Part 24 (1/2)

To PETER an idea occurred. ”Suppose we cross the main?

So good an opportunity may not be found again.”

And SOMERS thought a minute, then e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”Done!

I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?”

”But stay,” said Mr. PETER: ”when in England, as you know, I earned a living tasting teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND CO., I may be superseded--my employers think me dead!”

”Then come with me,” said SOMERS, ”and taste indigo instead.”

But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found The vessel was a convict s.h.i.+p from Portland, outward bound; When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind, To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.

As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke, They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke: 'Twas ROBINSON--a convict, in an unbecoming frock!

Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!

They laughed no more, for SOMERS thought he had been rather rash In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash; And PETER thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon In making the acquaintance of a friend of ROBINSON.

At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard; They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word: The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head, And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.

To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth, And PETER takes the north again, and SOMERS takes the south; And PETER has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick, And SOMERS has the turtle--turtle always makes him sick.

Ballad: AT A PANTOMIME. BY A BILIOUS ONE.

An Actor sits in doubtful gloom, His stock-in-trade unfurled, In a damp funereal dressing-room In the Theatre Royal, World.

He comes to town at Christmas-time, And braves its icy breath, To play in that favourite pantomime, Harlequin Life and Death.

A h.o.a.ry flowing wig his weird Unearthly cranium caps, He hangs a long benevolent beard On a pair of empty chaps.

To smooth his ghastly features down The actor's art he cribs, - A long and a flowing padded gown.

Bedecks his rattling ribs.

He cries, ”Go on--begin, begin!

Turn on the light of lime - I'm dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in A favourite pantomime!”

The curtain's up--the stage all black - Time and the year nigh sped - Time as an advertising quack - The Old Year nearly dead.

The wand of Time is waved, and lo!

Revealed Old Christmas stands, And little children chuckle and crow, And laugh and clap their hands.

The cruel old scoundrel brightens up At the death of the Olden Year, And he waves a gorgeous golden cup, And bids the world good cheer.

The little ones hail the festive King, - No thought can make them sad.

Their laughter comes with a sounding ring, They clap and crow like mad!

They only see in the humbug old A holiday every year, And handsome gifts, and joys untold, And unaccustomed cheer.