(_By a Quondam Fare._)
[Illustration]
Here's a health to you, GOSPODIN IVANOFF--
Or whatever your name may chance to be--
Of _vodka_ I'll toss you a full _stakan_ off
(A tumbler, I mean, of _eau de vie_);
And I'll sing you _fortissimo con furore_
Your national hymn, in a cheerful key,
('Twill colour with local tone my story,
To start with your "_Bozhe Tsarya khrani_").
'Twas a lively morning, my hirsute Jehu,
In Petersburg once we together spent;
And now in my sketch-book I still can see you
(The annexed for your portrait's humbly meant).
Your costume resembled in part a butcher's--
A dull blue gown of a vast extent,
With top-boots, like each of the other _kutschers_
And shocking bad hat, all "bashed" and bent.
Ere long you called me your "little brother,"
Or else--your knowledge of Court to show--
(What one Russian "High Excellence" styles another)
"_Vuisokoprevoskhoditelstvo._"
You wanted to learn how to greet an acquaintance
In English; I said, to be _comme il faut_,
That "God save the Queen" was the proper sentence--
I own that my hoax was a trifle low.
A large percentage, my gay _izvostchik_,
I failed of your jokes to understand;
But I safely say you displayed the _most_ cheek
Of any I've met by sea or land.
When you pitched me clean out on the Nevski pavement,
With syllable brief I loudly banned;
But as _dam_ in your lingo "I'll give" (you knave!) meant,
You grinned, and for "tea-money" held your hand.
I shall never forget that awful jolting
I got as you whirled me round about
In your backless car; for your bumping, bolting,
You really, my Vanka, deserved the knout.
Well, I won't say "Good-bye," but "_Do svidanya_"--
Though whether we'll meet again I doubt;
If you ever _should_ wander to far BRITANNIA,
I fear you will probably find me "Out."
* * * * *
MOTTO FOR PROFESSORS OF PALMISTRY.-- "_Palmam qui meruit ferat._"
_i.e._, "Who has paid his money may bare his palm."
* * * * *
It is proposed to establish a fire-station, "with fifty men, on the
Thames Embankment." For what purpose? In case of anybody setting the
Thames on Fire?
* * * * *
Mrs. R. says she never has toast for breakfast, but always
"fresh-airated bread."
* * * * *