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                      STANDARD ELOCUTIONARY BOOKS

  =FIVE-MINUTE READINGS FOR YOUNG LADIES.= Selected and adapted by
    WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.

  =FIVE-MINUTE DECLAMATIONS.= Selected and adapted by WALTER K.
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  =FIVE-MINUTE RECITATIONS.= By WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.

  Pupils in public schools on declamation days are limited to five
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  =ELOCUTION SIMPLIFIED.= With an appendix on Lisping, Stammering,
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  "The whole art of elocution is succinctly set forth in this small
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  =ADVANCED READINGS AND RECITATIONS.= By AUSTIN B. FLETCHER, A.M.,
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  "Professor Fletcher's noteworthy compilation has been made with
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  need of such a work, are well qualified to prepare it. _It is a
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  =VOCAL AND ACTION-LANGUAGE, CULTURE AND EXPRESSION.= By E. N.
    KIRBY, teacher of elocution in the Lynn High Schools. 12mo.
    English cloth binding. Price, $1.25.

  "Teachers and students of the art of public speaking, in any of
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  =KEENE'S SELECTIONS.= Selection for reading and elocution. A
    hand-book for teachers and students. By J. W. KEENE, A.M., M.D.
    Cloth. $1.

  "An admirable selection of practical pieces."

  =LITTLE PIECES FOR LITTLE SPEAKERS.= The primary school teacher's
    assistant. By a practical teacher. 16mo. Illustrated. 75 cents.
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  =THE MODEL SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEAKER.= Containing selections in prose
    and verse, from the most popular pieces and dialogues for
    Sunday-school exhibitions. Illust. Cloth. 75 cents. Boards, 50
    cents "A book very much needed."

                   LEE AND SHEPARD Publishers Boston




                       _BAKER'S DIALECT SERIES_

                      MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS

                        COMPRISING A SERIES OF

                      THE MOST POPULAR SELECTIONS

                     In German, French, and Scotch


                               EDITED BY

                            GEORGE M. BAKER

        COMPILER OF "THE READING CLUB AND HANDY SPEAKER," "THE
             PREMIUM SPEAKER," "THE POPULAR SPEAKER," "THE
               PRIZE SPEAKER," "THE HANDY SPEAKER," ETC.

                                BOSTON
                      LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
                               NEW YORK
                         CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
                                 1888


                           COPYRIGHT, 1887,

                          BY GEORGE M. BAKER.

                      MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS.

                          RAND AVERY COMPANY,
                      ELECTROTYPERS AND PRINTERS,
                                BOSTON.




CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

  Hans Breitmann's Party                    _Charles G. Leland_        5

  The Deutsch Maud Muller                   _Carl Pretzel_             6

  The Dutchman's Serenade                                              7

  Dyin' Vords of Isaac                      _Anon._                    9

  Lookout Mountain, 1863--Beutelsbach,      _George L. Catlin_        10
  1880

  Der Shoemaker's Poy                                                 12

  Der Drummer                               _Charles F. Adams_        13

  The Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog                                   14

  Setting a Hen                                                       16

  "What's the Matter with that              _Our Fat Contributor_     17
  Nose?"

  Keepin' the De'il oot                     _Mrs. Findley Braden_     19

  The Puzzled Census-Taker                  _John G. Saxe_            22

  Dutch Security                                                      23

  The Frenchman and the Rats                                          24

  Heinz von Stein                           _Charles G. Leland, from the
                                            German_                   26

  The Solemn Book-Agent                     _Detroit Free Press_      27

  The Mother-in-Law                         _Charles Follen Adams_    28

  Schneider's Tomatoes                      _Charles F. Adams_        29

  Dutch Humor                                                         30

  Squire Houston's Marriage Ceremony                                  31

  Dot Delephone                                                       31

  The United Order of Half-Shells                                     33

  Why no Scotchmen go to Heaven                                       35

  Yawcob Strauss                            _C. F. Adams_             36

  Leedle Yawcob Strauss--what
  he says                                   _Arthur Dakin_            37

  Isaac Rosenthal on the Chinese
  Question                                  _Scribner's Monthly_      38

