WAGGAWOCKY.

(On the Tichborne Trial)

"Merely interpolating the note that the word 'wabe' is explained by the Poet to mean 'a grassplot round a sundial,' but that it also means a Court of Justice, being derived from the Saxon waube, a wig-shop, we proceed to dress the prophetic ode in plain English :—

'TWAS Maytime, and the lawyer coves
Did jibe and jabber in the wabe,
All menaced were the Tichborne groves,
And their true lord, the Babe.

"Beware the Waggawock, my son,
The eyelid twitch, the knees' incline,
Beware the Baigent network, spun
For gallant Ballantine,

He took his ton-weight brief in hand,

Long time the hidden clue he sought,
Then rested he by the Hawkins tree,
And sat awhile in thought.

And as in toughish thought he rocks,

The Waggawock, sans truth or shame
Came lumbering to the witness box,
And perjured out his Claim.

"Untrue! untrue!" Then, through and through
The weary weeks he worked the rack;
But March had youth, ere with the Truth
He dealt the final whack.

"And hast thou slain the Waggawock
Come to my arms, my Beamish Boy!
O Coleridge, J.! Hoorah! hooray!'
Punch chortled in his joy.

"

SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1872.

In Truth, October 4, 1883, twenty-one imitations of the Jabberwocky were printed. They are now rather heavy reading, and only the two following seem worth reprinting :—

THE CRUISE OF THE "P. C." BY A. T.*

ACROSS the Swiffling waves they went,
The gumly bark yoked to and fro;
The jupple crew on pleasure bent,
Galored, "This is a go!"

Beside the poo's'l stood the Gom,

He chirked and murgled in his glee;
While near him, in a grue jipom,

The Bard was quite at sea.
"Gollop! Golloy! Thou scrumjous Bard!
Take pen (thy stylo) and endite

A pome, my brain needs kurgling hard,
And I will feast to-night."

That wansome Bard he took his pen,

A flirgly look arnund he guv;

He squoffled once, he squirled, and then

He wrote what's writ above.

HERMON.

*Alluding to Mr. Gladstone's trip on board the Pembroke Castle,

ia September, 1883, when the Poet Laureate was also a guest of Sir Donald Currie,

Now he is looking for their votes, can't you spoil his little plan ?

Can you, can't you, can you, can't you spoil his little plan? Can you, can't you, can you spoil his little plan?

"You can really have no notion how delightful it would be,
If you get into the House, you will have many a fee."
And the stout one said, "No! I've worked in vain, I'm
beat,

My opponent's firmly settled, and I cannot take his seat.
Will not, cannot, cannot, will not now take his seat.
Will not, cannot, will not now take his seat."

"What matters it? you are not beat!" his tall friend to him said,

"There's another man to take your place, you know, when

you are dead.

If you'll leave Ireland alone, you'll then get on like fun,
So don't give up, but go and sup, and we will pay your dun.`
Won't you, will you, won't you, will you soon cry.
Will you, won't you, will you soon cry, 'I've won !'"
MISS SHAW.

Truth. 15 July, 1886.

Not only has Lewis Carroll given many themes to the parodists, but he has himself produced some amusing_parodies, a short one on Dr. Watts, that on Southey's, "You are old, Father William," already quoted on page 156, Volume III. of Parodies, and "Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup" given on page 35, all appear in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

That this book should have been translated into German, French, and Italian, tells of its well deserved popularity :

And though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story,
For happy summer days gone by,
And vanish'a summer glory-

It shall not touch with breath of ba
The pleasance of that fairy-tale

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MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT.

MEET me by moonlight alone,

And then I will tell you a tale, Must be told by the moonlight alone, In the grove at the end of the vale. You must promise to come, for I said,

I would show the night-flowers their queen;

Nay, turn not away thy sweet head, 'Tis the loveliest ever was seen.

Oh! meet me by moonlight alone.

Da, light may do for the gay,

The thoughtless, the heardless, the free;

But there's something about the moon's ray, That is sweeter to you and to me.

Oh! remember, be sure to be there,

For though dearly the moonlight I prize,

I care not for all in the air,

If I want the sweet light of your eyes.
So meet me by moonlight alone.

J. A. WADE.

MEET ME, MISS MOLLY MALONE.

MEET me, Miss Molly Malone,

At the grove at the end of the vale; But be sure that you don't come alone,

Bring a pot of your master's strong ale, With a nice bit of beef and some bread, Some pickled, or cucumbers green, Or a nice little dainty pig's head, 'Tis the loveliest tit-bit e'er seen.

