_Local Paper._

"Antique Copper Fire-irons and Dogs, almost new."--_Local Paper._

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THE PACKET RAT.

"When I leave this Western Ocean, to the South'ard I will steer,
In a tall Colonial clipper far an' far enough from here,
Down the Channel on a bowline, through the Tropics runnin' free,
When I'm done with this 'ere ocean ... an' when it's done with me.

"An' I'll run my ship in Sydney, an' then I'll work my way
To them smilin' South Seas Islands where there's sunshine all the day,
An' I'll sell my chest an' gear there as soon's I hit the shore,
An' sling my last discharge away, an' go to sea no more.

"It's a pleasant time they have there--they've easy quiet lives;
They wear no clothes to speak on; they've a bunch of browny wives;
They're bathin' all the day long or baskin' on the sand,
With the jolly brown Kanakas as naked as your hand.

"An' I'll lay there in the palm-shade, an' take my ease all day,
An' look across the harbour at the shippin' in the bay,
An' watch the workin' sailormen--the bloomin' same as me
In the workin' Western Ocean afore I left the sea.

"I'll hear them at the capstan, a-heavin' good an' hard;
I'll hear them tallyin' on the fall or sweatin' up the yard;
Hear them lift a halliard shanty, hear the bosun swear and shout,
An' the thrashin' o' the headsheets as the vessel goes about.

"An', if the fancy takes me, as it's like enough it may,
For to smell the old ship-smells again an' taste the salt an' spray,
I can take a spell o' pearlin' or a tradin' cruise or two
Where there's none but golden weather an' a sky that's always blue.

"But I'll do no sailorisin' jobs--I'll walk or lay at ease,
Like a blessed packet-captain, just as lordly as you please,
With a steward for my table an' a boy to bring my beer,
An' a score or so Kanakas for to reef an' haul an' steer.

"An' when I'm tired o' cruisin', up an' down an' here an' there,
There'll be kind Kanaka women wi' the red flowers in their hair
All a-waiting for to meet me there a-comin' in from sea,
When I'm through with this here ocean ... an' that'll never be!

"For I'd hear the parrots screamin' an' the palm-trees' drowsy tune,
But I'd want the Banks in winter an' the smell of ice in June,
An' the hard-case mates a-bawlin', an' the strikin' o' the bell ...
God! I've cursed it oft an' cruel ... but I'd miss it all like