And wounded been a score of times?"
He answered, "Not at all."

"And did thy true love follow thee,
In page's garb disguised?
And when thou foundest it was she,
Say, wert thou not surprised?"

"No true love ever follow'd me
Thus garbed; or if she had,
At once, I ween, I must have seen
'Twas she, and not a lad."

"And did she, stricken by thy side

In thy embrace expire?" "Good gracious! no-who told you so? He must have been a liar."

"Or hadst thou woed some ladye fair,
And wast about to wed,

But saw or heard that she preferr'd
Another knight instead?

"And didst thou seek their trysting-place, And fiercely slay them both,

And there inter both him and her ?"
"I did'nt, on my oath !"

"Or did'st thou quarrel with a maid,
Who loved thee all the time,
And seek a hermitage's shade?
Far in a foreign clime;

"And did the maiden seek thee out,
Dress'd like a pilgrim-boy!

And, having found thee safe and sound,
Die, there and then, for joy?"

Fire flash'd from that Blue Brother's eye;
"Tis well," he cried,
"for you,
That I'm a Friar, else in mine ire
Some mischief might I do!

"Why should I tell to such as thou
The story of my youth?
My patience is exhausted now,
Denying each untruth.

"You're right, so far, if you suppose
I've seen some woes and cares,
But, mark you well, I never tell
To strangers my affairs."

The vesper-bell rang thro' the dell ;

Abrupt he sped away,

And not another syllable

Did to this minstrel say.

And tho' upon Maxwelton's braes

Since then I've often been,

I know not why, but never I

Have that Blue Brother seen.

Well used, I wot, were one and all
Within St. Fillan's Abbey-wall;

Even the cats were fed on cream-
Such was the custom of Pittenweem.

Another imitation of The Lay of the Last Minstrel was "The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle," a poem in Five Cantos (with notes in galore) supposed to be written by W. S., Esq., London, 1814. This parody was at first attributed to the pen of Washington Irving, but is now generally ascribed to his brother-in-law, James Kirke Paulding, a voluminous author, well-known on the other side of the Atlantic. The parody appears to have been first published in the United States, and then re-produced in London. The author, for the purpose of his burlesque, describes the unhappy war then raging between Great Britain and his own country, as predatory, and treats of the British officers as border chieftains and freebooters. Such poetical license, especially on the part of an avowed foe, seems quite excusable, yet the Editor of the English Edition, in his preface is very severe both on the poem and the notes which accompany it. These notes are voluminous, occupying nearly as many pages as the parody itself, and they are partly humorous and satirical, but principally descriptive of events alluded to in the poem, which had occurred during the war.

There were some imitations of Scott's Lay in Truth, January 18, 1877, and also in the Christmas number of Truth for 1877.

"A Lay to the Last Minstrel," inscribed to the memory of Sir Walter Scott, by Edward Churton (London, John Murray, 1874), is not, as one might suppose from the title, either an imitation, or a parody of Scott, It is merely an essay on his poetical genius, with some lines in his praise.

·:0:

MARMION.

This was the next poem published by Scott after The Lay. It contains several passages which have been singled out for frequent imitation, notably Lady Heron's Song, Lochinvar, and the well-known lines in Canto VI.:

"O WOMAN! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!"

VI.

The Abbot praised the Minstrel's skill,
And gave him siller-better still;
What wonder that such vagrant men,
Encouraged thus, should come agen?
For Fillan's heart was warm and large,
He never gave these folks in charge,
And tho' the bagpipe made him groan,
He let his torturer alone.

AN ENGLISH POET TO A SCOTCH CRITIC,

OH! SCOTSMAN ! in thine hour of ease
Uncanny, slow, and hard to please,—
And querulous in thy tirade

As shrewish wife or sour old maid

When too much "whusky" stings thy brow,
An unco' sarcy devil thou!

(Slightly!) altered from Scott (to Scot).

A GOOD WIFE.

"But, on the whole, Chloe is a good wife. If I have a cold she dresses me in linseed poultices, and doses me with all kinds of potions; and even in my suffering I can appreciate the poetic exclamation

"OH, WOMAN! in our hours of ease,
Impatient, coy, and hard to please :
As ineffectual as the shade

By a defective gingham made :
As difficult wherewith to deal

As any sly and cunning cel;

But, oh! when hoarseness grasps the thorax,
How nimble, thou, with soothing borax !

A DEDICATION.

