When Tussaud's wax-works learn to think
Or Tories to be wise;
When local rates begin to sink;

Or Spanish scrip to rise;

When German princes live at home,

Or swells in Drury-lane;

When Dr. Cumming goes to Rome,be yours again!

I may

When knaves and ranters cease to preach,
Or evening prints to lie;
When tyros do not try to teach,

Or silly girls to dye;

When Osborne quite forgets to jest,

Or Ireland to complain;

When taxes are no more assess'd-
I may be yours again!

When law and justice both unite,
Or Swan and Edgar part;

When London gas gives better light,
Or Ayrton takes to art;

When Leicester-square begins to smile,
Or "Bradshaw" to be plain;

When smart reviewers don't revile,—
I may be yours again!

When Lord Penzance shall sit no more,

Or gaols no longer stand;

When want is banished from our shore,

Or love is in the land;

When earth is rid of every woe,

Or fools are blest with brain

Why then, my faithless charmer, know
I may be yours again!

One of the points so admirably parodied and run into extravagance here is the trick of antithesis. It is odd to find that one of the greatest masters of this trick, particularly in his satiric verse, was Burns, one good instance being the couplet in the "Holy Fair: "

Some are fu' o' love divine,
And some are fu' o' brandy.

Mr. Austin Dobson also has made very good use of this trick in some of his lighter verse.

Barry Cornwall, with his simple and yet halfmincing air, has formed a fine subject for parodists, and quite recently we have met with two really good specimens. This is one :

SING! Who sings

Of him who weareth the fine gold rings,
Ah, who is the party fine?

The Jew I divine,

Who works the Brummagem line.

In "h's" he

Is a dealer free,

And very unpleasant company.

The second is on his universally known poem,— "The Sea," and is very happy :

THE TEA.

By Carry Bornwall.

THE tea! The tea! The beef, beef-tea!
The brew from gravy-beef for me!
Without a doubt, as I'll be bound,
The best for an invalid 'tis found;
It's better than gruel; with sago vies;
Or with the cradled babe's supplies.

I like beef-tea! I like beef-tea,
I'm satisfied, and aye shall be,

With the brew I love, with the brew I know,
And take it wheresoe'er I go.

If the price should rise, or meat be cheap,
No matter? I'll to beef-tea keep.

I love-oh, how I love to guide
The strong beef-tea to its place inside,
When round and round you stir the spoon
Or whistle thereon to cool it soon.
Because one knoweth-or ought to know,
That things get cool whereon you blow.

I never have drunk the dull souchong,
But I for my loved beef-tea did long,
And inly yearned for that bountiful zest,
Like a bird: as a child on that I messed-
And a mother it was and is to me,

For I was weaned on the beef-beef-tea!

It is not difficult to fix the original of the following the first of a series which appeared in "London," "designed to popularise in drawingrooms and schools the style of the latest school of poetry: "

I. MADONNA MIA.

I WOULD I were a cigarette

Between my Lady's lithe sad lips,
Where Death, like Love, divinely set,
With exquisite sighs and sips

Feeds and is fed and is not fain,
And Memory married with regret,

And Pleasure amorous of red Pain,
In moon-wise musing wax and wane ;
That with the bitter sweetness of her breath
I might somewhile remember and forget
(For Life is Love, and Love is Death!)
It was my hap, ah well-a-way!
To burn my little hour away.

I would I were a gold jewel

To fleck my Lady's soft lean throat,
Where Love, like Death, lies throned to swell
A strange and tremulous note

Of yearning vague, void and vain,

Delight on flame Desire to quell,

And Pleasure fearful of red Pain,

And dreams fallèn to sere and stain;

That in the barren blossom of her breath
I might be glad we were not one but twain
(For Love is Life, and Life is Death!),
And that without me, well-a-way!
She could not choose but pass away.

I HID my heart between her hands,
The fair and fragrant hands of her.
For yea! (I said) she understands
That maid to man should minister.
For Time (I sang) is ours to-day,
And she may not gainsay him.

Yea!

I set my heart beneath her feet,
The sad and subtle feet of her.
For yea! (I said) this Love is fleet,

Nay! and than all things crueller.
For Chance (I sang) has brought the May,
And life is sweet to savour. Yea!

She looked on me with both her eyes,
The green and gracious eyes of her,
And lightly laughed in woman's wise,
And waxed than Love's self wearier.
For Life (she sighed) is hard and gray,
And Death is well worth living.

Yea.