"Can't say, my dear Mrs. Hipson, unless they turn coffee-totallers."
"It is indeed, dear. That last crisp little biscuit there is positively tempting,--and now I think of it, I'll just venture on _half_ a cup more tea; that sprinkling of gunpowder holds out deliciously. That'll do--thank you--charming!--These Chinese, I believe, have nothing of a navy?"
"I'm credibly informed," responded Mrs. Hipson, "that their ships are all made of earthenware--in the shape of milk-pots."
"Yes, and their cavalry are all mounted on tea-kettles, and go by steam."
"By the way--Oh! Miss Dibsley, I had almost forgot--you have never seen the sweet copy of verses that our dear Euphemius has been inditing on this curious Chinese business. Euphemius, my darling, show them to Miss Dibsley. He actually pictures the Celestial Emperor sitting on a teapot!--a teapot for a throne; how imaginative! I assure _you_--but I shouldn't like it to go farther--that our friend in the Potteries thinks them quite remarkable, and says that the youth's knowledge of _facts_ is surprising: Euphemius is hardly seventeen yet--quite a child! What an age of genius this is! Euphemius, my dear, will you read?--Martha, you can take away.--Beg pardon, any more tea, Miss Dibsley? No!--not half a cup?--Take away, Martha. Euphemius, dear, proceed with your poetry."--"Hadn't I better read it for myself?" said Miss Dibsley. "No, I thank you," returned Euphemius; "you won't find out the jokes so well as I shall, 'cause I haven't put 'em all in italics." (_Euphemius reads._)
The world rests on a tortoise, And a teapot rests on that, And on the teapot sitteth Earth's Emperor fierce and fat.
He's brother to ten Comets, And a dozen Suns and Moons; The ocean is his slop-basin, And his subjects are all spoons.
Forty cups of tea he taketh Every minute of the day, And he's owner of a milk-walk, Called by men the milky way.
But for all his mighty emperorship, I wouldn't be in _his_ shoes, For there's steam enough about him To stew the chops he issues.
If stronger he his tea makes, 'Twill blow out half his teeth; For hot's the water under him, And there's gunpowder beneath.
Yet danger can't convince him, Though it grow more strong and hot; Of "green" he's proved a sample; He's "a spoonful for the pot."