(_AT THE NAVAL EXHIBITION._)
[Illustration]
The German Waiter waxeth fat; he grows exceeding proud;
He is a shade more kicksome than can fairly be allowed.
The British Press goes out to dine--the Teuton, they relate,
Throws down his napkin like a gage, and swears he will not wait.
Now there are many proverbs--some are good and some are not--
But the Teuton was misled who cried, "Strike while the _entrée_'s hot!"
Like readers with no book-marks, all the rebels lost their place,
And vanished out of Chelsea in their dress-suits and disgrace.
And I'm told that there were murmurings and curses deep and low
In darksome public-houses in the road of Pimlico,
And a general impression that it was not safe to cross
The temper of that caterer, Mr. MACKENZIE ROSS.
O Waiter, German Waiter! there are many other lands
Where you can take your creaking boots and eke your dirty hands;
And we think you'll have discovered, ere you reach your next address,
That in England German Waiters aren't the Censors of the Press.
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