THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA-POWDER.
A FAVORITE COMIC RECITATION.
A Frenchman once—so runs a certain ditty—
Had crossed the Straits to famous London city
To get a living by the arts of France,
And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance.
But, lacking pupils, vain was all his skill:
His fortunes sank from low to lower still.
Until at last,—pathetic to relate,—
Poor monsieur landed at starvation's gate.
Standing one day beside a cook-shop door,
And gazing in, with aggravation sore,
He mused within himself what he should do
To fill his empty maw, and pocket too.
By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan,
And thus to execute it straight began.
A piece of common brick he quickly found,
And with a harder stone to powder ground;
Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece
Of paper, labelled "Poison for de Fleas,"
And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try,
To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy.
From street to street he cried with lusty yell,
"Here's grand and sovereign flea-poudare to sell!"
And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last,
For soon a woman hailed him as he passed;
Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot,
And made him five crowns richer on the spot.
Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale,
Went into business on a larger scale;
And soon, throughout all London, scattered he
The "only genuine poudare for de flea."
Engaged one morning in his new vocation
Of mingled boasting and dissimulation,
He thought he heard himself in anger called;
And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled—
In not a mild or very tender mood—
From the same window where before she stood.
"Hey, there," said she, "you Monsher Powder-man!
Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can.
I'll let you dirty, thieving Frenchmen know
That decent people won't be cheated so."
Then spoke monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
With humble attitude and tearful eye:
"Ah, madame! s'il vous plait, attendez vous,
I vill dis leetle ting explain to you.
My poudare gran'! magnifique! why abuse him?
Aha! I show you how to use him,
First, you must wait until you catch de flea;
Den tickle he on de petite rib, you see;
And when he laugh—aha! he ope his throat;
Den poke de poudare down!—Begar! he choke."