don’t make up a Court.
When the Season’s opened,
They’ll represent the Crown;――
Isn’t that a shabby dish
To set before the town?

The Queen is absent――somewhere,
Saving up her money,
The Prince is in a Nile boat――
The Prince he is so funny.
So there’s left but Christian
To play the King at shows,
And if he does, a blackbird,
We trust, will have his nose!

_The Tomahawk._ March, 1869.

AMERICAN VERSION.

Sing a song of dollars,
A pocket full of brass,
Four-and-twenty blackbirds
Baked in apple sass.
When the pie was opened,
The birds began a hovering,
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before a Sovereign?

――――

At a concert given in the Albert Hall on February 26, 1876, when the Queen was present, the hall was scarcely half filled, and Sir Henry Cole’s arrangements were loudly condemned.

Sing a song of native art!
A programme weak and dry;
4 P.M. to Albert Hall
Her Majesty draws nigh.
When the doors were opened,
The dead heads all came in,
And took up their positions
Where they could see the Queen.

The Queen was in the Royal box,
And thought it quite too funny,
That fools to come and look at her
Parted with their money.
Those who could not see her box
Took a quiet doze,
And half the people left the Hall
Long before the close.
The people and Her Majesty
Said ’twas a frightful hash;
If this was all Sir Cole’s big show,
It wasn’t worth the cash.

_The Figaro._ March 4, 1876.

――――

Sing a song of gladness――
“Dissolution” nigh――
All the Tory party
Eating humble pie.
When the pie was opened
What a mess beneath!――
“Peace with honour” stewed with
Turnerelli’s wreath.
Dizzy, down at Hughenden,
Scowling at his fate――
“Imperium et Libertas”
Just a little late;
Staffy at the ’Chequer
Looking very blue――
Budget day’s approaching――
Don’t know what to do!
Hatfield’s lord, and Stanley,
Cranbrook, too, and Cross,
“Bag and Baggage,” clear out――
What a dreadful loss!
Ducal Richmond, also,
Country’s cup’s _too_ full.
With Ireland and Afghan,
Zulu and Cabul.
Ere another Christmas
Brings its frost and snows,
In comes “People’s William!”
Heals the nation’s woes!

L. PROBERT.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ December 21, 1879.

――――

Sing a Song of Sixpence――
Cabmen warm and dry――
Four-and-twenty Cabmen, drinking on the sly;
When they left the “Shelter”
For fares they couldn’t shirk,
The rain had come a pelter
On beasts half dead with work:
Sing a Song of Sixpence――
Philanthropy’s awry,
Which leaves these wretched cattle
To shiver till they die.

_Punch._ November 26, 1881.

――――

THE SONG OF SCIENCE.

Trilobite, Graptobite
Nautilus pie,
Seas were calcareous,
Oceans were dry,

Eocene, miocene,
Pilocene, tuff,
Lias and trias,
And that is enough.

O, sing a song of phosphates,
Fibrine in a line,
Four-and-twenty follicles
In the van of time.

When the phosphorescence
Evoluted brain,
Superstition ended,
Men began to reign.

REV. JOSEPH COOK

_Free Press Flashes._ 1881.

――――

THE ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE.

Sing a song of sixpence!
A pocket full of gain!
Edited by Comyns Carr!
Wrapper drawn by Crane!

When the pie was opened
Swinburne ’gan to sing.
Allen on a Dormouse,
What a pretty thing:

Maitland’s down in Westminster
Dreaming ’mid the cloisters,
Huxley’s in his oyster bed,
Counting out his oysters!

Miss Yonge among the “Armourers”
No ’prentice talent shows;
Let’s hope the little Black-bird
Won’t peck off her nose!

_The St. James’s Gazette._ October 4, 1883.

The first part of _The English Illustrated Magazine_ was published by Messrs. Macmillan & Co. in October, 1883. It contained “Les Casquettes,” a poem by Swinburne, “The Dormouse at Home,” by Grant Allen, an article on the Law Courts, by F. W. Maitland, and one on Oysters, by Professor Huxley.

――――

THE HEALTHERIES.

Fifty thousand nimble shillings,
Plus a hundred and thirteen,
That’s the latest of the takings,
Checked by Maskelyne’s Machine.

So Sing a Song of Turnstiles,
As they twist away;
Fifty thousand shillings
Taken in a day!

When the Show was opened,
The crowds at once were thick;
Wasn’t it a pretty sound
To hear the turnstiles click?

The people in the gardens still
Are sampling cream and honey;
But we to the Pavilion
Bear the bags of money!

_Truth._ December, 1884.

