The following is from Tom Moore's Fudge Family in Paris:

Take instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a
Desperate dash down the Falls of Niagara.

A request for a rhyme for Mackonochie elicited numerous replies, one of which, in reference to a charitable occasion, begins thus:

Who, folk bestowing

Their alms, when o'erflowing,

The coffer unlocks?

Fingers upon a key
Placing, Mackonochie
Opens the box.

Canning's amusing little extravaganza, with which everybody is familiar, beginning:

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view

The dungeon that I'm rotting in,

I think of the companions true
Who studied with me at the U-

niversity of Gottingen,

has been parodied a hundred times; but it is itself a parody of Pindar, whose fashion of dividing words in his odes all students of the classics have abundant occasion to remember. The last stanza was appended by William Pitt, a fact not generally known:

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu,

That kings and priests are plotting in
Here doomed to starve on water gru-
el, never shall I see the U-
niversity of Gottingen.

Of these fantastic rhymes, Richard Harris Barham, has given us the finest examples in the language, in his celebrated "Ingoldsby Legends." In the legend "Look at the Clock," we have this:

"Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity."

This from "The Ghost":

"And, being of a temper somewhat warm,

Would now and then seize upon small occasion,
A stick or stool, or anything that round did lie,
And baste her lord and master most confoundedly."

In the "Tragedy" we have one even more whimsical and comical:

"The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but

Was served the same way,

And was found the next day

With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt."

Byron has more than matched any of these in completeness of rhyme and extent, if we may call it so, of rhyming surface, and matched even himself in acidity of cynicism, in his couplet :

66. -Ye lords of ladies intellectual,

Come tell me, have they not hen-pecked you all."

Punch has some very funny samples of eccentric rhymes, of which the best is one that spells out the final word of a couplet, the last letter or two, making so many syllables rhyme with the ending word of the preceding line. Thus:

"Me drunk! the cobbler cried, the devil trouble you,

You want to kick up a blest r-o-w,

I've just returned from a teetotal party,

Twelve on us jammed in a spring c-a-r-t,

The man as lectured now, was drunk; why bless ye,
He's sent home in a c-h-a-i-s-e."

Twenty-five years or more ago, in Boston, Monday was the gathering time for Universalist clergymen, Tompkins' book store being the place of rendezvous. At these unions, King, Chapin, Hosea Ballou, Whittemore, and other notabilities, were pretty sure to be present; and as it was immediately after the graver labors of the Sabbath, the parsons were apt to be in an unusually frisky condition.

Chapin, ordinarily, is of reticent habit; but when the company is congenial, at he is in exhilarant mood, his wonderful flow of language and quick perception make him a companion rarely equalled for wit and repartee. On one occasion, when King and Chapin, and a dozen other clergymen were at Tompkins's, as was their wont, Chapin began to rhyme upon the names of those present. Without a moment's hesitation, he ran off the name of each, rhyming it in verse, to the huge delight of the company. Finally, after exhausting that list, the names of absent clergymen were given to the ready poet, and there was not a single failure. At last a clergyman said:

"I can give you a name, Brother Chapin, to which you cannot make a rhyme."

'Well, what is it?"

"Brother Brimblecomb."

Without a moment's pause, Chapin said

"There was a man in our town,

:

His name-they called it Brimblecomb;
He stole the tailor's needle and shears,

But couldn't make the thimble come."

Butler's facility in overcoming stubborn words is amusing. For instance:

There was an ancient sage philosopher,

Who had read Alexander Ross over.

Coleridge, on the eve of his departure from Göttingen, being requested by a student of the same class in the university to write in his Stammbuch, or album, complied as follows:We both attended the same college,

Where sheets of paper we did blur many;
And now we're going to sport our knowledge,
In England I, and you in Germany.

Father Prout, in his polyglot praise of rum punch, says:—

Doth love, young chiel, one's bosom ruffle?

Would any feel ripe for a scuffle?

The simplest plan is just to take a

Well stiffened can of old Jamaica.

We parted by the gate in June,

That soft and balmy month,

Beneath the sweetly beaming moon,

And (wonth-hunth-sunth-bunth-I can't find a rhyme to month)

Years were to pass ere we should meet;

A wide and yawning gulf

Divides me from my love so sweet,

While (ulf-sulf-dulf-mulf-stuck again; I can't get any rhyme to gulf. I'm in a gulf myself).

Oh, how I dreaded in my soul

To part from my sweet nymph,

While years should their long seasons roll

Before (nymph-dymph-ymph-I guess I'll have to let it go at that).

Beneath my fortune's stern decree

My lonely spirit sunk,

For a weary soul was mine to be

And (hunk-dunk-runk-sk-that will never do in the world).

She buried her dear, lovely face

Within her azure scarf,

She knew I'd take the wretchedness

As well as (parf-sarf-darf-half-and-half; that won't answer either).

O, I had loved her many years,

I loved her for herself;

I loved her for her tender fears,

And also for her (welf-nelf-helf-pelf; no, no; not for her pelf).

I took between my hands her head,
How sweet her lips did pouch!

I kissed her lovingly and said:

(Bouch-mouche-louche-ouch; not a bit of it did I say ouch!)

I sorrowfully wrung her hand.

My tears they did escape,

My sorrow I could not command,

And I was but a (sape -dape-fape-ape; well, perhaps I did feel like an ape).

I gave to her a fond adieu,

Sweet pupil of love's school;

I told her I would e'er be true,

And always be a (dool-sool-mool-fool; since I come to think of it, I was a fool, for she fell in love with another fellow before I was gone a month).

Hood's Nocturnal Sketch presents a remarkable example of la difficulté vaincue. Most bards find it sufficiently difficult to obtain one rhyming word at the end of a line; but Hood secures three, with an ease which is as graceful as it is surprising :

Even has come; and from the dark park, hark
The signal of the setting sun-one gun!
And six is sounding from the chime-prime time
To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain,
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much such;
Or else to see Ducrow, with wide tide, stride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split,

Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon night comes, and with her wings brings things
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung:
The gas up blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets, and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, trusting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves do enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But, frightened by policeman B 3, flee,

And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!"

Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers grumble, Drat that cat!

Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill will.

Now bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charles, or Billy, willy nilly;

But nurse-maid, in a night-mare rest, chest-pressed,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Gromes,
And that she hears-what faith is man's-Ann's banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice;
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those beaux' woes.