The Post Captain

615

And the man who did the preachin' took his twenty of the

sum,

Which you see that out of thirty left a tenner for the bum.

And the couple passed the summer at Bar Harbor with the rest,

Greatly changed in their appearance and most elegently dressed.

Any fowl with change of feathers may a brilliant bird be

come:

Oh, how hard is life for many! oh, how sweet it is for some!

Charles Godfrey Leland.

THE POST CAPTAIN

WHEN they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew,

On the "Royal Biddy" frigate was Sir Peter Bombazoo;
His mind was full of music and his head was full of tunes,
And he cheerfully exhibited on pleasant afternoons.

He could whistle, on his fingers, an invigorating reel,
And could imitate a piper on the handles of the wheel;
He could play in double octaves, too, all up and down the
rail,

Or rattle off a rondo on the bottom of a pail.

Then porters with their packages and bakers with their buns, And countesses in carriages and grenadiers with guns, And admirals and commodores arrived from near and far, To listen to the music of this entertaining tar.

When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew.

The commodores severely said, "Why, this will never do!" And the admirals all hurried home, remarking, "This is most

Extraordinary conduct for a captain at his post."

Then they sent some sailing-orders to Sir Peter, in a boat, And he did a little fifing on the edges of the note;

But he read the sailing orders, as of course he had to do, And removed the "Royal Biddy" to the Bay of Boohgabooh.

Now, Sir Peter took it kindly, but it's proper to explain
He was sent to catch a pirate out upon the Spanish Main.
And he played, with variations, an imaginary tune
On the buttons of his waistcoat, like a jocular bassoon.

Then a topman saw the pirate come a-sailing in the bay,
And reported to the Captain in the ordinary way.
"I'll receive him," said Sir Peter, "with a musical salute,"
And he gave some imitations of a double-jointed flute.

Then the Pirate cried derisively, "I've heard it done before!"
And he hoisted up a banner emblematical of gore.
But Sir Peter said serenely, "You may double-shot the guns
While I sing my little ballad of 'The Butter on the Buns.'"

Then the Pirate banged Sir Peter and Sir Peter banged him back,

And they banged away together as they took another tack. Then Sir Peter said, politely, "You may board him, if you like,"

And he played a little dirge upon the handle of a pike.

Then the "Biddies" poured like hornets down upon the Pirate's deck

And Sir Peter caught the Pirate and he took him by the neck,

And remarked, "You must excuse me, but you acted like a brute

When I gave my imitation of that double-jointed flute."

So they took that wicked Pirate and they took his wicked

crew,

And tied them up with double knots in packages of two. And left them lying on their backs in rows upon the beach With a little bread and water within comfortable reach.

Robinson Crusoe's Story

617

Now the Pirate had a treasure (mostly silverware and gold), And Sir Peter took and stowed it in the bottom of his hold; And said, "I will retire on this cargo of doubloons,

And each of you, my gallant crew, may have some silver spoons."

Now commodores in coach-and-fours and corporals in cabs, And men with carts of pies and tarts and fishermen with crabs,

And barristers with wigs, in gigs, still gather on the strand, But there isn't any music save a little German band. Charles E. Carryl.

ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY

THE night was thick and hazy
When the Piccadilly Daisy

Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
And I think the water drowned 'em,

For they never, never found 'em,

And I know they didn't come ashore with me.

Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely
When I found myself the only
Population on this cultivated shore;
But I've made a little tavern

In a rocky little cavern,

And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking

For a girl to do my cooking,

As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;

But I had that fellow Friday

Just to keep the tavern tidy,

And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden

That I'm cultivating lard in,

As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;

For I live on toasted lizards,

Prickly pears and parrot gizzards, And I'm really very fond of beetle pie.

The clothes I had were furry,

And it made me fret and worry

When I found the moths were eating off the hair; And I had to scrape and sand 'em,

And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.

I sometimes seek diversion

In a family excursion,

With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot

As refreshment for the parrot,
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel
Bits of moss and dirty gravel,

And we chip off little specimens of stone;
And we carry home as prizes
Funny bugs of handy sizes,

Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy
We remain at home and study,-
For the Goat is very clever at a sum,—
And the Dog, instead of fighting

Studies ornamental writing,

While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

We retire at eleven,

And we rise again at seven;

And I wish to call attention, as I close,

To the fact that all the scholars

Are correct about their collars,

And particular in turning out their toes.

Charles E. Carryl.

Ben Bluff

619

BEN BLUFF

BEN BLUFF was a whaler, and many a day

Had chased the huge fish about Baffin's old Bay;
But time brought a change his diversion to spoil,
And that was when Gas took the shine out of Oil.

He turned up his nose at the fumes of the coke,
And swore the whole scheme was a bottle of smoke;
As to London, he briefly delivered his mind,
"Sparma-city," said he,-but the city declined.

So Ben cut his line in a sort of a huff,

As soon as his whales had brought profits enough,
And hard by the Docks settled down for his life,
But, true to his text, went to Wales for a wife.

A big one she was, without figure or waist,
More bulky than lovely, but that was his taste;
In fat she was lapped from her sole to her crown,
And, turned into oil, would have lighted a town.

But Ben, like a whaler, was charmed with the match,
And thought, very truly, his spouse a great catch;
A flesh-and-blood emblem of Plenty and Peace,
And would not have changed her for Helen of Greece!

For Greenland was green in his memory still;
He'd quitted his trade, but retained the good-will;

And often when softened by bumbo and flip,

Would cry till he blubbered about his old ship.

No craft like the Grampus could work through a floe,

What knots she could run, and what tons she could stow! And then that rich smell he preferred to the rose,

By just nosing the hold without holding his nose.

Now Ben he resolved, one fine Saturday night,

A snug arctic circle of friends to invite;