  "Der Dog und der Lobster"                 _Saul Sertrew_            39

  "Der Wreck of der Hezberus"                                         41

  Signs and Omens                                                     43

  A Dutchman's Answer                                                 44

  The Vay Rube Hoffenstein sells                                      45

  A Dutch Recruiting Officer                                          46

  Dot Baby off Mine                                                   47

  Dot Leetle Tog under der Vagon                                      49

  Schnitzerl's Velocipede                   _Hans Breitmann_          50

  The Latest Barbarie Frietchie                                       51

  Mr. Hoffenstein's Bugle                                             52

  Fritz and his Betsy fall out              _George M. Warren_        54

  Cut, Cut Behind                           _Charles Follen Adams_    57

  Tickled all Oafer                                                   58

  An Error o' Judgment                                                59

  Sockery Kadahcut's Kat                                              61

  I vash so Glad I vash Here!                                         63

  Dot Shly Leedle Raskel                                              64

  A Jew's Trouble                           _Hurwood_                 65

  Der Mule shtood on der Steamboad Deck     _Anon._                   66

  Teaching him the Business                                           67

  Der Good-lookin Shnow                                               69

  How Jake Schneider went Blind                                       71

  The Dutchman and the Raven                                          72

  The Dutchman who gave Mrs.
  Scudder the Small-Pox                                               74

  Ellen McJones Aberdeen                    _W. S. Gilbert_           76

  A Dutch Sermon                                                      78

  Shacob's Lament                                                     79

  Mr. Schmidt's Mistake                     _Charles F. Adams_        81

  John and Tibbie Davison's Dispute         _Robert Leighton_         82

  Fritz und I                               _Charles F. Adams_        84

  A Tussle with Immigrants                  _Philip Douglass_         86

  A Doketor's Drubbles                      _George M. Warren_        86

  Charlie Machree                           _William J. Hoppin_       90

  A Dutchman's Dolly Varden                 _Anon._                   91

  The Frenchmen and the Flea-Powder                                   92

  The Frenchman and the Sheep's
  Trotters                                                            94

  I vant to Fly                                                       96

  The Frenchman's Mistake                                             98

  "Two Tollar?"                             _Detroit Free Press_     100

  A Frenchman on Macbeth                    _Anon._                  101

  Like Mother used to Make                  _James Whitcomb Riley, in
                                            New-York Mercury_        101

  John Chinaman's Protest                                            102

  The Whistler                                                       104

  Mother's Doughnuts                        _Charles Follen Adams_   105

  Over the Left                             _W. C. Dornin_           106

  A Jolly Fat Friar                                                  107

  The Enoch of Calaveras                    _F. Bret Harte_          107

  Curly-Head                                _B. S. Brooks_           109

  Warning to Woman                                                   111

  An Exciting Contest                                                112

  A Laughing Philosopher                                             114

  In der Shweed Long Ago                    _Oofty Gooft_            117

  Dot Stupporn Pony                         _Harry Woodson_          118

  Spoopendyke opening Oysters               _Stanley Huntley_        119

  To a Friend studying German               _Charles Godfrey Leland_  122

  Tammy's Prize                                                      124

  The Scotchman at the Play                                          128

  An Irish Love-Letter                      _Geo. M. Baker_          133




MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS.




HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY.


    Hans Breitmann gife a party: dey had piano playin'.
    I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau; her name vos Matilda Yane.
    She had haar as prown as a pretzel bun; her eyes were himmel-blue;
    And ven she looket into mine she shplit mine heart into two.

    Hans Breitmann gife a party: I vent dar, you'll be pound.
    I valzt mit der Matilda Yane, and vent shpinnin' round and round,--
    De pootiest fraulein in de house: she weighed two hoondert pound.

    Hans Breitmann gife a party: I tells you it cost him dear.
    Dey rollt in more as seven kegs of foost-rate lager-bier;
    And fenefer dey knocks de shpickets in, de Deutschers gife a cheer;
    I dinks so fine a party not come to a hend dis year.

    Hans Breitmann gife a party: dere all vas Saus and Braus.
    Ven de sooper coom in, de gompany did make demselfs to house;
    Dey eat das Brod und Gansebrust, Bratwurst, und Broten fine,
    And vash deir Abendessen down mit four barrels of Neckar wein.

    Hans Breitmann gife a party: ve all cot trunk as pigs.
    I put mine mout' to a parrel of bier, and schwallowed up mit a schwigs.
    And den I kissed Matilda Yane, and she schlog me on de kop;
    And de gompany fight mit taple-legs till de conshtoble made us shtop.

    Hans Breitmann gife a party: vere is dat party now?
    Vere is de lofely golten cloud dat float on de mountain's prow?
    Vere is de Himmelstrahlende Stern, de star of de spirits' light?
    All goned afay mit de lager-bier, afay in de Ewigkeit.

