A council, which well as the best of them suits,

Mr. President Crusoe, his hat, and his boots.

Many councils, indeed, are composed the same way—

A president who

Adopts his own view,

And councillors who have got nothing to say.
Besides, perhaps Crusoe had got in his head,
What Charles the Twelfth to the deputies said,
When they sadly complained,

That he so long remained

Away from his kingdom-as if he disdained

The state and the people whose monarch he reigned, And he offered to send them his boot in his stead! For a boot, if it answers the place of a king, As a councillor must be an excellent thing. The President, having pronounced his opinions, And freely discussed them, he makes up his mindThat, as 't was his fortune the island to find, He should henceforth comprise it within his dominions;

That the kingdom, of which he has thus occupation,

Is a desert-because it has no population.

And being a desert, his next resolution,

Is that it just now can want no constitution;
But that, letting the isle's constitution alone,
'Tis perfectly proper to look to his own.
And then to prevent any chance of disputes,
He quietly puts on his hat and his boots,
And walks off, most anxiously hoping to meet,
Some sort of a thing he can manage to eat;
The poor fellow not having broken his fast,
Since first on the shore of the isle he was cast.

But no,

'Tis no go,

He walks to and fro,

Not an eatable thing does he meet high or low;

He tries all the shore,

What a terrible bore

(Not a boar; had he met one 't would be much mistaken, If it thought that from Crusoe 't would then save its bacon): But a desperate bore, not to find any shell-fish.

He thinks of a bird,

But the notion's absurd,

For the birds of the place are uncommonly selfish ;
And clearly not caring for Crusoe's condition,
Are occupied solely with their own nutrition!
He would like to stop

At some pastry-cook's shop;

He'd like a grilled kidney, or even a chop;

He'd like at the thought how his own chops he licks-
A rump-steak as they cook it at Dolly's or Dick's.
He'd like many good things, but just now on the rocks,
He begins to think them " sour grapes," like the fox;
And at last, though he 'd relish much better a snipe,
He finds he must dine on a smoke of his pipe.
Now it is no joke

To dine on smoke, Though some callous folk

It to laughter provoke ;

It would make a man look very meagre and squalid,

If he, for a week, got no diet more solid;

And I must say, to do common justice to Crusoe,
'Tis not what he'd choose, were he not forced to do so;
Yet, even a smoke, though it has n't much gristle,

As a dinner is better by chalks than a whistle;
Which Crusoe remembering, never repines,
But out of his pipe like a gentleman dines.
Having finished his dinner and duly said grace,
He just gives a yawn,

And strolls out on his lawn,

Long sitting not being the way of the place;
And he too had adopted the tee-total notion
Since the day of his lucky escape from the ocean;
And although he reigned then an absolute prince,
Had tasted of nothing but cold water since.

Crusoe does n't well see how to finish his "day;"
He can't go to the play,
To his grief and dismay,

For his disposition at all times is gay.
He has no evening papers

To drive off the vapours,

He can't see the Standard, the Courier, or Globe, And that evening's Sun

Has its course nearly run.

His position would ruffle the patience of Job.

In vain does he ponder-in vain scratched his head,

He has nothing to do but to go-to his bed.

Gathers all their waistcoats, and trowsers, and stocks, up

His labour in fact all description quite mocks;

And piling his trunks in a snug situation,
Makes for himself a pro tem. habitation;
Which being his first architectural feat,

It gives him much pleasure to view when complete;
But it is not the thing

For an absolute king,

So he quickly resolves upon building a better;
And having his tastes tied by no kind of fetter,
With plenty of land
Besides, ready at hand,

And labour for nothing, both at his command;
And what is moreover quite pleasant and funny,
Having neither to pay window-tax nor heath money;
With a foresight becoming the very shrewd head of his,
He builds up a mighty magnificent edifice;
Eight bed-rooms, a drawing-room, parlour, and kitchen,
With stables and coach-houses, all very fine,

And a cellar for coals, and a vault for his wine, And a dog-house for keeping his Newfoundland bitch in ; And not being bless 'd with a family yet,

Resolves, save one parlour and bed-room, to let