There have been many imitations since, of which perhaps Barham's ballad on the coronation was the best, "When to Westminster the Royal Spinster and the Duke of Leinster all in order did repair!" Thackeray in some of his attempts has been equally droll and equally graphic.

That on _The Cristal Palace_,--not that at Sydenham, but its forerunner, the palace of the Great Exhibition,--is very good, as the following catalogue of its contents will show; There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin; Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in.
There's fountains there And crosses fair; There's water-gods with urns; There's organs three, To play, d'ye see?
"God save the Queen," by turns.
There's statues bright Of marble white, Of silver, and of copper; And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper.
There's staym ingynes, That stands in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a grazing.
There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs, There's dibblers and there's harrows, And ploughs like toys For little boys, And ilegant wheel-barrows.
For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em There's droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium.
There's cabs on stands And shandthry danns; There's waggons from New York here; There's Lapland sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And jaunting cyars from Cork here.
In writing this Thackeray was a little late with his copy for _Punch_; not, we should say, altogether an uncommon accident to him.

It should have been with the editor early on Saturday, if not before, but did not come till late on Saturday evening.

The editor, who was among men the most good-natured and I should think the most forbearing, either could not, or in this case would not, insert it in the next week's issue, and Thackeray, angry and disgusted, sent it to _The Times_.

In _The Times_ of next Monday it appeared,--very much I should think to the delight of the readers of that august newspaper.
Mr.Molony's account of the ball given to the Nepaulese ambassadors by the Peninsular and Oriental Company, is so like Barham's coronation in the account it gives of the guests, that one would fancy it must be by the same hand.
The noble Chair[7] stud at the stair And bade the dhrums to thump; and he Did thus evince to that Black Prince The welcome of his Company.[8] O fair the girls and rich the curls, And bright the oys you saw there was; And fixed each oye you then could spoi On General Jung Bahawther was! This gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat, All bleezed with precious minerals; And as he there, with princely air, Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was.
O Pat, such girls, such jukes and earls, Such fashion and nobilitee! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the high gentilitee! There was the Lord de L'Huys, and the Portygeese Ministher and his lady there, And I recognised, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there.
All these are very good fun,--so good in humour and so good in expression, that it would be needless to criticise their peculiar dialect, were it not that Thackeray has made for himself a reputation by his writing of Irish.