ports to be a translation of a French poem
with which patriots are supposed to implant hatred of England in the
minds and hearts of their children the refrain being "Car ce sont la des
perfides Albionnais!"--and the "Second Lesson," which replies to a
French attack, were important efforts. His "Lays of the Amphitheatre
(Royal), by T. B. Macaulay," "Cyinon and Iphigeneia," and similar
contributions justified his inclusion in the Staff (April, 1845); but
after the autumn of 1846, by which time he was represented by a score of
columns, he disappeared from _Punch's_ scene.

A letter from Charles Lever (6th June, 1844), under the title of "A
Familiar Epistle," and over the signature "Archy Delany," for a moment
brought that distinguished novelist into contact with Thackeray--a
circumstance that was not forgotten by either writer, when the latter
paid his rather stiff Dublin visit some time afterwards to the "Harry
Rollicker" whom he so brilliantly parodied in his "Prize Novelists."
Then Mr. W. P. Bull, of Nuneaton, sent in half a column of mock-heroic
verse--"A Soliloquy"--which purported to be the commencement of a scene
from an unpublished drama entitled "The Chemist," a contribution of
which Lemon thought very highly. No further items, however, came from
that quarter.

Three recruits appeared with the month of October. A writer named
Jackson forwarded a couple of pieces ("Irish Intelligence" and "The
Polka Pest"--the latter well describing the craze with which the new
dance inoculated the whole country); and then Laman Blanchard, Jerrold's
life-long friend and fellow-worker from the beginning, made a debut
that was almost coincident with his death. His "Royal Civic Function"
showed what a hand had been lost to _Punch_; but it was his delightful
"New Year's Ode: To the Winner of the St. Nisbett--Season, 1844," that
was the best of his rare contributions. It was at once an elegy of Mrs.
Nisbett, and a prayer and prophecy that she might again be seen on the
boards. The last verse runs:--

"Who weds a mere beauty, dooms dozens to grieve;
Who marries an heiress, leaves hundreds undone;
Who bears off an actress (she never took leave),
Deprives a whole city of rational fun.
But farewell the glances and nods of St. Nisbett;
We list for her short ringing laughter in vain,
And yet--bereaved London!--What think you of _this_ bet?
A hundred to one we shall see her again!"

The prophecy was only partly fu