Chapter V: Part 5

"Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way
O'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay;
The ocean smiling to the fervid sun,
The waves that faintly fall and slowly run,
The ships at distance, and the boats at hand,
And now they walk upon the seaside sand,
Counting the number, and what kind they be,
Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea."

Take also this from Shelley's "Ode to a Skylark:"

"Teach me half the gladness
That my brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow,
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

* * * * *

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?"

In the numbers of "Truth" for November 1881, there appeared a variety of excellent examples of alphabetic verses in the course of a competition, and of these there follows one:

A YACHT ALPHABET.

"A was the Anchor which held fast our ship;
B was the Boatswain, with whistle to lip;
C was the Captain, who took the command;
D was the Doctor, with physic at hand;
E was the Euchre we played on the quiet;
F was the Fellow who kicked up a riot;
G was the Girl who was always so ill;
H was the Hammock from which I'd a spill
I was the Iceberg we passed on our way;
J was the Jersey I wore all the day;
K was the Keel, which was stuck on the shore;
L was the Lubber we all thought a bore;
M was the Mate, no one better I'd wish;
N was the Net in which I caught a fish;
O was the Oar which I broke--'twas so weak;
P was the Pennon which flew at our peak;
Q was the Quoit which was made out of rope;
R was the Rat which would eat all our soap;
S was the Sailor who got very tight;
T was the Tempest which came on one night;
U was the Uproar the night of the storm;
V was the Vessel we spoke in due form;
W's the Watch which the crew kept in turn;
X was Xantippe, whom each one did spurn;
Y was our Yacht, which flew through the foam;
Z was the Zany who wouldn't leave home."

_NONSENSE VERSE._

The following lines have been kindly sent us by Professor E. H. Palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend's yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms.

THE SHIPWRECK.

"Upon the poop the captain stands,
As starboard as may be;
And pipes on deck the topsail hands
To reef the top-sail-gallant strands
Across the briny sea.

'Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!'
The captain loudly cried;
'Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!
For we must luff for Falmouth Bay
Before to-morrow's tide.'

The good ship was a racing yawl,
A spare-rigged schooner sloop,
Athwart the bows the taffrails all
In grummets gay appeared to fall,
To deck the mainsail poop.

But ere they made the Foreland Light,
And Deal was left behind;
The wind it blew great gales that night,
And blew the doughty captain tight,
Full three sheets in the wind.

And right across the tiller head
The horse it ran apace,
Whereon a traveller hitched and sped
Along the jib and vanishéd
To heave the trysail brace.

What ship could live in such a sea!
What vessel bear the shock?
'Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!
Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree,
With many a running block!'

And right upon the Scilly Isles
The ship had run aground;
When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles
Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles,
And slews the compass round.

'Saved! saved!' with joy the sailors cry,
And scandalise the skiff;
As taut and hoisted high and dry
They see the ship unstoppered lie
Upon the sea-girt cliff.

And since that day in Falmouth Bay,
As herring-fishers trawl,
The younkers hear the boatswains say
How Captain Giles that awful day
Preserved the sinking yawl."

Mr. Charles G. Leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines "the finest and daintiest nonsense" he ever read:

"Thy heart is like some icy lake,
On whose cold brink I stand;
Oh, buckle on my spirit's skate,
And lead, thou living saint, the way
To where the ice is thin--
That it may break beneath my feet
And let a lover in!"

A short time ago in the new series of _Household Words_, a prize was offered for the writing of Nonsense Verses of eight lines. Of the lines sent in by the competitors we give three specimens:

"How many strive to force a way
Where none can go save those who pay,
To verdant plains of soft delight
The homage of the silent night,
When countless stars from pole to pole
Around the earth unceasing roll
In roseate shadow's silvery hue,
Shine forth and gild the morning dew."
--_Arym._

"And must we really part for good,
But meet again here where we've stood?
No more delightful trysting-place,
We've watched sweet Nature's smiling face.
No more the landscape's lovely brow,
Exchange our mutual breathing vow.
Then should the twilight draw around
No loving interchange of sound."
--_Culver._

"Less for renown than innate love,
These to my wish must recreant prove;
Nor whilst an impulse here remain,
Can ever hope the soul to gain;
For memory scanning all the past,
Relaxes her firm bonds at last,
And gives to candour all the grace
The heart can in its temple trace."
--_Dum Spiro Spero._

The curious style of some versifiers has been well imitated in the following

BALLAD OF THE PERIOD.

"An auld wife sat at her ivied door
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_);
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her knitting reposed on her aproned knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_);
Till the cow said, 'I die,' and the goose said, 'Why?'
And the dog said nothing but searched for fleas.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair
(_Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese_);
And I've met a ballad, I can't tell where,
Which mainly consisted of lines like these."

W. S. Gilbert has some verses which are true nonsense, of which this is one:

"Sing for the garish eye,
When moonless brandlings cling!
Let the froddering crooner cry,
And the braddled sapster sing.
For never and never again,
Will the tottering beechlings play,
For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!"

Mr. Lewis Carroll's "Hunting of the Snark"[10] is a very curious little book, full of the most delicate fun and queer nonsense, with delightful illustrations. It gives an account of how a Bellman, Boots, Barrister, Broker, Billiard-marker, Banker, Beaver, Baker, and Butcher go a-hunting after a mythical Beast called a "Snark." It is difficult to detach a passage for quotation, but the following few lines will show how the "Quest of the Snark" was purposed to be carried on:

"To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care:
To pursue it with forks and hope;
To threaten its life with a railway share;
To charm it with smiles and soap!

For the Snark's a peculiar creature, that won't
Be caught in a commonplace way;
Do all that you know, and try all that you don't:
Not a chance must be wasted to-day!"

The verses which follow are from the "Comic Latin Grammar," and if they are not nonsense they show at least how thin the partition line is between true nonsense verse and many of those pieces which were wont to be known by the name of Album Verses:

LINES BY A FOND LOVER.

"Lovely maid, with rapture swelling,
Should these pages meet thine eye,
Clouds of absence soft dispelling;--
Vacant memory heaves a sigh.

As the rose, with fragrance weeping,
Trembles to the tuneful wave,
So my heart shall twine unsleeping,
Till it canopies the grave.