Then meet me, Miss Molly Malone.

Pastry may do for the gay,

Old maids may find comfort in tea; But there's something about ham and beef That agrees a deal better with me. Remember my cupboard is bare,

Then come, if my dear life you prize, I'd have lived the last fortnight on air, But you sent me two nice mutton pies. Then meet me, Miss Molly Malone.

MEET ME THIS EVENING ALONE,

MEET me this evening alone,

Friend Bite, and we'll hatch up a tale; We'll chat when the day's work is done, O'er a pipe and a jug of good ale: A plate of cold meat and some bread, With salad or cucumbers green,

And part of a sucking pig's head 'Tis the loveliest of tit-bits e'er seen. Then meet me &c

Pastry may do for the gay,

The thoughtless, the young, and the free,
But there's something in cold beef, they say,
More tempting to you and to me;
Then remember, be sure to be there,

If good eating and drinking you prize,
You've liv'd the last fortnight on air,
I can tell by those hollow-sunk eyes.
Then meet me, &c
Dublin.

From Wischeart's New Comic Songster.

Many years ago (it was in February, 1844), Punch had a parody entitled "Moet me with Wimbush alone." alluding to Wimbush's omnibus, which then ran from Belgrave Square to the Bank. It was jocularly reported never to carry more than one passenger at a time. But the following parody, from the same source, is not only more modern, but also more likely to appeal to the present generation, than a satire on a long forgotten omnibus :

Punch.

RED HERRINGS.

MEET me at breakfast alone,
And then I will give you a dish
Which really deserves to be known,

Though it's not the genteelest of fish.
You must promise to come, for I said
A splendid red Herring I'd buy—
Nay, turn not away your proud head;
You'll like it, I know, when you try.
If moisture the Herring betray,

Drain, till from moisture 'tis free; Warm it through in the usual way, Then serve it for you and for me. A piece of cold butter prepare,

To rub it when ready it lies; Egg sauce and potatoes don't spare, And the flavour will cause you surprise.

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PARODIES OF

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO,

MY PRETTY MAID?”

Miss Emily Faithful's paper was responsible for the following:-We saw a Christmas card the other day which had been sent to a young lady at a school of design. It represented a grotesque figure at a lecturer's desk, and underneath were these lines:

"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?”

"I'm going to lecture, sir," she said.

"And what is the subject, my pretty maid?"

"Total extinction of man," she said.

"Men who suffer their wives' photographs to be exhibited for sale in the shop-windows run the risk of being thought to get some profit by so doing, for they otherwise would hardly sanction such publicity."

Where are you going to, my pretty maid?
I'm going to be Photographed, Sir, she said.
May I go with you, my pretty maid?
Yes, if you like it, she calmly said.

What is your fortune, my pretty maid?
My face is my fortune, Sir, she said.

How do you live on 't, my pretty maid?
By selling my photos, she promptly said.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO, MY PRETTY MAID." (New Reading.)

WITH the pail for the milk hung over her arm,
Across the green fields tripped Mary;
The smiles on her face gave additional charm,
And caused you to call her a fairy.

Now a spruce young clerk was out for a ride,
And happened to come across Mary;
Said he to himself, "I will make her my bride,
And make her keep me with her dairy."

But altho' she was rustic, and simple as well,
As proud as a queen was our Mary.
Tho' her bonny blue eyes of mischief could tell,
The sequel will show she was wary.

"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?"

Said this gay young spark from the neighb'ring town; "I am going a-milking, sir," she said.

A blush on her face, and her eyes cast down.

"May I be your escort, my pretty maid?

Nay turn not away those cheeks rosy red;

To carry your pail I'll not be afraid,

And if you'll consent, I'm willing to wed."

"What, sir, is your fortune?" cried the young maid, And around her lips a merry smile played.

"My face is my fortune! my pretty maid."

Then you've plenty of brass, kind sir," she said.

TRUE.

"Oh, where are you going, my pretty maid?"
"I'm going a chestnutting, sir," she said.
And she spoke sober truth, in sooth, for lo!
She had a ticket for the minstrel show.

Detroit Free Press. July 24, 1886.

Chestnuts-Americanism for stale jokes.)

"You may come if you like, old GOSSET," he said; "You may come if you like, old GOSSET, 'he said. "Now you're tempting your fortune, iny stubborn head, Now you're tempting your fortune, my stubborn head." "Why, my Oath is my fortune, GOSSET," he said; "Why, my Oath is my fortune, GOSSET," he said." "Then, I don't think much of you, my stubborn head, Then, I don't think much of you, my stubborn head." "Nobody axed you to, GOSSET," he said;

61 Nobody axed you to, GOSSET," he said.

(Dance up the middle, touch shoulder, and down again.) Punch, May 21, 1881.

