Then trembles
he, who reckless loves to sip The joys of travel free of all
expense; Knowing the fate that will pursue him, when To stern
collector he hath naught to show."
To which her sister, Mrs. Crawshay, would reply, without one
instant's hesitation, somewhat after this style:--
"Sweet Tapioca, firm and faithful friend,
Thy words have kindled in my guilty breast
Pangs of remorse; to thee I will confess.
Craving a journey to the salt sea waves
Before this moon had waxed her full, I stood
Crouching, and feigning infant's stature small
Before the wicket, whence the precious slips
Are issued, and declared my years but ten.
Thus did I falsely pretext tender age,
And claimed but half the wonted price, and now
Bitter remorse my stricken conscience sears,
And hot tears flow at my duplicity."
The lines would probably have been more neatly worded than this,
but the flow of improvised blank verse from both sisters was
inexhaustible. The somewhat unusual names of Semolina and Tapioca
had been adopted for the heroine and confidante on account of
their rhythmical advantages, and a certain pleasant Shakespearean
ring about them.
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