The herald's coat, that hung behind the door : The clothes-their different duties made to pay, To deck the stage by night, the street by day; The pictures slyly drawn on Hogarth's plan, Garrick i' the lanthorn-Quin in the sedan ; The toilet stocked to decorate the play,

Paint, Indian ink, burnt cork, and whiting gay; While on the clothes-pins rang'd in gaudy show, Robes deck'd with foil-stones, glittered in a row.

Vain transitory splendours could not all Reprieve the mimic monarch from his fall. Obscure he sinks, forgot his worth and name, For Sheridan forbids the smallest fame ; To paltry players, no more shall he impart An hour's delight to the convivial heart : Thither no more shall witty lords repair, To sweet oblivion of the senate's care! No more the anecdote, the luscious tale, The mirth-inspiring good-thing shall prevail; No more the fop his cobweb'd sconce shall cheer, Padlock his flippant tongue, and learn to hear; Fat Quin himself no longer shall be found, Careful to see the chuckling fun go round; Nor the young actress, anxious to be tried, Shall blush to speak a smutty speech aside.

There was another Poem written in imitation of The Deserted Village entitled "The Frequented Village, a Poem dedicated to Oliver Goldsmith," by E. Young, L.L.D. (J. Godwin). Unfortunately there does not appear to be any copy of this Poem in the Library of the British Museum.

Oliver Goldsmith, died on April 4th, 1774, and within a few days of his death a poem, written by Courtney Melmoth, was published by T. Beckett, in the Strand. "The Tears of Genius," as the Poem was called, was dedicated to Sir Joshua Reynolds; part being written in imitation of the style of The Deserted Village, whilst another part, deploring the death of the poet Gray, was written in imitation of his Elegy in a Country Churchyard. There were also allusions to several other minor Poets but the whole effusion lacks interest.

And sacrifice her to the workman's tool.
But my worn soul now deems it for the best
At Kensington to see my fellows blest.

JAMES E. THOMPSON.

From Pauline, the Magazine of St. Paul's School, in the City of London, October, 1885.

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THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD is probably, of all English stories, the one which has been most widely read, (perhaps only excepting Robinson Crusoe), and has taken most thoroughly hold of the hearts of English speaking people. It was first printed at Salisbury, by Collins, and was issued by Francis Newberry, in 2 vols., in March 1766. A dainty facsimile of this original Edition has recently been published by Mr. Elliot Stock.

ter.

A dramatic version of The Vicar of Wakefield, by W. G. Wills, entitled Olivia, has for some time past been attracting large audiences to the Lyceum Theatre, to see Henry Irving and Miss Ellen Terry in the parts of the Vicar and his daughThe success of Olivia tempted the inevitable travestie, and on Saturday, August 8, 1885, "The Vicar of Wide-a-Wakefield, or the Miss-Terry-ous Uncle." a Respectful Burlesque Perversion by H. P. Stephens and W. Yardley, was produced at the Gaiety Theatre. The burlesque had but little humour, or literary merit, and although Mr. Arthur Roberts's imitation of Henry Irving as Dr. Primrose was at times quaint and amusing, the entire success of the production was due to the extraordinary caricature of Miss Ellen Terry given by Miss Laura Linden, who has a perfect genius for such mimicry. Not only in voice, but in gestures, movements, and delivery, the resemblance was striking, and wonderfully sustained throughout the piece, with only just sufficient exaggeration to produce the intended effect of caricature. The plan of the authors of the burlesque consists in making the virtuous persons of the original appear to be more or less villainous and unprincipled, while the villain of the original is made out to be the only pure-minded and moral individual in the piece. For instance, the Vicar is a terrible old scoundrel, who only pretends to have lost all his money, who knows that Mr. Burchell is the baronet in disguise, and who schemes to get his daughters and son married, and performs the nuptials himself, under different disguises, so as as to pocket the fees. Burchell is another villain, having unlawfully possessed himself of his nephew's titles and estates. Olivia is a very forward minx,who tells the virtuous Squire Thornhill all about the pleasures of London, especially the gay and giddy Inventories, and who begs and induces him to run away with her. Even Sophia is cunning enough to discover Burchell's

In The Retaliation Goldsmith treated David Garrick with some severity, and the cause may perhaps be found in some lines written by Garrick, descriptive of the curious character of Goldsmith, and therefore forming a fitting conclusion to this Collection of Parodies of his works:

JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE,

HERE, Hermes says Jove, who with Nectar was mellow,
Go, fetch me some clay-I will make an odd fellow :
Right and wrong shall be jumbled,-much gold and some
dross :

Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross;
Be sure, as I work to throw in contradictions,

A great love of truth, yet, a mind turned to fictions;
Now mix these ingredients, which warm'd in the baking,
Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking.
With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste;
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste;
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail,

Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail;
For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it,
This Scholar, Rake, Christian, Dupe, Gamester, and Poet;
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals-be GOLDSMITH his name ;
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
You-Hermes-shall fetch him-to make us sport here.

