the throng is quickly scattered; et was very full the chamberof Lords, and full of strangers, come down, and feeling curious w the Earl and eke the Marquis ould get on when brought together; ne there were who thought the Marquis ould upon the Earl his back turn;

me who thought the Earl would curl his ɔper lip, and snub the Marquis ; hers that the Marquis, smarting

'ith the knowledge that he'd been offered oolly on the Eastern altar, hat he had been made a victim; lad been sent to wreck his prestige,! Mongst the diplomatic breakers, Vould dig up the buried hatchet From the Quarterly's shut pages,

Would dash down the friendly peace-pipe,
And his tomahawk turn wildly
On his former foe, Ben Dizzy ;
But it did not come to pass so,
For on Thursday all was quiet,
And the Salisburian lion

Lay down with the Dizzian lambkin,
And the Marquis keeps his vengeance
For a more convenient season,
If, indeed, he has not hopes still
Of a dukedom for his failure.

After this they talked for four hours,
But the talk meant simply nothing!

THE COMMONS.

As the "brave" re-seeks his wigwam,
Left deserted in the autumn,

When the early spring-tide tempts him
To return and hunt the bison-
To return and trap the beaver-

To return and scalp the "pale-face "–
To return, in short, and do for
Many beasts and birds and fishes;
So unto their long-left places,
To their worn and padded places,
Where they sought for reputation—
Where they strove for loaves and fishes-
Where they hounded down the helpless-
Where they vexed those in office-

Where they howled and snored and hooted-
Where they quite wore out the Speaker,
Harried Adderley and Holker,

Tried in vain to draw Ben Dizzy,

And gave forth such endless rubbish-
Came the M. P.'s for the Session.

Came in state, too, Mr. Speaker

With the mace and with his chaplain ;-
Gold the mace, and Byng his chaplain;
Whereupon did Captain Gossett,
In his normal tights and ruffles,

"Tile" the door till prayers were over.
Thus all present fell to praying,

Let us hope they prayed in earnest,

For delivery from envy,

Spite and malice and Kenealy.

Prayed for sense (God knows most want it),

Prayed for very frequent count-outs,

And for early dissolution.

Now the mace is on the table

[Left Praying.

From his oaken throne the Speaker,

Tries to read it, but half through it,
Something ails him, and he falters.
May we not trace his emotion
To the thought of what's before him?
How can he fail to remember
That the bores have re-assembled.
Stronger both in lung and purpose,
That when they left town last August.
And he knows he can't escape them,
That his eye perforce will caught be
By the Lewises and Lawsons,
By the Biggars and the Whalleys,
By the Newdegates and Parnells,
This is why his voice completely
Fails him and prevents his reading,
This is why his accents die out,
Like the last song of Pu-kee-wis,
Of the dying swan, Pu-kee-wis;
This is why they have to bring him
Of the water from his cistern
(Let us hope it first was filtered),
Which he drinks, and so recovers;
Drinks, and so concludes his reading.

Then, since there is no amendment,
One would think that when the mover
And the seconder had spoken
That the House would straightway scatter;
Little do they know, who think so,

Of the ways of Mr. Gladstone!
Little do they understand him,

If they think he can keep silence

When the Eastern question's talked of!
Could they fancy Whalley speechless,
With the Jesuits on the tapis?

Could they picture Doctor "Dewdrops"
Dumb upon the Magna Charta?

Or the Common Serjeant henceforth
Dropping his deceased wife's sister?
Could they e'en think Holker clever?
Couple modesty and Jenkins?
Take from Lewis his white waistcoats,
Or from Plimsoll his last hobby?
Could they do all this? it's doubtful,
Even then, if Mr. Gladstone

Could be really kept from speaking.
When the Eastern question's mentioned,

He is always running over

With a tide of verbal fulness;

At a moment's notice ready

To break through his lips or flow out

In a pamphlet from his study,

Just as when the cat, Me-aw-nee,
Sees a mouse she pounces on it;
As the buffalo. Shu-shu-kah,

At the sight of crimson's maddened;
As the sturgeon, Minhe-nah-ma,
Meets a mackerel, but to bolt it,
As the 'possum, Pau-ku-kee-wis,
When it finds a gum-tree, climbs it,
So does this M. P. for Greenwich
Seize upon the Eastern question,
Be it in, or out of, season,
Be it apropos or useless,

Be it positively dangerous

To allude to it in public;

