ken light,
Are glittering, as if ocean gave
Her countless gems unto the wave.

"That's a pretty air, and I first heard it sung by a pretty woman; but
that's all I know of the song. She sang another--

"I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower."

"You'd be a butterfly!" said the Dominie, taking old Tom literally, and
looking at his person.

Young Tom roared, "Yes, sir, he'd be a butterfly, and I don't see why he
shouldn't very soon. His legs are gone, and his wings aren't come: so
he's a grub now, and that, you know, is the next thing to it. What a
funny old beggar it is, father--aren't it?"

"Tom, Tom, go forward, sir; we must shoot the bridge."

"Shoot!" exclaimed the Dominie; "shoot what?"

"You aren't afraid of fire-arms, are ye, sir?" inquired Tom.

"Nay, I said not that I was afraid of fire-arms; but why should you
shoot?"

"We never could get on without it, sir; we shall have plenty of
shooting, by-and-by. You don't know this river."

"Indeed, I thought not of such doings; or that there were other dangers
besides that of the deep waters."

"Go forward, Tom, and don't be playing with your betters," cried old
Tom. "Never mind him, sir, he's only humbugging you."

"Explain, Jacob. The language of both old Tom and young Tom are to me
as incomprehensible as would be that of the dog Tommy."

"Or as your Latin is to them, sir."

"True, Jacob, true. I have no right to complain; nay, I do not
complain, for I am amused, although at times much puzzled."

We now shot Putney Bridge, and as a wherry passed us, old Tom carolled
out--

"Did you ever hear tell of a jolly young waterman?"

"No, I never did," said the Dominie, observing old Tom's eyes directed
towards him. Tom, amused by this _naivete_ on the part of the Dominie,
touched him by the sleeve, on the other side, and commenced with his
treble--

"Did you ne'er hear a tale
Of a maid in the vale?"

"Not that I can recollect, my child," replied the Dominie.

"Then, where have you been all your life?"

"My life has been employed, my lad, in teaching the young idea how to
shoot."

"So, you're an old soldier, after all, and afraid of fire-arms. Why
don't you hold yourself up? I suppose it's that enormous jib of yours
that brings you down by the head."

"Tom, Tom, I'll cut you into pork pieces if you go on that gait. Go and
get dinner under weigh, you scamp, and leave the gentleman alone.
Here's more wind coming.

"A wet she