――――

Sing a song of Jingo
(Chorus, fife and drum),
Twenty thousand Arabs
Sent to kingdom come.
When the trouble’s over,
And glory’s cup is full,
There’ll be a pretty butcher’s bill
To lay before John Bull.

Bondholders in the City
Are passing sleepless nights,
The Arabs in the Soudan
Are fighting for their rights.
The whole affair’s a muddle
That daily thicker grows,
Why we e’er went into it
Is what nobody knows.

H. B.

――――

Sing a song of dynamite――
What a mighty scare!
A London railway-station
In pieces in the air.
Bags and pistols, clockwork,
Nasty cakes of brown――
Weren’t they dainty dishes
To find about our town?
Government and railway folks
Didn’t think it funny;
They to find the plotters
Offered lots of money.
Perhaps across the sea they’ve gone,
In other suits of clothes;
Perhaps they’re living quietly
Right under London’s nose.

JANE JONES.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ April 13, 1884.

――――

Sing a song of eightpence,
Income tax is high;
Four and twenty blunders
In a Gladstone pie;
When the pie is opened
Won’t there be a shout,
When two dozen blunders
All come flying out.
Gladstone’s in the Treasury,
Counting coin in lumps;
The Queen is in her castle――
Her people in the dumps.

_Judy._ May 13, 1885.

――――

THE JUBILEE COINAGE.

Sing a song of sixpence, they struck it all awry,
“Four” and “twenty” pieces, too, were faked in the die;
When the dies were opened the folks began to sing,
“Why, there ain’t a money value set on this ’ere thing.”
The bankers in their parlours were laughing at the money;
The Queen looked at her portrait and thought it very funny;
The G.O.M. at Hawarden said, sniffling through his nose,
“When I was Master of the Mint we made no coins like those.”

DARJEW.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ October 2, 1887.

――――

Sing a song of sixpence, a packetful of news,
Just a dozen wordlets all that you must use.
When the packet’s open’d, the news begins to ring,
A birth, a death, a dainty dish of gossip doth it bring.
The husband’s in his counting-house losing all his money,
The wife is in the pantry eating bread and honey;
The daughter’s in the garden, undreaming of the news,
When “rat-tat” comes a telegram――they’re shaking in their shoes.

REPEALER.

――――

Sing a song of saving,
A pocketful of tin,
Telegrams for sixpence
A surplus will bring in.
When the cover’s opened,
We feel inclined to sing:
“It’s all abbreviations,
We can’t make out a thing.”

HECLA.

――――

Sing a song of Gladstone, and make the Tories sigh,
Who, in the coming contest, will have another try,
When the House assembles shan’t we do a grin,
If Tories take a back seat, and Gladdy should get in.
Salisbury in the Upper House, pulling faces funny,
Cocky little Randy looking anything but sunny;
Will, as Premier, back again, sitting on his foes,
Staffy up aloft, and indulging in a doze.

WILLIAM TYRRELL.

_Truth._ October 15, 1885.

――――

Sing a song of scaffolds! a pocket full of twine!
Sixty applications to “enlist men in the line!”
When old M. departed, the names came pouring in,――
Isn’t that a pretty way to earn a lot of tin?――
Marwood’s in the churchyard, as dead as any mummy;
The Queen she wants a hangman, which sounds a little rummy!
The tender-hearted maiden says “hanging’s out of date!”
When down comes a black cap upon the Judge’s pate!

F. B. DOVETON. 1886.

――――

Sing a song of gunnery, a science full of slips,
Three-and-forty tonners packed into our ships;
When the guns were fired, the tubes began to burst――
Wasn’t this a clever thing not to know at first?

_Truth._ September 30, 1886.

――――

Sing a song of sixpence,
Many of them shy.
Four-and-twenty trippers
To Newcastle hie.
The Exhibition opened,
The trippers crowded in;
Wasn’t there a scramble
To hear the band begin.

They went into the coal mine,
And thought it very funny;
Also tried the switchback,
Well worth the money.
They strolled about the garden,
In their Sunday clothes;
Had a glass or two of Burton,
And off home they goes.

PERSEVERANTIA.

_Newcastle Chronicle._ November, 1887.

――――

GOSCHEN TO THE RESCUE.

Sing a song of French pence,
Tempers all awry;
None will take the foreign “browns”――
All are asking “Why?”
Small shopkeeper, tramway-man,
Pray keep up your pecker,
You’ll have Goschen’s sympathy,
Help from the Exchequer.
To relieve you from your mess,
Goschen says he’s willing;
They shall go, like penny buns,
Thirteen for a shilling.
That shall wipe the ’busman’s eye,
Pacify the nation,
And, what’s better, purify
John Bull’s “circulation.”

