"By the way—Oh! Miss Dibsley, I had almost forgot—you have never seen the sweet copy of verses that our dear Euphemius has been inditing on this curious Chinese business. Euphemius, my darling, show them to Miss Dibsley. He actually pictures the Celestial Emperor sitting on a teapot!—a teapot for a throne; how imaginative! I assure you—but I shouldn't like it to go farther—that our friend in the Potteries thinks them quite remarkable, and says that the youth's knowledge of facts is surprising: Euphemius is hardly seventeen yet—quite a child! What an age of genius this is! Euphemius, my dear, will you read?—Martha, you can take away.—Beg pardon, any more tea, Miss Dibsley? No!—not half a cup?—Take away, Martha. Euphemius, dear, proceed with your poetry."—"Hadn't I better read it for myself?" said Miss Dibsley. "No, I thank you," returned Euphemius; "you won't find out the jokes so well as I shall, 'cause I haven't put 'em all in italics." (Euphemius reads.)
The world rests on a tortoise,
And a teapot rests on that,
And on the teapot sitteth
Earth's Emperor fierce and fat.
He's brother to ten Comets,
And a dozen Suns and Moons;
The ocean is his slop-basin,
And his subjects are all spoons.
Forty cups of tea he taketh