Boo Early."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Lady._ "AND HOW IS YOUR DEAR MOTHER, TO-DAY?"
_Child of the Period._ "OH, SHE'S ROTTEN."]
* * * * *
YARNS.
When the docks are all deserted and the derricks all are still,
And the wind across the anchorage comes singing sad and shrill,
And the lighted lanthorns gleaming where the ships at anchor ride
Cast their quivering long reflections down the ripple of the tide,
Then the ships they start a-yarning, just the same as sailors do
In a hundred docks and harbours from Port Talbot to Chefoo,
Just the same as deep-sea sailormen a-meeting up and down
In the bars and boarding-houses and the streets of Sailor-town.
Just the same old sort of ship-talk sailors always like to hear--
Just the same old harbour gossip gathered in from far and near,
In the same salt-water lingo sailors use the wide world round,
From the shores of London river to the wharves of Puget Sound,
With a gruff and knowing chuckle at a spicy yarn or so,
And a sigh for some old shipmate gone the way that all men go,
And there's little need to wonder at a grumble now and then,
For the ships must have their growl out, just the same as sailormen.
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