_Punch._ April 23, 1887.

――――

NURSERY RHYME FOR YOUNG ITALY.

The King in the Quirinal,
Feeling very funny;
The Kaiser in a parlour,
Tired after journey.

The Pope was in the Vatican,
Looking at his shoe;
Up comes the Emperor,
And says, “How d’ye do?”

October, 1888.

――――

Sing a song of sixpence, in pockets made to lie,
One of forty art-birds, asked to shape the die;
When the dye was token’d, all who saw the mien
Sang――“This is not a dainty ‘tiz’[14] to set before the Queen.”
The Queen was in her country house, counting up her money;
Prince B.[15] was in the pantry, spreading his bread with honey;
The Chancellor was in the garden, hanging out old clothes,
When soon there came back word this “tizzy” to depose.

_Truth._ June 14, 1888.

――――

Sing a song of Chamberlain, three acres and a cow,
Sent across the herring-pond cannot end the row;
Breaking up his party in a fit of spleen,
Wasn’t that the meanest dodge that any one has seen!
Harty’s turned a Tory, fêted in the City,
Jess and Bright are martyrs――isn’t it a pity?
Goschen’s in the Cabinet, happy with the cash,
Up will come the Radicals, and settle all his hash.

RADIX.

Sing a song of armaments, an empire all awry,
Four-and-twenty critics raise a doleful cry;
A capital defenceless, ships without guns or shot.
When the threatened war breaks out, won’t Johnny get it hot!
Johnny is busy in his shop, making and saving money,
His women kind are humming round, like bees in search of honey;
His crafty foes are scheming to bring matters to a close,
By smashing up his ironclads, and pulling Johnny’s nose.

W. H. T.

_Truth._ June 28, 1888.

――――

THE PARNELL COMMISSION.

Sing a song of tricksters,
Commission all my eye!
Walter’s dirty finger
Traced in the pie;
When the bill was promised
It had an honest ring,
But when it was printed
’Twas quite another thing.

The First Lord in his parlour,
As the bees suck honey,
Was listening to Walter
Giving testimony;
The pay for smashing Parnell
’S a peerage, I suppose;
A few more bogus letters
And “up the donkey goes.”

H. M. BLANE.

THE ALLEGATIONS BILL.

Sing a song of libels,
A session full of crimes,
All the Tory Cabinet
Stewing with the _Times_;
When the case is ended
Another tune they’ll sing――
Won’t it be a pretty mess
If they together cling?
Goschen paying for the job
With the people’s money;
Smith and Walter swearing that
The forgeries were “funny”;
Chamberlain and Hartington
Looking down their nose,
And Parnell triumphant,
Grinning at his foes.

JESSE H. WHEELER.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ August 12, 1888.

――――

THE CONSPIRATORS’ CHORUS.

Sing a song of Dynamite, pack it up in bags,
Rattle it in railway trains, drop it on the flags;
Let it go in luggage vans ’mid all harmless loads;
Never mind the consequence if the stuff explodes.

Here’s to Nitro-glycerine! store it in a cask.
Making it, says Chemistry, is an easy task;
Though it’s reckoned dangerous, let it flood the floors,
Startling the detective coves prying at the doors.

Fulminating Mercury goes off with a noise,
Fit for little Fenians like a baby’s toys;
Chlorate of Potassium’s not exactly placid,
When it’s mixed with sugar, Sir, and sulphuric acid.

This a merry business is, but your cruel laws
Say we shan’t use Dynamite to advance the Cause;
Yet we’ll mix our fulminates underneath your eyes,
While the gay Conspirator blows you to the skies.

――――:o:――――

THE BELLS OF LONDON TOWN

Gay go up and gay go down,
To ring the bells of London town.
Bull’s eyes and targets,
Say the bells of St. Marg’ret’s.
Brickbats and tiles,
Say the bells of St. Giles!
Halfpence and farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin’s.
Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.
Pancakes and fritters,
Say the bells of St. Peter’s.
Two sticks and an apple,
Say the bells at Whitechapel.
Old Father Baldpate,
Say the slow bells at Aldgate.
You owe me ten shillings.
Say the bells at St. Helen’s.
Pokers and tongs,
Say the bells at St. John’s.
Kettles and pans
Say the bells at St. Ann’s.
When will you pay me?
Say the bells at Old Bailey.
When I grow rich,
Say the bells at Shoreditch.
When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.
I’m sure I don’t know,
Says the great bell at Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

WHAT THE NEW CITY PEAL SAYS.

You must pay up your “calls”――
Say the bells of St. Paul’s!

Stock rises and falls――
Say the bells of St. Paul’s!