Though another's smile's requited,
Envious fate my doom should be;
Joy for ever disunited,
Think, ah! think, at times on me!

Oft, amid the spicy gloaming,
Where the brakes their songs instil,
Fond affection silent roaming,
Loves to linger by the rill--

There, when echo's voice consoling,
Hears the nightingale complain,
Gentle sighs my lips controlling,
Bind my soul in beauty's chain.

Oft in slumber's deep recesses,
I thy mirror'd image see;
Fancy mocks the vain caresses
I would lavish like a bee!

But how vain is glittering sadness!
Hark, I hear distraction's knell!
Torture gilds my heart with madness!
Now for ever fare thee well!"

_LIPOGRAMS._

The reading of Lope de Vega's five novels, in each of which a different vowel is omitted, led to Lord Holland writing the following curious production, in which no vowel is used but _e_:

EVE'S LEGEND.

"Men were never perfect; yet the three brethren Veres were ever
esteemed, respected, revered, even when the rest, whether the select
few, whether the mere herd, were left neglected.

"The eldest's vessels seek the deep, stem the element, get pence; the
keen Peter when free, wedded Hester Green,--the slender, stern,
severe, erect Hester Green. The next, clever Ned, less dependent,
wedded sweet Ellen Heber. Stephen, ere he met the gentle Eve, never
felt tenderness: he kept kennels, bred steeds, rested where the deer
fed, went where green trees, where fresh breezes greeted sleep. There
he met the meek, the gentle Eve; she tended her sheep, she ever
neglected self; she never heeded pelf, yet she heeded the shepherds
even less. Nevertheless, her cheek reddened when she met Stephen; yet
decent reserve, meek respect, tempered her speech, even when she
showed tenderness. Stephen felt the sweet effect: he felt he erred
when he fled the sex, yet felt he defenceless when Eve seemed tender.
She, he reflects, never deserved neglect; she never vented spleen; he
esteems her gentleness, her endless deserts; he reverences her steps;
he greets her:

"Tell me whence these meek, these gentle sheep,--whence the yet
meeker, the gentler shepherdess?"

"'Well bred, we were eke better fed, ere we went where reckless men
seek fleeces. There we were fleeced. Need then rendered me
shepherdess, need renders me sempstress. See me tend the sheep, see me
sew the wretched shreds. Eve's need preserves the steers, preserves
the sheep; Eve's needle mends her dresses, hems her sheets; Eve feeds
the geese; Eve preserves the cheese.'

"Her speech melted Stephen, yet he nevertheless esteems, reveres her.
He bent the knee where her feet pressed the green; he blessed, he
begged, he pressed her.

"'Sweet, sweet Eve, let me wed thee; be led where Hester Green, where
Ellen Heber, where the brethren Vere dwell. Free cheer greets thee
there; Ellen's glees sweeten the refreshments; there severer Hester's
decent reserve checks heedless jests. Be led there, sweet Eve.'

"'Never! we well remember the Seer. We went where he dwells--we
entered the cell--we begged the decree,--

"'Where, whenever, when, 'twere well
Eve be wedded? Eld Seer, tell!

"'He rendered the decree; see here the sentence decreed!' Then she
presented Stephen the Seer's decree. The verses were these:

"'_Ere the green be red,
Sweet Eve, be never wed;
Ere be green the red cheek,
Never wed thee, Eve meek._'

"The terms perplexed Stephen, yet he jeered them. He resented the
senseless credence, 'Seers never err.' Then he repented, knelt,
wheedled, wept. Eve sees Stephen kneel, she relents, yet frets when
she remembers the Seer's decree. Her dress redeems her. These were the
events:

"Her well-kempt tresses fell: sedges, reeds beckoned them. The reeds
fell, the edges met her cheeks; her cheeks bled. She presses the green
sedge where her cheek bleeds. Red then bedewed the green reed, the
green reed then speckled her red cheek. The red cheek seems green,
the green reed seems red. These were the terms the Eld Seer decreed
Stephen Vere.

HERE ENDETH THE LEGEND."

The following curious lines run in quite an opposite way to the preceding, for each verse has been written so as to include every letter in the alphabet but the vowel _e_:

THE FATE OF NASSAN.

"Bold Nassan quits his caravan,
A hazy mountain grot to scan;
Climbs jaggy rocks to spy his way,
Doth tax his sight, but far doth stray.

Not work of man, nor sport of child,
Finds Nassan in that mazy wild;
Lax grows his joints, limbs toil in vain--
Poor wight! why didst thou quit that plain

Vainly for succour Nassan calls,
Know, Zillah, that thy Nassan falls;
But prowling wolf and fox may joy,
To quarry on thy Arab boy."

Here follows a fugitive verse, written with _ease_ without _e's_:

"A jovial swain may rack his brain,
And tax his fancy's might,
To quiz in vain, for 'tis most plain,
That what I say is right."

_CENTONES OR MOSAICS._

Of this formerly favourite amusement of the learned we give several examples, only noting here that the word "Cento" primarily signified a cloak made of patches.

1. I only knew she came and went,
2. Like troutlets in a pool;
3. She was a phantom of delight,
4. And I was like a fool.

5. One kiss, dear maid, I said, and sighed,
6. Out of those lips unshorn,
7. She shook her ringlets round her head
8. And laughed in merry scorn.

9. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
10. You heard them, O my heart;
11. 'Tis twelve at night by the castle clock,
12. Beloved, we must part.

13. "Come back, come back!" she cried in grief,
14. My eyes are dim with tears--
15. How shall I live through all the days?
16. All through a hundred years?

17. 'Twas in the prime of summer time,
18. She blessed me with her hand;
19. We strayed together, deeply blest,
20. Into the dreaming land.

21. The laughing bridal roses blow,
22. To dress her dark-brown hair;
23. My heart is breaking with my woe,
24. Most beautiful! most rare!

25. I clasped it on her sweet, cold hand,
26. The precious golden link!
27. I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
28. "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"

29. And so I won my Genevieve,
30. And walked in Paradise;
31. The fairest thing that ever grew
32. Atween me and the skies!

