Why into such strange vagaries fall as you would dance, Longfellow! Seize his skirts, Seward. Buller, cling to his knees. Billy, the boat-hook--he will be--he is--overboard. TALBOYS. Not at all. Gutta Percha is somewhat crank--and I am steadying her, sir. NORTH. What is that round your waist? TALBOYS. My Air-girdle. NORTH. I insist upon you dropping it, Longman. It makes you reckless. I did not think you were such a selfish character. TALBOYS. Alas! in this world, how are our noblest intentions misunderstood! I put it on, sir, that, in case of a capsize, I might more buoyantly bear you ashore. NORTH. Forgive me, my friend. But--be seated. Our craft is but indifferently well adapted for the gallopade. Be seated, I beseech you! Or, if you will stand, do plant both feet--do not--do not alternate so--and above all, do not, I implore you--show off on one, as if you were composing and reciting verses.--There, down you are--and if there be not a hole in her bottom, Gutta Percha is safe against all the hidden rocks in Loch Awe. TALBOYS. Let me take the stroke oar. NORTH. For sake of the ancient houses of the Sewards and the Bullers, sit where you are. We are already in four fathom water. TALBOYS. The Lines? BILLY. Nea, nea--Mister Talboys. Nane shall steer Perch when He's afloat but t' auld commodore. NORTH. Shove off, lads. TALBOYS. Are we on earth or in heaven? BILLY. On t' watter. NORTH. Billy--mum. TALBOYS. The Heavens are high--and they are deep. Fear would rise up from that Profound, if fear there could be in the perfectly Beautiful! SEWARD. Perhaps there is--though it wants a name. NORTH. We know there is no danger--and therefore we should feel no fear. But we cannot wholly disencumber ourselves of the emotions that ordinarily great depth inspires--and verily I hold with Seward, while thus we hang over the sky-abyss below with suspended oars. SEWARD. The Ideal rests on the Real--Imagination on Memory--and the Visionary, at its utmost, still retains relations with Truth. BULLER. Pray you to look at our Encampment. Nothing visionary there-- TALBOYS. Which Encampment? BULLER. On the hill-side--up yonder--at Cladich. TALBOYS. You should have said so at first. I thought you meant that other down-- BULLER. When I speak to you, I mean the _bona fide_ flesh and blood Talboys, sitting by the side of the _bona fide_ flesh and blood Christopher North, in Gutta Percha, and not that somewhat absurd, and, I trust, ideal personage, standing on his head in the water, or it may be the air, some fathoms below her keel--like a pearl-diver. TALBOYS. Put up your hands--so--my dear Mr North, and frame the picture. NORTH.