                                        CHARLES G. LELAND.




THE DEUTSCH MAUD MULLER.


    Maud Muller, von summer afternoon,
    Vas dending bar in her fadder's saloon.
    She solt dot bier, und singed "Shoo Fly,"
    Und vinked at der men mit her lefd eye.
    But, ven she looked oud on der shdreed,
    Und saw dem gals all dressed so shweed,
    Her song gifed oud on a ubber note,
    Cause she had such a horse in her troat;
    Und she vished she had shdamps to shpend,
    So she might git such a Grecian Bend.
    Hans Brinker valked shlowly down der shdreed,
    Shmilin at all der gals he'd meed.
    Old Hans vas rich, as I've been dold,
    Had houses und lots und a barrel of gold.
    He shdopped py der door; und pooty soon
    He valked righd indo dot bier saloon.
    Und he vinked ad Maud, und said, "My dear,
    Gif me, if you pblease, a glass of bier."
    She vend to the pblace vere der bier-keg shtood,
    Und pringed him a glass dot vas fresh and goot.
    "Dot's goot," said Hans: "dot's a better drink
    As effer I had in mine life, I dink."
    He dalked for a vhile, den said, "Goot tay;"
    Und up der shdreed he took his vay.
    Maud hofed a sigh, and said, "Oh, how
    I'd like to been dot old man's frow!
    Such shplendid close I den vood vear,
    Dot all the gals around vood shdare.
    In dot Union Park I'd drive all tay,
    Und efery efenin go to der pblay."
    Hans Brinker, doo, felt almighty gweer
    (But dot might been von trinkin bier);
    Und he says to himself, as he valked along
    Humming der dune of a olt lofe-song,
    "Dot's der finest gal I efer did see;
    Und I vish dot my vife she cood be."
    But here his solilligwy came to an end,
    As he dinked of der gold dot she might shbend;
    Und he maked up his mind dot, as for him,
    He'd marry a gal mid lots of "din."
    So he vent right off dot fery day,
    Und married a vooman olt und gray.
    He vishes now, but all in vain,
    Dot he was free to marry again,--
    Free as he vas dat afdernoon,
    When he met Maud Muller in dot bier-saloon.
    Maud married a man mitoud some "soap;"
    He vas lazy, too; bud she did hope
    Dot he'd get bedder ven shildren came:
    But ven they had, he vas yoost the same.
    Und ofden now dem dears vill come
    As she sits alone ven her day's work's done,
    Und dinks of der day ven Hans called her "My dear,"
    Und asked her for a glass of bier;
    But she don'd complain nor efer has:
    Und oney says, "Dot coodn't vas."

                                          CARL PRETZEL.




THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE.


    Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe!
    Der moon dot can't been seen abofe.
    Vake oud your eyes, und dough it's late,
    I'll make you oud a serenate.

    Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet,
    Und dhere vas no goot blace to set;
    My fiddle's getting oud of dune,
    So blease get vakey wery soon.

    O my lofe! my lofely lofe!
    Am you avake ub dhere abofe,
    Feeling sad und nice to hear
    Schneider's fiddle schrabin near?

    Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear,
    Und try to saw if you kin hear
    From dem bedclose vat you'm among,
    Der little song I'm going to sung:

           *       *       *       *       *

    O lady, vake! Get vake!
      Und hear der tale I'll tell;
    Oh, you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere,
      I like you pooty vell!

    Your plack eyes dhem don't shine
      Ven you'm ashleep--so vake!
    (Yes, hurry up, und voke up quick,
      For gootness cracious sake!)

    My schveet imbatience, lofe,
      I hobe you vill oxcuse:
    I'm singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks!
      Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!)

    O putiful, schveet maid!
      Oh, vill she efer voke?
    Der moon is mooning--(Jimminy! dhere
      Anoder shtring vent proke!)

    Oh, say, old schleeby head!
      (Now I vas getting mad--
    I'll holler now, und I don't care
      Uf I vake up her dad!)

    I say, you schleeby, vake!
      Vake oud! Vake loose! Vake ub!
    Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch!
      Oh, cracious! do vake ub!

           *       *       *       *       *

    Dot girl she schleebed--dot rain it rained,
      Und I looked shtoopid like a fool,
    Vhen mit my fiddle I shneaked off
      So vet und shlobby like a mool!




