Some doubt as to what was the cause of his fright, Some say that the sea where he lived got too hot, Some say too cold, and some vanished quite, But one thing is certain, whatever is not, That harden’d and stony, his tail no more wags For he now lies entombed in the Lingula flags. The jolly young fellow has had his day out, And doubtless once relished like others a spree, Made love to the Lingulas roaming about, Was lively and affable, funny and free, But hardened and slaty his tail no more wags, For he now lies entombed in the Lingula flags. This parody refers to some rare specimens of trilobites contained in Dr. Grindrod’s Museum at Malvern. From _Health and Pleasure, or Malvern Punch_. By J. B. Oddfish. London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., 1865. ―――― THE LUCKLESS YOUNG GENTLEMAN. And did you not hear of that luckless “Young Gentleman,” Who at St. Stephen’s but lately did ply His pencil and paper with skill and dexterity? (Till his sly toil caught the SULLIVAN’S eye.) He looked so calm, and he worked so steadily, His Pitman’s Phonetics he marshalled so readily, And he eyed the debate with such business-like air, You’d have sworn his proceedings were all square and fair. What sights of long speeches he heard in his gallery, So frothy, so fierce, and so foolish withal! How his ears must have ached when the Home-Rule Circassians Gave the rein to their _penchant_ for shindy and squall; And oft times would they be snapping and sneering, But ’twas all one to him their jibing and jeering; Not a figs-end for party or brogue did he care, His task was reporting them all square and fair. And yet but to see now how strangely things happen! As he scribbled on, thinking of nothing at all, He was spotted by SULLIVAN, POWER, and CALLAN, Who “protisted,” and straightway began _such_ a brawl! “Obnoxious and unprecedented Reporther!” The Shindyites yelled, and a world of hot wather Was caused by that luckless “Young Gentleman” there, MR. SPEAKER’S note-taker so square and so fair! _Punch._ July 26, 1879 ―――― THE JOLLY OLD WOODCUTTER. Oh! did you ne’er hear of a jolly old woodcutter, Who at Hawarden Castle used for to stop; He handled his axe with such skill and dexterity, Treating his friends to a generous “chop.” He looked so grand, and chopped so steadily, That toadies all flocked to admire so readily; And he eyed the old geese with an ogle so sweet, That this woodcutter ne’er was in want of a seat.