In 1822 a volume of Poems was published by Hurst, Robinson and Co., of London, and in Edinburgh by Archibald Constable and Co., entitled "THE BRIDAL OF CAÖLCHAIRN, and other Poems, by Sir Walter Scott, Bart."

In the same year another edition was published by T. Hookham, Old Bond Street, London, on the title-page of which the work was said to be "by John Hay Allan, Esq." The volume was dedicated to the Duke of Argyle, it had no preface, nor any explanation of the author's impudent attempt to pass off his work upon the public as that of Sir Walter Scott.

The poems are of a serious nature, and would not have been mentioned here, had it not been for the hoax as to their authorship.

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Rejected Odes, edited by Humphrey Hedgehog, Esq. (London, J. Johnston, 1813), contains an imitation of Scott's poetry, but it is not worth quoting.

When George IV, visited Scotland in August, 1822, Scott wrote an imitation of an old Jacobite ditty, Carle, now the King's come, it was in two parts, and was published as a broadside. This was parodied, under the title of Sawney, now the King's come, of which it is very difficult now to obtain a copy.

In the third volume of the works of the late Thomas Love Peacock (London, R. Bentley and Son, 1875) there is a Border Ballad written in imitation of Sir Walter Scott.

This was one of the "Paper Money Lyrics" which were written by Peacock in 1825, and published in 1837, it has little to interest modern readers.

Several other Parodies of Scott have appeared in Punch, in addition to those here reprinted. One, entitled The Battle of Wimbledon, which appeared on July 19, 1862, consists principally of an enumeration of the most famous shots amongst the Volunteers of the day. Another, The Nile Song, June 6, 1863, in imitation of "Hail to the Chief," celebrates the announcement made by Sir R. Murchison, at the Royal Geographical Society that Messrs. Speke and Grant had discovered the sources of the Nile.

A few other Parodies of detached passages of Scott's poems are to be found in the early numbers of Blackwood's Magazine, some of which were written by Professor Wilson (Christopher North.)

Many of Scott's novels have been dramatised, and also burlesqued, these will be enumerated when dealing with his prose works. It may here be mentioned, however, that a burlesque of Kenilworth, written by R. Reece and H. B. Farnie is now being performed at the Avenue Theatre, London.

SMOKING'S QUITE REGULAR.

"When pigs run wild about the streets, with straw in their mouths, it is a sign of rain."—Old Saying.

SMOKE! Smoke! Arcade and College-green,
Light your cigars, for smoking's quite regular.
Smoke! smoke! shop boys and chimney sweeps;
Smoking's the fashion from gemman to higgler.

Blow blow! smokers and pugilists;

Let there be piping and blowing no matter how.
Blow blow! zephyrs and organists,

Piping and blowing there's nothing else thought of now.

Puff! puff! that's doing what is right.

Puff till you've blinded his majesty's lieges,

Puff! puff! bakers and pastry-cooks,
Bacca-pipe odour each nostril besieges.

Spit spit all who love bacca smoke,
For it produces great expectoration;
Spit! spit! smokers and cook wenches,
Let there be spitting without a cessation.

Pipe! pipe! pipers and naughty brats ;
Here end my verse, my muse she is rather hoarse,
Quid quid what do you think of it?

Excellent metre ! I know you all cry of course.

From WISEHEART'S NEW COMIC SONGSTER, Dublin (about 1832, when smoking was first becoming prevalent).

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"OH, WHERE, AND OH WHERE."

(Written by Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, "On the Marquis of Huntly's departure for the Continent with his Regiment in 1799.")

On where, tell me where, is your Highland Laddie gone? He's gone with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done,

And my sad heart will tremble, till he come safely home.
Oh where, tell me where, did your Highland Laddie stay?
He dwelt beneath the holly-trees, beside the rapid Spey,
And many a blessing followed him, the day he went away.
Oh what, tell me what, does your Highland Laddie wear?
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across his manly breast, that yet shall wear a star.
Suppose, ah suppose that some cruel cruel wound

Should pierce your Highland Laddie, and all your hopes confound!

