"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I earned a living tasting teas for BAKER, CROOP, AND CO., I may be superseded-my employers think me dead!"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.

'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 loathes with horror

grim,

And SOMERS has the turtle-turtle disagrees with him.

Bab

THE DISCONCERTED TENOR

A TENOR, all singers above

(This doesn't admit of a question),
Should keep himself quiet,

Attend to his diet,

And carefully nurse his digestion.

But when he is madly in love,

It's certain to tell on his singing

You can't do chromatics

With proper emphatics

When anguish your bosom is wringing!
When distracted with worries in plenty,
And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,
And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.

Now observe-(sings a high note)-
You see, I can't do myself justice !

I could sing, if my fervour were mock,
It's easy enough if you're acting;
But when one's emotion

Is born of devotion,

You mustn't be over-exacting.

One ought to be firm as a rock
To venture a shake in vibrato;
When fervour's expected,

Keep cool and collected,

Or never attempt agitato.

But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,
And his lips appear pasted together,
And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.
Now observe (sings a cadence)-
It's no use-I can't do myself justice!

I ONCE did know a Turkish man

Whom I upon a two-pair-back met, His name it was EFFENDI KHAN

BACKSHEESH PASHA BEN ALLAH ACHMET.

A DOCTOR BROWN I also knew-
I've often eaten of his bounty;
The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,
In Sussex, that delightful county!

I knew a nice young lady there,

Her name was EMILY MACPHERSON, And though she wore another's hair, She was an interesting person.

The Turk adored the maid of Hooe

(Although his harem would have shocked her).

But BROWN adored that maiden too:

He was a most seductive doctor.