Oh, vestment of velvet and virtue,
Oh, venomous victors of vice,
Who hurt men who never have hurt you,
Oh, calm, cold, crueller than ice.
Why wilfully wage you this war? is
All pity purged out of your breast?
Oh, purse-prigging procuratores,
Oh, pitiless pest!

We had smote and made redder than roses,
With juice not of fruit nor of bud,

The truculent townspeople's noses,

And bathed brutal butchers in blood;

And we all aglow in our glories

Heard you not in the deafening din;
And ye came, O ye procuratores,
And ran us all in!

Another sample from the "Shotover Papers" burlesques the Laureate : Break, break, break!

My cups and saucers, O scout;

And I'm glad that my tongue can't utter
The oaths that my soul points out.

It is well for the china-shop man,
Who gets a fresh order each day;
And it's deucedly well for yourself,
Who are in the said china-man's pay.

And my stately vases go

To your uncle's, I ween, to be cashed;
And it's oh for the light of my broken lamp,
And the tick of my clock that is smashed.

Break, break, break!

At the foot of my stairs in glee;

But the coin I have spent in glass that is cracked

Will never come back to me.

William Sawyer is responsible for this outrage upon another song in “The Princess :"

THE RECOGNITION.

Home they brought her sailor son,
Grown a man across the sea,

Tall and broad and black of beard,

And hoarse of voice as man may be.

Hand to shake and mouth to kiss,

Both he offered ere he spoke;

And she said, "What man is this
Comes to play a sorry joke?"

Then they praised him,-called him "smart,"
"Tightest lad that ever stept;"

But her son she did not know,

And she neither smiled nor wept.

Rose, a nurse of ninety years,

Set a pigeon-pie in sight;

She saw him eat:-"'Tis he! 'tis he!"

She knew him-by his appetite!

Here is a fragment from Shirley Brooks's "Wit and Humor," which glances humorously at the "Idylls of the King:"

The blameless king

Rising again (to Lancelot's discontent,

Who held all speeches a tremendous bore),

Said, "If one duty to be done remains,

And 'tis neglected, all the rest is nought

But Dead Sea apples and the acts of Apes."

Smiled Guinevere, and begged him not to preach;

She knew that duty, and it should be done:
So what of pudding on that festal night
Was not consumed by Arthur and his guests,
The queen upon the following morning fried.

If, as we have said, Calverley is by common consent the greatest of English parodists, yet surely Lewis Carroll, in the few examples scattered about his "Alice" books, presses him hard for the place. It is only because they are so few that they are not taken into more serious account. What can be better than the parody on Southey's "Father William"?—

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,

"And your

hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head.

Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;

But now I am perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again!"

"You are old," said the youth," and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;

Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak:
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;

And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life."

And what admirable fooling in these lines!—

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,

And

pour the waters of the Nile
On every shining scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!

Bret Harte has given a good imitation of Poe's "Ulalume” in “The Willows," from which there follows an extract:

Bayard Taylor's work in this line. his parody on Poe. capital:

But Mary, uplifting her finger,

Said, "Sadly this bar I mistrust,-
I fear that this bar does not trust.
Oh, hasten-oh, let us not linger-
Oh, fly-let us fly-ere we must!"
In terror she cried, letting sink her
Parasol till it trailed in the dust,-
In agony sobbed, letting sink her

Parasol till it trailed in the dust,-
Till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
Then I pacified Mary and kissed her,
And tempted her into the room,
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,

"

But were stopped by the warning of doom,-
By some words that were warning of doom.
And I said, "What is written, sweet sister,
At the opposite end of the room?"
She sobbed as she answered, "All liquors
Must be paid for ere leaving the room.'
"Diversions of the Echo Club" contains some very good
In our article on "Autographs" we quoted a stanza from
That on Joaquin Miller is quite as good. The finale is

She's now the mistress of Buffalo Bil.,
And pure as the heart of a lily still;
While I've killed all who have cared for me,
And I'm just as lonely as I can be:

So, pass the whiskey,-we'll have a spree !