The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly,

The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye!

But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonny bounds, His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike name resounds.

PUNCH'S SERENADE.

OH where, and oh where, is my Harry Brougham gone?— He's gone to see the French, and Philippe upon his throne, And it's oh! in my heart, I wish him safe at home.

Oh where, and oh where, does my Harry Brougham dwell?— He dwells at Cannes in bonny France, and likes it very well; But recollect 'tis not the Cann's where gravy soup they sell.

In what clothes, in what clothes, is your Harry Brougham clad?

His hunting coat's of velvet green, his trowsers are of plaid; And it's oh! in my heart, he can't look very bad.

Suppose, and suppose, that your Harry Brougham should die!

Dog Toby would weep over him, and Punch himself would cry:

But it's oh! in our hearts, that we hope he will not die.
Punch, October 1846.

Lord Brougham went to his château at Cannes.-Passing through Paris, he, as usual, paid his respects to Louis Philippe. Life of Lord Brougham.

SONG OF THE SLIGHTED SUITOR.

OH where, and oh where, has my learned counsel gone?
He's gone to the Queen's Bench, where a case is coming on,
And it's oh! in my heart, that I wish my case his own.
What fee, and what fee did your learned counsel clutch?
Five guineas on his brief he did not think too much ;-
And it's oh! if he's a barrister, I wish he'd act as such.
In what court, in what court is your learned counsel found?
I cannot catch him anywhere, of all he goes the round ;—
And it's oh! in my heart, that to one I wish him bound.
What excuse, what excuse can your learned counsel make?
None at all, none at all, but his head he'll gravely shake,
And it's oh! in my heart, that the fee he's sure to take.
Punch, 1848,

THE GREAT KILT REFORM.

OH where, and oh where, is your Highland Laddie gone? Oh, he's gone into the hospital, with pains in every bone; And it's oh! in my heart, that I wish he'd breeks put on ! What clothes, oh what clothes, did your Highland Laddie wear?

Oh, his shoulders were well covered, but his legs were left all bare ;

And it's oh! how that part must have felt the wintry air!

Oh why, and oh why, was your Highland Lad not dress'd? Oh, some people say with half his clothes the Highlander looks best;

But it's oh! in my heart, that I wish he'd wear the rest!

Suppose that his dress, now your Highland lad reform, Oh, I think 'twould be more decent, and I know 'twould be more warm;

And it's oh! in my heart, that I hope he will reform.

Suppose and suppose that they make your Highland lad Wear decent coat and trowsers, 'stead of kilt and tartan plaid? Then it's oh! in my heart, but just should'nt I be glad!

Suppose and suppose that they keep the costume old; Oh! this winter's so severe, I'm sure he'll catch his death of cold;

And it's oh! bless my heart! how my Laddie would be sold!

Diogenes, p 22, Vol. 3, 1854.

WANDERING Willie.

OH where, and oh where, has our Wand'ring Willie gone?
He's gone to fight in Scotland for Radicals forlorn,
And it's oh, Greenwich town is left alone to mourn.

Oh where, and oh where, has our Wand'ring Willie been?
He's been down into Scotland to sweep the Tories clean,
And it's oh, what on earth does our Wand'ring Willie
mean?

Oh why, and oh why, did our Wand'ring Willie roam So far from Greenwich Hospital, so far from Oxford's dome?

For he knows in his heart he had better stop at home.

In what way, in what way, was our Wand'ring Will addressed?

As if he of all statesmen was wisest, truest, best,
And it's oh, he must feel this was but a sorry jest.

Oh what, and oh what, does our Wand'ring Willie need?
'Tis hoping to get office he's gone across the Tweed;
But it is oh, in my heart I hope he won't succeed.

And oh how, and oh how, would our Wand'ring Willie act If by his will the Government were out of office packed? And it's oh, he don't know, and oh, that's a solemn fact.

Judy, December 31, 1879.

