Part 23 (1/2)

This is the tale that was told to me, By that modest and truthful son of the sea.

And I envy the life of a second mate, Though captains curse him and sailors hate; For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen, As would go and lie to a poor marine.

_J.J. Rache_.

THE WALLOPING WINDOW-BLIND

A capital s.h.i.+p for an ocean trip Was the ”Walloping Window-blind”-- No gale that blew dismayed her crew Or troubled the captain's mind.

The man at the wheel was taught to feel Contempt for the wildest blow, And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared, That he'd been in his bunk below.

The boatswain's mate was very sedate, Yet fond of amus.e.m.e.nt, too; And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch, While the captain tickled the crew.

And the gunner we had was apparently mad, For he sat on the after rail, And fired salutes with the captain's boots, In the teeth of the booming gale.

The captain sat in a commodore's hat And dined in a royal way On toasted pigs and pickles and figs And gummery bread each day.

But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such: For the food that he gave the crew Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns Chopped up with sugar and glue.

And we all felt ill as mariners will, On a diet that's cheap and rude; And we s.h.i.+vered and shook as we dipped the cook In a tub of his gluesome food.

Then nautical pride we laid aside, And we cast the vessel ash.o.r.e On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles, And the Anagazanders roar.

Composed of sand was that favored land, And trimmed with cinnamon straws; And pink and blue was the pleasing hue Of the Tickletoeteaser's claws.

And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge And shot at the whistling bee; And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats As they danced in the sounding sea.

On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark, We fed, till we all had grown Uncommonly shrunk,--when a Chinese junk Came by from the torriby zone.

She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care, And we cheerily put to sea; And we left the crew of the junk to chew The bark of the rubagub tree.

_Charles E. Carryl_.

THE ROLLICKING MASTODON

A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain, In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.

His face was plain, but his jocular vein Was a burst of the wildest glee.

His voice was strong and his laugh so long That people came many a mile, And offered to pay a guinea a day For the fractional part of a smile.

The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide-- Indeed, 't was a matter of family pride; And oh! so proud of his jocular vein Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

The Rollicking Mastodon said one day, ”I feel that I need some air, For a little ozone's a tonic for bones, As well as a gloss for the hair.”

So he skipped along and warbled a song In his own triumphulant way.

His smile was bright and his skip was light As he chirruped his roundelay.

The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along, And sang what Mastodons call a song; But every note of it seemed to pain The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

A Little Peetookle came over the hill, Dressed up in a bollitant coat; And he said, ”You need some harroway seed, And a little advice for your throat.”

The Mastodon smiled and said, ”My child, There's a chance for your taste to grow.

If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find How little, how little you know.”