Each in turn his toe adapted,
Where a crevice in the stonework,
In the worn and ancient stonework,
Gave a short precarious foothold
While they climbed the little sapling.

Pip had scaled the wall, and sitting,
Helped the Fluffer struggling upwards,
When a Bobby, a policeman,
Irreproachable policeman,

Came upon them round the corner,

And remarked, "Gents, I have caught you;
You're a pretty pair of wallflowers!"
Then the Fluffer answered briefly,

Answered, "Bobby, you have caught us,"
And the careful Pip, the smoker,
From his seat upon the wall-top,
Echoed, "I believe you've caught us."

But the Bobby, the policeman,
Said, "I have not seen you do it-
Seen you over any wall get;

And perhaps I should not see you,
If I happened to be looking
In an opposite direction,

With my back turned right upon you."
Nothing further said the Bobby,
Irreproachable policeman,

Only grinned, and seemed to linger.

Quick then Pip pulled up the Fluffer,
And inquired, "Old fellow, Fluffer,
Have you any coin about you?"
And the Fluffer from his pockets,
Brought the bob, the silver shilling,
And the piece of six, the tizzy,
And the piece of four, the joey,
And the double bob, the florin.
Down he threw them on the pathway;
Then the Bobby, the policeman,
Irreproachable policeman,

Picked them up, and whispered softly,
Somebody had dropped some money;
He was lucky to have found it.

After that did Pip, the smoker,
And his friend they called the Fluffer,
Get across the wall securely;
But the Bobby, the policeman,

Irreproachable policeman,

Did not see them get across it;

For he happened to be looking

In an opposite direction,

And his back was turned upon them.

Odd Echoes from Oxford, by A. Merion, B. A.

J. C. Hotten, 1872.

From the mud of London sewers,
From the garden-plots and churchyards,
Where the linnet and cock-sparrow
Feed upon the weeds and groundsel,
I receive them as I buy them
From the boxes of Havana,
The concocter, the weird wizard.

York-river,"

Should you ask how this Havana
Made cigars so strong and soothing,
Made the "bird's eye," and "
I should answer, I should tell you,
In the purlieus of the cities,
In the cellars of the warehouse,

In the dampness of the dungeon,
Lie the rotten weeds that serve him ;
In the gutters and the sewers,
In the melancholy alleys,
Half-clad Arab boys collect them,
Crossing-sweepers bring them to him,
Costermongers keep them for him,
And he turns them by his magic
Into "cavendish" and "bird's-eye,"
For those clay-pipes and churchwardens,
For this meerschaum, or he folds them,
And "cigars" he duly labels

On the box in which he sells them.

From Figaro, October 7, 1874.

The following is an extract from a long parody contained in Lays of Modern Oxford, by Adon (Chapman and Hall, 1874.)

THE BUMP SUPPER.

"Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero Pulsanda tellus."
You shall hear how once our college,
When our boat had done great wonders,
And had bumped all boats before it,
Gave a great and grand bump-supper.
First the scouts, the sherry-swiggers,
And the scouts' boys, beer-imbibers,
Spread the things upon the table.

And they placed upon the table
Champagne-cup and rosy claret.
When the lamp-black night descended
Broad and dark upon the college,
When the reading man, the bookworm,
Grinding, sat among his Greek books,
With his oak securely sported,
And his tea-cup on the table,

From their rooms in groups assembled

Many guests to this great supper.

Came the boating men in numbers,

Came the cricketers in numbers,

Came the athletes clothed with muscle,

Came the singers, and the jesters,
And the jokers, funny fellows;
Came the active gymnast Biceps,
Also Pugilis, his comrade,
Very clever with the mittens ;
Came our sturdy plucky boat's crew,

Remex Princeps, and his comrades,

All were hungry, all were merry,
Full of repartee and laughter.
First they ate the slippy oyster,
Native oyster, cool and luscious,
And the ruddy blushing lobster,
And the crab so rich and tasty;
Then they ate the cold roast chicken,
And the finely flavoured ox-tongue,
And the cold roast mutton sheep's flesh,
And the pigeon-pie, the dove-tart,
And the well stuffed duck and turkey,
With the sausages around it.

