"Well," Grandolph _replied, "I've only seen pictures of him, of course, and I can't exactly say how he would have looked in a similar case, but I don't think you are much like him.”

"You are disappointed, I suppose?" suggested his august interlocutor.

"Oh no!" replied Grandolph, politely. "Of course you would like any great military contemporary to look like your own illustrious ancestor; but of course you might admire the way your great military contemporary looked, even if he wasn't like your illustrious ancestor. You know how it is yourself, about admiring your contemporaries."

The Duke stared. He could hardly be said to know how it was about admiring his contemporaries, many of whom he didn't admire at all, and some of whom did not altogether admire him.

"Well, and how's our bit of an Army getting on?" asked little Lord Fauntleroy, airily.

"Our-bit-of-an-Army?" repeated the Duke, in a scattered sort of way.

"Yes," explained Grandolph, "the bit of an Army we pay such a pile of money for ?"

"Ha!" ejaculated his Lordship.

The money isn't spent as you like.

"That's it, is it? You'd like to have the

I

"Quite so-the Details," interjected Little Lord Fauntleroy, blandly. "As you were doubtless about to say, the details are the things! All very well to say in a general sort of way that the Army is going to its usual destination, Duke; that Party Spirit and Financial Cheese-paring are the cause of it, and that more men and money are urgently required. That won't do for me. want to know-so does the Country-much more than that. How? Why? What? When? How many? How much? These, my dear Duke, are the pertinent questions to which we-the Country and I-demand precise answers. When we get them, instead of vague denunciation and big D's. we shall know what to do.'

"

The sensations of his Royal Highness the Duke, could scarcely be described. He was not an old nobleman who was very easily taken aback, because he had seen a great deal of the official world; but here was something he found so novel that it almost took his lordly breath away, and caused him some singular emotions. A civilian had always seemed to him a most objecticnable creatureimpertinent, parsimonious, and with inadequate conceptions of discipline. But this composed, precise, insolently interrogative little personage was a portent. The Duke's martinet manner was quite shaken by this startling surprise.

The Standard (London) in 1885 ventured to criticise the political character and conduct of Lord Randolph Churchill, but three years later it contained an article which read like a parody of its former utterances about this Boulanger of the Fourth Party:

We will follow Lord Salisbury, but we will not be governed by a sort of overgrown schoolboy, who thinks he is witty when he is only impudent, and who really does not seem to possess sufficient knowledge even to fathom the depths of his own ignorance of everything worthy of the name of statesmanship.

(From the Standard,

July 29, 1888.) The interest excited by the other appointments sinks into nothing compared with that which must be felt in the promotion of Lord R. Churchill to the Chancellorship of the Exchequer and the leadership of the House of Commons. There is, doubtless, much that may be said against the appointment to so responsible a position of one who has had so brief an experience of official life, and who has hitherto been more remarkable for brilliancy than discretion. On the other hand, Lord Randolph Churchill possesses the debating power and the dauntless spirit which are indispensable to a successful leader. There are times and seasors when self-confidence, readiness, and a command of that pungent rhetoric which often tells better in the House of Commons than the closest and most judicial argument, are of more service to a party than any other qualities which a Parliamentary statesman can possess. Lord Randolph Churchill moreover, is eminently popular with "the masses," and so far has a title to confront Mr. Gladstone which no other man on the Conservative side of the House can show. In short, he is an orator and a wit; and in a popular assembly these are titles to pre-eminence which it is not very easy to dispute. It remains for Lord Ran dolph Churchill to demonstrate that the great confidence that has been reposed in him has not been misplaced.

Taken in connection with the above extracts,

it is amusing to read the leader which appeared in The Standard, July 31, 1889 :—

Lord Randolph Churchill used his opportunities at Birmingham yesterday to illustrate, on a more ambitious scale than he has yet attempted, his constitutional incapacity for public life. A Statesman should be discreet; and even the hack politician is expected to be loyal to his associates. Lord Randolph has been at some pains to prove that no colleagues can trust him, and that no school of opinion can rely upon him for six weeks together. He made several speeches yesterday, and discussed at considerable length, and with an air of dogmatic assurance, a variety of topics. But the miscellaneous heads were all firmly held together by one pervading principle. Lord Randolph Churchill, his position and prospects, and the supreme importance of improving both at any cost, constituted the informing element of the whole medley. It does not, of course, follow that because Lord Randolph played a selfish game, he played a wise one. His addresses, we imagine, will strike him as poor reading by daylight. Even in the atmosphere of the City Hall, the reception was not altogether encouraging. It is not flattering to an orator to find that sayings which he meant to be oracular provoked merriment; that his serious things were taken as jokes and his jokes as serious things; and that solemn declarations of policy, which were designed to draw ringing cheers, were listened to in chilling silence, or, still worse, excited immediate and emphatic protest.