O WOMAN! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
Yet, barring pins, how soft to squeeze !
Unequall'd too at making cheese-
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made;
And "very able," too thou jade,
In managing a shopping raid-

When pain and anguish wring the brow,
Well, one of two things then art thou:
That is, thou'rt either a born nurse;
Or else a nuisance, if not worse!
O Woman! too, in hours of woe,
Into hysterics apt to go:
When trouble levies its distraint,
How prompt art thou thereon to faint!
When danger's for the time supreme,
How ready art thou, too, to scream!
In fact, what hour of night or day
Is there when thou'rt not in the way?

From Finis, 1877.

10:

THE MANSION HOUSE MARMION.

[In 1883, when there was much talk of impending and very desirable reforms in the Government of the Metropolis, Lord Mayor Fowler gave a dinner to the City magnates. He then expressed his great surprise that Mr. Forster should have recommended him to become first Lord Mayor of the new Corporation. "Far from that," he asserted, "he would fight the new Bill, line by line and clause by clause ;" and he then proceeded to declaim to his vociferous fellow-citizens Marmion's speech to King James.]

THE City Carlton merrily

With wassail rung, and mirth and glee,
For Tory City-Fathers there
Feasted the Marquis and Lord Mayor.
The spread outshone all banquets past ;
The wine and wit flowed free and fast;
Till, 'midst approving sound,
The loyal toasts were drunk in turn;
And then, whilst civic hearts waxed stern,
The Loving-Cup went round.
And easy was the task, I trow,
The Marquis' manly form to know,
When, his great courtesy to show,
He drank with Fowler, bending low
To meet the goblet's brim ;

And City men who saw the sight,
Demonstrative in their delight,

Gave several cheers for him.

Ere long, uprising from his chair
To toast the City, Mr. Mayor

Stood, in his new-found fame ;
But for some moments could not speak-
His Tory heart swelled nigh to break-
And presently adown his cheek

A bitter tear there came.

Then memory did his wrath inspire,
Then burn'd his furrow'd face with fire,

And shook his very beard with ire,
As "This to me!" he cried.
"From Forster, too, a friend who knows
How I persistently oppose

Reforms on every side!

He little kens the thoughts that roll,
Like storm-clouds, through my haughty soul,
Or he would not declare

That I, a City Tory true,
Would of the Corporation new

Become the first Lord Mayor!"

Still on his cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age,
As he went on, "How dare he, then,

Thus beard the Lion in his den

The Fowler at Guildhall!

Or thinks he Harcourt can o'erthrow,
And lay our Corporation low?
No! by St. Margaret Pattens, No!
Up, Tories, then! What, Carden, ho!

For your stout aid I call."

Then Fowler turned and laughed, "Ha! ha!" Deep quaffed the bowl and shouted "Bah!

Let Harcourt know, if he dare try

The City Fathers to defy,

That London has its treasures great

Its funds invested, and its plate;

That turtle now is cheap as beef

(That Conger canard's past belief);
And that, ere his vile Bill be passed,
Those hoards of wealth we have amassed
Shall be entirely spent,

In Swords of Honour by the score;
In Golden Boxes, rained galore,
In Banquets gross as those of yore,
In jobs still grosser than before,
And greater in extent !

"That we will many a time persist
In opening a Subscription List,

Far-off distress to aid;

Whilst those who starve about our gate,
We'll leave to their unhappy fate,

And hunger unallayed.

Know, too, that ere from power we start,
We'll patronise again High Art,
And raise the Griffin's counterpart

To dominate the City;
That Billingsgate unmoved shall stay,
And block the fish-producing-way,
Spite what in Parliament they say,
Or argue in Committee."

"Know, too, that ere all London taste
This new reform, we oft will haste
Funds left in Charity to waste

In gorging and in guzzling ;

And we, as Aldermen, will mock
At justice still; and surely shock
Those who are bound to us to flock
For our decisions puzzling.

"Yes, know, ere Harcourt shall succeed,
Shall many a poor man die of need,
And thousands suffer for the greed

Of our smug Corporation;

And London for long years shall bear
Fresh burdens that we still may share
The plunder, and well bait the snare

With which we trap the nation,
Pretending that at our own cost
We've freed the lands the City'd lost,
With generous intent ;
Whereas it safely might be sworn
No penny from our hoard's been torn-
'Tis duties placed on coal and corn

That we've so freely spent!"