So on Thursday seized he on it,
Even though he knew the time was
Not yet come to talk upon it,
Poured his stream of words upon it,

the throng is quickly scattered; et was very full the chamberof Lords, and full of strangers, come down, and feeling curious v the Earl and eke the Marquis uld get on when brought together; ne there were who thought the Marquis uld upon the Earl his back turn;

ne who thought the Earl would curl his per lip, and snub the Marquis ; hers that the Marquis, smarting ith the knowledge that he'd been offered Dolly on the Eastern altar,

at he had been made a victim; ad been sent to wreck his prestige,? Longst the diplomatic breakers, Jould dig up the buried hatchet rom the Quarterly's shut pages,

Vould dash down the friendly peace-pipe,
And his tomahawk turn wildly
On his former foe, Ben Dizzy ;
But it did not come to pass so,
For on Thursday all was quiet,
And the Salisburian lion

Lay down with the Dizzian lambkin.
And the Marquis keeps his vengeance
For a more convenient season,
If, indeed, he has not hopes still
Of a dukedom for his failure.

After this they talked for four hours,
But the talk meant simply nothing!

THE COMMONS.

As the "brave" re-seeks his wigwam,
Left deserted in the autumn,

When the early spring-tide tempts him
To return and hunt the bison-
To return and trap the beaver-
To return and scalp the "pale-face
To return, in short, and do for
Many beasts and birds and fishes;

So unto their long-left places,

To their worn and padded places,

Where they sought for reputation—

Where they strove for loaves and fishes

Where they hounded down the helpless

Where they vexèd those in office

Where they howled and snored and hooted

Where they quite wore out the Speaker,
Harried Adderley and Holker,

Tried in vain to draw Ben Dizzy,

And gave forth such endless rubbish-
Came the M. P.'s for the Session.

Came in state, too, Mr. Speaker

With the mace and with his chaplain ;-
Gold the mace, and Byng his chaplain;
Whereupon did Captain Gossett,
In his normal tights and ruffles,

"Tile" the door till prayers were over.

Thus all present fell to praying,

Let us hope they prayed in earnest,

For delivery from envy,

Spite and malice and Kenealy.

Prayed for sense (God knows most want it),

Prayed for very frequent count-outs,

And for early dissolution.

Now the mace is on the table

[Left Praying.

From his oaken throne the Speaker,

Tries to read it, but half through it,
Something ails him, and he falters.
May we not trace his emotion

To the thought of what's before him?
How can he fail to remember
That the bores have re-assembled.
Stronger both in lung and purpose,
That when they left town last August.
And he knows he can't escape them,
That his eye perforce will caught be
By the Lewises and Lawsons,
By the Biggars and the Whalleys,
By the Newdegates and Parnells,
This is why his voice completely
Fails him and prevents his reading,
This is why his accents die out,
Like the last song of Pu-kee-wis,
Of the dying swan, Pu-kee-wis;
This is why they have to bring him
Of the water from his cistern
(Let us hope it first was filtered),
Which he drinks, and so recovers;
Drinks, and so concludes his reading.

Then, since there is no amendment,
One would think that when the mover
And the seconder had spoken
That the House would straightway scatter;
Little do they know, who think so,

Of the ways of Mr. Gladstone!
Little do they understand him,

If they think he can keep silence

When the Eastern question's talked of!
Could they fancy Whalley speechless,
With the Jesuits on the tapis?

Could they picture Doctor "Dewdrops"
Dumb upon the Magna Charta?

Or the Common Serjeant henceforth
Dropping his deceased wife's sister?
Could they e'en think Holker clever?
Couple modesty and Jenkins?

Take from Lewis his white waistcoats,
Or from Plimsoll his last hobby?
Could they do all this? it's doubtful,

Even then, if Mr. Gladstone

Could be really kept from speaking.

When the Eastern question's mentioned,

He is always running over

With a tide of verbal fulness;

At a moment's notice ready

To break through his lips or flow out

In a pamphlet from his study,

Just as when the cat, Me-aw-nee,
Sees a mouse she pounces on it;

As the buffalo. Shu-shu-kah,

At the sight of crimson's maddened;
As the sturgeon, Minhe-nah-ma,
Meets a mackerel, but to bolt it,
As the 'possum, Pau-ku-kee-wis,
When it finds a gum-tree, climbs it,
So does this M. P. for Greenwich
Seize upon the Eastern question,
Be it in, or out of, season,
Be it apropos or useless,

Be it positively dangerous

To allude to it in public;

So on Thursday seized he on it,
Even though he knew the time was
Not yet come to talk upon it,
Poured his stream of words upon it,

And when he had talked a column,
Was informed by Gathorne Hardy,
That the questions he'd propounded
Would be answered in the blue-books;
That the information asked for
Would be printed in the blue-books ;
That, in short, his speech was useless--
Verba et præterea nihil.