"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?"
"I'm going to Spelling Bee, sir," she said,
"Where is yonr lexicon, my pretty maid?"
"I do not want one, sir," she said.
"What can you spell, pray, my pretty maid? "
"I can spell prize, kind sir," she said.
"Let's hear you spell it, my pretty maid!"
"P-r-e-y-e-s, prize," she said.

"I wouldn't give much for your 'preyes,' pretty maid!" "'Cause you ain't got it to give, sir," she said.

[Exeunt ambo.

"Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" "I'm going to a lecture, sir," she said. "May I come with you, my pretty maid?" 'You won't understand it, sir," she said. "What is the subject, my pretty maid?" "The final extinction of man," she said, "Then you won't marry, my pretty maid?" "Superior girls never marry," she said. Modern Society. September 12, 1885.

WHERE are you going to my pretty maid?
"I'm going to publish, sir," she said.
Perhaps you've a fortune, my pretty maid?
"My verse is my fortune, sir," she said.

Then you'd better not try it, my pretty maid,
There's an item for printing, and when it is paid,
There's" commission on sales," oh, innocent maid!
In your rural retreat have you heard of THE TRADE?
Oh, where are you going to, my pretty maid?

ERNEST RAdford.

AN IDYLLIC DUET.

(A New Version, as Sung under the Gallery with the Greatest Success by the Sergeant-at-Arms, and the Junior Member for Northampton, Mr. Charles Bradlaugh.) "WHERE are you going to, my stubborn head? Where are you going to, my stubborn head ? " "I'm going a-swearing, GoSSET," he said; "I'm going a-swearing, GOSSET," he said.

"Then I must come after you, my stubborn head; Then I must come after you, my stubborn head,"

"WHIZZ," the Christmas number of The Bicycling Times, 1880, has a long parody, entitled "A Bicyclist's Song," after My Rattling Mare and I; also a parody on "My Pretty Maid," entitled The Wheelman and the Maid, which concludes thus:

"Shall I have any croppers?" asked my pretty maid, "Shall I have any croppers?" asked my pretty maid, "You'll often go over, sweet girl, I said, sweet girl I said," &c.

"Then I cannot ride it," said my pretty maid, "Then I cannot ride it," said my pretty maid, "Then I'll wish you good morning, sweet girl, I said, sweet girl I said," &c.

And still another, commencing :

"Will you come and see my Humber?" said the rider on the tri,

'Tis the scorchingest of trycycles that ever you did spy; You've only got to pop your leg the easy saddle o'er,

And you'll go along at such a pace as ne'er was seen before;

Will you, will you, will you, will you come and see my tri ?

There is also a prose imitation of Captain Mayne Reid, entitled, On the Prairie, by Jak Strauz Karsel.

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I'VE BEEN ROAMING.

I'VE been roaming, I've been roaming, Where the meadow dew is sweet, And I'm coming, and I'm coming, With its pearls upon my feet.

I've been roaming, &c

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,

O'er the rose and lily fair,

And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
With their blossoms in my hair.
I've been roaming, &c.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
Where the honey-suckle sips,

And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
With its kisses on my lips.
I've been roaming, &c.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming
Over hill and over plain,

And I'm coming, and I'm coming,

To my bower back again.

I've been roaming, &c.

ANONYMOUS. 1832.

I'VE BEEN SHOPPING.

I'VE been shopping-I've been shopping
To John Brown's in Regent Street,
And I'm hopping-and I'm hopping
With his shoes upon my feet.

I've been roaming-I've been roaming,
For rose oil and lily rare,
And I'm coming-and I'm coming
With a bottle for my hair.

I've been roaming-I've been roaming
To the pastrycook's, old Phipps,
And I'm coming-and I'm coming
With some kisses for my lips.

I've been roaming-I ve been roaming
Up Bond Street and down Park Lane
And I'm coming-and I'm coming
To my own house back again.

THE WANDERing Jew.

I'VE been roaming, I've been roaming,
Vid a merry, merry strain,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
Home to Rosemary Lane.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
Through ev'ry street and square,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming
Vith the pargains I got there.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming, I have upon my life,

And I m coming, and I'm coming,
To my children and my vife.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming
For to pargain I've the knack,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
Vith my pag upon my pack.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
Quite hungry full of vo,

But I'm a coming, I'm a coming,
To eat fish and buckle yow.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
Vere the people call out "Pork,”
But I am coming, I am coming,
To be rested from my vork.