Longfellow's a bit from an anonymous effort:

"Hiawatha" was once a favorite subject for parody. Here is

He killed the noble Mudjokivis,

With the skin he made him mittens,
Made them with the fur side inside;
Made them with the skin side outside;

He, to get the warm side inside,
Put the inside skin side outside,
He, to get the cold side outside,

Put the warm side, fur side inside;

That's why he put the fur side inside,'
Why he put the skin side outside,
Why he turned them inside outside.

When the nomination of General Butler for governor of Massachusetts was first proposed, the Boston Post came out as follows:

Of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these, we may have Ben!

But when it was definitely settled that the general would not be the candidate of his party for that campaign at least, the Post gleefully exclaimed,—

Of all glad words of tongue or pen,

The gladdest are these, we shan't have Ben!

In one of the earlier Orpheus C. Kerr papers was a series of "Rejected National Hymns;" in the poem attributed to Mr. Bryant, from the first line

The sun sinks slowly to his evening post

it was evident that the poet had endeavored to sneak in an advertisement of the newspaper which he edited.

This anonymous skit has some merit :

and so has this:

The melancholy days have come,
The saddest of the year,

Too warm, alas! for whiskey punch,
Too cold for lager beer;

O kittens, in our hours of ease

Uncertain toys, and full of fleas !
When pain and anguish hang o'er men,

We turn you into sausage then :

which recalls a parody on "Beautiful Snow" that once went the round of the papers. It was said to have been copied from the placard of a Milwaukee sausage-maker:

And here from the Lowell Sunday Arena is a good “take-off” on one of the best of Kipling's ballads :

DANNY DOLAN.

"What is that chap a-growlin' for?" said Cop-on-beat.

"They've thrown him out, they've thrown him out," the loafer said, discreet.

"What makes him cuss and swear so?" said Cop-on-beat.

"They've kicked him out," the loafer said; "he didn't pay his treat."

For he hung up Danny Dolan in a playful kind of way,
And he swiped a dozen schooners with "I'll pay some other day.'
He's taken shingles off the house, an' worked the slate, they say.
He's been hangin' Danny Dolan up since morning.

"What makes him swear and breathe so 'ard!" said Cop-on-beat.
"He's got the jims, he's got the jams," the loafer said, discreet.
"What makes him stagger an' fall down?" said Cop-on-beat.
"A touch of rum, a touch of rum," the loafer said, "an' neat.'
For he hung up Danny Dolan, sayin', " Put it on the ice."
Yes, he stood up Danny Dolan by a curious device.

"

He shook him for the drinks all round, an' worked in loaded dice.
He's been hangin' Danny Dolan up since morning.

"Dan's place is on this route of mine," said Cop-on-beat.
"It's got a little side door, too," the loafer said, discreet.
"I've drunk his beer a score of times," said Cop-on-beat.

"An' you settled," said the loafer, "like this fellow for your treat.'
Yes, he's hung up Danny Dolan, takin' profit from the place,
An' I know where he'll be sleepin' when I look him in the face.
I'll ring in the patrol-wagon: I must wipe out this disgrace.
He's been hangin' Danny Dolan up since morning.

"What's that so black against his name?" said Cop-on-beat.
"Disorderly an' drunk, I think," the loafer said, discreet.
"What's that that whimpers underneath?" said Cop-on-beat,
"They're lockin' up," the loafer said, "an ornery dead beat."
For he's done up Danny Dolan in a playful kind of way.
To-morrow he'll look solemn when a fine he has to pay;
As he hasn't got the cash, in jail for thirty days he'll stay.
For he hung up Danny Dolan in the morning.

Party is the madness of many for the gain of the few, an admira. ble definition by Pope in "Thoughts on Various Subjects." It was Pope also who, in his last letter to the Bishop of Rochester (Atterbury), said,—

At this time, when you are cut off from a little society and made a citizen of the world at large, you should bend your talents, not to serve a party or a few, but all mankind.

It is not impossible that Goldsmith had this sentiment floating in his mind when he wrote his famous description of Burke:

Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind;
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote.

Retaliation.

As a curious double coincidence, President Rutherford B. Hayes's famous maxim in his Inaugural Address, March 5, 1877, "He serves his party best who serves the country best," is an obvious imitation of another line of Pope's :

He serves me most who serves his country best.