Whereupon the Speaker vanished,

And the House broke up its sitting.

Truth, February 15, 1877.

THE SONG OF PAHTAHQUAHONG.

"The Rev. HENRY PAHTAHQUAHONG CHASE, hereditary Chief of the Ojibway tribe, President of the Grand Council of Indians, and missionary of the Colonial and Continental Church Society at Muncey Town, Ontario, Canada, has just arrived in England, on a short visit."-The Standard.

STRAIGHT across the Big-Sea-Water,
From the Portals of the Sunset,
From the prairies of the Red Men,
Where Suggema, the mosquito,
Makes the aggravated hunter

Scratch himself with awful language;

From the land of Hiawatha,

Land of wigwams, and of wampum,
Land of tomahawks and scalping,
(See the works of J. F. Cooper),
Comes the mighty PAHTAHQUAHONG,
Comes the Chief of the Obijways.

Wot ye well, we'll give him welcome,
After manner of the Pale Face,
Show him all the old world's wonders,
Griffins in the public highways,
Gormandising corporations,
And the Market of Mud-Salad.
Show him, too, the dingy Palace,
And the House of Talkee-Talkee;
Where the Jossakeeds-the prophets-
And the Chieftains raise their voices.
Like Iagoo the great boaster,
With immeasurable gabble,
Talking much and doing little,
Till one wishes they could vanish
To the kingdom of Ponemah-
To the Land of the Hereafter !

We will show him all the glories
Of this land of shams and swindles,
Land of much adulteration,
Dusting tea and sanding sugar,
And of goods not up to sample;
Till disgusted PAHTAHQUAHONG,
Till the Chief of the Obijways,
President of Indian Council,
Missionary swell, and so forth,

Cries, "Oh, let me leave this England,
Land of Bumbledom and Beadles,

Of a thousand Boards and Vestries;
Le me cross the Big-Sea-Water,

With Keewaydin-with the Home Wind,
And go back to the Ojibways!"

Punch, March 12, 1881.

A jeu d'esprit somewhat in the nature of The Rejected Adaresses has recently been published

burgh. It is entitled "Rejected Tercentenary Songs, with the comments of the Committee appended." Edited by Rolus Ray.

It will be remembered that the Edinburgh University has just been celebrating its Tercentenary, and the contents of this amusing little sixpenny pamphlet consist of the Poems supposed to have been sent in, by matriculated students of the University, in competition for a prize of Ten Guineas, offered by the Tercentenary Committee for the best song in honour of the occasion.

It contains numerous Latin and Macaronic verses, a long parody of Walt Whitman, one of Gilbert, and two of Longfellow, which I venture to quote. The first is incomplete :

"I stood in the quad at midnight,
As the bells were tolling the hour;
And the moon shone o'er the city,
Behind the Tron Kirk tower."

PIAMATER.

By Alfred Longcove.

Should you ask of what I'm writing,
With the scented smoke of segars

Curling around my weary head,

With the odours of the class-rooms,
And its wild reverberations

Of the many interruptions
Of its bands of many students,
Rankling in my ears and nostrils?
Why my head I scratch so often?
Why I ask my muse to aid me
With her bright poetic fire?
Why I burn the gas at midnight?
Why I have so many books-
Poetry books on prosy subjects,
Books of songs by Burns and Moore,
Ponderous books for words referring,
Webster's Unabridged and Walker's
Poet's Rhyming Dictionary-
Strewed around me on the table?
I should answer, I should tell you,
"'Tis because I am composing
A natal song to Alma Mater."
'Tis thy year, O Alma Mater,
Of thy great Tercentenary.
Time, thy years three hundred measures
With his glass; the mighty Hour-glass
Marks thy seconds, passing quickly,

