"I'll hear them at the capstan, a-heavin' good an' hard; I'll hear them tallyin' on the fall or sweatin' up the yard; Hear them lift a halliard shanty, hear the bosun swear and shout, An' the thrashin' o' the headsheets as the vessel goes about. "An', if the fancy takes me, as it's like enough it may, For to smell the old ship-smells again an' taste the salt an' spray, I can take a spell o' pearlin' or a tradin' cruise or two Where there's none but golden weather an' a sky that's always blue. "But I'll do no sailorisin' jobs--I'll walk or lay at ease, Like a blessed packet-captain, just as lordly as you please, With a steward for my table an' a boy to bring my beer, An' a score or so Kanakas for to reef an' haul an' steer. "An' when I'm tired o' cruisin', up an' down an' here an' there, There'll be kind Kanaka women wi' the red flowers in their hair All a-waiting for to meet me there a-comin' in from sea, When I'm through with this here ocean ... an' that'll never be! "For I'd hear the parrots screamin' an' the palm-trees' drowsy tune, But I'd want the Banks in winter an' the smell of ice in June, An' the hard-case mates a-bawlin', an' the strikin' o' the bell ... God! I've cursed it oft an' cruel ... but I'd miss it all like Hell. "Yes, I'd miss the Western Ocean where the packets come an' go, An' the grey gulls wheelin', callin', an' the grey sky hangin' low, An' the blessed lights o' Liverpool a-winkin' through the rain To welcome us poor packet-rats come back to port again. "An' if I took an' died out there my soul'd never stay In them sunny Southern latitudes to wait the Judgment Day, For acrost the seas from England, oh, I'd hear the old life call, An' the bloomin' Western Ocean it'd get me after all. "I'd go flyin' like a seagull, as they say old shellbacks do, For to see the ships I sailed in an' the shipmates that I knew, An' the tough old North Atlantic where the roarin' gales do blow, An' the Western Ocean packets all a-plyin' to an' fro. "An' I'd leave the trades behind me an' I'd leave the Southern Cross, An' the mollymawks an' flyin'-fish an' stately albatross, An' I'd come through wind an' weather an' the fogs as white as wool, Till I sighted old Point Lynas an' the Port o' Liverpool. "An' I'd fly to some flash packet when the hands was bendin' sail, An' I'd set up on the main-truck doin' out my wings an' tail, An' I'd see the tug alongside an' the Peter flyin' free, An' the pilot come aboard her for to take her out to sea. "An' I'd follow down to Fastnet light, an' then I'd hang around There to watch 'em out to westward an' to meet the homeward bound, For I know it's easy talkin', an' I know when all is said It's the bloomin' Western Ocean what'll get me when I'm dead!" C. F. S. * * * * * ETIQUETTE FOR FIRES.