DYIN' VORDS OF ISAAC.


Vhen Shicago vas a leedle villages, dher lifed dherein py dot Clark
Sdhreet out, a shentlemans who got some names like Isaacs; he geeb a
cloting store, mit goots dot vit you yoost der same like dhey vas made.
Isaacs vas a goot fellers, und makes goot pishness on his hause. Vell,
thrade got besser as der time he vas come, und dose leetle shtore vas
not so pig enuff like anudder shtore, und pooty gwick he locks out und
leaves der pblace.

Now Yacob Schloffenheimer vas a shmard feller; und he dinks of he dook
der olt shtore, he got good pishness, und dose olt coostomers von
Isaac out. Von tay dhere comes a shentlemans on his store, und Yacob
quick say of der mans, "How you vas, mein freund? you like to look of
mine goots, aind it?"--"Nein," der mans say. "Vell, mein freund, it
makes me notting troubles to show dot goots."--"Nein; I don'd vood buy
sometings to-tay."--"Yoost come mit me vonce, mein freund, und I show
you sometings, und so hellup me gracious, I don'd ask you to buy dot
goots."--"Vell, I told you vat it vas, I don'd vood look at some tings
yoost now; I keebs a livery shtable; und I likes to see mein old freund
Mister Isaacs, und I came von Kaintucky out to see him vonce."--"Mister
Isaacs? Vell, dot ish pad; I vas sorry von dot. I dells you, mein
freund, Mister Isaacs he vas died. He vas mein brudder, und he vas not
mit us eny more. Yoost vhen he vas on his deat-ped, und vas dyin', he
says of me, 'Yacob, (dot ish mine names), und I goes me ofer mit his
petside, und he poods his hands of mine, und he says of me, 'Yacob'
ofer a man he shall come von Kaintucky out, mit ret hair, und mit plue
eyes, Yacob, sell him dings cheab;' und he lay ofer und died his last."

                                                            _Anonymous._




LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863--BEUTELSBACH, 1880.


    "Yah, I shpeaks English a leetle: berhaps you shpeaks petter der
        German."
    "No, not a word."--"Vel den, meester, it hardt for to be oonderstandt.
    I vos drei yahr in your country, I fights in der army mit Sherman--
    Twentiet Illinois Infantry--Fightin' Joe Hooker's commandt."

    "So you've seen service in Georgia--a veteran, eh?"--"Vell, I tell you
    Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, und landt in Nei-York;
    I sphends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hospiddal
        Bellevue:
    Ven I gets petter I tramps to Sheecago to look for some vork."

    "Pretty young then, I suppose?"--"Yah, svansig apout; und der peobles
    Vot I goes to for to ask for some vork, dey hafe none for to geef;
    Efery von laughs; but I holds my head ope shust so high as der
        steeples.
    Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I belief."

    "Ever get wounded? I notice you walk rather lame and unsteady.
    Pshaw! got a wooden leg, eh? What battle? At Lookout! don't say!
    I was there too--wait a minute--your beer-glass is empty already
    Call for another. There! tell me how 'twas you got wounded that day."

    "Vell, ve charge ope der side of her mountain--der sky vos all smoky
        and hazy;
    Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until night--
    But--I don't care to say mooch apout it. Der poys called me foolish
        and crazy.
    Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, 'Goot'--dot it serf me
        shust right.

    "But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, and no
        matter
    Vot any man say."--"Well, let's hear it--you needn't mind talking to
        me,
    For I was there, too, as I tell you--and Lor'! how the bullets did
        patter
    Around on that breastwork of boulders that sheltered our Tenth
        Tennessee."

    "So? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de efening,
    Shust before dark; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef a hurrah,
    Der roar of der guns, it vos orful."--"Ah! yes, I remember, 'twas
        deafening,
    The hottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw."

    "Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen,
    Und dinks dot I hear somepody a callin'--a voice dot cried,
    'Pring me some vater for Gott's sake'--I saw his pelt-bate glisten,
    Oonder der moonlight, on der parapet, shust outside.

    "I dhrow my canteen ofer to vere he lie, but he answer
    Dot his left handt vos gone, und his right arm proke mit a fall;
    Den I shump ofer, und gife him to drink, but shust as I ran, sir,
    Bang! come a sharp-shooter's pullet; und dot's how it vos--dot is all."

    "And they called you foolish and crazy, did they? Him you befriended--
    The 'reb,' I mean--what became of him? Did he ever come 'round?"
    "Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strength vos all
        ended,
    Until dey come out mit der stretchers, und carry us off from der
        ground.

