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Fra Diavolo, Beppo, Lallah Rookh, The Lady of the Lions, and The Colleen Bawn, were among the burlesques that he produced, and with those he was the pioneer. Engagements were filled by Mr. and Mrs. Florence, at the outset of their starring tour, in many cities of the republic, and everywhere they met with kindness and honour.
Many of them told me they would have gone, perhaps not in such poetic phrase as is found in Lallah Rookh, east, west alas! I care not whither, so thou art safe and I with thee. It was, however, now agreed that they should return.
"He was, and a terrible man," she concurred, and added, almost reverently: "And a wonderful man." She turned her face to me. "He was our mate. The men were sea-sick and miserable and green. But Mr. Harding got the sail off the Lallah Rookh just the same. What I wanted to tell you was this: "I was on the poop, just like I am now, and Mr.
"I remember one time when we sailed from San Francisco with a most hopeless crew. It was in the Lallah Rookh you remember her, Mr. Pike?" "Your father's fifth command," he nodded. "Lost on the West Coast afterwards went ashore in that big earthquake and tidal wave. Parted her anchors, and when she hit under the cliff, the cliff fell on her." "That's the ship.
A huge bag of copper coin is produced. The old Lallah, or writer, with spectacles on nose, squats down in the middle of the assembled coolies, and as each name is called, the mates count out the pice, and make it over to the coolie, who forthwith hurries off to get his little purchases made at the village Bunneah's shop; and so, on a poor supper of parched peas, or boiled rice, with no other relish but a pinch of salt, the poor coolie crawls to bed, only to dream of more hard work and scanty fare on the morrow.
Harding had a lot of those miserable sick men putting gaskets on the main-lower-topsail. How far would that be above the deck, Mr. Pike?" "Let me see . . . the Lallah Rookh." Mr. Pike paused to consider. "Oh, say around a hundred feet." "I saw it myself. One of the green hands, a tramp and he must already have got a taste of Mr. Harding fell off the lower-topsail-yard.
Moore the poet has somewhere said, that he would not consent to live his life over again, except upon the condition that he were to be gifted with less love and more judgment probably forgetting that in that case he would not have been the author of "Lallah Rookh;" though, mayhap, of a still drier life of Sheridan than that which came from his pen.
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