I've been roaming, I've been roaming
But our shaboth it is nigh,

So I'm coming, so I'm coming,
To vish you all good-bye.

Universal Songster, Vol. 3.

I'VE BEEN EATING,

I'VE been eating, I've been eating,
In the north and in the south
And I m coming, and I'm coming,
With the crumbs about my mouth

I've been stuffing, I've been stuffing
Plates of beef, of pork and veal;
And my corporation's puffing,

With an out-and-out good meal.

I've been drinking, I've been drinking,
Heavy wet and Hodges' gin,
And I'm going, and I'm going,
To my attic back again.

I've been eating, I've been eating,
In the north and in the south;
From the shops I'm now retreating,
With the crumbs about my mouth!

SONG BY A SHIFTY POLITICIAN.
(Not dedicated to Mr. Robert Lowe.)
I'VE been turning-I've been turning,
Tory, Radical, and Whig,
And I'm earning, and I'm earning,
Something handsome by the rig.

I've been turning,-I've been turning,
Over politic's wide range,
But I'm earning, yes I'm earning,
Money by each little change.

I've been turning,-I've been turning,
Till I have been made a Peer,
And I'm earning, oh, I'm earning,
Severa thousand pounds a year.

I've been turning,-I've been turning,
Almost every way 'tis plain,
And I'm yearning, yes I'm yearning
To be Chancellor again.

Almost every way, 'tis plain,
To be Chancellor again;

And I'm yearning, and I'm yearning,

To be Chancellor again.

-:0:

AFLOAT.

IN the steamer, O my darling! when the foghorns scream and blow,

And the footsteps of the steward softly come and softly go. When the passengers are groaning with a deep and sincere woe,

Will you think of me and love me, as you did not long ago?

In the cabin, O my darling! think not bitterly of me, Though I rushed away and left you in the middle of our tea : I was seized with a sudden longing to gaze upon the damp, deep sea

It was best to leave you then, dear; best for you and best for me.

Liverpool Weekly Post. January 1, 1887.

(To an Extortionate Tailor.)

I KNOW not when your bill I'll see,
I know not when that bill fell due
What interest you will charge to me,
Or will you take my I.O.U. ?
It may not be till years have passed,
Till chubby children's locks are grey;
The tailor trusts us, but at last

His reckoning we must meet some day
Some day-some day-some day I must meet it,
Snip, I know not when or how,
Snip, I know not when or how;
Only this-only this-this that once you did me—
Only this-I'll do you now-I'll do you now -
I'll do you now.

I know not are you far or near-
Are you at rest? or cutting still?

I know not who is held so dear!

Or who's to pay your "little bill! ''

But when it comes, some day-some day-
These eyes an awful tote may see;

And don't you wish, my tailor gay,

That you may get your £ s. d. ?

Some day-some day-some day I must meet it,
Snip, I know not when or how,
Snip, I know not when or how,

Only this-only this-this that once you did me-
Only this-I'll do you now-I'll do you now-
I'll do you now!

From Sketches in Prose and Verse, by F. B. Doveton, author of Snatches of Song. London: Sampson Low & Co., Fleet Street. 1886. (This amusing volume also contains a number of Parodies on the poems of Moore, Alfred Tennyson, Campbell, Hood, Byron, Coleridge, Southey, Poe, and Swinburne.)

:0:

MY MOTHER BIDS ME FIND AN HEIR.

My mother bids me find an heir

And give up Cousin Hugh,

Who came so often to the square,

Poor cornet-Horse Guards Blue.

"For why," she cries, "a younger son, While plainer girls win peers,

Он 'TIS BEEF!

Oн, 'tis Beef, 'tis Beef, 'tis Beef,
('Pon my soul I'm not joking),
Oh, 'tis Beef,
Affords relief,

When hunger's most provoking.

Though many may doat upon mutton,
And some prefer veal or lamb,
Upon Beef I could feed like a glutton,
Nor sigh for poultry and ham;
Flank, brisket, or the sir-loin,

I never could let alone,
But nice tit-bits would I purloin
From buttock, round, or edgebone.

Oh, 'tis Beef, 'tis Beef, 'tis Beef,
('Pon my soul I'm not joking).
Oh, 'tis Beef,

Affords relief,

When hunger's most provoking.

Though Mrs Glass I daily look in, (No reflection on that cook, the chief),