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BONNIE DUNDEE; OR, THE STRIKE IN THE KITCHEN. (Another strike is announced, the malcontents being on this occasion gentlemen's servants. A crowded meeting of butlers, coachmen, footmen, gardeners, and stablemen was held at Leamington; the butler of Leamington College being in the chair. The demands were for shorter hours and increased pay; while the separation of married couples was deprecated as conducive to immorality. Cheers were given at the conclusion of the meeting for The Maids of Dundee."-Daily Paper, April 30th, 1872.)

To the gents of the pantry 'twas Yellow-plush spoke,
"This gentleman's-gentleman's life is no joke;
And so, fellow-servants, I votes as how we
Go ahead with the maidens of bonnie Dundee.
For, be it a maid, or be it a man,

Our rule is, Do nothing and get all you can.
To compass that object no method I see
Like that of the maidens of bonnie Dundee.

"'Tis true that their meeting all ended in smoke,
What can you expect, though, from weak women-folk?
But that which we like is the pluck-the esprit-
Displayed by the maidens of Bonnie Dundee.

So go out on strike, gents, that is your plan;
Of course our arrangements are quite spick and span.
And all our manoeuvres more perfect you'll see
Than the foolish flare up of the maids of Dundee.

"What may not result from this union of schemes,
If only Jemima is aided by Jeames?

We'll soon be installed in the salon, you know,
With masters and missises all down below.

So go in for union' each Benedict man.
No longer on Hymen let caste lay its ban.
While every Lothario provided shall be

With a mate from the maidens of bonnie Dundee.

"Then come from the pantry, the kitchen, the hall,
From footman gigantic to buttons the small,
And follow your leaders the butlers, as we
Condescend to be led by the girls of Dundee.

Quick! down with the master, and up with the man,
Since that nowadays is society's plan.

You'll each one deserve a poor curate to be

If you don't join your lots with the maids of Dundee." The Hornet, May 8, 1872.

THE MAIDENS OF BONNIe Dundee.

("The Dundee servant maids have quarrelled with the reporters, whom they charge with having made their meetings ridiculous. They refused to have their last meeting reported.")

AND did they its meeting turn into a joke,
And fun journalistic presume for to poke?
Could anyone aught that's ridiculous see

In the "platform" assumed by the maids of Dundee?
O be it a maid, or be it a man,

Let each be placed rigidly under the ban.
And henceforth resolve no reports there shall be
Of the talk of the Maidens of Bonnie Dundee.

Dare we hope, as result of this last little game,
The Lords and the Commons will soon do the same?
How much more inviting the papers would be,
If the House followed suit to the Maids of Dundee.
For be it in earnest, or be it in joke,

A deal of the talkee-talk does end in smoke.
Of course the reports are in fault, as in re
The counsels astute of the Maids of Dundee.

Should St. Stephen's be wise, and this maxim adopt,
Every sort of reporting we soon might have stopped.
No longer that twaddling bosh should we see,
"The Toast of the Evening "-all thanks to Dundee
Then go on and prosper, each striking young maid,
You are sweet as the taste of your own marmalade.
From henceforth we'll hope no memorial to see
Of the doings of maidens in Bonnie Dundee.
The Hornet, June 19, 1872.

Now the Stone is erected, objectors are beat,
And the Civic wags laugh at the block in the Fleet,
While Truscott, the joker, cries, "Well, as you see,
'Tis a noble memorial of humour and Me!"

So crash goes the hansom, and smash goes the van,
There's a mingling together of horse, wheel, and man,
Just over the spot where the Bar used to be
They triumphantly cry, "Calipash! Calipee!"

There are fools in the East as in West, South, or North,
But there yet may be time ere the edict go forth,
Since there are sober men who the reason can't see
For obstructing the Fleet where the Bar used to be,
Come, put up the trowels, and leave well alone;

Come, abandon the scheme, and have done with the Stone !
For if once set up, 'twould a laughing-stock be,
To be fitly inscribed "Calipash! Calipee!

Punch, September 18, 1880.