Thus the guests, the mutton munchers,
Played the noble game of chew-chew,
Game of knife and fork and tumblers,
Very popular in Oxford.

*

Then a man, who came from Cornwall,
Sang a song that clearly stated
If a person named Trelawny,
Should by any hap or hazard,
Leave the world by death untimely,
Many people in the south-west
Part of England would insist on
Knowing wherefore he had left it.
Then the cheeky smiling Ginger
Sang of lovely Angelina,

Lady with the Grecian bend, and
Of the maiden dressed in azure,

With both eyes and hair of darkness.

Then the guests said, "Sing some more songs; Sing to us immortal Ginger,

Songs of laughter quaint and comic,

With a merry roaring chorus,

That we all may be more noisy.

And the sleeping dons may waken."

High among the tribes of Jon-buls,
Was a tribe they called the Lor-yahs;
Very cunning were the Lor-yahs:
They could talk and twist and double
Till the other tribes of Jon-buls
Scarcely knew if they were standing
On their heads or on their sandals.
Chief among these learned Lor-yahs
Was the great and good Ken-e-li.
Brave and handsome, kind and gentle,
Soft in voice and smooth in manner,
Wise yet simple, strong yet tender,
Was the mighty chief Ken-e-li.
But the blind and stupid Jon-buls
Could not see his many virtues ;

When he spake they shouted, "Bun-kum!”
And they scoffed at good Ken-e-li.

In 1879 the editor of The World offered two prizes for the best parodies on Longfellow's Hiawatha, the subject selected being The Hunting of Cetewayo. There were 135 competitors, the first prize was awarded to Floreant-Lauri, whose poem will be found, with the three next best, in The World for October 8, 1879.

The prize poem commenced as follows:

VERY wrath was Wolsey-Pullsey
When he landed at Fort Durban,
Hearing all the depredations
Of the cunning Cetewayo;
Called his captain Giffey-Wiffey,
Saying, "Catch this Cetewayo,
Muzzle thou this mischief-maker;
Not so tangled is the jungle,
Not so dark the deepest donga,

But that thou canst track and find him."
Then in hot pursuit departed
Giffey-Wiffey and his soldiers,
Through the jungle, through the forest;
But they found not Cetewayo--
Only found his bed and blanket.

From the farthest dingey-donga
Cetewayo looking backward,
Placed his thumb upon his nostril,
Made the sign, the Snookey-Wookey,
Made the gesture of derision,
Pulling bacon, piggey-whiggey,
Hurling at them his defiance.

Then cried Giffey-Wiffey loudly,

"When I catch you, you black rascal,
Cat-o'-nine tails, pussey-wussey,
You and she shall be acquainted,"
Mockingly came back the answer :

"When you catchee, when you catchee !"

THE HUNTING OF CETEWAYO.

Full of anger was Sir Garnet
When he came among the Zulus,

And found them in a precious muddle,
Heard of all the wicked doings,
All the luckless Zulus slaughter'd
By the savage Cetewayo.
Fuming in alarming fashion,

Through his thick moustache he mutter'd
Dire words of blood and thunder,

Raging like an angry tiger-"I will nobble Cetewayo,

Bag this horrid rascal," said he;

"Not so wide the realm of Zulus,
Not so terrible the bye-ways,
That my anger shall not nail him,

That my vengeance shall not spot him!"
Then in hot pursuit departed
Marter and the mighty hunters
On the trail of Cetewayo.

Through the bush where he had hidden,
To the hut where he had rested-
But they found not Cetewayo;
Only in the charcoal embers

Found the spot where he had halted;
Found the tokens of his presence.
Through the bush and brake and forest
Ran the cunning Cetewayo,
Till a lonely kraal he entered
In the middle of the forest !
Then the corpuleut old sinner
Heard the tramp of many footsteps,
Heard the sound of many voices,

Saying, "He, the white man's coming!"