-:0:

H. RIDER HAGGARD.

He, by the author of "It," "King Solomon's Wives," "Bess, and other Romances. London, Longmans, Green and Co., 1887. This, of course, is a parody of "She; a History of Adventure," by H. Rider Haggard, author of "King Solomon's mines," etc. Also published by Longmans and Co. London.

She was also dramatised, and produced at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in September, 1888.

Punch had a humorous skit on this adaptation (September

15, 1888) entitled "She-that-ought-not-to-be-played! A Story of Gloomy Gaiety."

A burlesque of "She" had also previously appeared in Punch, February 26, 1887, entitled "Hee! Hee! by Walker Weird, author of "Solomon's Ewers."

American publishers not only pirated the popular works of Mr. Rider Haggard, but one firm proceeded to father upon him a work of which he knew nothing. This was entitled "Me, a companion to She." By H. Rider Haggard; published by Butler Brothers, of New York and Chicago. In justice to that firm, however, it must be said that they withdrew the work from circulation as soon as they discovered that Mr. Haggard objected to having his name coupled with it. Copies of this are consequently very difficult to procure.

King Solomon's Wives; or, The Phantom Mines. By Hyder Ragged. With numerous illustrations by Linley Sambourne. London, Vizetelly and Co., 1887.

The jocular introduction to this is signed A. Quaterman.

:0:

SAMUEL RICHARDSON.

It is well known that Fielding's Joseph Andrews was written with the intention of ridiculing Richardson's tediously moral novel Pamela, of which to a certain extent it is a parody, Joseph, the virtuous footman, being the brother of Pamela, and subjected to similar temptations.

DAY had broken (though MARTIN was still solvent) and was casting brilliant Holborn Bars of light through the windows of Tredethlyn Abbey on to the artistic Phiz of Lady Aurorabella.

She was very very weary-tired of her own life, and of several other people's lives, also she had not the heart to eat, and probably would not have eaten it if she had. Beyond trifling with the wing of a rabbit, cutting a morsel from a cold surloin of grouse, and drinking a single glass of Chiaroscuro, her breakfast was untouched.

For she had just received intelligence that, in spite of all her exertions, her FIVE HUSBANDS were again at liberty! "Oh! why did they not all perish?" she sot bed. "I have tried to get rid of them over and over again by every species of assassination, but now I am tired of mild measures. I must do something DESPERATE !"

So she summoned that ubiquitous detective officer, Inspector Weasel, who, from any quarter of the globe, would come by telegraph to obey her slightest word. "Weasel" she said "I can endure this no longer, I have made a resolve. By the tyrannical laws of this hateful country, my quintette of husbands have been allowed to keep the marriage certificates. Once in possession of them, I could defy the world. If value you my peace or your own, you must get them for me." "I will," replied the all accomplished detective and he set about it at once.

First, to pursue the fugitive Dr. Marchmont, "Ah" murmured the Detective "my experience tells me that when a fellow on the bolt says he is going to one place, he is certain to set off in exactly the opposite direction. Let me

see, And he carefully examined his Government survey of the World.

Inspector Weasel hastened to the Snoozington Railway Station.

"What time does the next train start for Kamtschatka ?" "At 6.85," was the reply.

The detective chafed with impatience. Two minutes to wait! It seemed an eternity-and-a-half to him! At length the train arrived and the detective jumped up behind the Engine Driver. "Off we go!" he cried ""bother stations, and signals, and all that sort of thing, never mind bursting the engine, or blowing up the passengers. I'm in a hurry!"

"My dear Sir,-Your letter reaches me here. I have just returned from Venice, where I have ruminated in the pasturages of the home of art; the loveliest and holiest of lovely and holy cities, where the very stones cry out, eloquent in the elegancies of Iambics. I could not if I would go to Chesterfield, and I much doubt whether I would go if I could. I do not hire myself out-after the fashion of a brainless long tongued puppet-for filthy ducats. You, and those who told you to write me, want me, I presume, to come that you may make money for your art class; and if I should get you much money, you will then tolerate some good advice from me. No, I will

not come.

"I have heard of Chesterfield. Hath it not a steepleabomination, and is it not the home-if not the cradleof that arch abomination-creator, Stephenson? To him are we indebted for the screeching and howling and shrieking fiends fit only for a Pandemonium, called locomotives, that disfigure the loveliest spots of God's own land.

