Abominable work of man,
Defacing nature where he can
With engineering;
On plain or hill he never fails
To run his execrable rails;
Coals, dirt, smoke, passengers and mails,
At once appearing.
To Alpine summits daily go
The locomotives to and fro.
What desecration!
Where playful kids once blithely skipped,
Where rustic goatherds gaily tripped,
Where clumsy climbers sometimes slipped,
He builds a station.
Up there, where once upon a time
Determined mountaineers would climb
To some far _châlet;_
Up there, above the carved wood toys,
Above the beggars, and the boys
Who play the _Ranz des Vaches_--such noise
Down in the _Thal_, eh?
Up there at sunset, rosy red,
And sunrise--if you're out of bed--
You see the summit,
Majestic, high above the vale.
It is not difficult to scale--
The fattest folk can go by rail
To overcome it.
For nothing, one may often hear,
Is sacred to the engineer;
He's much too clever.
Well, I must hurry on again,
That mountain summit to attain.
Good-bye. I'm going by the train.
I climb it? Never!
* * *
AT MONTE CARLO.--_First Briton._ One never sees any young girls here.
_Second Briton (brutally inclined)._ No! the ladies are obliged to be
_trente et quarante_ to match the tables.
[Illustration: WHY WE ARE SO BELOVED ON THE CONTINENT
_Provincial Tourist_ (_to "Kellner" who offers him sausages_). "I say,
old feller, any 'osses died about 'ere lately! _Chevals morts_, you
know!!"
[_And the worst of it is, that though his compatriots did not
laugh, as he expected, the "vulgarian" wasn't a bit abashed._
]