Through its glassy neck so slender, Let us sing to her, O students,

A

pæan song of natal greetings, Let us spread our banquet-tables In the halls of Edina's town. Let us drain to her good welfare Many bottles filled with good wine From the vineyard of the Loire, From the Spanish town of Xeres, From the town of great Oporto, From the country of the Deutchers, From the flow'ry land of Champagne; Let us drain the pewter tankards, Filled with Bass's bittery beer And with Dublin's triple X stout; Let us drain our glassy goblets, Filled with the wine of Gooseberry, Filled with clarets made in London, And with other imitations; Let us brew the Festive Toddy From the whisky, great Tanglefeet, On that morn— -her natal morning! Sons and daughters of old Scotland, Land of Oatcakes and of Whisky, Don your costumes made for Sunday; ye students of Edina,

Put your "go-to-meetings" on you;
O ye Dons, that festal morning,

Don ye your gowns and mortar boards;
Let the Billirubin warble
One of his impromptu ditties,
Physiologic songs of praise-
Sing the praise of Alma Mater;
Let the great, her mighty surgeon,
Throw his dazzling, lustrous sheen
Of his intellect most massive,
In a speech of his own making,
Stock full of jokes and anecdotes--
Speak the praise of Alma Mater ;
Let them all, her swell Professors,
Puff her up above the skies.
From the Gardens to the Meadows,
From the Loch-great Duddingston-
To the station of Haymarket,
From the Place of the Lunatics
To the town of Portobello-
Where the many donkey-riders
Ride along its dirty sands;
Where the fellows go on Sunday
For a walk, and drink the Ozone
Wafted round promiscuously;
Where they go to meet their damsels,
And walk with them along the strand—
From Merchiston to Warriston,
Let merry songs of praises ring
On that day, her happy birthday.
Now join with me, ye students all,
Wish her now, your Alma Mater,
Greatest wealth and prosperity.
Hail to thee, O Alma Mater,
School above schools upon this earth!
Hail to thee, thou great Alchemist !
Hail to thee, O Verdant Pasture!
Hail to thee, O Parenchyma!
Hail to thee, thou Grecian Pet!
Hail to thee, the great Kail Runter!
Hail to thee, O Billirubin !
Hail to thee, O Wells of Water!
Hail to thee, the Kitchen Surgeon !
Hail to thee, thou Man of Physic!
Hail to thee, thou Just Lawgiver!

Hail to thee, the great Drug Speaker!
Hail to thee, her Story-teller!
Hail to thee, the great Dissector!
Hail to thee, O Damsonjamer!
Hail to thee, her Organ Grinder!
Hail to thee, thou Fossilfeller!
Hail to thee, O Afterglower!
Hail to thee, the Celtic Chairer !
Hail to thee, O Wandering Jew!
Hail to thee, the Magna Charta !
Hail to thee, O great Kirkpaddy!
Hail to thee, Cephalic Mewer!
Hail to thee, no Small Pertater !
Hail to thee, the great Schoolboarder!
Hail to thee, her Comet-gazer!
Hail to thee, the Soda-fountain !
Hail to thee, thou Cubic Crystal!
Hail to thee, O Science Gossip!

Hail to thee, the Engine-Driver!
Hail to thee, thou great Darwiner!
Hail to thee, the Eye-restorer!
Hail to thee, O great Lunatic!
Hail to thee, her long Gatekeeper!
Hail to ye, her famous Children!
Hail to ye, O Students' Council!
Hail to ye, her many Students!
Hail to me, her Song Composer !
Hail to ye, all her Children, Friends,
And Near Relations, on that day!
All hail to our Alma Mater

On her natal morn be given !!! *

The author of The Dagonet Ballads has produced so many pathetic poems, descriptive of the terrible miseries of our London poor, that one is rather apt to overlook the humorous poetry proceeding from the same pen. But, like all true masters of pathos, this poet of the people has the power to summon up smiles through our tears. It was well said of Tom Hood "that the blending of the grave with the gay which pervaded his writings, makes it no easy task to class his poems under the heads of serious' and comic.'" This remark applies with equal force to the poems of George R. Sims, and were it possible to anticipate the verdict of posterity we might expect to find the names of Hood and Sims classed together; indeed, so far as practical results are concerned, the philanthropical efforts of the younger poet are likely far to exceed anything that was achieved by the author of The Bridge of Sighs and The Song of the Shirt.

But this is not the place to consider Mr. Siris' position as a serious writer, although, indeed, even the following poem has a moral :

A PLUMBER.

(An Episode of a rapid Thaw.)

THE dirty snow was thawing fast,

As through the London streets there passed A youth, who, mid snow, slush, and ice, Exclaimed, "I don't care what's the priceA Plumber!"

* We shall not publish the vocabulary with this song.-ED.