Another of these effusions, well worthy of insertion here, appeared quite recently in a humorous paper, and is devoted to the interests of Messrs Cook & Son, the tourist agents. Whether or not it was paid for as an advertisement, they must have found it valuable. Despite the sneers of several small wits whom fortune has enabled to travel in the old expensive mode, there are very many who are neither cads nor snobs, whatever the distinction may be, and whose greatest sin is a paucity of income, that have felt the benefit of the popular excursionists’ endeavours. The verses are called
COOK’S PERQUISITES.
In longitude six thousand ninety-two,
Latitude nothing, the good ship, Salt Beef,
Caught in a gale, the worst that ever blew,
Was stranded on a coral island’s reef.
Her back was broken, so she went in halves,
The crew and captain perished, every hand;
Only a pig, some chickens, and two calves,
And the one passenger, escaped to land.
King Bungaroo, with all the royal suite,
Was waiting to receive him on the beach;
And seeing he was plump and nice to eat,
Received him graciously with courteous speech.
The suite, who thus their coming banquet eyed,
Their gastric regions rubbed with grateful paw,
And wondered if the king would have him fried,
Or boiled, or roasted,—or just eat him raw!
The hungry passenger their meaning caught
As hinting dinner in some manner dim,
And smiling at the notion, little thought
That they meant feasting on—and not with—him!
But, as you draw a fowl before ’tis drest,
The suite proceeded first, of everything
The pockets of their victim to divest,
And laid their plunder down before the king.
The monarch started at some object there—
Then seized the prisoner’s hand and cried aloud,
“Bo, bingo wobli! Chungum raggadare.
Howinki croblob? Boo! Owchingadowd!”
Which means—“Unhand this kindly gentleman.
Observe those coupons! Note that small green book!
Put out the fire—hang up the frying-pan!
We mustn’t eat him. He belongs to Cook!”