Got into a funk and shivered.
Then came Marter, mighty Major,
He, of all Dragoons the boldest,
To the hut door riding straightway,
Saying, "Where is Cetewayo,
For his Majesty is wanted?"
Then came forth the noble savage,
On his breast a scarlet blanket,
Proudly wearing à la toga,
Gave himself to mighty Marter;
Pass'd a captive 'twixt the soldiers!
Ended now his strange adventures,
Ended all his wily dodges,

All his plottings and his schemings,
And his hecatombs of Zulus !

From Snatches of Song, by F. B. Doveton, 1880.

HIAWATHA'S PHOTOGRAPHING.
Author's Preface.

("In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours together, in the easy running metre of 'The Song of Hiawatha."")

FROM his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood.

Made of sliding, folding rosewood,

Neatly put it all together.

In its case it lay compactly,

Folded into nearly nothing;

But he opened out the hinges,

Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure

In the Second Book of Euclid.

This he perched upon a tripod --
Crouched beneath its dusky cover-
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence—
Said, "Be motionless, I beg you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.

All the family in order,

Sat before him for their pictures;
Each, in turn, as he was taken,
Volunteered his own suggestions,
His ingenious suggestions.

First the Governor, the Father,
He suggested velvet curtains
Looped about a massy pillar;
And a corner of a table,
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something,
Hold it firmly in his left hand;
He would keep his right hand buried
(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance

As of ducks that die in tempests.

Grand, heroic was the notion: Yet the picture failed entirelyFailed because he moved a little, Moved, because he couldn't help it."

Next to him the eldest daughter:

She suggested very little,
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of 'passive beauty.'
Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left eye,
Was a drooping of the right eye,
Was a smile that went up sideways

To the corner of the nostrils."

After having taken each member of the family in succession, with the most dismal results :-

Finally my Hiawatha

Tumbled all the tribe together,

('Grouped' is not the right expression), And, as happy chance would have it, Did at last obtain a picture

Where the faces all succeeded:
Each came out a perfect likeness.

Then they joined, and all abused it, Unrestrainedly abused it,

As the worst and ugliest picture They could possibly have dreamed of.'

But my Hiawatha's patience,
His politeness and his patience,
Unaccountably had vanished,
And he left that happy party.
Left them in a mighty hurry,
Stating that he would not stand it,
Stating in emphatic language
What he'd be before he'd stand it.
Thus departed Hiawatha.

From Rhyme? and Reason? by Lewis Carroll, 1883.

These disjointed extracts give but a poor idea. of this most amusing poem, the comical effects of which are much heightened by Mr. A. B. Frost's humorous illustrations.

As enlightenment came o'er him, Thinking skin was rather shabby, History of Went and put a coat of Woad on. England. He, the carrier of all letters,

He the bearer of all tidings To the lofty hill of Dryburgh, To the vale of Pepperhanger. Swiftly then I took the letter; Eagerly I read the message From a hospitable lady Of the vale of Pepperhanger, "Come at four o'clock to tiffin, If no better action urges ; In the cool of Tuesday evening, Come and play a game of Tennis On my lawns at Pepperhanger." Thus her letter: then I sallied To her almost hidden wigwam. Which from East and rude Sou'-wester Evergreen the pine-tree shelters; Took my Tennis shoes of rubber, Mocassins of Indian rubber, Racket, too, of Horace Bayley, To the tournament of Tennis On the lawns of Pepperhanger. Came the lordly Tennyslornah. Came the Reverend B. A. Kander, Came the cute 'un, Charley Pleycynge, Came the smasher, young de Vorley, Came the great Sir V. O. Verandah, Came the warrior, Foragh Biscoe, Sludge- Strangers from a distant countrie, borough To the tournament of Tennis In the vale of Pepperhanger. There we had a game at Tennis, Outdoor Tennis let us call it, Lest the lords of real Tennis Should invoke a curse upon us; Hotly smote the fierce back-hander, Volleyed toward, also froward, Till the speeding ball appeared as One continuous flash of lightning: Shouted loudly cries of Tennis,

Lodge's Peerage. Clergy List.

in-theMarsh.

