[Illustration]
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!
[Illustration: "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!"]
[Illustration: _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!"]
[Illustration: (_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?"]
_IN RE_ THE RIGI
From a recent letter in the _Times_ it would seem that tourists
visiting the hotels on the Rigi have to secure entertainment at the
point (or rather the knuckle) of the fist. If the fashion is permitted
to become chronic (by the patient endurance of the British public),
the diary kept by the visitor to the Rigi is likely to appear in the
following form:--
_Tuesday_, 4 A.M.--Just seen the sun rise. Rather cloudy in the
valley, but on the whole magnificent. Will stay until to-morrow, as I
am sure the air is excellent.