I is an Irish babe--sweet little Pat-- With shillelagh and shamrock to stick in his hat. He has fought in his time; now no truer friend's seen: We can wear our own colours while he wears the green. [Illustration] J is a Jew with a ringleted head, Who's up and about while the rest are in bed. He's first on the steamer to sell you his wares, And he'll never be missed but at dinner and prayers! [Illustration] K is a sweet little, neat little Khan, Who lives in a country called Beluchistan; His head sports a turban, which looks a bit vain, But it covers a thoroughly competent brain. [Illustration] L is from Labrador--wee Esquimaux-- Who lives in an ice-house all covered with snow; She has sealskin for jackets, with nothing to pay, And is pleased with a land where's it night in the day! [Illustration] M's a Masai baby, fierce, dark, and strong-- Who steals neighbours' cattle and thinks it no wrong! That's in East Africa, where they appear To have manners and customs quite different from here. [Illustration] N's a New Zealander,--Maori child,-- Who hides in the bush, which is lonely and wild. His life's like a gipsy's; he lives upon snails! But he danced like a prince for the Princess of Wales! [Illustration] O is an Orange River Colony coon, Who dances and sings by the light of the moon. She's a Kaffir by birth, but our language she knows, And she always gets blacker the bigger she grows! [Illustration] P is a Parsee babe, born in Bombay, Who is sure to be wealthy as Crœsus some day. For these cute little Parsees our merchants admire, And so copy their fashions, make coin, and retire. [Illustration] Q comes from Queensland, the land of the Queen, The cleverest riders that ever were seen! With a whip and a gun and a swinging lassoo They're as swift as the wind to the swift Kangaroo. [Illustration] R is a Rajput, who's haughty and proud, And turns up his nose at the ignorant crowd: The horse that he rides is as proud as his master-- He will curvet and prance, but he won't gallop faster! [Illustration] S comes from Scotland, the land of the cake. He's a braw little laddie a soldier to make. And the sound of his bagpipes will draw us all forth, When he comes marching south to the "Cock of the North." [Illustration] T's a Tasmanian. The land where she dwells Is as full of ripe fruit as the sea's full of shells. It was once a dark prison, but now it's all free, And sends England sweet cargoes from over the sea. [Illustration]