    "But pefore ve go, he ask me my name, und says he, 'Yacob Keller,
    You loses your leg for me, und some day, if both of us leefs,
    I shows you I don't vorget'--but he most hafe died, de poor feller;
    I nefer hear ofe him since. He don't get vell, I beliefs.

    "Only I alvays got der saddisfachshun ofe knowin'--
    Shtop! vots der matter? Here, take some peer, you're vite as a sheet--
    Shteady! your handt on my shoulder! my gootness! I dinks you vos goin'
    To lose your senses avay, und fall right off mit der seat.

    "Geef me your handts. Vot! der left one gone? Und you vos a soldier
    In dot same battle?--a Tennessee regiment?--dot's mighty queer--
    Berhaps after all you're--" "Yes, Yacob, God bless you old fellow, I
        told you
    I'd never--no, never forget you. I told you I'd come, and I'm here."

                                          GEORGE L. CATLIN.




DER SHOEMAKER'S POY.


    Der meat-chopper hanged on der vhitevashed vall,
    For no gustomers comed to der putcher's shtall;
    Der sausage masheen was no longer in blay,
    And der putcher poys all had a holiday.
    Der shoemaker's poy comed dere to shlide
    On der door of der zellar, but shtealed inside:
    Mit der chopping masheen he peginned to make free,
    Un he cried, "Dere ish nopody looking at me."
            O! der shoemaker's poy,
            Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

    Der day goed avay, un der night comed on.
    Ven der shoemaker vound dat his poy vas gone,
    He called up his vrow, un der search pegan
    To look for der poy, un vind him if dey can.
    Dey seeked un asked for him at efery door,--
    At der putcher's, der paker's, un groshery shtore;
    At der lager-pier cellar, der shtation-house;
    But der answer dey getted vas, "Nix cum arous."
            O! der shoemaker's poy,
            Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

    Dey seeked him all night, un dey seeked him next tay
    Un for more as a mont vas der duyvil to pay,
    In der alleys, der houses, un efery place round,
    In der Toombs, in der rifer, un in der tog-pound.
    Dey seeked him in vain undil veeks vas bast,
    Un der shoemaker goed to his awl at _last_;
    Un ven he'd passed py, all der peeples vould cry,
    "Dere goes der shoemaker vot losed his poy!"
            O! der shoemaker's poy,
            Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

    At lenkt der meat-chopping masheen vas in need:
    Der putcher goed to it, un dere he seed
    A pundle of pones; un der shoes vas dere
    Vot der long-lost shoemaker's poy did vear.
    His jaws were still vagging, un seemed to say,
    "Ven no one vas here, I got in to blay:
    It closed mit a shpring, un der poy so green
    Vas made sausage-meat by der chopping masheen."
            O! der shoemaker's poy,
            Der _last_ of der shoemaker's poy!




DER DRUMMER.


    Who puts oup at der pest hotel,
    Und dakes his oysters on der schell,
    Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell?
                  Der drummer.

    Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore,
    Drows down his pundles on der vloor,
    Und nefer schtops to shut der door?
                  Der drummer.

    Who dakes me by der handt, unt say,
    "Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day?"
    Und goes for peesnis righd avay?
                  Der drummer.

    Who sphreads his zamples in a trice,
    Und dells me, "Look, und see how nice!"
    Und says I gets "der bottom price"?
                  Der drummer.

    Who says der tings vas eggstra vine,--
    "Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine,"--
    Und sheats me den dimes oudt of nine?
                  Der drummer.

    Who dells how sheap der goots vas bought,
    Mooch less as vat I gould imbort,
    But lets dem go as he vas "short"?
                  Der drummer.

    Who varrants all der goots to suit
    Der gustomers ubon his route?--
    Und ven dey gomes dey vas no goot,--
                  Der drummer.

    Who gomes aroundt ven I been oudt,
    Drinks oup my bier, and eates mine _kraut_,
    Und kiss Katrina in der mout?
                  Der drummer.

    Who, ven he gomes again dis vay,
    Vill hear vot Pfeiffer has to say,
    Und mit a plack eye goes avay?
                  Dot drummer.

                                CHARLES F. ADAMS




THE YANKEE AND THE DUTCHMAN'S DOG.


