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‘I’VE often wondered how it is, at times Good people do what are as bad as crimes. A common person would have been ashamed To do what once a family far-famed For their religious ways was known to do. Small harm befell, small thanks to them were due. They from abroad, perhaps it cost them less, Had brought a young French girl as governess, A pretty, youthful thing as e’er you saw; She taught the children how to play and draw, Of course, the language of her native land; English she scarcely learnt to understand. After a time they wanted her no more; She must go home,—but how to send her o’er,— Far in the south of France she lived, and they In Ireland there—was more than they could say. A monthly steamer, as they chanced to know, From Liverpool went over to Bordeaux, And would, they thought, exactly meet the case. They wrote and got a friend to take a place; And from her salary paid her money down. A trading steamer from the sea-port town Near which they lived, across the Channel plied, And this, they said, a passage would provide. With pigs, and with the Irish reaping horde, This pretty tender girl was put on board; And a rough time of it, no doubt, had she, Tossing about upon the Irish Sea. Arrived at last and set ashore, she found The steamer gone for which she had been bound. The pious people, in their careless way, Had made some loose mistake about the day. She stood; the passengers with whom she crossed Went off, and she remained as one that ’s lost. Think of the hapless creature standing here Alone, beside her boxes on the pier. Whither to turn, and where to try and go, She knew not; nay, the language did not know. So young a girl, so pretty too, set down Here, in the midst of a great sea-port town, What might have happened one may sadly guess, Had not the captain, seeing her distress, Made out the cause, and told her she could stay On board the vessel till the following day. Next day, he said—the steamer to Bordeaux Was gone no doubt, next month the next would go; For this her passage-money she had paid, But some arrangement could, he thought, be made, If only she could manage to afford To wait a month and pay for bed and board. She sadly shook her head—well, after all, ’Twas a bad town, and mischief might befall, Would she go back? Indeed ’twas but a shame, To take her back to those from whom she came. ‘There’s one thing, Miss,’ said he, ‘that you can do, It’s speaking somewhat sudden-like, it’s true, But if you’ll marry me, I’ll marry you. May be you won’t, but if you will you can.’ This captain was a young and decent man, And I suppose she saw no better way; Marry they did, and married live this day. Another friend, these previous nights away, An officer of engineers, and round By Halifax to far Bermuda bound, Joined us this night; a rover he had been. Many strange sights and many climes had seen, And much of various life; his comment was, ’twas well There was no further incident to tell. He’d been afraid that ere the tale was o’er, ’Twould prove the captain had a wife before. The poor French girl was luckier than she knew; Soldiers and sailors had so often two. And it was something, too, for men who went From port to port to be with two content. In every place the marriage rite supplied A decent spouse to whom you were not tied. Of course the women would at times suspect, But felt their reputations were not wrecked.
One after night we took ourselves to task |