And the toiling City clerk Hears you in his office dark; Less of headache he might know If you did not tinkle so. With your ceaseless clang you keep Many a sufferer from sleep, For you never silent lie While the sun is in the sky. As your din from dawn to dark Worries both sick man and clerk, Proving oftentimes their knell, Cease to tinkle, horrid bell! (Prize parody.) M. BEACH. _One and All._ November 6, 1880. ―――― TO THE TEMPLE BAR MEMORIAL. Monument to Temple Bar, How I wonder why you are Stuck in Fleet by magnates high, Like a huge November guy! Though the ugly Bar is gone, You the site must rest upon, Just to show how little light Flickers in this Council bright.(?) Then the travellers in the dark, Curse you as their shins you bark, For they could tell which way to go If you did not hinder so. In the narrow street you keep, At solemn pace my cab doth creep ’Neath thy “all-fired” griffin’s eye, Leering there ’twixt earth and sky. As of light no tiny spark, Brightens all thy hist’ry dark, Oh! I know not _why_ you are, Monument to Temple Bar. _One and All._ November 6, 1880. There are five other parodies of the same original in the competition, but the two above are the most interesting. ―――― THE REVISED VERSION. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” the nursery rhyme so familiar to everybody, has been revised by a Committee of Eminent Scholars, with the following result: Shine with irregular, intermitted light,[28] sparkle at intervals, diminutive, luminous, heavenly body.[29] How I conjecture, with surprise, not unmixed with uncertainty,[30] what you are, Located, apparently, at such a remote distance[31] from and at a height so vastly superior to this earth, the planet we inhabit. Similar in general appearance and refractory powers to the precious primitive octahedron crystal of pure carbon,[32] set in the aërial region surrounding the earth. _Merry Folks Library._ ―――― Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific, Fain would I fathom thy nature specific. Loftily poised in æther capacious, Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous. When Torrid Phœbus refuses his presence, And ceases to lamp us with fierce incandescence, Then you illumine the regions supernal Scintillate, scintillate, semper nocturnal. Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination Gratefully hails your minute coruscation; He could not determine his journey’s direction But for your bright scintillating protection. ―――― THE SPRINKLER. Sprinkle, sprinkle, water cart, How I wonder what thou art; Never can I find you nigh When the dust is deep and dry.