1. Powell; 2. Hood; 3. Wordsworth; 4. Eastman; 5. Coleridge; 6.
Longfellow; 7. Stoddard; 8. Tennyson; 9. Tennyson; 10. Alice Cary; 11.
Coleridge; 12. Alice Cary; 13. Campbell; 14. Bayard Taylor; 15.
Osgood; 16. T. S. Perry; 17. Hood; 18. Hoyt; 19. Edwards; 20.
Cornwall; 21. Patmore; 22. Bayard Taylor; 23. Tennyson; 24. Read; 25.
Browning; 26. Smith; 27. Coleridge; 28. Wordsworth; 29. Coleridge; 30.
Hervey; 31. Wordsworth; 32. Osgood.

The next appeared a short time ago in one of the Edinburgh newspapers, signed R. Fleming, and is a mosaic compilation from poems written to the memory of Robert Burns:

1. Immortal bard, immortal Burns!
2. Whose lines are mottoes of the heart;
3. Affection loves and memory learns
4. Thy songs "untaught by rules of art."
5. For dear as life--as heaven--will be,
6. As years on years successive roll;
7. Fair types of thy rich harmony
8. Who wrote to humanise the soul.

9. His lyre was sweet, majestic, grand,
10. The pride and honour of the North;
11. His song was of bold freedom's land,
12. Brave Scotland, freedom's throne on earth.

13. Oft by the winding banks of Ayr;
14. With sinewy arm he turned the soil;
15. He painted Scotland's daughters fair,
16. Through twilight shades of good and ill.

17. His native wild enchanting strains,
18. Like dear memories round the hearth,
19. Immortalise the poet's name,
20. And few have won a greener wreath.

21. From John O'Groat's to 'cross the Tweed
22. What heart hath ever matched his flame?
23. Though rough and dark the path he trod,
24. Long shall old Scotland keep his name.

25. Great master of our Doric rhyme,
26. Though here thy course was but a span;
27. The pealing rapturous notes sublime
28. Binds man with fellow-man.

29. Peace to the dead--in Scotia's choir--
30. Yes, future bards shall pour the lay,
31. Warmed with a "spark of nature's fire,"
32. While years insidious steal away.

1. Bennoch; 2. Campbell; 3. Imlach; 4. Gray; 5. Glen; 6. Paul; 7.
M'Laggan; 8. Tannahill; 9. Glen; 10. Allan; 11. Gilfillan; 12. Park;
13. Wallace; 14. Roscoe; 15. Vedder; 16. Wordsworth; 17. Reid; 18.
Glass; 19. Paul; 20. Halleck; 21. Macindoe; 22. Ainslie; 23. Halleck;
24. Kelly; 25. Gray; 26. Mercer; 27. Vedder; 28. Imlach; 29.
Montgomery; 30. Gray; 31. Rushton; 32. Gilfillan.

The three following verses are very good:

1. When first I met thee, warm and young,
2. My heart I gave thee with my hand;
3. My name was then a magic spell,
4. Casting a dim religious light.

5. But now, as we plod on our way,
6. My heart no more with rapture swells;
7. I would not, if I could, be gay,
8. When earth is filled with cold farewells!

9. The heath this night must be my bed,
10. Ye vales, ye streams, ye groves, adieu?
11. Farewell for aye, e'en love is dead,
12. Would I could add, remembrance too!

1. Moore; 2. Morris; 3. Norton; 4. Milton; 5. Percival; 6. M'Naughton;
7. Rogers; 8. Patmore; 9. Scott; 10. Pope; 11. Procter; 12. Byron.

The following is copied from "Fireside Amusements," published by the Messrs. Chambers, every line being taken from a different poet:

"On Linden when the sun was low,
A frog he would a-wooing go;
He sighed a sigh, and breathed a prayer,
None but the brave deserve the fair.

A gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain,
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow;
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain,
Or who would suffer being here below.

The younger of the sister arts
Was born on the open sea;
The rest were slain at Chevy Chase,
Under the greenwood tree.

At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wings,
And says--remembrance saddening o'er each brow--
Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things!
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow!

It was a friar of orders gray,
Still harping on my daughter:
Sister spirit, come away,
Across this stormy water.

On the light fantastic toe,
Othello's occupation's gone;
Maid of Athens, ere I go,
Were the last words of Marmion.

There was a sound of revelry by night
In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago;
And comely virgins came with garlands dight
To censure Fate, and pious Hope forgo.

Oh! the young Lochinvar came out of the west,
An underbred fine-spoken fellow was he;
A back dropping in, an expansion of chest,
Far more than I once could foresee."

_ECHO VERSES._

A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN.

(IN THE DORIC MANNER.)

_Shepherd._ Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply,
And quaintly answer questions: shall I try?
_Echo._ Try.
_Shep._ What must we do our passion to express?
_Echo._ Press.
_Shep._ How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?
_Echo._ Before.
_Shep._ What most moves women when we them address?
_Echo._ A dress.
_Shep._ Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
_Echo._ A door.
_Shep._ If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
_Echo._ Liar.
_Shep._ Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
_Echo._ Buy her.
_Shep._ When bought, no question I shall be her dear?
_Echo._ Her dear.
_Shep._ But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?
_Echo._ Keep her under.
_Shep._ But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?
_Echo._ Beer.
_Shep._ What must I do when women will be kind?
_Echo._ Be kind.
_Shep._ What must I do when women will be cross?
_Echo._ Be cross.
_Shep._ Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?
_Echo._ Wind.
_Shep._ If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?
_Echo._ Blows.
_Shep._ But if she bang again, still should I bang her?
_Echo._ Bang her.
_Shep._ Is there no way to moderate her anger?
_Echo._ Hang her.
_Shep._ Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell
What woman is and how to guard her well.
_Echo._ Guard her well.

ECHO AND THE LOVER.