"I will not come to Chesterfield. Tell your students that art is a holy luxury, and they must pay for it. Tell them to study, to ponder, and to work with a single thought for perfection, observing loving and strict obedience to the monitions of their teacher. Let them learn to do things rightly and humbly, and then, by the conviction that they can never do them as well as they have been done by others, they may be profited

"My good young people, this is pre-eminently the foolishest-yes, quite the foolishest-notion that you can get into your empty little egg-shells of heads; that you can be a Titian, or a Raphael, or a Phidias; or that you can write like Seneca. But because you cannot be great, that is no reason why you should not aspire to greatness. In joy, humility, and humbleness, work together. Only don't study art because it will pay, and do not ask for payment because you study art. Art will make you all wiser and happier, and is worth paying for. If you are in debt-as I suppose you are, or why pester me?-pay off your debts yourselves. If you write to me only that you may get money, you are on the foolishest of all errands. Wisdom is more precious than rubies, and is offered to you as a blessing in herself. She is the reward of industry, kindness and modesty. She is the prize of prizes, the strength of your life now, and an earnest of the life that is to come. This advice is better than money, and I give it to you gratis. Ponder it and profit by it.-Ever faithfully yours, JOHN RUSKIN."

Many were the comments which this letter, widely published, as it was, created; for scarcely any one doubted the authenticity of the letter addressed to Chesterfield, a name which recals that of a celebrated Earl who also wrote letters, but his were on the art of politeness.

But a few days afterwards Mr. Ruskin denied that he had composed the epistle; it is, therefore, only of interest now as so clever a parody of his style that the whole London press was

deceived by it. The following letter, however, was certainly genuine. In June 1886, a circular was addressed to Mr. Ruskin appealing for subscriptions towards extinquishing the debt of the Baptist Church at Richmond, to which he replied:

SIR,-I am sorrowfully amused at your appeal to me, of all people in the world the precisely least likely to give you a farthing. My first word to all men and boys who care to hear me is "Don't get into debt. Starve, and go to heaven; but don't borrow. Try first begging. I don't mind, if it's really needful, stealing. But don't buy things you can't pay for." And of all manner of debtors, pious people building churches they can't pay for are the most detestable nonsense to me. Can't you preach and pray behind the hedges, or in a sandpit, or in a coal-hole first? And of all manner of churches thus idiotically built, iron churches are the damnablest to me. And of all the sects and believers in any ruling spirit, Hindoos, Turks, Feather Idolators, and Mumbo Jumbo Log and Fire Worshippers, who want churches, your modern English Evangelical sect is the most absurd and entirely objectionable and unendurable to me. All which you might very easily have found out from my books. Any other sort of sect would, before bothering me to write it to them. -Ever, nevertheless, and in all this saying, your faithful servant,

JOHN RUSKIN.

HAVING enumerated the most important parodies of our great novelists, and given such extracts as the limits of space would permit, it only remains to mention such other prose parodies of works of fiction, which are either of less merit in themselves, or mimic authors of less importance than those already dealt with. This list can only be approximately complete, as there are hundreds of such parodies buried away in the back numbers of the Magazines and Comic Journals.

W. Harrison Ainsworth.

The Age of Lawn Tennis. A fragment after Harrison Ainsworth's "Rookwood." See Tennis Cuts and Quips. Old Temple Bar; by W. Harrissing Ainsworth. See The Puppet Showman's Album.

Blueacre. A Romance, by W. Harrising Painsworth. See Our Miscellany, by E. H Yates and R. B. Brough. William. Black.

In Silk Attire. By W -m B-k. See The Tomahawk, July 17, 1869.

There was also a parody of Mr. Black, in The World.
A Princess of Lundy. By W-m B--k. See Ben
D'Ymion and other Novelettes, by H. F. Lester. London,
Swan Sonnenschein & Co., 1887.

This volume also contains:-
Muddlemarsh, by George Eliot.

The Portrait of a Hybrid, by Henry James.
A Rustic Zenobia, by Thomas Hardy.
James Fribblesaint, by J. H Shorthouse.

Selina Sedilia. By Miss M. E. Braddon and Mrs. Henry Wood. See Sensation Novels Condensed, by Bret Harte.

Miss Rhoda Broughton.

Gone Wrong. A new Novel by Miss Rhody Dendron, Authoress of "Cometh down like a Shower," "Red in the Nose is She," etc.

By F. C. Burnand. London, Bradbury, & Co, 1881. Colonel F. Burnaby.

THE Ride to Khiva. By F. C. Burnand. London, Bradbury, Agnew & Co, 1879. This burlesque of Colonel Burnaby's A Ride to Khiva originally appeared in Punch.

