I remember, I remember, We'd been out late at night. Twain heroes who, o'er sundry cups, Wound up by "getting tight;" And then, although no blood was spilt, That fiend in blue we met; "Run in" upon my natal day-- Oh, would I could forget. I remember, I remember, No soda would he bring, He said the air seem'd rather fresh For night birds on the wing! The _spirits_ needed _feathers_ then, And rest my fevered brow; He only said, "The place is cool," And, "Mind! don't make a row!" _The Figaro_, March 7, 1874. Another parody of the same original appeared in _The Figaro_ for August 26, 1874. It was entitled, "I Remember, I Remember, a reminiscence of Child-Hood and Thomas Hood," and consisted of four verses, but they are not now of sufficient interest to be quoted. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I remember, I remember, When first I saw a rink, How fine to be a skater, I always used to think, To roll about, both in and out, Through all the livelong day, But now I wish the rink and skates Had been far, far away. I remember, I remember, The skates that first I wore, The joy I had in buying them, That I shall have no more; On being a great skater My youthful heart was set-- Now the rink has gone the way of rinks; The skates I have them yet. I remember, I remember, When first I had a fall, How hard I found the asphalte, How loudly I did bawl; There was anguish in my bosom, There was fever on my brow, There were bruises on my body-- I bear the traces now. I remember, I remember, How oft from school I'd beg; But my rinking days were over. When at last I broke my leg. It was a foolish fancy, And now 'tis little joy, To know I broke my fibula, When I was a little boy. _Idyls of the Rink_ (Judd and Co., London, 1876). * * * * * THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young and so fair! Loop up her tresses, Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full-- Home she had none. * * * * TOM HOOD. * * * * * ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE. "ATQUI SCIEBAT QUÆ SIBI BARBARUS TORTOR PARARET." I. One more unfortunate Ploughed for degree, By those importunate Questioners three. II. Tell it him gingerly, Break it with care, Think you he'll angry be? Or will he swear? III.