Again, 'midst vehement applause,
Did Fowler for a moment pause;
Then, facing round to his brave band,
And fiercely shaking his clenched hand,
He with a sip his voice restored,
And once again defiance poured:

"Let Harcourt, Firth, and all their crew," Cried he, their spiteful ends pursue,

I still am here, my friends, with you,
My opposition to renew ;

And ere that Bill shall pass,

Full many a brother shall secure
Knighthood by rank expenditure;
Full many a Scandal we'll commit;
Absorb full many a perquisite ;

Full many a well-known man we'll bribe
To join some Civic thievish tribe;
Full many a day reforms oppose;
Full many a time strike coward's blows;
And often to the nation show

How small we are, how rude, how low,
How stubborn, ignorant, and dense,
How totally devoid of sense,

And how intensely crass!"

Here Fowler ceased, and sat him down, While cheers from all sides came to crown

His spirited appeal;

Thrice went the Loving Cup around,
And thrice did fresh applause resound
As those brave City Tories found
Fresh impulse for their zeal !

Truth, November 29, 1883.

LOCHINVAR

This song, sang by Lady Heron, in Marmion, was partly founded on a ballad called "Katharine Janfarie," which may be found in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west !
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone!
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar !

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none-
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented!-the gallant came late!-
For, a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar !

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
'Mong bride's-men and kinsmen, and brothers, and all :
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword—
For the poor, craven bridegroom said never a word—
"O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?—
Or to dance at our bridal?-young Lord Lochinvar !”
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied :
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine!-
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !"
The bride kissed the goblet! The knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh-
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace!
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!"

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near-
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur !
They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan :
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea-
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?
WALTER SCOTT.

DEAR MR. NORTH,

Benet College, Cambridge, 1820.

We are rather flat here at present, but I enclose you a squiblet, which was written when Sir J. E. Smith, that knight of the gilly-flower, made his grand charge on our Botanical Chair.

LOCK-AND-BAR.

A Botany Bay Eclogue.

O GALLANT Sir James is come out of the North,
Through all that wild region his fame had gone forth;
Yet, save the Vice-Chancellor, friend he had none;
He came all unask'd, and he came all alone.
So daring in heart, and so dauntless in pith,
There ne'er was Professor like President Smith.
He staid not for frown, and he stopp'd not for groan;
He put in his clamour where claim he had none;
But e'er he arriv'd at a Lecturer's state,
The tutors conspir'd-and the lectures came late.
For a Churchman, God wot! and a botanist too,
Was to sit in the chair that Sir James had in view

In a rage, then, he stalk'd into College and Hall,
Among Bedmakers, Bachelors, Doctors, and all;
Then spoke Mr. Marsh in a civilish way,
(For some of the Tutors had little to say),
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dine with the Fellows, or-what come ye for?"

"I long wish'd to lecture, my suit you denied,

I know you'd have lik'd them, if once you had tried ;
And now am I come with this Pamphlet of mine,
To try a last measure-then leave you to pine;
There are students in London more civil by far,
That would gladly have welcom'd so brilliant a star."

Sir James shew'd his Pamphlet, and Monk read it through ;-
He gulp'd the hard bits, but he saw 'twoul'd not do ;
He look'd down to laugh, and pretended to sigh,
With a smile on his lip, and a sneer in his eye,
Then down comes the rogue with an "answer" forthwith.
"This is dealing hard measure!" says President Smith.

So stately the tone, and so lovely the print,

Even Freshmen conceiv'd there must something be in't.
While Socinians did fret, and Professors did clap,
And Webb tore the tassel that deck'd his new cap;
And Reviewers did whisper, "Twere better by far

To have match'd your brave knight in some gooseberry war."
A hint such as this had just rung in his ear,

When he reach'd the stage-coach, and the coachman stood near ;

So light to the box that tight coachman he sprung,
So snugly the reins o'er the dickey were flung-
We are off! we are off! over bank and o'er hill,
"Your pamphlet may follow," cried James, "if it will."

There is quizzing 'mong wags of the Trinity clan ;
King's, Queen's-men, and Johnians, they all laugh that can,
There is joking and smoking in Norwich citiè,
But the lost Knight of Botany ne'er do we see,
-So daring in heart, and so dauntless in pith:
Was there e'er such a callant as President Smith.

