Dear friends, Just think of my career in general. In what case came I to the West? A poor young fellow, empty-handed; I had to battle sore for bread; Trust me, I often found it hard. But life, my friends, ah, life is dear, And, as the phrase goes, death is bitter. Well! Luck, you see, was kind to me; Old Fate, too, was accommodating. I prospered; and, by versatility, I prospered better still and better. In ten years’ time I bore the name Of Crœsus ’mongst the Charleston shippers. My fame flew wide from port to port, And fortune sailed on board my vessels—— MR. COTTON. What did you trade in? PEER. I did most In negro slaves for Carolina, And idol-images for China. MONSIEUR BALLON. _Fi donc!_[73] TRUMPETERSTRÅLE. The devil, Uncle Gynt! PEER. You think, no doubt, the business hovered On the outer verge of the allowable? Myself I felt the same thing keenly. It struck me even as odious. But, trust me, when you’ve once begun, It’s hard to break away again. At any rate it’s no light thing, In such a vast trade-enterprise, That keeps whole thousands in employ, To break off wholly, once for all. That “once for all” I can’t abide, But own, upon the other side, That I have always felt respect For what are known as consequences; And that to overstep the bounds Has ever somewhat daunted me. Besides, I had begun to age. Was getting on towards the fifties;— My hair was slowly growing grizzled; And, though my health was excellent, Yet painfully the thought beset me: Who knows how soon the hour may strike, The jury-verdict be delivered That parts the sheep and goats asunder? What could I do? To stop the trade With China was impossible. A plan I hit on—opened straightway A new trade with the self-same land. I shipped off idols every spring, Each autumn sent forth missionaries, Supplying them with all they needed, As stockings, Bibles, rum, and rice—— MR. COTTON. Yes, at a profit? PEER. Why, of course. It prospered. Dauntlessly they toiled. For every idol that was sold They got a coolie well baptized, So that the effect was neutralised. The mission-field lay never fallow, For still the idol-propaganda The missionaries held in check. MR. COTTON. Well, but the African commodities? PEER.