THE FIRST MORNING IN FRANCE.
Sunny sky and landscape bright:
Fishing-boats move up and down,
With their sails all red and brown.
Some to land are drawing near,
O’er the water still and clear,
Full of fish as they can be,
Caught last night in open sea.
On the pavement down below,
Fishwives hurry to and fro,
Calling out their fish to sell—
“What a noisy lot,” says Nell,
“What a clap—clap—clap—they make
With their shoes each step they take.
Wooden shoes, I do declare,
And oh! what funny caps they wear!”
After breakfast all went out
To view the streets, and walk about
The ancient city-walls, so strong,
Where waved the English flag for long.
Toy shops too they went to see,
Spread with toys so temptingly:
Dolls of every kind were there,
With eyes that shut and real hair—
And, in a brightly-coloured row,
Doll-fisherfolk like these below.
Prices marked, as if to say,
“Come and buy us, quick, to-day!”
One for Mabel, one for Rose,
Two for Bertie I suppose,
Father bought.—Then all once more
Set off travelling as before.