The Cur''s Progress.

Monsieur the Cur' down the street Comes with his kind old face,-- With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place," And the tiny "H'tel-de-Ville"; He smiles, as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose, And the pompier Th'ophile. He turns, as a rule, through the "March'" cool, Where the noisy fish-wives call; And his compliment pays to the "Belle Th'r'se," As she knits in her dusky stall. There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop, And Toto, the locksmith's niece, Has jubilant hopes, for the Cur' gropes In his tails for a pain d''pice. There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit, Who is said to be heterodox, That will ended be with a "Ma foi, oui!" And a pinch from the Cur''s box. There is also a word that no one heard To the furrier's daughter Lou; And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, And a "Bon Dieu garde M'sieu!" But a grander way for the Sous-Pr'fet, And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne; And a mock "off-hat" to the Notary's cat, And a nod to the Sacristan:-- For ever through life the Cur' goes With a smile on his kind old face-- With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case.