THE RHYME OF THE KIPPERLING.

Away by the haunts of the Yang-tse-boo,

Where the Yuletide runs cold gin,

And the rollicking sign of the Lord Knows Who

Sees mariners drink like sin;

Where the Jolly Roger tips his quart

To the luck of the Union Jack;

And some are screwed on the foreign port,

And some on the starboard tack;—

Ever they tell the tale anew

Of the chase for the kipperling swag;

How the smack Tommy This and the smack Tommy That

They broached each other like a whiskey-vat,

And the Fuzzy-Wuz took the bag.

Now this is the law of the herring fleet that harries the northern main,

Tattooed in scars on the chests of the tars with a brand like the brand of Cain:

That none may woo the sea-born shrew save such as pay their way

With a kipperling netted at noon of night and cured ere the crack of day.

It was the woman Sal o’ the Dune, and the men were three to one,

Bill the Skipper and Ned the Nipper and Sam that was Son of a Gun;

Bill was a Skipper and Ned was a Nipper and Sam was the Son of a Gun,

And the woman was Sal o’ the Dune, as I said, and the men were three to one.

There was never a light in the sky that night of the soft midsummer gales,

But the great man-bloaters snorted low, and the young‘ uns sang like whales;

And out laughed Sal ( like a dog-toothed wheel was the laugh that Sal laughed she ):

“Now who's for a bride on the shady side of up'ards of forty-three?”

And Neddy he swore by butt and bend, and Billy by bend and bitt,

And nautical names that no man frames but your amateur nautical wit;

And Sam said, “Shiver my topping-lifts and scuttle my foc's'le yarn,

And may I be curst, if I'm not in first with a kipperling slued astarn!”

Now the smack Tommy This and the smack Tommy That and the

Fuzzy-Wuz smack, all three,

Their captains bold, they were Bill and Ned and Sam respectivelee.