Verse and Worse. Graham Harry

      A glass of lager underneath the bough,

      A long 'churchwarden' and an ample 'frau'

      Beside me sitting in a Biergarten,

      Ach! Biergarten were paradise enow!

      This country is extremely flat,

      Just like your father's head, and were

      It not for dykes and things like that

      There would not be much country there,

      For, if these banks should broken be,

      What now is land would soon be sea.

      So, any child who glory seeks,

      And in a dyke observes a hole,

      Must hold his finger there for weeks,

      And keep the water from its goal,

      Until the local plumbers come,

      Or other persons who can plumb.

      The Hollanders have somehow got

      The name of Dutch (why, goodness knows!),

      But Mrs. Hollander is not

      A 'duchess' as you might suppose;

      Mynheer Von Vanderpump is much

      More used to style her his 'Old Dutch.'

      Their cities' names are somewhat odd,

      But much in vogue with golfing men

      Who miss a 'put' or slice a sod,

      (Whose thoughts I would not dare to pen),

      'Oh, Rotterdam!' they can exclaim,

      And blamelessly resume the game.

      The Dutchman's dress is very neat;

      He minds his little flock of goats

      In cotton blouse, and on his feet

      He dons a pair of wooden boats.

      (He evidently does not trust

      Those dykes I mentioned not to bust).

      He has the reputation too

      Of being what is known as 'slim,'

      Which merely means he does to you

      What you had hoped to do to him;

      He has a business head, that's all,

      And takes some beating, does Oom Paul.

      Avoid a country where the sea

      May any day drop in to tea,

      Rememb'ring that, at golf, one touch

      Of bunker makes the whole world Dutch!

      The climate is intensely cold;

      Wild curates would not drag me there;

      Not tho' they brought great bags of gold,

      And piled them underneath my chair.

      If twenty bishops bade me go,

      I should decidedly say, 'No!'

      If ev'ry man has got his price,

      As generally is agreed,

      You will, by taking my advice,

      Let yours be very large indeed.

      Corruption is not nice at all,

      Unless the bribe be far from small.

      In Italy the sky is blue;

      The native loafs and lolls about,

      He's nothing in the world to do,

      And does it fairly well, no doubt;

      (Ital-i-ans are disinclined

      To honest work of any kind).

      A light Chianti wine he drinks,

      And fancies it extremely good;

      (It tastes like Stephens' Blue-black Inks); —

      While macaroni is his food.

      (I think it must be rather hard

      To eat one's breakfast by the yard).

      And, when he leaves his country for

      Some northern climate, 'tis his dream

      To be an organ grinder, or

      Retail bacilli in ice-cream.

      (The French or German student terms

      These creatures 'Parisites' or 'Germs.')

      Sometimes an anarchist is he,

      And wants to slay a king or queen;

      So with some dynamite, may be,

      Concocts a murderous machine;

      'Here goes!' he shouts, 'For Freedom's sake!'

      Then blows himself up by mistake.

      Naples and Florence both repay

      A visit, and, if fortune takes

      Your toddling little feet that way,

      Do stop a moment at The Lakes.

      While, should you go to Rome, I hope

      You'll leave your card upon the Pope.

      Don't work too hard, but use a wise discretion;

      Adopt the least laborious profession.

      Don't be an anarchist, but, if you must,

      Don't let your bombshell prematurely bust.

      Inhabitants of far Japan

      Are happy as the day is long

      To sit behind a paper fan

      And sing a kind of tuneless song,

      Desisting, ev'ry little while,

      To have a public bath, or smile.

      The members of the fairer sex

      Are clad in a becoming dress,

      One garment reaching from their necks

      Down to the ankles more or less;

      Behind each dainty ear they wear

      A cherry-blossom in their hair.

      If 'Imitation's flattery'

      (We learn it at our mother's lap),

      A flatterer by birth must be

      Our clever little friend the Jap,

      Who does whatever we can do,

      And does it rather better too.

      Be happy all the time, and plan

      To

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