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 "Htel-de-Ville";     He smiles, as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose,     And the pompier Thophile.     He turns, as a rule, through the "March" cool,     Where the noisy fish-wives call;     And his compliment pays to the "Belle Thrse,"     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-Prfet,     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.