_Lover._ Echo! mysterious nymph, declare
Of what you're made, and what you are.
_Echo._ Air.
_Lover._ 'Mid airy cliffs and places high;
Sweet Echo! listening love, you lie.
_Echo._ You lie.
_Lover._ Thou dost resuscitate dead sounds--
Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!
_Echo._ Zounds!
_Lover._ I'll question thee before I go--
Come, answer me more apropos!
_Echo._ Poh! Poh!
_Lover._ Tell me, fair nymph, if ere you saw
So sweet a girl as Phoebe Shaw?
_Echo._ Pshaw!
_Lover._ Say what will turn that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony?
_Echo._ Money!
_Lover._ Has Phoebe not a heavenly brow?
Is not her bosom white as snow?
_Echo._ Ass! no!
_Lover._ Her eyes! was ever such a pair?
Are the stars brighter than they are.
_Echo._ They are.
_Lover._ Echo, thou liest! but canst deceive me.
_Echo._ Leave me.
_Lover._ But come, thou saucy, pert romancer,
Who is as fair as Phoebe? Answer!
_Echo._ Ann, sir.

The latest good verses of this class are attributed to an echo that haunts the Sultan's palace at Constantinople. Abdul Hamid is supposed to question it as to the intentions of the European powers and his own resources:

"L'Angleterre?
Erre.
L'Autriche?
Triche.
La Prusse?
Russe.
Mes principautés?
Otées.
Mes cuirasses?
Assez.
Mes Pashas?
Achats.
Et Suleiman?
Ment."
--_The Athenæum._

_WATCH-CASE VERSES._

When thick watches with removable cases were in fashion, and before the introduction of the present compact form, the outer case of the old-fashioned "turnip" was frequently the repository of verses and sundry devices, generally placed there by the watchmaker. Others, again, consisted of the maker's name and address, with some appropriate maxim, and were printed on satin or worked with the needle, and occasionally so devised as to appear in a circle without a break, as in the following:

"Onward
perpetually moving
These faithful hands are proving
How soft the hours steal by;
This monitory pulse-like beating,
Is oftentimes methinks repeating,
'Swift, swift, the hours do fly.'
Ready! be ready! perhaps before
These hands have made
One revolution more,
Life's spring is snapt,--
You die!"

A watch-paper described by a writer in "Notes and Queries" gave the address of Bowen, 2 Tichborne Street, Piccadilly, on a pedestal surmounted by an urn. On the other side of the label was a winged figure, holding in one hand a watch at arm's length, and in the other a book. At her feet lay a sickle and a serpent with his tail in his mouth--the emblems of Time and Eternity. Round the circumference of the label were these lines--

"Little monitor, impart
Some instruction to the heart;
Show the busy and the gay
Life is wasting swift away.
Follies cannot long endure,
Life is short and death is sure.
Happy those who wisely learn
Truth from error to discern:
Truth, immortal as the soul,
And unshaken as the pole."

The bottom of the case was lined with rose-coloured satin, on which was a device in lace-paper--the central portion representing two hearts transfixed by arrows, and surmounted by a dove holding a wreath in its bill. A circular band enclosed the device, and bore the motto--

"Joined by friendship,
Crowned by love."

The lines next given are by Mr. J. Byrom, common called Dr. Byrom, whom we have previously referred to:

"Could but our tempers move like this machine,
Not urged by passion, nor delayed by spleen;
But true to Nature's regulating power,
By virtuous acts distinguish every hour:
Then health and joy would follow, as they ought,
The laws of motion and the laws of thought:
On earth would pass the pleasant moments o'er
To rest in Heaven when Time shall be no more!"

The last lines of this watch-paper have been occasionally varied to--

"Sweet health to pass the pleasant moments o'er
And everlasting joy when Time shall be no more."

A watchmaker named Adams, who practised his craft many years ago in Church Street, Hackney, was fond of putting scraps of poetry in the outer case of watches sent him for repair. One of his effusions follow:

"To-morrow! yes, to-morrow! you'll repent
A train of years in vice and folly spent.
To-morrow comes--no penitential sorrow
Appears therein, for still it is to-morrow;
At length to-morrow such a habit gains
That you'll forget the time that Heaven ordains;
And you'll believe that day too soon will be
When more to-morrows you're denied to see."

Another old engraved specimen contained this verse:

"Content thy selfe withe thyne estat,
And sende no poore wight from thy gate;
For why, this councell I thee give,
To learne to dye, and dye to lyve."

The following lines by Pope, occurring in his Epistle to the Earl of Oxford, have been used in this way:

"Absent or dead
Still let a friend be
Dear. The Absent claims
a sigh, the dead a
tear.
May
Angels guard
The friend I
love."

Milman's poems have furnished a verse for this purpose:

"It matters little at what hour o' the day
The righteous fall asleep; death cannot come
To him untimely who is fit to die.
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven;
The briefer life, the earlier immortality."

Various other examples of watch-case verses follow:

THE WATCH'S MOMENTS.

"See how the moments pass,
How swift they fly away!
In the instructive glass
Behold thy life's decay.
Oh! waste not then thy prime
In sin's pernicious road;
Redeem thy misspent time,
Acquaint thyself with God.
So when thy pulse shall cease
Its throbbing transient play,
The soul to realms of bliss
May wing its joyful way."

"Deign, lady fair, this watch to wear,
To mark how moments fly;
For none a moment have to spare,
Who in a moment die."

TO A LADY WITH THE PRESENT OF A WATCH.

"With me while present, may thy lovely eyes,
Be never turned upon this golden toy;
Think every pleasing hour too swiftly flies,
And measure time by joy succeeding joy.
But when the cares that interrupt our bliss,
To me not always will thy sight allow,
Then oft with fond impatience look on this,
Then every minute count--as I do now."

"Time is thou hast, employ the portion small;
Time past is gone, thou canst not it recall;
Time future is not, and may never be;
Time present is the only time for thee."

"Watch against evil thoughts
Watch against idle words;
Watch against sinful ways;
Watch against wicked actions.
What I say unto you I say unto all, Watch."

The following lines have a sand-glass engraved between the first four and the last four lines:

"Mark the rapid motion
Of this timepiece; hear it say,
Man, attend to thy salvation;
Time does quickly pass away.
Why, heedless of the warning
Which my tinkling sound doth give,
Do forget, vain frame adorning,
Man thou art not born to live?"

On a sun-dial the following verse has been found engraved:

"Once at a potent leader's voice it stayed;
Once it went back when a good monarch prayed;
Mortals! howe'er ye grieve, howe'er deplore,
The flying shadow shall return no more."

