HENRY OF NAVARRE.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn fields green, and sunny vines, oh, pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

for cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy,

Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of

war,

Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre.

T. B. MACAULAY.

THE WAR OF THE NORMAS.

Now glory to LA DIVA who still reigns the Queen of Song, And glory, too, to Costa, may he wield the bâton long. Now let the distant sound of song, and echo of the band, Be heard through Covent Garden, and Long Acre, and the Strand.

And thou, too, Morning Chronicle, bold partisan of Beale, As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our weal. For ill-advised was Jenny, when she thought to reach the throne

Of that unrivalled songstress who had made the part her

Unto their long-tried favourite, to whom all praise be due. For Grisi still hath proved herself the best of all the bunch,

Hath mocked the critic of the Post, and box-bought praise of Punch.

Then glory to LA DIVA who yet reigns the Queen of Song, And glory, too, to Costa-may he wield the baton long!

From The Man in the Moon. Edited by Albert Smith and Angus B. Reach. Vol II.

Jenny Lind made her first appearance at Her Majesty's Theatre, London, in May, 1847 (when it was under the

management of Mr. Lumley), with great success. She was much admired in every part she undertook, but in Norma she had to stand comparison with Madame Grisi, who had long been identified with it, and opinions widely differed as to the superiority of these famous singers in this, now almost forgotten, opera.

THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW.

Now, ye blue-blooded dustmen, leave your cart's unsav'ry tail,

And you, ye "supes" of noble birth, come don your coats of mail;

For Harcourt and his legions and Firth, that recreant knight,

Have dared the valiant Griffin and the Turtle to the fight! Now Fowler wipes his reeking brow, while smiles relax his face,

For have they not already flinched before his mighty mace? And noble Nottage waves his lens, and seeks the thickest strife,

And woe to those who stand to him-he'll take 'em from the life" !

But why this shadow o'er the board, this phantom at the feast?

The day is won, the foe has fled, his fierce assaults have ceased.

Yet still the hollow laugh is forced, as though each heard the cry:

"Let's eat and drink and merry be-to-morrow we must die !"

In vain the jewelled cup is passed, the speech and song go round;

Each song seems but a requiem, each speech a ghostly sound,

While o'er the Master's anxious face a cloud hangs like a pall;

Alas! Belshazzar-Nottage sees-"the writing on the wall!" J. T. WRIGHT.

The Weekly Dispatch. November 9, 1884.

Charles S. is come to marshal us, in all his livery drest,
And he has stuck a landlord's scalp upon his gallant crest.
He looked upon his creatures with a wary winking eye,
And then upon the Sassenach, and cried, "How's this for
high?"

Right knowingly he leered on us, as rolled from street to street

The shout, "The honest Pat's played out; make ready for the cheat!

And if the Yankee dollars fail, as fail full well they may, For never saw I promise yet of such a costly day.

Press where ye see the landlord's scalp upon my hybrid pate, And be your oriflamme, my boys, rip! rip! REPUDIATE!" The Topical Times. March 20, 1886.

THE GREAT RENT CASE.

(A Lay of the High Court in the year 1865.)
Ho! Nazirs, sound your tom-toms!
Ho Sheriff, clear the way!

The Judges ride, in all their pride,-
To the High Court to-day.
Shout! gallant little Crier!
Your eye-glass tightly fit,
Arrange your splendid Forum
So every Judge may sit.
Each Judge is robed in sable,
His gills flow long and wide,
Like Bull-frog in the fable,

He swells with conscious pride.

These are the opening lines of a long parody describing a trial in India, contained in "Lyrics and Lays," by Pips, published in Calcutta, by Wyman Bros., 1867. The parody consists of more than 450 lines, and is both unintelligible and uninteresting to all but persons accustomed to Indian life and character.

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BEFORE THE BATTLE.

(And considerably after “Ivry.")

A Song for the Sanguine.

Now luck unto the Liberal Host, to whom good luck should be!

And luck unto our Leader Old, undaunted William G. !
Now let the merry music sound a resolute advance,
Come, Hartington, why bite thy beard? Come, Joe, why
look askance?

And Spencer, loyal Spencer gaze across the Irish water!
It is not rapture lights the eyes of those who schemed thy
slaughter.

As thou wert constant in our ills, joy in our coming joy, For glum, and mum, and dumb are they who wrought thy rule annoy.

Hurrah! How oft a single charge hath made the Tory flee, Hurrah! Hurrah! for victory, and valiant William G.

Oh! how all hearts are beating, on this our opening day, We see the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-praised patriots, and all its rebels red, And Biggar's beauteous body, and Tim Healy's handsome head.

There sit the brood of anarchy, the troublers of the land; And dark Parnell is in their midst, and holds them well in hand.

And as we look on them, we think of treason in full flood, And good Lord Frederick's manly breast bedabbled with his blood;

And we cry unto fair Fortune from their toils to set us free, To fight for loyal liberty and valiant William G.

He comes once more to marshal us, in simple broadcloth drest;

As glorious are his scant white locks as any knightly crest. He looked upon his Homer, and he heaved a scholar's sigh; He looks upon the Tory, and his glance is stern and high. Right genially he smiles on us, as rolls from wing to wing Down all our line the ready cheer. We've heard his voice outring:

"And if our flag should seem to droop, as seem sometime it may,

"For never saw I promise yet of such a fierce affray, "Press where you see my banner wave, in battle's front

'twill be,

Up with it high, unfurl it wide, that all the host may know Though with the League we won't intrigue, to Ireland we're no foe.