The Temple Bar memorial, erected in the centre of a narrow and very busy thoroughfare, cost London over £12,coo. So great was the annoyance it caused, both on account of its obstruction and its ugliness, that two policemen were placed to guard it night and day, yet, in spite of their watchfulness, the carvings were smashed wherever they could be reached. The grotesque Griffin which surmounts the memorial is still the laughing stock of every passer-by.

J. C. he is started, he puffs through the land;
The Whigs they sink backward, dismayed at his "hand;"
But the Leader, douce man, says "Just e'en let him be,
For the party must stick to that deil o' J. C."

"Come fill up," &c.

There are games beyond Gladstone, and fields beyond Forth ; If there's farms in the Southland, there's crofts in the North; There are braw whiskey-drinkers, three thousand times three, Who'll " go blind on the system of jawing J. C. "Come fill up," &c, .

"Then away to the garrets, the cellars, and slums—
Ere I own to a leader, I'll funk like my chums.
So tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
Ye have nae seen the last of my system and me.

Come fill up my inkpot and whittle my pen, To meeting my Radicals, sing out like men; Fling everything open, we all will be free, For plunder's the system of jawing J. C." The Globe, December 1, 1885,

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THE DISSOLUTION.

In the House of St. Stephen's Britannia thus spoke :
You will now be released and can take off the yoke.
As you've meddled and muddled till all is at sea,
The majority of you can go to the D.!

You have squandered my money in powder and shot;
Whom you should have protected you gave it to hot.
You did this, and much more, in the name of the free,
So away you incompetents! Go to the D.!

You have fostered intolerance-bigotry's ban;
Like cowards you turned on a stout-hearted man,
Compensated iniquities lavishly free-
Nearly everything's gone to the dogs or the D.!

But now my affairs which you've scattered and strown,
Perhaps will come right when you leave 'em alone.
Two million! Ah, they to my future will see!
Farewell, then, I've done with you-go to the D.!
D. EVANS.

The Weekly Despatch, November 15, 1885.

JAWING "J. C." (AIR, "BONNIE DUNDEE.")
To the lords of creation 'twas Chamberlain spoke,
"Ere my power go down the Queen's crown shall be broke!
So each jolly Rad who loves plunder and me,
Let him follow the system of jawing J, C.

Come fill up my inkpot and whittle my pen,
To meeting my radicals! Sing out like men,
Come, open the best way to let us go free,
For plunder's the system of jawing J. C."

"THE CAMPBELL'S ARE COMING."

Dr. John Cumming, minister of the Scotch church, in London, frequently introduced controversial matters into his sermons, and was at times rather violent in his denuuciations of the Pope, and Roman Catholicism. The Pope wrote inviting him to go to Rome, but intimated that he would not consent to reopen a discussion on theological questions which had long since been decided by his august predecessors. The two following parodies on the subject appeared in Punch, which has always been exceedingly bitter in its attacks on the Roman Catholics and their priesthood. So much so that Richard Doyle (himself a Catholic), one of the most talented artists who ever drew for Punch, retired from its staff on that account.

THE POP' AN' JOCK CUMMING.

THE Pop' an' Jock Cumming, oh dear, oh dear!
They winna foregather, I fear, I fear;
For Jock certain questions has got to speer
That the Pop' wad na fancy to hear, hear, hear.

The Pop' till his Council did all invite,
Wha coudna see Truth, to receive their sight,
"For me" answered Jockie, "noo that's a' right;
Just what I wad hae is your light, light, light.

"Ye've sic an' sic points I could ne'er mak' oot,
An' want my puir vision illumed aboot;
Mair light is the cure my complaint wad suit ;
Sae lighten my darkness an' doot, doot, doot.
"Do show me your light, abune Lime, or Bude,
Magnesian, Electric-do be sae gude!
Sin' I've been invited, I dinna intrude;
When I cry for light ca' me not rude, rude, rude.”

The Pop' to Jock Cumming mak's no reply;
Non possumus, noo, he may truly cry.
'Tis not as it was in the days gane by,
When a Pop' could his questioner fry, fry, fry.