This was found under an hour-glass in a grotto near water:

"This babbling stream not uninstructive flows,
Nor idly loiters to its destined main;
Each flower it feeds that on its margin grows,
Now bids thee blush, whose days are spent in vain.

Nor void of moral, though unheeded glides
Time's current, stealing on with silent haste;
For lo! each falling sand _his_ folly chides,
Who lets one precious moment run to waste."

_PROSE POEMS._

Several pages of this kind appeared at the end of an early volume of "Cornhill Magazine," of which this is the beginning:

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"'Tis in the middle of the night; and as with weary hand we write,
'Here endeth C. M. volume seven,' we turn our grateful eyes to heaven.
The fainting soul, oppressèd long, expands and blossoms into song; but
why 'twere difficult to state, for here commenceth volume eight.

"And ah! what mischiefs him environ who claps the editorial tiar on!
'Tis but a paper thing, no doubt; but those who don it soon find out
the weight of lead--ah me, how weary!--one little foolscap sheet may
carry. Pleasing, we hear, to gods and man was Mr. William Gladstone
when he calmed the paper duty fuss; but oh, 'twas very hard on Us.
Before he took the impost off, one gentleman was found enough (he
_was_ Herculean, but still!--) to bear the letters from Cornhill: two
men are needed now, and these are clearly going at the knees. Yet
happy hearts had we to-day if one in fifteen hundred, say, of all the
packets, white and blue, which we diurnally go through, yielded an
ounce of sterling brains, or ought but headache for our pains. Ah,
could the Correspondent see the Editor in his misery, no more
injurious ink he'd shed, but tears of sympathy instead. What is this
tale of straws and bricks? A hen with fifty thousand chicks clapt in
Sahara's sandy plain to peck the wilderness for grain--in that unhappy
fowl is seen the despot of a magazine. Only one difference we find;
but that is most important, mind. Instinct compels _her_ patient beak;
ours--in all modesty we speak--is kept by CONSCIENCE (sternly chaste)
pegging the literary waste. Our barns are stored, our garners--well,
the stock in them's considerable; yet when we're to the desert
brought, again comes back the welcome thought that somewhere in its
depths may hide one little seed, which, multiplied in our half-acre on
Cornhill, might all the land with gladness fill. Experience then no
more we heed; but, though we seldom find the seed, we read, and read,
and read, and read." &c. &c.

This is also an instance of this hidden verse in the beginning of one of Macaulay's letters to his sister Hannah:

"MY DARLING,--Why am I such a fool as to write to a gipsy at
Liverpool, who fancies that none is so good as she if she sends one
letter for my three? A lazy chit, whose fingers tire in penning a page
in reply to a quire! There, miss, you read all the first sentence of
my epistle, and never knew that you were reading verse."

When Mr. Coventry Patmore's "Angel in the House" was first published, the "Athenæum" furnished the following unique criticism:

"The gentle reader we apprise, That this new Angel in the House
Contains a tale not very wise, About a person and a spouse. The
author, gentle as a lamb, Has managèd his rhymes to fit, And haply
fancies he has writ Another 'In Memoriam.' How his intended gathered
flowers, And took her tea and after sung, Is told in style somewhat
like ours, For delectation of the young. But, reader, lest you say we
quiz The poet's record of his she, Some little pictures you shall see,
Not in our language but in his:

'While thus I grieved and kissed her glove,
My man brought in her note to say
Papa had bid her send his love,
And hoped I dine with them next day;
They had learned and practised Purcell's glee,
To sing it by to-morrow night:
The postscript was--her sisters and she
Inclosed some violets blue and white.

* * * * *

'Restless and sick of long exile,
From those sweet friends I rode, to see
The church repairs, and after a while
Waylaying the Dean, was asked to tea.
They introduced the Cousin Fred
I'd heard of, Honor's favourite; grave,
Dark, handsome, bluff, but gently bred,
And with an air of the salt wave.'

Fear not this saline Cousin Fred; He gives no tragic mischief birth;
There are no tears for you to shed, Unless they may be tears of mirth.
From ball to bed, from field to farm, The tale flows nicely purling
on; With much conceit there is no harm, In the love-legend here begun.
The rest will come another day, If public sympathy allows; And this
is all we have to say About the 'Angel in the House.'"

THE PRINTER.

"The printer-man had just set up a 'stickful' of brevier, filled with
italic, fractions, signs, and other things most queer; the type he
lifted from the stick, nor dreamt of coming woes, when lo! a wretched
wasp thought fit to sting him on the nose: the printer-man the type
let fall, as quick as quick could be, and gently murmured a naughty
word beginning with a D."

MY LOVE.

"I seen her out a-walking in her habit de la rue, and it ain't no use
a-talking, but she's pumpkins and a few. She glides along in glory
like a duck upon a lake, and I'd be all love and duty, if I only were
her drake!"

THE SOLO.

"He drew his breath with a gasping sob, with a quivering voice he
sang, but his voice leaked out and could not drown the accompanist's
clamorous bang. He lost his pitch on the middle A, he faltered on the
lower D, and foundered at length like a battered wreck adrift on the
wild high C."

PONY LOST.

_On Feb. 21st, 1822, this devil bade me adieu._

"Lost, stolen, or astray, not the least doubt but run away, a mare
pony that is all bay,--if I judge pretty nigh, it is about eleven
hands high; full tail and mane, a pretty head and frame; cut on both
shoulders by the collar, not being soft nor hollow; it is about five
years old, which may be easily told; for spirit and for speed, the
devil cannot her exceed."

An excellent specimen of this kind of literary work is to be found in J. Russell Lowell's "Fable for Critics," of which the title-page and preface are written in this fashion, and there is here given an extract from the latter:

"Having scrawled at full gallop (as far as that goes) in a style that
is neither good verse nor bad prose, and being a person whom nobody
knows, some people will say I am rather more free with my readers than
it is becoming to be, that I seem to expect them to wait on my leisure
in following wherever I wander at pleasure,--that, in short, I take
more than a young author's lawful ease, and laugh in a queer way so
like Mephistopheles, that the public will doubt, as they grope through
my rhythm, if in truth I am making fun _at_ them or _with_ them.

