It is essential to the full effect of a parody, whatever that may be, that the original—or, in other words, the thing parodied—should be familiar to the reader. Now, several parodies which we have this month received, undoubtedly possess that advantage. We have had three or four versions of "The Sweet Little Cherub that sits up aloft," dictated by the happy event that has given a young Prince to Wales, and a glad Promise to all England; we have received half-a-dozen parodies on "Gray's Elegy," suggested by the conflagration at the Tower; and we have also been favoured with a like number of variations of the "Beggar's Petition," commemorative of the detection of the fasting philosopher, Bernard Cavanagh, in the act of purchasing a "saveloy." But although the originals are all well known, we are tempted to pass these parodies by, in favour of one upon a poem which should be well known too. We allude to Alfred Tennyson's "Mariana at the Moated Grange." Whoso knoweth it not, will wisely let what follows attract his notice to a singularly touching production; and whoso remembereth it, will read with better relish, and no irreverence to the Beautiful thus companioned by the Burlesque, our accomplished correspondent's ingenious story of A PARODY. With black coal-dust the walls and floor Were thickly coated one and all; On rusty hinges swung the door That open'd to the gloomy wall; The broken chairs looked dull and dark, Undusted was the mantel-piece, And deeply speck'd with spots of grease Within, the chamber of the clerk. He only said, "I'm very weary With living in this ditch;" He said, "I am confounded dreary, I would that I were rich." His bills came with the bells at even; His bills came ere their sound had died; He could not think why bills were given, Except to torture clerks—and sigh'd. And when the flickering rushlight's flame In darkness deep could scarce be seen, He mutter'd forth his bottled spleen, Unheard by aught of mortal frame. He said, "My life is very dreary With living in this ditch;" He said, "I am tarnation weary, I would that I were rich." Upon the middle of the bed, Sleeping, he dream'd of hoarded gold; Sovereigns were jingling in his head, And in his ken was wealth untold. But when he woke, no hope of change, In silver or in circumstance, Before his sorrowing eyes did dance; He thought that it was very strange— But only said, "My life is dreary, I'll go to sleep," he said; He said "I am infernal weary, I would that bill were paid." About six fathoms from the wall, A blackened chimney (much askew) Smoked in his face—and round and small The chimney-pots destroy his view, Hard by—a popular highway, With coal-dust turned to pitchy dark, Where many a little dog doth bark, Some black, some mottled, many grey. He only said, "My life is dreary With living in this ditch;" He said, "I am fatigued and weary, I would that I were rich." E. P. W. The intense melancholy of the solitary clerk, sighing in his ditch, brought up our scientific reporter, Charles Hookey Walker, with some lucid and valuable notes of an appropriate discourse lately delivered; we append them here, for the benefit of all the doleful clerks throughout her Majesty's dominions. President—The Rev. Hugh Wells. Vice-Presidents—Dr. Durham & Prof. Hammer. "On the Formation and Analysis of a Direct Sigh." By Mr. F. Silly. The author stated that the sigh-direct was that to which he had paid the greatest attention. The "sigh-direct," he explained, was entirely different from the "sigh-inverse," the one being the production of the heart, and the other of the brain; the first being the thing itself, the second merely the symbol of the thing. He found the sigh-direct to consist generally of floating ideas, in the forms of "O dear!" "Ah me!" and "Alas!" held in solution by about their own bulk of a vague composition, formed of wishes and a cloud-vapour (of that class which is used as a site for erecting castles in the air upon), but which were so mixed and intercorporated, as to be inseparable to the nicest analysation. From the analysis, he had determined that the prime motive of a sigh is a longing for more; and that the functions thus acted upon expand the animal economy to its greatest extent, for the purpose of gratifying the longing for getting as much as it can of something, which, in this case, is only air. And this led him to a concluding remark on the extreme uselessness and futility of sighing, perceiving, as he did, that it only gave extra work to the muscles, for no tangible consideration. Mr. W. R. Fixe read a memoir on the probability of there being a constant chemical action, producing results yet unknown, in the interior of the earth, and that a current of electric fluid was constantly circulating through mineral veins; and that this circulation through the veins of living rocks was of as much importance in the formation of new productions, as the circulation of the blood in the veins of living men. Our esteemed reporter proceeded to describe the proceedings of another Section. Section D.