"O Lord," he thought, "what pain it was to drown!" And saw great fishes with great goggling eyes, Glaring as he was bobbing up and down, And looking as they thought him quite a prize, When, as he sank, and all was growing dark, A something seized him with its jaws!--A shark?-- No such thing, Reader--most opportunely for Blogg, 'Twas a very large, web-footed, curly-tail'd Dog! * * * * * * * I'm not much of a trav'ler, and really can't boast That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast, But I've often heard say That e'en to this day, The people of Granville, St. Maloes, and thereabout, Are a class that society doesn't much care about; Men who gam their subsistence by contraband dealing, And a mode of abstraction strict people call "stealing," Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech, Above all to a stranger who comes within reach; And they were so to Bogg, When the curly-tail'd Dog At last dragged him out, high and dry on the beach. But we all have been told, By the proverb of old, By no means to think "all that glitters is gold," And, in fact, some advance That most people in France Join the manners and air of a Maitre de Danse, To the morals--(as Johnson of Chesterfield said)-- Of an elderly Lady, in Babylon bred, Much addicted to flirting, and dressing in red.-- Be this as it might, It embarrass'd Blogg quite To find those about him so very polite. A suspicious observer perhans might have traced The petiles soins, tendered with so much good taste To the sight of an old-fashion'd pocket-book, placed In a black leather belt well secured round his waist And a ring set with diamonds, his finger that graced, So brilliant, no one could have guess'd they were paste. The group on the shore Consisted of four, You will wonder, perhaps, there were not a few more; But the fact is they've not, in that part of the nation, What Malthus would term, a "too dense population," Indeed the sole sign of man's habitation Was merely a single Rude hut, in a dingle That led away inland direct from the shingle Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, Some two hundred yards above high-water mark; And thither the party, So cordial and hearty, Viz., an old man, his wife, two lads, made a start, he The Bagman, proceeding, With equal good breeding, To express, in indifferent French, all he feels, The great curly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels.-- They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin, All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Mon-Dieuing, Grimacing, and what sailors call parley-vooing, * * * * * * *