There's the banjo serenader, and the others of his race, And the piano organist--I've got him on the list! And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face, They never would be missed--they never would be missed! Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, All centuries but this, and every country but his own; And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy, And who "doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try"; And that _fin-de-siècle_ anomaly, the scorching motorist-- I don't think he'd be missed--I'm _sure_ he'd not be missed! And that _Nisi Prius_ nuisance, who just now is rather rife, The Judicial humorist--I've got _him_ on the list! All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life-- They'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed! And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind, Such as--What-d'ye-call-him--Thing'em-Bob, and likewise--Never-mind, And 'St--'st--'st--and What's-his-name, and also--You-know-who-- (The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to _you_!) But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list, For they'd none of 'em be missed--they'd none of 'em be missed! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he, And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key: "Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and he tore his hair, Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said: "Oh, elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, But I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun this painful yarn: "'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_ That we sailed to the Indian sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul), And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll. "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.