"
And the weak, vain man chatted on, and ended by telling Tom all about
his poem of "The Wreck," in a tone which seemed to imply that he had
done Tom a serious favour, perhaps raised him to immortality, by
putting him in a book.
Tom thanked him gravely for the said honour, bowed him at last out of
the shop, and then vaulted back clean over the counter, as soon as
Elsley was out of sight, and commenced an Indian war-dance of frantic
character, accompanying himself by an extemporary chaunt, with which
the name of John Briggs was frequently intermingled;--
"If I don't know you, Johnny, my boy,
In spite of all your beard;
Why then I am a slower fellow,
Than ever has yet appeared,
"Oh if it was but he! what a card for me! What a world it is for poor
honest rascals like me to try a fall with!--
"Why didn't I take bad verse to make,
And call it poetry;
And so make up to an earl's daughter,
Which was of high degree?
"But perhaps I am wrong after all: no--I saw he knew me, the humbug;
though he never was a humbug, never rose above the rank of fool.
However, I'll make assurance doubly sure, and then,--if it pays me not
to tell him I know him, I won't tell him; and if it pays me to tell
him, I will tell him. Just as you choose, my good Mr. Poet." And Tom
returned to his work, singing an extempore parody of "We met, 'twas in
a crowd," ending with--
"And thou art the cause of this anguish, my pill-box,"
in a howl so doleful, that Mrs.
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