Samuel Butler.

The Irish Hudibras, or Fingallian Prince. 1689.

The Whigs Supplication; or, Scotch Hudibras, a mock Poem. By Samuel Colville. First published in 1681,

there have since been several editions.

The Lentiad; or, Peter the Pope pommelled and Pounded with a Hudibrastic Cudgel. Edited by Rev. John Allan. (Violently Anti-Catholic.) London, William Freeman, 1863.

Butler's Ghost; or Hudibras, the fourth part, with reflections upon these times. Tom D'Urfey. 1682.

The Modern Hudibras, a poem in three cantos. By George Linley. London, J. C. Hotten, 1864. "Cœlebs in search of a Wife."

Calebs Deceived, a Novel. 1817.

Celia in search of a Husband, by a Modern Antique. 1809. Miguel Cervantes.

A Chapter from the Book called The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha, which by some mischance has not till now been printed. London, George Redway, 1887.

(A curious dissertation on the literature of the Occult Sciences.)

Don Quixote; or, the Knight of the woeful Countenance. A Romantic Drama, in two acts. By George Almar, Surrey Theatre London, April 8, 1833. (Dicks).

Don Quixote was also dramatised at the Alhambra Theatre, London, a few years ago. Wilkie Collins.

The Moonstone and Moonshine, after Wilkie Collins. This parody appeared in The Mask, London, August 1868. No Title, by Wilkie Collins. See Sensation Novels Condensed, by Bret Harte.

Thomas Day.

The New History of Sandford and Merton. Being a

True Account of the Adventures of "Masters Tommy and Harry," with their Beloved Tutor, "Mr. Barlow." By F. C. Burnand, with 76 Illustrations by Linley Sambourne. London, Bradbury, Agnew & Co. 1871.

Of all Mr. Burnand's burlesques, this is probably the most humorous; the immortal tutor prig, Mr. Barlow, the funny moral tales, and the equally funny illustrations, can scarcely be surpassed.

Daniel Defoe.

The New Robinson Crusoe, an Instructive and Entertaining History for the Children of both sexes. Thirty-two woodcuts by John Bewick. London, 1811.

Robinson Crusoe was translated into Latin by F. J. Goffaux in 1823, there are several French versions of it, the "Swiss Family Robinson," and one in German called "Robinson the Younger," by J. H. Campe.

Robinson the Younger, translated from the German of J. H. Campe. Hamburg, 1781.

Benjamin Disraeli.

Anti-Coningsby, or the New Generation grown old. By an embryo M.P. (Mr. W. North). 1844..

Hythair. By Walter Parke, Funny Folks, 1876. Splendimion, or, the Asian Mystery. A Grand "Diz". torical Romance. By Walter Parke. Funny Folks 1880.

Charles Dickens.

In the list of plays founded on his novels, given on p. 226, the following should have been included:

A Christmas Carol. By E. Stirling. Adelphi Theatre. February 5, 1844. (Barth.)

The Chimes. By E. Stirling, Lyceum Theatre, December, 26, 1844.

A Christmas Carol. By Charles Webb, (Barth.) Martin Chuzzlewit. By Harry Minus, Oxford Theatre, Easter Monday, 1878, (Dicks).

These entries have been courteously supplied by Mr. T. F. Dillon Croker.

Hugh Conway.

Much Darker Days. By A. Huge Longway, author of "Scrawled Black,' ""Unbound," etc.

London, Longmans, Green and Co., 1884. Anonymous, preface signed Ă. H. L

A later edition of this parody of Hugh Conway's Dark Days was published in 1885, with an apologetic Preface. Hauled Back, by his Wife. By Ugo Gone-away Hugaway. (Anonymous) London, J. and R. Maxwell, 1885. Henry Fielding.

The History of Tom Jones the Foundling, in his Married State, London, 1750.

Tom Jones, a Comic Opera, as performed at Covent Garden Theatre, the words by Joseph Reed.

Tom Jones was also dramatised by Robert Buchanan, as well as Joseph Andrews, the title of which he changed to Joseph's Sweetheart.

G. P. R. James.

The Page. A Romaunt from English history, by Gustavus Penny Royal Jacobus. See Our Miscellany, by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough.

The Passage of Prawns. A Tale of Picardy, by George Prince Regent James. See The Puppet Showman's Album.

In Cruikshank's Almanac for 1846, will be found an article entitled "Hints to Novelists," in which short imitations are given of G. P. R. James, C. Dickens, and Fennimore Cooper.

Barbazure, by G. P. R. Jeames, Esq. See Novels by Eminent Hands, by W. M. Thackeray. (These originally appeared in Punch.)

