  O dubious hybrid, what your patronymic Or pedigree may be, does not much matter; But if my own attire you mean to mimic, And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter— Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with you A bone or two. Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior, In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti? You wish to show an intellect superior, (And hide a profile which is not too pretty? Or is it, simply, you prefer to go Incognito? A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be, But still I bar your method of progression; For while I sit, as helpless as a baby, And scale each precipice in steep succession, You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge Of ev'ry ledge. How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm These Alpine heights, when balanced À la Blondin, While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm? I cry Eyupp! Avanti!—you respond in Attempts straightway to improvise a "chute" For me, you brute! Basta! per Bacco! I'll no longer straddle (With cramp in each adductor and extensor) This seat of torture that they call a saddle! Va via! in plain English, get thee hence, or—— On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest, I think, were best! 'ASTONISHING THE NATIVES' "ASTONISHING THE NATIVES"First Alpine Tourist. "I say, Will, are you asleep?" Second Tourist. "Asleep? No, I should think not! Hang it, how they bite!" First Tourist. "Try my dodge. Light your pipe, and blow a cloud under the clothes! They let go directly. There's a lot perched on the foot-bar of my bed now—coughing like mad!" Tommy (who has just begun learning French,... Tommy (who has just begun learning French, on his first visit to Boulogne). "I say, daddy, did you call that man 'garÇon'?" Daddy (with pride). "Yes, my boy." Tommy (after reflection). "I say, daddy, what a big garÇon he'll be when he's out of jackets and turn-downs, and gets into tails and stick-ups!" (You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold gendarme (You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold gendarme—if you are only decently polite) "I implore your pardon for having deranged you, mister the gendarme, but might I dare to ask you to have the goodness to do me the honour to indicate to me the way for to render myself to the Street of the Cross of the Little-Fields?" |
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