TO OUR READERS. 



We have seen a ballad, whetlier a plagiary of "Chevy Ohaco," or "Chevy Chace" a 

 plagiary of it, we leave to your determination — for you will recollect how often the ancients 

 have robhed and forestalled us — saying things we should have said, and doing things we should 

 have done, had they not thrust themselves in before us. The ballad begins thus — 



" CtocI prosper long our noblo Queen, 



Our flowers, and fruits, and all, 

 A Show of which was lately seen, 



Called ' International.' 

 Sir Wentworth, sturdy knight, was there ; 



Sir Daniel, brisk was he ; 

 And Moore, and Hogg, and Masters too. 



Each busy as a bee." 



The ballad then in detail, fuller than this brief page will admit, proceeds to enumerate 

 the floral forces marshalled under various leaders — 



" Proud Orchids led by Veitch, were there, 

 And Eoses, led by Paul ; 

 Azaleas by Turner — but 



We cannot name them all." 



The hard then changes the scene to the Guildhall, describes the feast, and goes on to 



observe — 



" The banquet o'er — the guests all gone — 

 The servitors away — 

 And aching heads bemoaned next morn 

 What stomachs did that day." 



The ballad does not, as might be expected, there close, but goes on to record a conversation 

 that took place when all was quiet between Gog and Magog. The latter was unable to make 

 out who the guests were. 



" Lean men they were, and men of sense, 

 With appetites so small ; 

 Some German talk'd, and some talk'd French — 

 Aldermanic not at all." 



Gog, however — evidently a better informed Giant, and certainly a good judge— enlightens 

 his brother, and explains who everybody was. Amongst others 



" The Cottage GAnDENsn was here — 

 Or Gardenees I should say : 

 Its staff 's a legion world-wide spread. 

 And its Editors are tway." 



Gog then pays us campliments which would turn our ink rud to print, concluding, as we 

 will, with this mingling of the true and the prophetic — 



' " Our masters read it — almost all : 



'Tis Copeland's ' Tuesday's treat ;' 

 Ani Mechi has it yearly down 



In his fam'd ' balance-sheet.' 

 He says, ' It 's better ev'ry year, 



Its volumes thirty-four ; 

 And, Gumming being once more wrong. 



They 'U be as many more.' " 



