We smoke our black old meerschaums,
We smoke from morn till night,
While cheerily ring our footsteps,
Right, left, right."
"Well done, Corry! I thought at first it was your own composition, but
I see it is an English song."
"Yes, it came out long ago as 'The Tramp's Song' in _Sharpe's Magazine_,
where I found it, and changed moor and moorland to north and norland, as
better suited to our purpose. It's a good song."
"What kind of vehicle is that just in front of us?"
"It's a pole on four wheels drawn by a team of oxen, and I'm going to
make a triumphant entry into Collingwood on it. The driver is a negro,
as black as my boots--were." Coristine soon overtook the remarkable
vehicle, and accosted the driver, telling him that he had ridden on
horses, donkeys, mules, and once each on a cow, a camel and an elephant;
in all sorts of carriages, carts and waggons, even to a gun carriage,
but never on a pole behind an ox team. Had he any objections to letting
him and his friend get aboard? The coloured gentleman showed a fine set
of ivory, and said he had no dejections in the leas', and guessed the
oxen didn't hab none.
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