Etiquette

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"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 Peter; " when in England, as you know, I earned a living tasting teas for Baker, Croop, and Co., I may be superseded-my employers think me dead!"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 ship 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.
W. S. Gilbert.

A MODEST WIT

A SUPERCILIOUS nabob of the East

Haughty, being great-purse-proud, being richA governor, or general, at the least,

I have forgotten which

Had in his family a humble youth,

Who went from England in his patron's suite,

An unassuming boy, in truth

A lad of decent parts, and good repute.

This youth had sense and spirit;

But yet with all his sense,

Excessive diffidence

Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His honor, proudly free, severely merry,
Conceived it would be vastly fine

To crack a joke upon his secretary.

"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade Did your good father gain a livelihood?"

"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,

"And in his time was reckoned good."

"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length Modestus, bowing low,

Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father's trade!"

The Latest Decalogue

"My father's trade! by Heaven, that's too bad!
My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low-
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."

"Excuse the liberty I take,"

Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?"

261

Selleck Osborn.

THE LATEST DECALOGUE

THOU shalt have one God only, who
Would be at the expense of two?
No graven images may be

Worshipped, except the currency:
Swear not at all; for, for thy curse
Thine enemy is none the worse:

At Church on Sunday to attend

Will serve to keep the world thy friend:
Honour thy parents; that is, all

From whom advancement may befall:
Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive
Officiously to keep alive:

Do not adultery commit;

Advantage rarely comes of it:

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,

When it's so lucrative to cheat:

Bear not false witness; let the lie
Have time on its own wings to fly:
Thou shalt not covet, but tradition
Approves all forms of competition.

Arthur Hugh Clough.

A SIMILE

DEAR Thomas, didst thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
There, Thomas, didst thou never see
('Tis but by way of simile)

A squirrel spend his little rage,
In jumping round a rolling cage?

The cage, as either side turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top?-

Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.

So fares it with those merry blades,
That frisk it under Pindus' shades.
In noble songs, and lofty odes,

They tread on stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,

Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound;
Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,
Always aspiring, always low.

Matthew Prior.

BY PARCELS POST

A DOMESTIC IDYLL

I SENT my love a parcel

In the days when we were young,

Or e'er by care and trouble

Our heart-strings had been wrung.

By parcels post I sent it

What 'twas I do not know—

In the days when we were courting,

A long time ago.

The spring-time waxed to summer,

Then autumn leaves grew red,

And in the sweet September

My love and I were wed.

By Parcels Post

But though the Church had blessed us,

My little wife looked glum; I'd posted her a parcel,

And the parcel hadn't come.

Ah, many moons came after,
And then there was a voice,
A little voice whose music
Would make our hearts rejoice.
And, singing to her baby,

My dear one oft would say,

"I wonder, baby darling,

Will that parcel come to-day?"

The gold had changed to silver
Upon her matron brow;

The years were eight-and-twenty

Since we breathed our marriage vow,
And our grandchildren were playing
Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,
When they saw the postman standing
By our open cottage door.

Then they ran with joy to greet him,
For they knew he'd come at last;
They had heard me tell the story

Very often in the past.

He handed them a parcel,

And they brought it in to show'Twas the parcel I had posted

Eight-and-twenty years ago.

263

George R. Sims.