_Edith._ Every moment brings a treasure Of its own especial pleasure. Though the moments quickly die, Greet them gaily as they fly. _Kate._ Far away from toil and care, Revelling in fresh sea air, Here we live and reign alone In a world that’s all our own. Here in this our rocky den, Far away from mortal men, We’ll be queens, and make decrees; They may honour them who please. _All._ Let us gaily tread the measure, etc. _Kate._ What a picturesque spot! I wonder where we are! _Edith._ And I wonder where papa is. We have left him ever so far behind. _Isa._ Oh, he will be here presently! Remember, poor papa is not as young as we are, and we have come over a rather difficult country. _Kate._ But how thoroughly delightful it is to be so entirely alone! Why, in all probability we are the first human beings who ever set foot on this enchanting spot. _Isa._ Except the mermaids--it’s the very place for mermaids. _Kate._ Who are only human beings down to the waist! _Edith._ And who can’t be said strictly to set _foot_ anywhere. Tails they may, but feet they _cannot_. _Kate._ But what shall we do until papa and the servants arrive with the luncheon? [_All rise and come down._ _Edith._ We are quite alone, and the sea is as smooth as glass. Suppose we take off our shoes and stockings and paddle. _All._ Yes, yes. The very thing! [_They prepare to carry out the suggestion. They have all taken off one shoe, when FREDERIC comes forward from cave._ RECITATIVE. _Fred._ Stop, ladies, pray! _All (hopping on one foot)._ A man! _Fred._ I had intended Not to intrude myself upon your notice In this effective but alarming costume, But under these peculiar circumstances It is my bounden duty to inform you That your proceedings will not be unwitnessed. _Edith._ But who are you, sir? Speak! (_All hopping._) _Fred._ I am a pirate. _All_ (_recoiling hopping_). A pirate! Horror! _Fred._ Ladies, do not shudder! This evening I renounce my vile profession; And to that end, oh, pure and peerless maidens! Oh, blushing buds of ever-blooming beauty! I, sore of heart, implore your kind assistance. _Edith._ How pitiful his tale! _Kate._ How rare his beauty! _All._ How pitiful his tale! How rare his beauty! [_Put on their shoes, and group in semicircle._ SONG.--FREDERIC. Oh! is there not one maiden breast Which does not feel the moral beauty Of making worldly interest Subordinate to sense of duty? Who would not give up willingly All matrimonial ambition, To rescue such a one as I From his unfortunate position?