Homer's Iliad, Book X., 1. 201.

Pasquinades, a general name for a lampoon or a satire, but more specifically and originally the name given by modern Romans to the anonymous lampoons surreptitiously hung upon the statue of Pasquino. This statue needs a word by itself. It stands at an angle of the Palazzo Orsini in Rome, in the square to which it has given its name. It is a mere torso,-armless, with amputated legs. Yet, though thus maimed and mutilated, it is full of beauty. Indeed, when Bernini, himself a sculptor, was asked which was the finest statue in Rome, he answered, without hesitation, “Pasquino." As to what

it represents, no one knows. Antiquaries, however, have embittered their ignorance by issueless discussions as to whether it was a Fighting Gladiator, a Hercules, an Ajax, or a Patroclus bearing up a Menelaus. Authentic history tells us that it was discovered about the year 1503 near one of the entrances of the ancient amphitheatre of Alexander Severus. And whence

its name? Authentic history is silent. Yet tradition, which has received the conditional sanction of history,-a tradition that crept into quasi-authentic print so far back as 1560, when it is mentioned by Antonio Barotti,-tradition affirms that the statue takes its name from one Maestro Pasquino, a young tailor of great cleverness who flourished at the end of the fifteenth century. He was careless and bold of speech, freely satirizing Popes, cardinals, and noblemen, and his jests were taken up and repeated by the men in his employ. When, therefore, any person of rank and authority wished to relate an anecdote against some one in power, he fathered it upon Pasquino, whose insignificance protected him from vengeance. Gradually all lampoons and satires upon the pontifical court were attributed to the same person. It was at this very juncture But in time Pasquino died, and left no successor. that the statue was opportunely discovered. The people immediately labelled it Pasquino, and endowed it with the characteristics of its eponyme. But, as the dumb statue could not speak, it was feigned that he wrote all his biting satires, and these would be found on placards hung about his person.

Pasquino was not the only figure in Rome who gave expression to the thoughts and feelings which could not have been proclaimed openly and safely by human beings. His most distinguished companion was (and is) Marforio, another mutilated torso, of gigantic stature, evidently representing an ocean- or river-god, which was found in the sixteenth century near the Marforio was rarely or never the original Forum of Mars,-whence its name. spokesman, but he often carried on dialogues with Pasquino. A third party, a so-called Facchino, or Porter, in the Piazza Piombino, occasionally joined in the conversation. Sprenger, in his "Roma Nova," 1660, tells us that in his day Pasquino was the spokesman of the nobles, Marforio of the citizens, But the distinction was not very nicely and Facchino of the commonalty. observed; indeed, as a rule, Pasquino had a large and humanitarian interest in all ranks and classes of his fellow-citizens.

The first true pasquinades-that is, the first of the epigrams which were affixed to Pasquin and hence derived their name-belonged to the reign of Leo X., though satires on previous Popes have been retrospectively grouped under the same general head. The character of these Leonine pasquinades is generally so coarse as to render them unfit for publication. One only, and When Leo died it was currently rea very cruel one, may be singled out. ported that he had not received the last sacraments of the Church. Pasquin, whose two favorite topics had been the immorality and venality of the papal On the death of court, came out with this epigram: "Do you ask why at the last hour Leo could not take the sacrament? He had sold it." Clement VII., popularly attributed to malpractice at the hands of his physician, Matteo Curzio or Curtius, Pasquin gleefully said, "Curtius has killed Clement. Curtius, who has secured the public health, should be rewarded." In a longer epigram he detailed a bitter struggle that had arisen between Pluto and St. Peter as to which should not possess the pontifical soul. Peter had no use Each sought to force the unwilling gift upon the other. for Clement in heaven, Pluto feared the disturbance he would make in hell. The quarrel was cut short by the Pope himself, who declared that he would force his way into hell:

Tartara tentemus, facilis descensus Averni.

With the advent of the Reformation a much wider career was opened to Pasquin. In 1544 a stout little volume appeared, bearing the title "PasIt consisted of satires, epigrams, and lampoons, quillorum, Tomi duo.” many being actual pasquinades, many more being fugitive pieces of the same anti-papal character. Pasquin's renown was now heralded all over