"So the excellent Public is hereby assured that the sale of my book is
already secured. For there is not a poet throughout the whole land,
but will purchase a copy or two out of hand, in the fond expectation
of being amused in it, by seeing his betters cut up and abused in it.
Now, I find, by a pretty exact calculation, there are something like
ten thousand bards in the nation, of that special variety whom the
Review and Magazine critics call _lofty_ and _true_, and about thirty
thousand (_this_ tribe is increasing) of the kinds who are termed
_full of promise_ and _pleasing_. The public will see by a glance at
this schedule, that they cannot expect me to be over-sedulous about
courting _them_, since it seems I have got enough fuel made sure of
for boiling my pot.

"As for such of our poets as find not their names mentioned once in my
pages, with praises or blames, let them send in their cards, without
further delay, to my friend G. P. Putnam, Esquire, in Broadway, where
a list will be kept with the strictest regard to the day and the hour
of receiving the card. Then, taking them up as I chance to have time
(that is, if their names can be twisted in rhyme), I will honestly
give each his proper position, at the rate of one author to each new
edition. Thus, a premium is offered sufficiently high (as the
Magazines say when they tell their best lie) to induce bards to club
their resources and buy the balance of every edition, until they have
all of them fairly been run through the mill." &c. &c.

That which is considered, however, one of the best of Prose Poems is the following, which appeared originally in _Fraser's Magazine_, and will also be found in Maclise and Maginn's "Gallery of Illustrious Literary Characters,"[11] being part of the introductory portion of a notice of the late Earl of Beaconsfield, then Mr. Disraeli, and known at the time as an aspirant to literary and political fame:

"O Reader dear! do pray look here, and you will spy the curly hair,
and forehead fair, and nose so high, and gleaming eye, of Benjamin
D'Is-ra-e-li, the wondrous boy who wrote _Alroy_ in rhyme and prose,
only to show how long ago victorious Judah's lion-banner rose. In an
earlier day he wrote _Vivian Grey_--a smart enough story, we must
say, until he took his hero abroad, and trundled him over the German
road; and taught him there not to drink beer, and swallow schnapps,
and pull mädschen's caps, and smoke the cigar and the meersham true,
in alehouse and lusthaus all Fatherland through, until all was blue,
but talk secondhand that which, at the first, was never many degrees
from the worst,--namely, German cant and High Dutch sentimentality,
maudlin metaphysics, and rubbishing reality. But those who would find
how Vivian wined with the Marchioness of Puddledock, and other great
grandees of the kind, and how he talked æsthetic, and waxed eloquent
and pathetic, and kissed his Italian puppies of the greyhound breed,
they have only to read--if the work be still alive--Vivian Grey, in
volumes five.

"As for his tentative upon the _Representative_, which he and John
Murray got up in a very great hurry, we shall say nothing at all,
either great or small; and all the wars that thence ensued, and the
Moravian's deadly feud; nor much of that fine book, which is called
'the Young Duke,' with his slippers of velvet blue, with clasps of
snowy-white hue, made out of the pearl's mother, or some equally fine
thing or other; and 'Fleming' (_Contarini_), which will cost ye but a
guinea; and 'Gallomania' (get through it, can you?) in which he made
war on (assisted by a whiskered baron--his name was Von Haber, whose
Germanical jabber, Master Ben, with ready pen, put into English smart
and jinglish), King Philippe and his court; and many other great works
of the same sort--why, we leave them to the reader to peruse; that is
to say, if he should choose.

"He lately stood for Wycombe, but there Colonel Grey did lick him, he
being parcel Tory and parcel Radical--which is what in general mad we
call; and the latest affair of his we chanced to see, is 'What is he?'
a question which, by this time, we have somewhat answered in this our
pedestrian rhyme. As for the rest,--but writing rhyme is, after all, a
pest; and therefore"----

_MISCELLANEOUS ODDS AND ENDS._

Some years ago _Punch_ gave "revised versions" of a few of the old popular songs, and, referring to the one we have chosen as a specimen, says that "its simplicity, its truthfulness, and, above all, its high moral, have recommended it to him for selection. It is well known to the million--of whose singing, indeed, it forms a part. Perhaps it will be recognised; perhaps not."

A POLISHED POEM.

_Air._--"If I had a donkey vot vouldn't go,
Do you think I'd wallop," &c.

"Had I an ass averse to speed,
Deem'st thou I'd strike him? No, indeed!
Mark me, I'd try persuasion's art,
For cruelty offends my heart:
Had all resembled me, I ween,
Martin, thy law had needless been
Of speechless brutes from blows to screen
The poor head;
For had I an ass averse to speed
I ne'er would strike him, no, indeed!
I'd give him hay, and cry, 'Proceed,'
And 'Go on, Edward!'

Why speak I thus? This very morn,
I saw that cruel William Burn,
Whilst crying 'Greens' upon his course,
Assail his ass with all his force;
He smote him o'er the head and thighs,
Till tears bedimmed the creature's eyes!
Oh! 'twas too much, my blood 'gan rise
And I exclaimed,
'Had I an,' &c.

Burn turn'd and cried, with scornful eye,
'Perchance thou'rt one of Martin's fry,
And seek'st occasion base to take,
The vile informer's gain to make.'
Word of denial though I spoke,
Full on my brow his fury broke,
And thus, while I return'd the stroke,
I exclaimed,
'Had I an,' &c.

To us, infringing thus the peace,
Approach'd his guardians--the police;
And, like inevitable Fate,
Bore us to where stern Justice sate;
Her minister the tale I told;
And to support my word, made bold
To crave he would the ass behold:
'For,' I declared,
'Had I an,' &c.

They called the creature into court
Where, sooth to say, he made some sport,
With ears erect, and parted jaws,
As though he strove to plead his cause:
I gained the palm of feelings kind;
The ass was righted; William fined.
For Justice, one with me in mind,
Exclaimed, by her Minister,
'Had I an,' &c.

Cried William to his judge, ''Tis hard
(Think not the fine that I regard),
But things have reached a goodly pass--
One may not beat a stubborn ass!'
Nought spoke the judge, but closed his book;
So William thence the creature took,
Eyeing me--ah! with what a look,
As gently whispering in his ear, I said,
'William, had I an,' &c."

CUMULATIVE PARODYING.

