Sneerers to right of him, Frowners to left of him, Scowlers behind him, Curses a hundred. Words that no man could spell, How he got out no one can tell; Back through that narrow way, Back from that beastly sell, Moaning the toil and time, Unwittingly squandered. VI. Can his bumps be repaid? Won't he be ever afraid Of 'busses? I wondered! Honour the try he made, Honour the stones he weighed, As he limped homeward. From "Cribbings from the Poets" (Jones and Piggott, Cambridge, 1883.) * * * * * On page 38 a parody entitled _The Doctor's Heavy Brigade_ was inserted, with a note that the author's name was not known. I have been pleased to receive the information that these clever verses were written by a Scotch poet whose name I am not at liberty to mention, and appeared in _The Scotsman_ about ten years ago. The following _apropos_ composition, which has never before been printed, is from the same pen. Tennyson's original poem commences-- "You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, Within this region I subsist, Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas?" And concludes-- "Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, And I will see before I die The Palms and Temples of the South." * * * * * THE LAUREATE IN PARLIAMENT. You ask me why, though ill at ease, I sit among those Vere de Veres, I used to curse in former years, Pooh-poohing all their pedigrees. My answer's plain as it is true, Although of just and old renown, My fame is flattening slowly down, And yieldeth not its wonted due. This state of things I can't afford. My dramas and my later lays Have brought me neither pence nor praise. And, after all, a lord's a lord And so I joined the upper set, I know the seasons, when to take Macmillan by the hand, and make My poems fly far wider yet. I speak not of my works to you Who have them--they shall further go, The many-headed beast shall know, That he must learn to read them too. Yet blame me not for pride or pelf, I've royal blood, the heralds say, Insisting on it, yea or nay. (I never heard of it myself). And, furthermore, you ought to know 'Twas not my doing, I was sent-- The Premier ordered me, I went; What man can stay when he says "Go?" I'd vote for some august decree Strong as the fabled towers of Ilium, Broad-based upon the people's William! Do anything, he asked of me! Well, yes, the House _is_ dull, but still A useful haunt, where sitting down, (Extremely handy when in town) A man may eat the thing he will.