"Finns, they're witches," said Murphy, "an' powerful strong ones too;
They'll whistle a wind from nowhere an' a storm out o' the blue
'Ud sink this here old hooker an' all her bloomin' crew.
"Finns, they're witches," said Murphy, rubbing his hairy chin,
"An' some counts witchcraft bunkum, an' some a deadly sin,
But—there ain't no harm as I see in standing well with a Finn."
C.F.S.
Our Cynical Press.
"Mr. ——, M.P., is leaving home for a fortnight's rest."—Scotch Paper.