There was a young damsel; oh, bless her,
It cost very little to dress her;
She was sweet as a rose
In her everyday clothes,
But had no young man to caress her.
--_Meridien Recorder._

There was a young turkey; oh, bless her:
It cost very little to dress her;
Some dry bread and thyme,
About Thanksgiving time,
And they ate the last bit from the dresser.
--_American Punch._

A newspaper poet; oh, dang him!
And pelt him and club him and bang him!
He kept writing away,
Till the people one day
Rose up and proceeded to hang him.
--_Detroit Free Press._

BLANK VERSE IN RHYME.

(A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.)

"Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark
The signal of the setting sun--one gun!
And six is sounding from the chime, prime time
To go and see the Drury-lane Dane slain,--
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,--
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split
Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon night comes, and with her wings brings things
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets, and take up Pall Mall Sal,
Who hastening to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.

Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee,
And while they're going whisper low, 'No go!'
Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble--'Drat that cat!'
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.

Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize-size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgey, or Charles, or Billy, willy-nilly;
But nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,
And that she hears--what faith is man's!--Ann's banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice;
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,
That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes!"
--_Thomas Hood._

The following excellent specimen of mono-syllabic verse comes from an old play in the Garrick Collection:

SONG.

"Let us sip, and let it slip,
And go which way it will a;
Let us trip, and let us skip,
And let us drink our fill a.

Take the cup, and drink all up,
Give me the can to fill a;
Every sup, and every cup,
Hold here and my good will a.

Gossip mine and gossip thine;
Now let us gossip still a;
Here is good wine, this ale is fine,
Now drink of which you will a.

Round about, till all be out,
I pray you let us swill a;
This jolly grout is jolly and stout,
I pray you stout it still a.

Let us laugh and let us quaff,
Good drinkers think none ill a;
Here is your bag, here is your staffe,
Be packing to the mill a."

ELESSDÉ.

"In a certain fair island, for commerce renown'd,
Whose fleets sailed in every sea,
A set of fanatics, men say, there was found,
Who set up an island and worship around,
And called it by name Elessdé.

Many heads had the monster, and tails not a few,
Of divers rare metals was he
And temples they built him right goodly to view,
Where oft they would meet, and, like idolists true,
Pay their vows to the great Elessdé.

Moreover, at times would their frenzy attain
('Twas nought less) to so high a degree,
That his soul-blinded votaries did not complain,
But e'en laid down their lives his false favour to gain--
So great was thy power, Elessdé.

As for morals, this somewhat unscrupulous race
Were lax enough, 'twixt you and me;
Men would poison their friends with professional grace,
And of the fell deed leave behind ne'er a trace,
For the sake of the fiend, Elessdé.

Then forgery flourished, and rampant and rife
Was each form of diablerie;
While the midnight assassin, with mallet and knife,
Would steal on his victim and rob him of life,
And all for thy love, Elessdé.

There were giants of crime on the earth in that day,
The like of which we may not see:
Although, peradventure, some sceptic will say
There be those even now who acknowledge the sway
Of the god of the world--_£ s. d._"

EARTH.

"What is earth, Sexton?--A place to dig graves.
What is earth, Rich man?--A place to work slaves.
What is earth, Greybeard?--A place to grow old.
What is earth, Miser?--A place to dig gold.
What is earth, Schoolboy?--A place for my play.
What is earth, Maiden?--A place to be gay.
What is earth, Seamstress?--A place where I weep.
What is earth, Sluggard?--A good place to sleep.
What is earth, Soldier?--A place for a battle.
What is earth, Herdsman?--A place to raise cattle.
What is earth, Widow?--A place of true sorrow.
What is earth, Tradesman?--I'll tell you to-morrow.
What is earth, Sick man?--'Tis nothing to me.
What is earth, Sailor?--My home is the sea.
What is earth, Statesman?--A place to win fame.
What is earth, Author?--I'll write there my name.
What is earth, Monarch?--For my realm it is given.
What is earth, Christian?--The gateway of heaven."

INDEX.

