Abroad, page 8 by Various Authors
<< Return to Title Details & Download9
--
They'll soon make a dinner for me and for you.
French cookery's famous for flavouring rare,
But of _garlic_ I think they've enough and to spare.
If we ask how their wonderful dishes are made,
I'm afraid they won't tell us the tricks of the trade.
Do they make them, I wonder, of frogs and of snails?
Or are these, after all, only travellers' tales?
The names are all down on the "Menu," no doubt,
But the worst of it is that we can't make them out.
THE WASHERWOMEN OF CAEN
Here the children
Came next morn,
Walking by
The river Orne;
Near the poplars
On the green,
Where the Washerwives
Are seen.
Here they looked
At old Nannette,
Wringing out
The garments wet;
Saw how Eugénie,
Her daughter,
Soaked them first
In running water;
Watched the washers
Soaping, scrubbing,
With their mallets
Rubbing, drubbing--
Working hard
With all their might,
Till the clothes
Were clean and white.
THE KNIFE-GRINDER OF CAEN.
"L'homme qui passe," in France they call
The man who thrives By grinding knives--
Who never stays at home at all,
But always must be moving on.
He's glad to find Some knives to grind,
But when they're finished he'll be gone.
With dog behind to turn the wheel,
He grinds the knife For farmer's wife,
And pauses now the edge to feel:
The dog behind him hears the sound
Of cheerful chat On this and that,
And fears no knife is being ground.
The man makes jokes with careless smile,
He doesn't mind The dog behind,
But goes on talking all the while.
CHOCOLATE AND MILK.
Little Lili, whose age isn't three years quite,
Went one day with M