Then rally round whilst trumpets sound their challenge far and free;

Broad let it wave, a banner brave, for gallant William G.

Ho! Ladies of the Primrose, whose hearts for victory yearn,
Weep, weep for the majority you struggled to return.
Ho! Cecil, twist to Tory sense the verdict of the polls,
And do your best to lure the Whigs and scare all timid souls.
Ho! swollen cohort of the League, think not our hearts to
fright.

Ho! followers of the Liberal Flag, keep clear your sense of right.

To foil Hibernia's tyrant, yet to raise Hibernia's slave,
Will tax the counsel of the wise, the valour of the brave.
Yet here's for having at the task, how stiff soe'er it be !
And here's to him who'll lead us on, our dauntless William
G.!

House of Commons, Wednesday, January 20.
The Daily News. January 21, 1886.

And now they bare their falchions,
And foot to foot they stand,
Each sternly eyes the other

With look composed and grand.

Yet one is honest-hearted,

And true, as well as brave

The other is a ruffian,

A sanguinary knave.

By turns their weapons clashing,
Right equal seems the game;

While "One, Two, Three," says Simpson,
Smith doth repeat the same.

Sword upon sword descending,
While fiddle and trombone,
In time to that dread music,
Play slowly "Bobbing Joan."

Yet not in time exactly-
This night it may not be;

The Month. By Albert Smith and John Leech. In the number for December 1851, of this scarce little magazine, there was a long imitation of Macaulay, entitled

THE INAUGURATION OF THE MAYOR.

UP! Citizens of Cripplegate-come Billingsgate, begin!
Rise ye of ancient Candlewick-up Farringdon Within,
Now Castle Baynard, show your strength-now Aldgate, lead
the van,

Ye City wards which ne'er were picked, since history began.

'Tis London's ancient Festival, another Mayor to-day, Begins the civic sceptre of the Mansion House to sway; Blythe the self congratulation-sad the wail of discontent, As the one gets into office, and the other out is sent.

From the plains of fair Belgravia, from Tyburnia and the north,

Troops of ruddy servant maidens on their holiday come forth, Each with snowy kerchiefs laden, which they never will unfold,

Going wildly in directions just wherever they are told.

Twenty-two verses follow here, describing the Lord Mayor's procession and banquet, topics which do not suggest any novelty to the poet, who concludes thus :Let us hope that in the waking from the darkness to the light,

This is the first verse of a long, and uninteresting, parody which appeared in Diogenes, June 18, 1853, describing the contest between Sir John Key and Mr. Benjamin Scott, for the office of City Chamberlain (London). Sir John Key was then successful, but in 1858 Mr. Scott obtained the office.

A Bowl of Punch, by Albert Smith, 1848, contains "A Lay of Ancient Rome," describing the brave deeds of Marcus Curtius, in burlesque verses, but it is not exactly a parody of Macaulay's style.

BURLINGTON.

(A Lay of Regent's Park College.)

THE Senate of the London U

niversity they swore,

That the great house of Regent's Park

Should pass its men no more.

By their M. A.'s they swore it,
And fixed the fatal day,

And bade all their Professors pen

Such questions as should keep the men From taking their B.A.

There be an awful Senate ;
The wisest in the land,
Who by the dread Examiners
Both morn and evening stand,
And with one voice the Senate,
Like mean and stingy brutes,
Have said, "Go forth, Examiners,

And pluck them like old boots."

Messrs. Bailey, Sale, and Edwards are sent up for Examination, the terrors of which are described at length, but they manage to pass.

Out came they, as not deigning

Those other men to see;

Naught spake they to the Porter,
Although he asked a fee;

But mentally in Regent's Park

They saw the "House"

appear;

And they hailed a Hansom cabman Who happened to be near.

"Oh, Cabby! gentle Cabby!

To whom the students pay,

Three students' lives, three students' limbs, Take thou in charge this day."

So they spake, and, speaking, told
The cabman where to ride,
And with their books beneath their arms,
Plunged recklessly inside.

And now they gain the entrance;
Now on the steps they stand,
And round them flock the students,
To shake each by the hand;
And now, with shouts and laughter,
To the tune of the College Song,
They enter into the Common Hall,
Borne by the joyous throng,

They gave them of the buttered bread,
That was of public right,

As much as three big students
Could eat from morn to night;
They got the printed Class List,
And set it up on high-
And it exists until this day
To witness if I lie.

(Twenty-five verses omitted.)

JOHN D. PARLEY. 1872.

From Rambles in Rhymeland.

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ROUTH'S Revenge.

A Lay of the Tripos.

IT was a future Wrangler, Smith,

And gallantly he swore,

"By blood and bones, by goose and groans,

I'll coach with Routh no more!

I hate his problem papers,

His quills I do detest;

Revision too, and manuscripts
With horror fill my breast.
My mind is fixed, I'll up at once
And give him the straight tip."
And so he did; but Routh was out,

So he gave it to his gyp;

Then Routh he smole a horrid smile,

And grinned a ghastly grin;

"He wants to take it out of me,