"Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell,

"Twill soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth;

When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And as I eating be

The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,

For a wessel in sight I see!

"And I never larf, and I never smile,
And I never lark nor play,

But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have-which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!'"

F

'ROM east and south the holy clan

Of Bishops gathered to a man ;

To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,

In flocking crowds they came.
Among them was a Bishop, who
Had lately been appointed to
The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,
And PETER was his name.

His people-twenty-three in sum—
They played the eloquent tum-tum,
And lived on scalps served up in rum-
The only sauce they knew.

When first good BISHOP PETER came
(For PETER was that Bishop's name),
To humour them, he did the same
As they of Rum-ti-Foo.

His flock, I've often heard him tell,
(His name was PETER) loved him well,
And, summoned by the sound of bell,
In crowds together came.

"Oh, massa, why you go away?

Oh, MASSA PETER, please to stay."
(They called him PETER, people say,
Because it was his name.)

He told them all good boys to be,
And sailed away across the sea,
At London Bridge that Bishop he
Arrived one Tuesday night;

And as that night he homeward strode
To his Pan-Anglican abode,

He passed along the Borough Road,
And saw a gruesome sight.

He saw a crowd assembled round
A person dancing on the ground,
Who straight began to leap and bound
With all his might and main.

To see that dancing man he stopped,

Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped, Then down incontinently dropped,

And then sprang up again.

The Bishop chuckled at the sight. "This style of dancing would delight A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.

I'll learn it if I can,

To please the tribe when I get back." He begged the man to teach his knack. "Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack!"

Replied that dancing man.

Bal

The dancing man he worked away,
And taught the Bishop every day-
The dancer skipped like any fay—
Good PETER did the same.
The Bishop buckled to his task,
With battements, and pas de basque.
(I'll tell you, if you care to ask,

That PETER was his name.)

"Come, walk like this," the dancer said, "Stick out your toes-stick in your head, Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread

Your fingers thus extend; The attitude's considered quaint." The weary Bishop, feeling faint, Replied, "I do not say it ain't,

But Time!' my Christian friend!"

Bab

"We now proceed to something newDance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do, Like this-one, two-one, two-one,

The Bishop, never proud,

But in an overwhelming heat

(His name was PETER, I repeat)

two."

Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat,

And puffed his thanks aloud.