AVING already given Parodies of several of the most celebrated English, Irish, and American Poets, it is advisable toturn now to Scotland for an Author, and although, perhaps, the genius and writings of Campbell were not very distinctly Scotch, most of his poems have achieved world-wide fame, and have consequently been very frequently parodied.

Thomas Campbell was born and educated in Glasgow, where he achieved remarkable success in his studies; after travelling some time upon

the Continent, he came to London, married, and went to reside at Sydenham. His writings soon attracted considerable attention, he was appointed Professor of Poetry to the Royal Institution, and became Editor of the New Monthly Magazine, to which he contributed many interesting articles. But an Act of Parliament should be passed to prchibit men of genius from acting as Editors, the work and worry kill them, and the duties leave no time for original compositions. It is, therefore, not surprising that Campbell was not a prolific poet, and Washington Irving relates that he once

expressed his regret to Mrs. Campbell that her "It is unforhusband did not write more verse.

tunate," she replied, "that he lives in the same age with Scott and Byron who write so much, and so rapidly. He is apt to undervalue his own works, and to consider his little light put out, whenever they come blazing out with their great torches." Irving subsequently repeated this to the great Sir Walter, who, with his usual kindness, and good humour, replied, "How can Campbell mistake the matter so much? Poetry goes by quality, not by bulk. My poems are mere cairngorms, wrought up, perhaps, with a cunning hand, but they are mere Scotch pebbles, after all; now Tom Campbell's are real diamonds, and diamonds of the first water."

Of the diamonds" produced by Campbell, some of the most popular are Lochiel's Warning, Hohenlinden, the Soldier's Dream, Lord Ullin's Daughter, and The Exile of Erin, but no one of his poems has been so often parodied as his famous naval ode "Ye Mariners of England."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,
When oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
His wrath was chang'd to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade
His child he did discover :-

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back, come back!" he cried in grief, Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-Oh my daughter!"' 'Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing

:

:

The waters wild went o'er his childAnd he was left lamenting.

THOMAS CAmpbell.

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry.'

"Now who be ye, would cross Lockgyle,
This dark and stormy water?"
"Oh, I'm the Chief of Ulva's Isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter."
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the Glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride!
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight
"I'll go, my chief-I'm ready :-
It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady:
And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heav'n each face
Grew dark as they were speaking,
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,

Though tempests round us gather;

I'll meet the raging of the skies:
But not an angry father."

SIR ROBERT'S BILL.*

SIR Robert, to the Commons bound,
Cries, "Cobden, do not tarry,

And I'll gie ye 'Repeal' all round,
If now my bill you'll carry!"'
"And who be you would pass 'Repeal'
My own peculiar treasure?"
"Oh! I'm the man, ye ken full weel,

That does just what's my pleasure.

And fast before the farmers' friends,
I've fled in your direction-
And, should they gain their private ends,
My bill would meet rejection!"
"George Bentinck follows fast along,
From him great harm I feel, Sir,
And, should he prove so very strong,
Oh! who could rescue Peel, Sir?"
Out spoke the hardy Leaguer, then-
"I'll help ye, Peel, I'm ready-

It is not for yourself, ye ken,
But for the League so seedy!

"And, by my word, the Cotton Lords
In danger shall not tarry—

And, tho' the farmers whet their swords,
Your measure I will carry!"

"Then haste ye, haste, and no more words,
Nor wait till it be calmer-

I'll meet the raging of the Lords,

But not an angry farmer!"
The stormy Council Peel has left,
A stormy House before him-
And see, the Tories, all a drift,
Have soon begun to bore him.
Yet still he waged the wordy war,
With foemen justly railing-

Lord Stanley ventured to the "Bar,"
From wrath he turned to wailing.

* In 1846, Sir Robert Peel carried the Repeal of the Corn Laws, in the face of much conservative and protectionist opposition.

For on that night in dismal plight,

Sir Peel he saw to sob then-
One hand out-stretched for aid to Bright,
And one was round his Cobden !

"Go hence, go hence, "he cried in grief,
Across the stormy lobby,
We'll ne'er forgive our turn-coat chief,
Sir Bobby, Oh! Sir Bobby!"
'Twas true-the turn-coats vainly rave,
Protection's friends preventing,

The Tories brave kick'd out the knave,
And he was left repenting.

From Protectionist Parodies, by "A Tory."
Oxford, J. Vincent, 1850.

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JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHter. A FELLOW near Kentucky's cline, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry, And I'll give thee a silver dime To row us o'er the ferry."

Now, who would cross the Ohio,
This dark and stormy water?"
"O, I am this young lady's beau,

And she, John Thompson's daughter.
"We've fled before her fathers' spite
With great precipitation,
And should he find us here to-night,
I'd lose my reputation.

They've missed the girl and purse beside,
His horsemen hard have pressed me,
And who will cheer my bonny bride,
If yet they shall arrest me?
Out spoke the boatman then in time,
"You shall not fail, don't fear it ;
I'll go, not for your silver dime,
But for your manly spirit.

