To dear St. Valentine no thrush, Sings livelier from a Springtide bush; Then pay me half-a-crown a line, And I will be thy Valentine.” This Valentine parody appeared in _The Satirist_ for February, 1810, with another poem imitating the style of M. G. Lewis. In January, 1811, there was another long parody of Walter Scott, in the same journal. It was entitled _The Ovation of the Empty Chair_, and commenced:―― O that I had the muse I wot, The buxom muse of Walter Scott, Whose wand’ring verse and vagrant rhymes, Recite the tales of other times; Then should that simple muse declare, _Th’ ovation of the empty chair_. This parody relates to the imprisonment in the Tower of Sir Francis Burdett, the Radical Member for Westminster, and father of the present Lady Burdett Coutts. ――――:o:―――― On the death of Mr. Henry James Pye, the Poet Laureate, in 1813, and during the discussion which ensued as to his probable successor, _The Satirist_ published a collection of applications for the post. These applications (supposed to have been written by the most eminent poets of the day), contained specimens of such odes and addresses as they would have been prepared to manufacture in praise of the monarch, and his family, on appointment to the office. The authors thus parodied were Hannah More, George Colman, Lord Byron, W. Wordsworth, Thomas Campbell, Robert Southey, Walter Scott, and George Crabbe. The notes which accompanied the parodies were more interesting than the poems themselves, of which, indeed, the only one which would be worth quoting was a parody on Robert Southey. That on Walter Scott was poor stuff, and most of the others are quite out of date. ――――:o:―――― WALTER SCOTT, ESQ., TO HIS PUBLISHERS. Be not discouraged――gentlemen, Tho’ criticism has run me down―― Tho’ burlesque has assum’d my pen, And Plagiary stole my renown―― Give me more cash――I’ll take more pains, And far surpass my former strains In Metaphor and thought. My fancy too shall soar so high, That burlesque writers I’ll defy, And critics set at naught. Successful in my first essay, My friends began to greet―― My _First_, entitled the _Last_ Lay―― No minstrel sung more sweet―― Then envy slept and I became, At once a Poet of great fame; For much applause I had―― Proud of the offspring of my pen, I was resolved to write agen, And to my laurels add. My _Marmion_ I then gave the town, In strains energetic and bold; The critics were ready to own, The battle sublimely was told. But one _Peter Pry_, His humour must try, To burlesque the poem I’d written; To me it did seem A wonderful theme, For any to exercise wit on.