This Parody appeared in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine for November, 1820. Many other excellent parodies and imitations are to be found in the early volumes of Blackwood, (which first appeared in April, 1817) but unfortunately most of them are quite out of date, and would be of little, or no interest to the modern reader.

SONGS OF THE RAIL.

O YOUNG WILLIAM JONES is come out of the West,
Of all the bright engines, his engine's the best!
And save his grim stoker, he helper had none,
He drove all unhelp'd, and he drove all alone,

So dauntless he rush'd midst his engine's loud moans;

Did you e'er hear of driver like young WILLIAM JONES?

He stopp'd not for water, he stopp'd not for coke,

And he skimm'd o'er the streams render'd black by his smoke ;

But when at the station he slacken'd his rate,

The up-train had started, the down-train came late ;
And a laggard in travel, a luggage-train guard,
Was to wed the fair POLLY of JONES's regard.

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like a steam-valve, and bursts when it's tied;
And now I am come, with my lost POLLY B.

To walk once the platform, drink one cup of tea:
There are maidens who'd gladly give body and bones,
To jump at the tender of young WILLIAM JONES."
The bride stirred the Congou, the spoon took it up,
He quaff'd off the tea, and he put down the cup;
She stoop'd on the pavement her sandal to tie,
And she show'd her neat foot with a tear in her eye:
He took her soft hand, ere her mother said nay;
"Now walk on the platform," said young WILLIAM J.

So stately his form, and so beauteous her face,
That never a plank such a couple did grace;
While the stoker did fret, and the engine did fume,
And the station-clerk wink'd in his little back-room,
And the navvys all whisper'd, "Ay, BILL, what d'ye say?
They'd make a neat couple, that gal and young J."

One touch of her hand, and one word in her ear,
And they open'd a carriage that by them stood near ;
So light o'er the cushions the fair lady sprung-
So light the policeman the bright brass bell rung-
"She is won! we are off! there's no train in the way,
And the next does not stop here" said young WILLIAM J.
There was laughing and roaring with every man ;
They laugh'd and they roar'd till their eyes briny ran:
They must get a new maiden to hand out the tea,
For the fair MRS. JONES there they never will see;
And each one that knows her will laughingly say,
"That's a deucid 'cute fellow, that young WILLIAM J. !"
Punch, January 22, 1848.

THE RUSSIAN LOCHINVAR,

[The first encounter in the Crimean War took place at Oltenitza, on November 4, 1854, when the Russians were defeated. A few days later the Turks retired to Kalafat where they kept the Russians in check for some time.]

THE big-booted Czar had his eye on the East,
For treaties and truces he cares not the least,
And save his good pleasure he conscience hath none,
He talks like the Vandal and acts like the Hun.
So faithless in peace, and so ruthless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of King like the big-booted Czar?

He stayed not for speech, but with sabre and gun,
He rushed into Turkey, though cause there was none;
But when he got near to the old Iron Gate,
He found certain reasons which urged him to wait.
For down by the Danube stood Omar Pasha,
Prepared to encounter our big-booted Czar,

So he drew up his legions-serf, vassal and thrall,
His footmen, and horsemen, and cannons, and all,
Then out spake bold Omar, his hand on his sword,
In an attitude fitting an Ottoman Lord,
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to see St. Sophia, you big-booted Czar?"

"I've long asked your homage, my suit you denied,
And my holy religion you've scorned and decried,
So now I've come down with this army of mine,
The rights and the wrongs of the case to define,
And you have not a chance, for the Musselman star
Must pale when it looks on the flag of the Czar."

He flung down his challenge, the Turk took it up
(Remarking on slips 'twixt the lip and the cup),"

And deigned to his logic the briefest reply,
"That the claim was unjust, and its proof was a lie,"
And he brought up some thousands of swords as a bar
To further advance by the big-booted Czar.

So before Oltenitza the battle took place,

And the Russian thought proper to right about face,
For the guns of Stamboul had a menacing boom,
And a bombshell sent flying the Dannenburg plume,
And the Cossacks all grumbled, "Twere better by far
To eat tallow at home than dine out with the Czar",

One hint would not do, nor one word in his ear,
The despot commands, and his men persevere-
So again to the breezes their standards are flung,
And Kalafat echoes the war-trumpet tongue,
And the Ottoman, charging, has scattered afar
The ill-fated troops of the big-booted Czar.