City Companies’ hauls――
Say the bells of St. Paul’s!

Snug prebends and stalls――
Say the bells of St. Paul’s!

Blessings on these old walls!
Say the bells of St. Paul’s!

ORANGES AND LEMONS IN THE CITY.

“Reformers are unpleasant,”
Say the bells of St. Clement.
“Yes, that is quite sartin,”
Say the bells of St. Martin.
“Do they want a sermon daily?”
Say the bells of Old Bailey.
“I’m sure I don’t know,”
Says the great bell of Bow.
“The Lords are in a fury,”
Say the bells of Old Jewry.
“Will they leave us in the lurch?”
Say the bells of Abchurch.
“I’ve a beadle and a clerk,”
Say the bells of St. Mark.
“Those two a church fill,”
Say the bells of Cornhill.

_Punch._ July 23, 1881.

――――

“Poor Ireland’s enslavèd!” say the bells of St. David;
“God help the poor creaturs!” say the bells of St. Peter’s;
“Turned out of their dwellin’s,” say the bells of St. Helen’s;
“And speed Home Rule on!” say the bells of St. John;
“O, Tories, you rile us!” say the bells of St. Silas;
“Confound your vagaries,” say the bells of St. Mary’s;
“You’re always ridiculous,” say the bells of St. Nicholas;
“And traitors besides!” say the bells of St. Bride’s;
“You’ve earned our abhorrence,” say the bells of St. Lawrence;
“You’re fit for the gallows,” say the bells of All Hallows;
“So get away from us,” say the bells of St. Thomas;
“We want better men!” roars out old Big Ben;
“You’ve had all your flukes,” say the bells of St. Luke’s;
“Suspensions and brawls,” say the bells of St. Paul’s;
“The session concludes,” say the bells of St. Jude’s;
“Out you must go!” says the great bell at Bow.

ROBERT PUTTICK.

_The Weekly Dispatch._ October 2, 1887.

THE CHIMES. 1886.
(_For Bad Times._)

“The Turks haven’t a shilling!”
Said the gate bell of Billing.

“And then Russia wants all!”
Said a bell near Millwall.

“And poor France has no power!”
Said the bell of the Tower.

“And that Egypt’s a sweep!”
Cried the bell of Eastcheap.

“And there’s Spain――a great sell!”
Said St. Lawrence’s bell.

“Oh, we’ve had a nice ride!”
Said the bell of St. Bride.

“And are ground in a mill!”
Moaned a bell near Cornhill.

“We must wait for high tide!”
Mourned the bell of Cheapside.

“It’s a regular hitch!”
Clanged the bell of Shoreditch.

“Shall we really lose all?”
Asked the bell of St. Paul.

“We should much like to know!”
Tolled the big bell of Bow.

――――:o:――――

WHO SHOULD EDUCATE THE PRINCE OF WALES?

“This is a serious question; and though we have looked through the advertisements of Morning Governesses every day for the last week, we are compelled to admit we have seen nothing that seems likely to suit――at least, at present. It is no doubt a very serious consideration, how the young ideas of the Prince of Wales should be taught to shoot so as to hit the mark; and it is, unfortunately, not so easy to train up a royal child, though the railroad pace at which education travels renders it necessary that he should be put into a first-class train as soon as possible. Awfully impressed with the deep importance of the question, we have made an humble endeavour to answer it, and if the hints are of any service to the nation, our object will be fulfilled, and our ambition will be gratified.”

Who’ll teach the Prince?
I, answered Punch,
With my cap and hunch;
And I’ll teach the Prince.

Who’ll write his books?
I, answered Brougham,
With my goose-quill plume;
And I’ll write his books.

Who’ll make him dance?
I, answered Peel,
For I can turn and wheel;
I’ll make him dance.

Who’ll teach him logic?
Says Hume, I’ve the right,
I can vote black is white;
So I’ll teach him logic.

Who’ll teach him dancing?
I, lisp’d Baron Nathan,
’Mongtht tea-cupth, jughth, and bathin:
I’ll teach him dancing.

Who’ll teach him writing?
I, said Lord William,
Because a copyist with a quill, I am;
And I’ll teach him writing.

Who’ll teach him politics?
Said Graham, that will I,
That he every side may try;
So I’ll teach him politics.

Who’ll pay the piper?
I, said John Bull,
On me will come the pull:
I _must_ pay the piper.

_Punch._ September, 1843.

This old parody of “Who killed Cock Robin?” was illustrated with a number of funny little portraits.

――――

Who killed these Arabs?
“I did,” said Graham;
I’d orders to slay em――
I killed these Arabs.