And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers-that's wax.

Which is why I remark,

And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark

And for tricks that are vain

The heathen Chinee is peculiar

Which the same I am free to maintain.

Nongtongpaw.

OHN BULL for pastime took a prance,
Some time ago, to peep at France;
To talk of sciences and arts,

And knowledge gained in foreign parts.
Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak,
And answered John in heathen Greek;
To all he asked, 'bout all he saw,
"Twas "Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas."

John to the Palais-Royal come,

Its splendor almost struck him dumb.
"I say, whose house is that there here?"
"House! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur."
"What! Nongtongpaw again!" cries John;
"This fellow is some mighty Don,
No doubt he's plenty for the maw,
I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw."

NONGTONGPAW.

John saw Versailles from Marly's height,
And cried, astonished at the sight,
"Whose fine estate is that there here?"
"State! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur."
"His? What! the land and houses, too?
The fellow's richer than a Jew!

On everything he lays his claw!

I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw."

Next tripping came a courtly fair;

John cried, enchanted with her air,

"What lovely wench is that there here?"
"Ventch! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur."
"What! he again? Upon my life!

A palace, lands, and then a wife

Sir Joshua might delight to draw:

I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw."

"But hold! whose funeral's that?" cried John.
"Je vous n'entends pas.'
"What! is he gone?
Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save
Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave!
His race is run, his game is up,-
I'd with him breakfast, dine, and sup;
But since he chooses to withdraw,

Good-night t'ye, Monsieur Nongtongpaw."

229

Captain Dick.

PON the shores of lofty Lake Tahoe,

Or, rather, in the little hidden bay

Called Emerald, there lived, some years ago, The sailor, Captain Dick, whose beard was gray, And grizzled with much washing in the ocean's salty spray.

Long years he sailed upon the stormy sea,

And saw his comrades perish, one by one,

And go to feed the sharks. At last, thought he, "I'll leave the ocean ere my days are done,

And have some Christian ceremony when my race is run."

Upon the bosom of this quiet bay

He found a little isle of solid rock.

"Here," thought he, "is the place for me to lay

My shivered timbers down, safe from the shock.

Of tempests, and of tourists who at sepulchers do mock."

Long time he worked there, long and patiently,

With hammer, chisel, crow-bar, sledge and drill,

And digged himself a grave, six feet by three,
And then pulled over home, took out his will,
And told the world about it in the final codicil.

Above his sepulcher he built a roof,

And nailed a cross upon it for a charm; Then fancied that his final home was proof

CAPTAIN DICK.

Against the rain, the devil, and all harm;

A very comfortable bunk, and very snug and warm. His house was now in order, and he found

It rather lonesome here, with naught to do,
But trim his little yacht and cruise around

The island where his grave was in full view;
Which recreation made him feel at times a trifle blue.

So often, on fine days, he would repair

To Rowland's custom-house across the lake

(A gin-mill is a "custom-house" out there),

And there the captain would spin yarns and slake

231

His thirst with whatsoever drink the boys asked him to take.

Sometimes he took too much, at least he did

On the momentous day which we deplore.

'Twas calculated that he soaked his quid

Some twelve or fourteen times, and then, before

He sailed for home, he filled his jug with half a gallon more.

Oh, fearful are the storms on Lake Tahoe,

And often take the sailor unawares,And when the tempest once begins to blow,

He has but little time to say his prayers;

Nor always makes the best of this, but reefs his sail and swears.

Next day they found the sail-boat upside down,

An oar or two were floating there close by.

The only other relic was a brown

Half-gallon jug, a-bobbing high and dry;

Half empty now, but it had been full of pernicious rye.

But Captain Dick, they found him nevermore;

To look for him was hardly worth the while.

When Lake Tahoe's deep water closes o'er

A man, he sinks a quarter of a mile

Before he stops, as has been proved quite frequently by trial.

So, reader, if of this you have a doubt,

Just take a pilgrimage to Emerald Bay,

In whose green nook there stands, with latch-string out,

The summer cottage of Ben Holladay,

Where Sailor Jack will welcome you if Ben should be away.

There you will hear the burden of this rhyme,

And see the captain's picture on the wall,

And see the ship he carved in idle time,

And see the oars they picked up from the squall,

And see the empty grave, which is the surest proof of all.