Acrostics, 198

Ad Chloen, M.A., 105

Addresses, the Rejected, 15

Ad Mortem, 56

Ad Professorem Linguæ Germanicæ, 101

"Alice in Wonderland," verses from, 42, 43

Alliterative verses from "Society," 210

American Traveller, the, 132

Am Rhein, 99

Analytical, Ode to Davies', 159

Angel in the House, the, 239

Animal Alphabet, an, 206

Anticipatory Dirge, an, 146

Arab and his Donkey, the, 167

Arundines Cami, the, 129, 130

Ba, ba, Black Sheep, 129

Ballad of the Period, a, 217

Ballads, the Bon Gualtier, 31

Bandit's Fate, the, 30

Barham, Mr., parody by, 28;
macaronic by, 70

Battle of Frogs and Mice, the, 10

Bayard Taylor, lines by, 36

Billet-Doux, a, 166

Biter Bit, the, 40

Blank Verse in Rhyme, 248

Boke of Colin Clout, 62

Bonaparte, anagram on, 196, 197

Bon Gaultier Ballads, the, 31

Bore's Head, Bringing in the, 61

Boxiana, 177

Boyle Godfrey, Epitaph on, 150

Breach of Promise, lines on a, 156

Bret Harte, verses by, 38, 154, 162

Brook, the, parody on, 39

Brooks, Shirley, lines by, 30

Brownrigg, Mrs., lines on, 26

Buckland, Professor, Dirge on, 146

Bunker Hill, alliterative lines on, 204

Burial of Sir John Moore, parodies on, 27, 28

Burnand, F. C., parody by, 46

Burns, mosaic poem on, 225

Burton, Mrs., parody by, 49

Buttes, Thomas, acrostic by, 199

Byrom, Mr., hymn by, 57;
lines by, 234

Byron, parody on style of, 21

Calverly, Mr., 39, 41

Camden on Anagrams, 188

Canning and Frere, 26

Captain Smith and Pocahontas, 113

Carlyle, Thomas, anagram on, 196

Carmen ad Terry, 96

Carol, Christmas, 61

Carpette, Knyghte, ye, 42

Carroll, Lewis, parodies by, 42, 43, 50;
lines by, 218

Ce Meme Vieux Coon, 94

Centennial Exhibition, the, lines on, 51

Chain Verses, 53

Chanson without music, 89

Chinese English, 122

Clara Morchella Deliciosa, To, 152

Clock, the Musical, 54

Clubbis Noster, 81

Coincidences and Contrarieties, 138

Colin Clout, Boke of, 62

College macaronics, 110, 112

Collins, Mortimer, lines by, 33, 34, 105

Comic Latin Grammar, lines from, 73

Concatenation Verse, 53

Contenti Abeamus, 86

Correspondents, To, 238

Cotton Mather, 192

Crabbe, parody on, 16

Crawford, Mrs., 209

Cremation, 47, 48

Cumulative Parodying, 247

Davies' Analytical, Ode to, 159

Dean Swift, 111

Death of the Sea-Serpent, 77

De Leguleo, 88

"Detection," Harsnett's, 62

Dirge on Professor Buckland, 146

Disraeli, Benjamin, 243

Diversions of the Echo Club, 36

Doctor, Southey's, 190

Druggist, Lament of an unfortunate, 157

Drury Lane, a tale of, 22

Drury Rev. H., 229

Earth, 251

Echo Club, Diversions of the, 36

Echo and the Lover, 230

Echo on Woman, a Gentle, 229

Elessdè, 250

Elizabeth, Queen, acrostic on, 200

English Language, the, 139

Epitaph, macaronic, 110

Epitaph on Dr. Maginn, 175

Epode of Horace, the Second, 67

Eve's Legend, 220

Evil, anagram on, 197

Evolution, 168

Fable for Critics, the, 242

Fair "Come-Outer," the, 106

Fate of Nassan, the, 223

Felis-itous, Very, 93

Fireside Amusements, poem from, 227

Fonseca's Guide to English, 115

Footman Joe, 181

Four Brothers, the, 107

Friend at Parting, to a, 100

Geddes, Dr., 59

Gentle Echo on Woman, 229

"Gentle Shepherd," the sign of the, 109

Geological Address, a, 154

Geological Madrigal, a, 162

Gilbert, W. S., lines by, 218

Goldsmith, parody on lines by, 30

Guide to English, a New, 115

Harte, Bret, verses by, 38, 154, 162

Hegemon of Thasos, 10

Henry Martin the Regicide, 26

Hey diddle diddle, new version of, 127

Holland, Lord, 220

Holmes, Dr., macaronic by, 89

Homoeopathic Soup, 165

Hone's Every-Day Book, 60

Hood, Thomas, parody by, 27, 29;
verses by, 248

Horace, Second Epode of, 67

Household Words, lines from, 216

How the Daughters come down at Dunoon, 45

Hunting of the Snark, 218

Husband's Complaint, the, 164

Hussey, Mrs. Margaret, 174

Hymn, by Mr. Byrom, 57

Ich bin Dein, 85

"If," by Mortimer Collins, 33

Ignoramus, Scene from play of, 63

Inscription on Mrs. Brownrigg's cell, 26

Jack and Jill, 108;
new version of, 126

Jack Horner, new version of, 126

Jeffrey, Lord, 16

Johnson, Dr., 112, 171

Kehama, parody on Southey's, 20

Knox Ward, 156

Lady, To a, 182

Lament of an Unfortunate Druggist, 157

Lang, Dr., 131

Lasphrise, M., 53

Laureate's Journey, the, 31

Lay of Macaroni, the, 207

Leguleo, De, 88

Leigh, Henry S., 31, 46

Leland, Mr. Charles G., 115, 216.

Lines by a Fond Lover, 219

Little Bo-peep, 108;
new rendering of, 129

Little Miss Muffit, new version of, 127

Little Red Riding Hood, 83

Love Story, an original, 143

Lowell, J. Russell, 242

Lydia Green, 97

Macaulay, travesty on, 31;
a letter of, 239

Maginn, Dr., 67;
epitaph on, 175

Mahony, Rev. Francis, 129

Malum Opus, 95

Man and the Ascidian, 161

Mark Twain, 112

"Mary's Little Lamb," new versions of, 127, 128

Microscopic Serenade, 148

Milman, lines from, 235

Milton, Parody on, 11

Moments, the Watch's, 235

Monk, Duke of Albemarle, 192

Monosyllabic Song, 249

Moore, parodies on, 21, 22, 45, 46

Morituri te Salutant, 169

Mosaic poems, 224

Musical Ass, the, 176

Musical Clock, the, 54

Mycological Serenade, a, 152

My Love, 241

Nahum Fay on the loss of his wife, 179

Native names, 132

New Versions of Nursery Rhymes, 125-128

Nursery Rhymes, new versions of, 125-127

Ode to Davies' Analytical, 159

Ode to a Skylark, Shelley's, 212

O'Keefe, Song by, 66

Only Seven, 32

Original Love Story, 143

Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, the, 132

Owed to my Creditors, 142

Palmer, Professor E. H., verses by, 121, 214

Palmerston, Lord, anagram on, 196

Parterre, the, 121

Patmore, Mr. Coventry, 239

Pennell, H. C., parody by, 44, 45

Philips, John, 11

Pidgin English, 122

Planché, Mr., songs by, 50;
acrostic by, 201

Pliocene Skull, to the, 154

Pocahontas and Captain Smith, 113

Poe, Edgar A., parodies on, 36, 38;
acrostic by, 202

Polished Poem, a, 245

Polka, the, 81

Pome of a Possum, 102

Pony Lost, 241

Pope, alliterative lines by, 211

Prevalent Poetry, 144

Prince Charles after Culloden, 205

Printer, the, 241

Procuratores, lines on the, 35

Promissory Note, the, 36

Radenovitch, the, 180

Recipe for Salad, a, 34

Recognition, the, 40

Red Riding Hood, Little, 83

Rejected Addresses, the, 15

Rex Midas, 70

Rhyme for Musicians, a, 135

Rhymes, nursery, new versions of, 125-128

Robert Burns, mosaic poem on, 225

Roman Nose, the, 170

Rudiger, Andreas, 191

Ruggles' Ignoramus, 63

Ruling Power, the, 178

St. George et his Dragon, 79

Salad, recipe for, 34

Scott, Sir Walter, parody on, 22

Sea-Serpent, the, 76