"Devil-fish" of Victor Hugo, Dread Pieuvre of caves where few go But are made your palsied prey, Where are now your gruesome glories, Dwelt upon in shocking stories? Realism a big bore is "Octopus is cheap to-day!"
You who, worst of ocean's gluttons, Swallowed man, his boots, and buttons, Cooked in this familiar way? You who, in the tales of dreamers, Sucked down ships and swallowed steamers, Made the prey of kitchen schemers? "Octopus is cheap to-day!"
Swallowed, you colossal cuttle? Nemesis is really subtle! Carted on the Coster's tray, Dressed in fashions culinary, Which the cunning chef will vary After every vain vagary? "Octopus is cheap to-day!"
Your huge arms, so strong, so many, Like tarantula's antennæ_, Just like tenderest tripe, they say! Only wait a little longer, Turtle soup—as from the Conger— They will make from you, but stronger. "Octopus is cheap to-day!"
Octopus—or is't Octōpus?— Fame, that should outshine Canopus, All too swiftly fleets away. Yet our feelings it must harrow, That your demon-fame should narrow To cook-bench and coster barrow. "Devil-fish is cheap to-day!"
SALUBRITIES ABROAD.
("Is this the Hend?"—Miss Squeers.)
Skurrie puts us in the train, gives us our Cook's tickets all ready stamped and dated. No trouble. Then he insists on comparing his notes of our route with mine, to see that all is correct.