I will repeat what I can to you, and what I can’t I will write right off when I gets hum. – Hold on – hold on –” he continued, beating his forehead with the back of his hand, as if to awaken the powers of memory –

“I have it now – I have it now, –’tis tre-men-dous –”

“Oh Lord, who know’st the wants of men,
Guide my hand, and guide my pen,
And help me bring the truth to light,
Of that dread scene and awful night,

Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.

There was Mister Cadoga in years a-bud,
Was found next morning in tew feet mud;
He strove – he strove, – but all in vain,
The more he got up, he fell down again.

Ri. tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.”

The poet paused for a moment to gain breath, evidently overcome by the recollection of the awful scene. “Is not that bee-u-tiful?” he exclaimed. “What a fine effect you could give to that on the pee-a-ne, humouring the keys to imitate his squabbling about in the mud. Let me tell you, mister, it would beat Russell’s ‘Ship on Fire’ all hollow.”

Wiping the perspiration from his face, he recommenced, –

“The passengers rushed unto the spot,
    Together with the crew;
We got him safe out of the mud,
    But he had lost his shoe.

Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.”

I could not listen to another line of this sublime effusion, the passengers who had gathered around us drowning his nasal drawl in a complete roar of laughter. Seeing that I was as much infected as the rest, the poet turned to me, with an air of offended dignity, –

“I don’t take the trouble, mister, to repeat any more of my pomes to you; nor do I take it kind at all, your laughing at me in that ere way. But the truth is, you can’t comprehend nor appreciate anything that is sublime, or out of the common way. Besides, I don’t think you could set it to music; it is not in you, and you can’t fix it no-how.”

This singular address renewed our mirth; and, finding myself unable to control my inclination to laugh, and not wishing to hurt his feelings, I was about to leave him, when the man at the helm sung out, “Bridge! ”

The passengers lowered their heads to ensure their safety – all but my friend the poet, who was too much excited to notice the signal before he came in contact with the bridge, which sent him sprawling down the gangway. He picked himself up, clambered up the stairs, and began striding up and down the deck at a tremendous rate, casting from time to time indignant glances at me.

I thought, for my part, that the man was not in his right senses, or that the blow he had received had so dulled his bump of caution, that he could no longer take care of himself; for the next moment he stumbled over a little child, and would have been hurt severely if I had not broken his fall, by catching his arm before he again measured his length on the deck. My timely assistance mollified his anger, and he once more became friendly and confidential.

“Here, take this piece of poetry, Mister H—, and see if you can set it to music. Mind you, it is none of mine; but though not quite so good, it is som’at in my style. I cut it out of a newspaper down East. You are welcome to it,” he continued, with a patronizing nod, “that is, if you are able to do justice to the subject.”

I took the piece of dirty crumpled newspaper from his hand; and, struck with the droll quizzing humour of the lines, I have preserved them ever since. As I have never seen them before or since, I will give you them here.

TO THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

“I wonder how long you’ve been roarin’
    At this infernal rate;
I wonder if all you’ve been pourin’
    Could be cipher’d on a slate.

“I wonder how such a thunderin’ sounded
    When all New York was woods, –
‘Spose likely some Injins have been drownded,
    When the rains have raised your floods.

“I wonder if wild stags and buffaloes
    Have stood where now I stand;
Well – s’pose being scared at first, they stubb’d their toes;
    I wonder where they’d land.

“I wonder if that rainbow has been shinin’
    Since sun-rise at creation;
And this waterfall been underminin’
    With constant spatteration.

“That Moses never mention’d ye – I’ve wonder’d,
While other things describin’; –
My conscience!– how ye must have foam’d and thunder’d
When the deluge was subsidin’!

“My thoughts are strange, magnificent, and deep,
    When I look down on thee; –
Oh, what a glorious place for washing sheep
    Niagara would be!

“And oh, what a tremendous water power
    Is wash’d over its edge;
One man might furnish all the world with flour,
    With a single privilege.

“I wonder how many times the lakes have all
    Been emptied over here;
Why Clinton did not feed the grand Canal
    Up here – I think is queer.

“The thoughts are very strange that crowd my brain,
    When I look up to thee;
Such thoughts I never expect to have again,
    To all eternity.”

After reading the lines, I begged my friend to excuse me, as I wanted to go below and take a nap. I had not been long in the cabin before he followed me. To get rid of him I pretended to be asleep. After passing me two or three times, and leaning over me in the most inquisitive manner, until his long nose nearly went into my eye; and humming a bow-wow tune in my ear to ascertain if I were really napping, he turned from me with a dissatisfied grunt, flung himself into a settee, and not long after was puffing and blowing like a porpoise. I was glad of this opportunity to go on deck again, and “I left him alone in his glory.” But, while I was congratulating myself on my good fortune, I found him once more at my side.

Good heavens! how I wished him at the bottom of the canal, when he commenced telling me some awful dream he had had. I was too much annoyed at being pestered with his company to listen to him, a circumstance I now rather regret, for had his dreams been equal to his poetry, they certainly must have possessed the rare merit of originality; and I could have gratified my readers with something entirely out of the common way.

Turning abruptly from him, I entered into conversation with another gentleman, and quite forgot my eccentric friend until I retired for the night, when I found him waiting for me in the cabin.

Ho, ho, mister, – is that you? I was afear’d we had put you ashore. What berth are you gain’ to take?”

I pointed to No.4.

“Then,” said he, “would you have any objection to my locating in the one above you, as I feel a leetle afear’d? It is so awful dark out-doors, and the clouds look tre-men-dous black, as if they’d be a-pourin’ all night. The reason why I prefer the upper berth is this,” he continued confidentially; “if we should fall in with a storm, and all go to the bottom, I should have a better chance of saving myself. But mind you, if she should sink I will give you half of my berth, if you’ll come up.”

I thanked him for his offer, and not being at all apprehensive, I told him that I preferred staying where I was. Soon after I retired, hoping to sleep, but I had not calculated on the powers of annoyance possessed by my quondam friend. I had just laid myself comfortably down, when I felt one of his huge feet on the side of my berth. Looking out, I espied him crawling up on all-fours to his place of security for the night. His head had scarcely touched the pillow before he commenced telling me some long yarn; but I begged him, in no very gentle tone, to hold on till the morning, as I had a very severe headache, and wanted to go to sleep.

I had fallen into a sort of doze, when I thought I heard some one talking in a low voice close to my ear. I started into a sitting posture, and listened a moment. It was pitch dark; I could see nothing. I soon, however, discovered that the mysterious sounds proceeded from the berth above me.