"Bravo, Smifzer! This is the right sort of thing--no wishy-washy snivelling about a wounded heart and all that kind of stuff, but savage sarcasm, the lava of a volcanic spirit. In a fine prophetic strain is that vision of Amy's feelings as the inebriated nawab stumbles hazily into the drawing-room, steaming fulsomely of chilma! And that picture of the African jungle, with Smifzer _in puris_ mounted on a high-trotting giraffe, with his twelve dusky brides around him,--Cruikshank alone could do it justice. But the triumph of the poem is in the high-toned sentiment of civilisation and moral duty, which, esteeming 'the grey barbarian' lower than the 'Christian cad,'--and that is low enough in all conscience,--tears the captivating delusions of freedom and polygamy from the poet's eyes, even when his pulse is throbbing at the wildest, and sends him from the shades of the palm and the orange tree to the advertising columns of the 'Morning Post.' This is indeed a great poem, and we need only add that the reader will find something like it in Mr Alfred Tennyson's 'Locksley Hall.' There has been pilfering somewhere; but Messieurs Smifzer and Tennyson must settle it between them." How little did I dream, when writing this, that I should hear the parody quoted through the years up till now almost as often as the original poem! Smifzer was wiser than Tennyson, for he never spoiled the effect of his poem by admitting, like Tennyson in his "Locksley Hall, Sixty Years After," that it was a good thing that "spider-hearted" Amy threw him over as she did.