There was wild disarray in the rear and the van,
The Moslem they rode, and the Cossacks they ran.
There was racing and chasing-'twas pleasing to see
The Russ as well beat as a Russian can be.
May this, and much worse, be all fortune of war
That awaits the old pirate, the big-booted Czar.
SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1854.

THE PRINCE OF WALES'S RIDE.

(à la Lochinvar.)

The Prince of Wales was present at the autumn manoeuvres in 1871, and the Times gave the following account of a part he took in a sham fight: :

"A party of the dashing 10th Hussars had pushed on too far up the hill, and were captured by our cavalry, and given in as killed by an umpire. They were standing-dead men all-on the ridge, when the Prince and his staff rode up the hill-side, and made towards three of STAVELEY'S guns. In a few seconds His Royal Highness had discovered whose the guns were, and galloped up to the troop of the 10th, who were prisoners (but he did not know it), placed himself at their head, and ordered them to charge the guns. The gunners, perceiving this manoeuvre, with great smartness, but little loyalty, put four rounds into the Prince and his Hussars before they were ridden down. The Prince claimed the battery, and an umpire was sent for. Sir H. GRANT, Sir C. STAVELEY, and others came, and the Prince and his party were given in as prisoners; but when Sir CHARLES claimed them, the Prince laughed and galloped off. Then was seen the Heir Apparent, flying before a general of division and his staff, who kept up the pursuit with a will, to loud cries of 'Stop him! "Don't let him go!" Seize the Prince ! One of Sir CHARLES's aides-de-camp got so close that he could have laid his hand on the Prince's shoulder, but neither for big guns, nor small arms, nor shouts would the Prince draw bridle, and he got clear away, and vanished into the woods below the hill,"

66

IT was ALBERT OF WALES and his troop of Hussars,
Who took horse one fine day to go off to the wars ;
And their trappings were brilliant, their sabres were bright,
As they rode to the Sham (for it was a sham) Fight.
"And if any would take the wind out of our sails,
They must look sharp about it !” says ALBERT OF WALES.
"It is rather slow work, this," then ALBERT said he.
"And to stand and do nothing will hardly suit me.
At the side of yon hill, where those clouds of smoke hang,
Are the enemy's cannon-hark! there they go-BANG!
Let us try to surprise them-a rush seldom fails :
Balaclava the Second!" shouts ALBERT OF WALES.

',

"You are captured, each man Jack !" says he with a laugh.-
"I beg pardon, your Highness, it's you and your staff.
"Oh dear, no!"-"Yes, yes, really," the umpire submits,
"As your Highness's men would be knocked all to bits,
You must yield yourselves up—no resistance avails.”-
"Don't you wish you may get it?" says ALBERT OF WALES.

With a jerk at his rein, and a stroke of his whip,
Then the Prince turns his charger, and gives them the slip.
"You have not got me yet," says he: "follow who may,
He must gallop who's going to take me to-day !

You'll excuse my not stopping to talk of details-
I am off in a hurry!" says ALBERT OF WALES.

Then in haste follows STAVELEY, aud off gallops GRANT :
"Hallo there!"-" Hold him, now!"-"Oh, I'll stop
him!"-" You can't !"

Down the Hill the Prince goes, seeming little to reck
That the Heir to the Throne can break only one neck.
"It's at this sort of speed that they carry the mails;
Let who can overtake me!" cries ALBERT OF WALES.
Judy, October 11, 1871.

But ere he alighted at Westminster Gate,

The House was well-filled, though the doctor came late; For the night's blushing honours were shared, and at par, 'Twixt JOHN MITCHEL and him, this late Light of the Bar.

So boldly he entered the High Commons' hall,
Among Whigs, Rads, Conservatives, alien all,
While calm, cold, and cutting, the SPEAKER was heard,
Through the silence, unbroken by cheer or by word,
"In breach of the House-Standing-Order you are,
Without introducers thus passing our Bar!

'I stuck to the Claimant: his claims were denied:
Bench might beard me and Bar; Bar and Bench I defied!
And now I am come, with this lost cause of mire,
Like CROMWELL, to bid hence that bauble' of thine:
Learn how wide-spread my fame, whom the much-wronged
Gaikwâr

Had retained,† had there not been that sinister Bar."

The late Dr. E. V. Kenealy, M.P., for Stoke-upon-Trent, and counsel for the Claimant in the famous Tichborne case.

So says the Englishman. It is true the Gaikwar's agents in this country deny the assertion point-blank, but that is nothing in the Doctor's way.