66

Forty-thirty" and "advantage," Giving fifteen, owing thirty For a bisque, anon half-thirty Owing, giving, taking, wanting, Till the brain was almost reeling, Colenso's Handicapping calculations Arithme- All too hard for Pepperhanger! Presently the tea-bell sounded

tic.

Through the pine-tree-shelter'd gardens To the ne'er inebriating

Ever cheering goblet summons.

From Pastime, August 24, 1883.

THE LAWN-TENNIS PARTY AT PEPPERHANGER. (A fragment in the metre of Longfellow's "Hiawatha.")

I was sitting in my wigwam,
Looking from my lofty wigwam,
On the fir-clad hill of Dryburgh,
O'er the vale of Pepperhanger.
Suddenly there came a rapping,
The Post Double rapping, double tapping,
Sounding through the little wigwam,
Startling quiet Pepperhanger.
Thus the Government Messénjah,
Mercury of brazen buttons,
Crimson-collared, azure-coated,

man's

knock.

Heathen Mytho

The late Mr. Shirley Brooks composed a number of clever parodies, many of which were contributed to Punch during his Editorship of that journal. Three of the longest and most amusing of these were The Very Last Idyll, after Tennyson; The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, after Coleridge; and The Song of Hiawatha, after Longfellow. A quotation from The Very Last

Coleridge will be quoted when that author is reached; the parody of Longfellow, which appeared in Punch as far back as 1856, commenced thus:

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.
(Author's Protective Edition.)
You, who hold in grace and honour,
Hold as one who did you kindness
When he published former poems,
Sang Evangeline the noble,
Sang the golden Golden Legend,
Sang the songs the Voices utter,
Crying in the night and darkness,
Sang how unto the Red Planet

Mars he gave the Night's First Watches,
Henry Wadsworth, whose adnomen
(Coming awkward for the accents
Into this his latest rhythm)
Write we as Protracted Fellow,
Or in Latin, Longus Comes-
Buy the Song of Hiawatha.

Should you ask me, Is the poem
Worthy of its predecessors,
Worthy of the sweet conceptions
Of the manly, nervous diction
Of the phrase, concise or pliant,
Of the songs that sped the pulses,

Of the songs that gemmed the eyelash,
Of the other works of Henry?

I should answer, I should tell you,
You may wish that you may get it-
Don't you wish that you may get it?

The following is a list of the names of some famous advertisers of thirty years ago, taken from Hiawater, a parody contained in "The Shilling Book of Beauty," by Cuthbert Bede (J. Blackwood, 1853):

"Howlawaya, the quack doctor;

(By an admirer of Longfellow's "Evangeline," who sorrow fully sat through the six concerts.)

This is the music primeval. The festival singers from Bayreuth,

Solemn and stern, with their shirt fronts studded, and swallow-tailed garments,

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms,

Loud from its ligneous caverns, the deep-voiced neighbour. ing organ

Moans, and in accents disconsolate answers the orchestra wailing.

This is the music primeval, and when it is ended, Herr Wagner

Is called to the front, and is crowned with a wreath by the Madame Materna;

Then there is hugging and kissing and weeping with Wagner Wilhelmj,

And Richter, to whom is presented a bâton—brand new, silver-mounted;

But where are the beautiful maidens who solemnly sat in the boxes?

Where are the men-tawny swells-who talked of clubs, races. or billiards,

Silenced from time unto time by thunders and earthquakes orchestral ?

Empty are boxes and stalls, the occupants all have departed,
And the critic goes-glad to survive the music primeval of
Wagner.
Funny Folks.

Another parody of Evangeline, entitled Picnic