And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry ;

For though a storm is coming on,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the wind more fiercely rose,
The boat was at the landing,

And with the drenching rain their clothes
Grew wet where they were standing,

But still, as wilder rose the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Just back a piece came the police,
Their tramping sounded nearer.

"O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
It's anything but funny;
I'll leave the light of loving eyes,
But not my Father's money !"
And still they hurried in the face
Of wind and rain unsparing;

John Thompson reached the landing place,
His wrath was turned to swearing.
For by the lightning's angry flash,
His child he did discover;
One lovely hand held all the cash,
And one was round her lover!
Come back, come back," he cried in woe.
Across the stormy water,
"But leave the purse, and you may go,
My daughter, Oh! my daughter!"

'Oh! sparkle up," poor Polly said,

"Though the veather be ever so cold, man, I'd rather meet a vatery bed

Than meet my angry old man."

The boat has left the Thames' famed shore,
They pulled away, ahoy! sir,

Ven oh! too strong for his weak hand,
They run against a buoy, sir.

My eyes! how the wild waves did roar,
Poor Bill thought Poll vos dying,
Black Joe, he reached the fatal shore,
Ven he begun a-crying.

For ven towards the wreck he look'd
His child he did discover.

Von mutton fist in her hair was hook'd
Tother vos round her lover.

"Come back, come back!" he cried, "to me,"

"Come back, vot are you arter,

And I'll forgive you, Billy Downey,
My daughter! oh, my daughter."

But a wave came vot upset the boat
In the vater they vos drivelling.
Joe viped his eye vith the tail of his coat,
And he began a snivelling!

ANONYMOUS.

THE NEW LORD ULLIN'S Daughter.

46

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, Boatman, do not tarry ;
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."
The boatman did not even smile,
But looked across the water;

He kenned the Chief of Ulva's Isle,

And eke Lord Ullin's daughter.

"Oh, haste thee !-haste!" the lady cried, "This youth and I, eloping,

Would cross at once to t'other side,

So aid us in cur sloping!"

The boatman budged no inch, and then
The clue Lord U. discovers;
And down the glen ride armed men.
And catch the brace of lovers.
"Curst boatman; " shouted Ulva's chief,

ye

16 If I were free I'd show 19 "We'd rather dee on Loch Maree Than on the Sawbath row ye!"

Funny Folks, July 13, 1878.

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HOHENLINDEN.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight.
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd.

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shock the hills with thunder riv'n
Then rush'd the steeds to battle driv'n,
And louder than the bolts of Heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,

Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The combat deepens, on ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few, shall part where many meet !
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet,

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !
THOMAS CAMPBELL.

The Battle of Hohenlinden was fought on December 3, 1800, when the French, under General Moreau gained a victory over the Austrians. Campbell witnessed the battle from the monastery of St. Jacob, it is therefore somewhat surprising that his poem should, in its details,

be so completely at variance with the reality of history. The Colonel of the Sixteenth Lancers, in describing the battle said that the "victory was obtained almost without an effort of the General, or any very great bravery on the part of his troops." Some of the poetical allusions, as for instance "the black Iser," "bannered Munich," and the night scene were altogether imaginary, and nothing can be called true but the beautiful stanza that concludes the Ode. Whilst a writer in Notes and Queries" suggested that even this stanza was poetically faulty, and proposed it should be altered to:

"

"And every sod beneath their feet Shall bear a soldier's Elegy."

BANNOCKBURN.

(An imitation of Hohenlinden.)

NEAR Stirling's tower, by Fortha's wave
The rising sun its radiance gave,
Upon the armour of the brave

That burned for battle brilliantly.
And Scotland by that soaring sun
Beheld her brightest day begun-
Her greenest wreath of glory won

By deeds of dauntless bravery.
On Bannockburn's camp covered field
The men of war were met to wield,
With hostile hand, the sword and shield,
For conquest or for liberty!
How gaily glanced that field before
Began the battle's rage and roar !
That reddened with the reeking gore

As raved the dreadful revelry.

The wild war-yell rose hoarse and high,
St. George! for Edward was the cry,
And Scotland's shout shook earth and sky,
St Andrew! Bruce! and liberty!
Then closed the conflict deep and dread!
Then strained the bow and struck the blade,
Its dirge of death the trumpet brayed,
As thinn'd the ranks of rivalry!
What feelings fired each hero's heart,
For conquest or a country's part,
As from each eye the flash did dart,
That spoke the spirits enmity:

But fast the Southrons fell and fled
Where Bruce-brave Bruce! his patriots led,
And Scotland's lion rampant-red

Pranced proudly on to victory!

And may each land, as Scotland, scorn
The tyrant's threat-his thraldom spurn
With such success as Bannockburn
Of dear and deathless memory!
ARCHIE ALIQUIS.

From The Scrap-book of Literary Varieties. Printed by
Edward Lacey, 1825.

THE BATTLE OF PEAS HILL. "The following effusion was penned the day after the memorable 13th of November, 1820, which must be a day of pleasant recollection to all CANTABS, as long as there shall be a SNOB or Radical amongst them, or a fist to bate them with. This is the only Matriculation Day which is registered in letters of blood in the archives of the Vice