A cat on the right of him! Cat on the left of him! Cat at the front of him! What if he blunder'd? Slipt his foot! clean he fell! Came then a horrid yell! Joe look'd as pale as death, As down they came _pell mell_, All the "Half-hundred!" Out popt the "party" there! Wondering what meant that _ere_ Noise on the landing stair! All stood and wonder'd! Dust-clouds of coal and coke! Made them all nearly choke! Oh! such a dreadful smoke! As from the second floor Rolled the "Half-hundred!" Voices at right of him! Voices at left of him! Voices behind him! Question'd and thunder'd! Shrunk I into my shell; Ah! how my grandeur fell! Knowing that (thought a "swell") I was thus found to buy Coals by the "Hundred!" How does one's glory fade, When there an end is made At what the world wonder'd? Ne'er from my mind will fade That awkward mess we made, Of the "Half-hundred!" JAMES BRUTON. _(From the Stratford-on-Avon Herald.)_ * * * * * The following clever parody was given to me, about ten years ago, by a young Scotch friend, who has since gone to New Zealand. I have no clue to the _year_ in which it was written (the day of the month, however, was carefully preserved), nor do I know by _whom_ it was written, nor where it made its first appearance in public. Will any kind correspondent furnish me with information on these points? THE DOCTOR'S HEAVY BRIGADE. "They would scarcely believe him when he told them that when in Thurso, some time ago, he on one occasion saw six hundred people asleep in a church." Speech of Dr. Guthrie, October 26th. O'er their devoted heads, While the law thunder'd, Snugly and heedlessly Snored the Six Hundred! Great was the preacher's theme; Screw'd on was all the steam; Neither with shout nor scream Could he disturb the dream Of the Six Hundred! Terrors to right of them! Terrors to left of them! Terrors in front of them! Hell itself plundered! Of its most awful things, All those unlawful things. Weak-minded preacher flings At the dumb-founder'd! Boldly he spoke, and well, All on deaf ears it fell, Vain was his loudest yell Volley'd and thundered; For, caring--the truth to tell, Neither for Heaven nor Hell, Snor'd the Six Hundred; Still, with redoubled zeal, Still he spoke onward, And, in a wild appeal, Striking with hand and heel, Making the pulpit reel, Shaken and sundered-- Called them the Church's foes, Threatened with endless woes, Faintly the answer rose, (Proofs of their sweet repose), From the United Nose Of the Six Hundred! L'ENVOY.