Who lull’d with laughing gas my fear When conscious that a tug was near For man’s endurance too severe? My Dentist. And lastly, when infirm I grew, Who skilfully each relic drew, And framed for me a mouth-piece new? My Dentist. From “_Songs and Verses on Sporting Subjects_,” by R. E. Egerton-Warburton (Pickering & Co., Piccadilly, 1879.) ――――:o:―――― RONDEAU. To-day, it is my natal day, And threescore years have passed away, While Time has turned to silver gray My hairs. Pursuing pleasure, love, and fun, A longish _course_ I’ve had to run, And thanks to Fortune I have won My hares. But now, exhausted in the race, No longer I can go the pace, And others must take up the chase, My heirs. TOM HOOD. ――――:o:―――― The following Parody is taken from a small and very scarce volume, entitled, “MY HOOKAH; or, _The Stranger in Calcutta_.” Being a collection of Poems by an Officer. Calcutta: Printed at the Press of Greenway and Co., 1812. The volume contains a Preface, 73 pages of Poetry, of a mildly humourous type, and a List of Subscribers, headed by the name of The Right Honourable Lord Minto, Governor General, etc., etc., etc. In a foot note to _My Hookah_, the Author (whose name is not given), remarks, “Cowper’s beautiful lines to ‘Mary’ have given rise to innumerable Parodies――we have had ‘My Father,’――‘My Mother,’ and even ‘My Granny;’ why then should not ‘My Hookah’ be added to the number?” MY HOOKAH. What is it, that affords such joys On Indian shores, and never cloys, But makes that _pretty_, _bubbling_ noise? My Hookah. What is it, that a Party if in At breakfast, dinner, or at Tiffin, Surprises and delights the Griffin? My Hookah. What is it to Cadets gives pleasure? What is it occupies their leisure? What do they deem the greatest treasure? My Hookah. Say――what makes Decency wear sable? What makes each would-be nabob able To cock his legs upon the table? My Hookah. What is it (trust me, I’m not joking, Tis truth――altho’, I own, provoking) That sets e’en Indian _belles_ a smoking? My Hookah. What is it――whensoe’er we search In ev’ry place;――_except the Church_, That leaves sweet converse in the lurch? My Hookah. But hold my Muse――for shame, for shame―― One question ere you smoking blame―― _What is it gives your book a name?_ My Hookah.