Tristram Charles S. Speedy
| A large Rimu sofa, four feet at the head, |
| By day made a couch, by night is a bed, |
| A chair with three legs propped up with a stick, |
| At the door is the scraper made out of a pick, |
| A strip of red blanket by way of a rug, |
| Whereon sat a greyhound, bulldog, and pug, |
| A buffalo-skin, a foot-tub, a pan, |
| Part of an Army list, half of a fan, |
| A broken-down candle-stick smelling of brass, |
| The Mutiny Act, and a cracked looking glass, |
| A mould to cast bullets, a couple of flutes, |
| The bowl of a pipe and old pair of boots, |
| A pair of steel spectacles -- a bottle of port, |
| A shield from Massawa, an unfinished report, |
| An invite to dinner, the card of the Priest, |
| A sketch of a magistrate described as 'The Beast', |
| Three swords and one scabbard, a box of cigars, |
| Some Lundy Foote's snuff, some 'Brown Windsor' in bars, |
| A letter from home and a library book, |
| An old hat and a powder-horn hung on a hook, |
| An old pair of shoes, part of a novel, |
| One half of the tongs, a bit of a shovel, |
| "Hints to Young Officers" half-bound in red, |
| A chaos of things spread out on the bed, |
| A large book of prints, an Eastern costume, |
| And towels and slippers strewn over the room, |
| Some tinder, some flint, with steel to strike light, |
| Some Otto of Rose, the account of a fight, |
| A pair of cord pants, a whip in the pocket, |
| A tea-caddy open, containing a 'locket', |
| Half of a glove, a lock of dark hair, |
| Both highly prized gifts of some lady fair, |
| In the midst of this chaos as gay as you please, |
| On a rickety stool perched quite at his ease, |
| A giant in height with a beard of red hue, |
| With look of a foreigner, and spectacles too, |
| No good looks to boast of, but then has a heart, |
| Large enough for two, which he is willing to part, |
| To a certain young lady, as good as she is fair, |
| And she not being tall, they'll make a good pair, |
| Has a plump little foot, and a waist that's devine, |
| And eyes of dark brown that brilliantly shine, |
| A pipe in his mouth and his feet on the grate, |
| His thoughts are bent on changing his state, |
| That dear one no doubt has won him at last, |
| His aimless "flirtings", a thing of the past, |
| And now he'll endeavour with one to atone, |
| Some thirty odd "flames" in New Zealand alone, |
| So he puffs and he puffs while volumes of smoke, |
| Are enough e'en the throat of a German to choke, |
| Till puffing and dozing he falls half asleep, |
| While visions of -------- around him do creep, |
| So he turns out the Guard, then returns to his lair, |
| How like you "le Capitaine" say I Lady fair. |