The Pop' and his Cardinals sing fu' sma,
An' they grin, an' they glow'r in their Conclave Ha',
An' their auld shaven chaps wi' dismay do fa,'
Jock Cumming's dumfounded 'em a', a', a'!

Punch.

HEY, JOHNNY CUMMING!

(Air—“Hey, Johnny Cope!")

HEY, Johnny Cumming! are ye waukin' yet!
Or aboot the Millennium talkin' yet?
Gin ye were waukin' priests wad wait,

To shrive Johnny Cumming i' the mornin'.
Johnnie wrote a challenge to the Pop' o' Rome,
Sayin', "Sin' till the council ye've bid me come,
Gin I gang, can I speak as nae doggie dumb?
I wad speer ye for light i' the mornin'."

When Pawpie read the letter on,
He took him pen and ink anon,

We'll mak' short wark wi' this heretic son
O' Scotia an' Knox i' the mornin'."

A line through Manning the douce auld Pop'
To Johnnie did in answer drop;
"Thae questions ye'd speer we canra stop
To re-open the noo of a mornin'.
"There's nane can doot or deny that we
Are the Lord-Lieutenant o' Christendie.
D'ye spy ony green in our Paternal ee?

Get hoot wi' your chaff of a mornin'!
"Ye're welcome at our council Ha',
Doon on your marrowbones to fa'

An' your errors recant, and haud your jaw,
Nae mair o' your gab i' the mornin'!

Ye'll come to mak' submission mute,
We dinna argue or dispute,

Shall naething say but,There's Our fute,
Kiss that, Johnny Cumming, i' the mornin'!

When Johnnie gat the Pop's reply,
Said he, "I baith doot an' deny
An' sae do mony mair forbye,

The commission ye claim of a mornin'."

Twice ten Munich Doctors of canon law
Acknowledge there's nae rule at a'
To tell what the Pop' says ex cathedra'

An' what aff of his throne i' the mornin'."

When Pawpish Doctors disagree

As to what maks gude the Pop's decree,
The warth o't canna be ane bawbee

To ae canna Scot of a mornin'.

Nae dogmies Pio will discuss

To prove whilk wad auld Nick nonplus :
And sae he cries non-possumus ;

Punch.

Canna meet Johnnie Cumming i' the mornin'.

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KHARTOUM.

THE Camels are coming at last, at last! Over the desert so fast, so fast!

Daring canoe-men from Canada's shore

THE MILLIONAIRE ON THE MOORS.

My 'art's in the 'Ighlands, my 'art it ain't 'ere,
My 'art's in the 'Ighlands, along of the deer;
Along of the wild deer, the buck and the doe;
My 'art's in the 'Ighlands, I'd 'ave you to know.
I bought bare estates up of lairds proud and poor,
As they 'adn't the money to live on a moor,
Now like any Duke I my deer-forest keep,
And grouse-shootins also-don't care much for sheep.

I now and agin leave my ware'ouse be'ind,
Go North for refreshment of 'ealth and of mind,
Where solitude reigns on the 'eath all around,
On the 'ole of my propputty I don't 'ear a sound.
There's no cagles now in the mountain's to scream,
And as for the gos'awk, 'is whistle's a dream.
There's never no falcons a flyin' about,
Shot down by the keepers to them I bought out.

Poor beggars, and therefore you'll own they was free,
Theirselves, from romance, quite as much so as me,
In Town whilst attendin' to bisnis, although
My 'art's in the 'Ighlands wherever I go.
Punch, October 27, 1883.

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THE TOURIST'S MATRIMONIAL GUIDE THROUGH

SCOTLAND.

The following song, to the tune of "Woo'd and married an' a'," was written by a distinguished Scotch judge, Lord Neaves, it may therefore be taken as giving a correct view of the curious state of the Scotch law relating to marriage.

YE tourists, who Scotland would enter,
The summer or autumn to pass,
I'll tell you how far you may venture
To flirt with your lad or your lass ;