Magnum of Burgundy. A Romance of the Fronde. See A Bowl of Punch, by Albert Smith.

The Robber of Idleburg, by Walter Parke. See The Comic News, London. 1864.

The Wrongful Heir; or, What will they do with him? A Strange Story. By Walter Parke. Judy 1869. Baron Munchausen.

The Travels and Surprising adventures of Baron Munchausen. First English Edition Oxford, 1786.

There can be little doubt but what this amusing piece of nonsense was written to ridicule certain German memoirs, some say those of Baron de Tott, others say those of Baron Von Trenck. The authorship of the work was also the subject of dispute, but it is now generally ascribed to G. A. Bürger, the German poet, who died in 1794.

In 1792 there appeared A Sequel to the Adventures of Baron Munchausen which was humbly dedicated to Mr. Bruce, the celebrated Abyssinian traveller.

The Surprising, Unheard of, and Never-to-be-surpassed Adventures of Young Munchausen, related and illustrated by C. H. Bennett. In twelve "Stories." London, Routledge & Co., 1865.

This originally appeared in Routledge's Every Boy's Annual.

"Ouida." (Louise de la Ramée.)

Blue Blooded Bertie, or under two fires.

A serial bur

lesque of Ouida's "Under Two Flags," by Walter Parke. Funny Folks. 1875.

Samuel Pepys.

The Diary of Samuel Pepys Esq., while an undergraduate at Cambridge. With notes and appendix. Cambridge: Jonathan Palmer, 1864. This clever parody ran through several Editions, it was thought to be the production of Mr. Cooke, a student of Emanuel College, Cambridge.

Mr. Pips, hys Diary. Manners and Customs of ye English, 1849. By Percival Leigh, with illustrations by Richard Doyle.

The University Commission, or, Lord John Russell's

Postbag, containing Mister Anthony Pepys his Diary, he
Oxford,
being a member of the said Commission.
W. Baxter, 1850.

(Written in the style of Pepys' Diary.}

Charles Reade.

Chikkin Hazard. A Novel by Charles Readit and Dion Bounceycore. This parody on Fowl Play, written by Mr. F. C. Burnand, first appeared in Punch, it was afterwards issued in book form by Bradbury, Agnew & Co., 1881. Sir Walter Scott.

Rebecca and Rowena. Thackeray. Pontefract Castle, a novel attributed to Sir W. Scott. Contained in Tales of my Landlord, new series, published in 1820.

A sequel to Ivanhoe. By W. M.

Sir Walter Scott formally disavowed this work at the end of his introduction to "The Monastery," 1830.

Waverley. An abridged edition was published by Knight and Lacy, London, 1827, with the title page "Novels, Tales, and Romances" by Sir Walter Scott, abridged and illustrated by Sholto Percy. This appears to have been a gross piracy.

Moredun: A tale of the Twelve Hundred and Ten, by W. S. This was published in 1855, as a newly discovered Waverley novel,

Walladmor. (2 vols. 1855). A Novel, by De Quincey, which purported to be "Freely translated into German from the English of Sir Walter Scott, and now freely translated from the German into English." It appears that German readers were actually hoaxed into the belief that this novel was by Scott.

Hawley Smart.

What's the Odds? or, The Dumb Jockey of Teddington. A sporting novel by Major Jawley Sharp.

By F. C. Burnand, London, Bradbury and Co., 1879. (This originally appeared in Punch.)

Horace Smith.

Whitehall; or, the Days of George IV. Dedicated to Sir Edmund Nagle, K.C.B. London. W. Marsh, 1827.

Horace Smith, one of the authors of Rejected Addresses, wrote a number of historical novels, most of which are now entirely forgotten. One of these was called Brambletye House, to ridicule which Dr. William Maginn wrote Whitehall.

"The author's object," said the Quarterly Review, in January 1828, "is to laugh down the Brambletye House species of novel; and for this purpose we are presented with such an historical romance as an author of Brambletye House, flourishing in Barbadoes 200 or 2,000 years hence, we are not certain which, nor is the circumstance of material moment, might fairly be expected to compose of and concerning the personages, manners, and events of the age and country in which we live The book is,

*

*

*

in fact, a series of parodies upon unfortunate Mr. Horace Smith, and it is paying the author no compliment to say that his mimicry (with all its imperfections) deserves to outlive the ponderous original."

But Whitehall is itself, almost as heavy and as tedious, as the work it parodies.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson. This weird and powerful story was dramatised by Mr. T. Russell Sullivan, and produced at the Lyceum Theatre in August 1888, Mr. Richard Mansfield performed the two title parts.