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From stem to stern, with frequent turn,
The Stranger took to pacing.

And as he walked to self he talked, Some ancient ditty thrumming, In under tone, as not alone — Now whistling, and now humming — “You're welcome, Charlie,” “Cowdenknowes,” “ Kenmure,” or “ Campbells’ Coming."

Down went the wind, down went the wave,
Fear quitted the most finical ;
The Saints, I wot, were soon forgot,
And Hope was at the pinnacle :
When rose on high, a frightful cry —
“ The Devil's in the binnacle ! ”

“ The Saints be near," the helmsman cried, His voice with quite a falter — “Steady 's my helm, but every look The needle seems to alter ; God only knows where China lies, Jamaica, or Gibraltar ! ”

The captain stared aghast at mate,
The pilot at the apprentice;
No fancy of the German Sea
Of Fiction the event is :
But when they at the compass looked,
It seemed non compass mentis.
VOL. III.

10

Now north, now south, now east, now west,
The wavering point was shaken,
'T was past the whole philosophy
Of Newton, or of Bacon ;
Never by compass, till that hour,
Such latitudes were taken !

With fearful speech, each after each
Took turns in the inspection;
They found no gun— no iron — none
To vary its direction ;
It seemed a new magnetic case
Of Poles in Insurrection !

Farewell to wives, farewell their lives,
And all their household riches;
Oh! while they thought of girl or boy,
And dear domestic niches,
All down the side which holds the heart,
That needle gave them stitches.

With deep amaze, the Stranger gazed
To see them so white-livered :
And walked abaft the binnacle,
To know at what they shivered ;
But when he stood beside the card,
St. Josef ! how it quivered !

No fancy-motion, brain-begot,
In eye of timid dreamer —

The nervous finger of a sot
Ne'er showed a plainer tremor;
To every brain it seemed too plain,
There stood the Infernal Schemer!

Mixed brown and blue each visage grew,
Just like a pullet's gizzard ;
Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit,
From tacking like an izzard,
Bore down in this plain course at last,
“ It’s Michael Scott — the Wizard !”

A smile past o'er the ruddy face,
“ To see the poles so falter,
I’m puzzled, friends, as much as you,
For with no fiends I palter ;
Michael I'm not — although a Scott —
My Christian name is Walter.”

Like oil it fell, that name, a spell
On all the fearful faction;
The Captain's head (for he had read)
Confessed the Needle's action,
And bowed to Him in whom the North
Has lodged its main attraction !

PAIRED NOT MATCHED.

OF wedded bliss

Bards sing amiss,
I cannot make a song of it;

For I am small,

My wife is tall, And that's the short and long of it!

When we debate

It is my fate
To always have the wrong of it ;

For I am small

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it;

And when I speak

My voice is weak, But hers — she makes a gong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it;

She has, in brief,

Command in Chief,
And I'm but Aide-de-camp of it ;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it!

She gives to me

The weakest tea, And takes the whole Souchong of it ;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it ;

She 'll sometimes grip

My buggy whip, And make me feel the thong of it ;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it !

Against my life

She 'll take a knife,
Or fork, and dart the prong of it ;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it!

I sometimes think

I'll take to drink, And hector when I'm strong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall, And that's the short and long of it!

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