—Zoology and Botany. President—Sir Ely Phante. Vice-Presidents—Proffs. Munky and Nape. "A New Method of Supplying Agricultural Surfaces." By S. Sappy. The author had often remarked the tendency of thatched roofs to grow corn; and it struck him that these, at present unemployed surfaces, should be made use of to conduce to the support of the inmates of houses. By growing corn in this manner a family might render itself partially independent of the farmer, grow its own wheat, and thus, at once, be elevated in the scale of existence! He would call this practice stegoculture. He had introduced it in some of his tenants' cottages, and could assure the Association that nothing could have answered better than that experiment. Mr. Soft observed it was one of those beautifully simple discoveries of application, as he would phrase it, which, like Columbus's egg, only required to be set up in the right manner, to stand a monument of ingenuity and genius to all future ages! Mr. Plunkey (from the Statistical section) said, that this discovery had relieved his mind of a heavy weight; he had long hoped for some light to dissipate the gloom with which he viewed the increase of population, while the land did not increase, but, on the contrary, diminished; for, as generations sprung up, houses rose also; thus, as more crop-ground was needed, more ground was needed for buildings. But with the aid of stegoculture, he had now no reason to apprehend a scarcity of growing-room, but, on the contrary, it was evident to any geometrist, that the two sides of a roof were of greater area than the ground they cover, thus giving an increase instead of a diminution of surface. With the impressions he had of the usefulness of this mode of culture, he looked forward to the time when agriculture would vanish before the spread of human habitations, and the science of stegoculture become of universal application. The President read a letter from Professor de Lenz, and the Schah Pyez, (Professor of Twigology in the University of Cairo), giving an animated description of their discovery of the skeleton of a male flea in the folds of a mummy cloth. The secretary then read the report of the committee which was appointed last year to inquire into the reason, "why crocodiles laid eggs." The report stated, Mr. Smith (of London) read a paper showing that the popular story of "Jack and the Bean-stalk" was founded upon the old tradition of the Lotus-eaters, and that the idea of the tale had been taken from the alleged power the Lotus-fruit had in producing an elevation-above-the-clouds sort of feeling in the eater,—which was only transferred into reality in the case of Jack: the injunction of Pythagoras to his disciples to abstain from beans, being supposed to refer to the Lotus, may have given the idea of a bean-stalk to the novelist. Dr. Daub stated, that by watering the ground round the roots of flowers with different chemical solutions, suited to the changes in colour wished for, he had been able to alter the tints of the petals to various colours, thus producing an agreeable and novel effect. The above communication having been read, a speculative listener suggested as a subject for one of the learned professors, the sympathetic connection which evidently exists between Music and Fire. He cited, as an old example of this, the fiddling of Nero during the burning of Rome; and related, as a recent proof of the secret affinity, the following story: "It is known," he said, "that during the fire at the Tower the soldiers in the fortress, as well as others, were occupied in removing the furniture of many of the inhabitants;" and free access was of course afforded them for that purpose. In one instance, a lady who had rushed up to the top of the house to secure some valuables, was, on descending after a short absence to the drawing-room, astonished to see two enormous 'British Grenadiers' attempting to play the Piano; upon being discovered, they struck up the 'Grenadiers' March' to 'double-quick time,' carrying off the 'upright grand' in a very orderly and soldier-like manner. By the way, as we have here recurred to the subject with which we opened this Number, the fire at the Tower, we may mention that a relic of the wheel of the Victory is yet in existence; for a friend of ours assures us that while the fire was raging in the upper floors of the Armoury he saw a person saw off one of the handles of the said wheel; and if he have not yet given it into the hands It was upon another occasion that a lady and gentleman, who had just seen their opposite neighbour's house burnt down, were discussing the spectacle with great seriousness. "How I grieved," said the lady, "to see poor Mrs. Tims's beautiful damask curtains on fire." "Ah," returned her husband, who had a musical taste, "I didn't so much mind the curtains; but what grieved me most was to see the fireman playing upon that capital grand piano of theirs." The subject next started was equally seasonable—though not seductive. The poet is evidently in the situation of one of her Majesty's subjects that we know of—who is the parent of more of her Majesty's subjects than we do know of—who, in fact, declares that his house is so "full of children" he cannot shut the street-door for them. Autumn leaves are falling round us Now, in all the late green gardens! Summer flowers would quite astound us— —Rare are they as "Queen Ann's fardens!" Once green lanes are now mere sloshes; Garden walks are quite unpleasant; Cloaks, umbrellas, and goloshes, Now are aught but evanescent! All the shrubberies are dripping— Plots of grass are soft and spungy— Roads seem only made for slipping— And we fall like—Missolunghi! Now the streets are clear of rabble— Shopkeepers find no employment— Ducks and geese keep gabble, gabble— Mocking us with their enjoyment! Now we cry, "When will it leave off?"— "What a very nasty day 'tis!"— "There!—'tis clearing, I believe, off!"— "No—how tiresome!—that's the way 'tis!" "Sarah," says mama, "my dear love, Don't waste time in looking out there, Come, and learn your lesson here, love— —Jacky, mind what you're about there!" "John dear, MIND! you'll break that window, Come away, John, there's a darling!— Jane, love, put away that pin, do!— Tom, do keep that dog from snarling!"— "There! you've broke it, John!" "O please, ma, —Couldn't help it!"—(here a blubber) (Enter Pa.) "Why how you tease ma!— Peace, you little squalling lubber!" "Pray, my dear, don't let the children Break the panes and roar like this now— Lauk, the noise is quite bewild'ring!" "Pa, give little Jane a kiss now." Sweet to be "shut in" and quiet, Pleasant souls all snug together! But when "brats" are there to riot, Heaven defend us from wet weather!— C. H. W. |