Hiram was a quiet, peaceable sort of a Yankee, who lived on the same
farm on which his fathers had lived before him, and was generally
considered a pretty cute sort of a fellow,--always ready with a trick,
whenever it was of the least utility; yet, when he did play any of his
tricks, 'twas done in such an innocent manner, that his victim could do
no better than take it all in good part.

Now, it happened that one of Hiram's neighbors sold a farm to a
tolerably green specimen of a Dutchman,--one of the real unintelligent,
stupid sort.

Von Vlom Schlopsch had a dog, as Dutchmen often have, who was less
unintelligent than his master, and who had, since leaving his
"faderland," become sufficiently civilized not only to appropriate the
soil as common stock, but had progressed so far in the good work as to
obtain his dinners from the neighbors' sheepfold on the same principle.

When Hiram discovered this propensity in the canine department of
the Dutchman's family, he walked over to his new neighbor's to enter
complaint, which mission he accomplished in the most natural method in
the world.

"Wall, Von, your dog Blitzen's been killing my sheep."

"Ya! dat ish bace--bad. He ish von goot tog: ya! dat ish bad!"

"Sartain, it's bad; and you'll have to stop 'im."

"Ya! dat ish allas goot; but ich weis nicht."

"What's that you say? _he was niched?_ Wall, now look here, old feller!
nickin's no use. Crop 'im; cut the tail off close, chock up to his
trunk: that'll cure him."

"Vat ish dat?" exclaimed the Dutchman, while a faint ray of
intelligence crept over his features. "Ya! dat ish goot. Dat cure von
sheep steal, eh?"

"Sartain it will: he'll never touch sheep-meat again in this world,"
said Hiram gravely.

"Den come mit me. He von mity goot tog; all the way from Yarmany: I not
take one five dollar--but come mit me, and hold his tail, eh? Ich chop
him off."

"Sartain," said Hiram: "I'll hold his tail if you want me tew; but you
must cut it up close."

"Ya! dat ish right. Ich make 'im von goot tog. There, Blitzen, Blitzen!
come right here, you von sheep steal rashcull: I chop your tail in von
two pieces."

The dog obeyed the summons; and the master tied his feet fore and aft,
for fear of accident, and, placing the tail in the Yankee's hand,
requested him to lay it across a large block of wood.

"Chock up," said Hiram, as he drew the butt of the tail close over the
log.

"Ya! dat ish right. Now, you von tief sheep, I learns you better luck,"
said Von Vlom Schlopsch, as he raised the axe.

It descended; and, as it did so, Hiram, with characteristic presence of
mind, gave a sudden jerk, and brought Blitzen's neck over the log; and
the head rolled over the other side.

"Wall, I swow!" said Hiram with apparent astonishment, as he dropped
the headless trunk of the dog: "that was a _leetle_ too close."

"Mine cootness!" exclaimed the Dutchman, "_you shust cut 'im off de
wrong end_!"




SETTING A HEN.



I see dot most efferpody wrides someding for de shicken bapers nowtays,
und I tought praps meppe I can do dot too, so I wride all apout vat
dook blace mit me lasht summer. You know--oder uf you dond know, den I
dells you--dot Katrina (dot is mein vrow) und me, ve keep some shickens
for a long dime ago, und von tay she sait to me: "Sockery (dot is mein
name) vy dond you put some of de aigs under dot old plue hen shickens?
I dinks she vants to sate." "Vell," I sait, "meppe I guess I vill." So
I picked out some uf de pest aigs und dook um oud to de parn fare de
olt hen make her nesht in de side uf de hay-mow, poud five or six veet
up. Now you see I nefer vas ferry pig up und town, but I vas booty pig
all de vay around in de mittle, so I koodn't reach up dill I vent und
got a parrel do stant on. Vell, I klimet me on de parrel, und ven my
hed risht up by de nesht, dot old hen she gif me such a bick dot my
nose runs all ofer my face mit plood, und ven I todge pack dot plasted
old parrel he preak, und I vent town kershlam; py cholly, I didn't
tink I kood go inside a parrel pefore; but dere I vos, und I fit so
dite I koodn't get me oud efferway; my fest vas bushed vay up under my
arm-holes.

Ven I fount I vas dite shtuck, I holler, "Katrina! Katrina!" und ven
she koom und see me shtuck in de parrel up to my arm-holes, mit my face
all plood und aigs, by cholly, she shust lait town on de hay und laft
und laft, till I got so mat I said, "Vot you lay dere und laf like a
olt vool, eh? Vy dond you koom bull me oud?" Und she sat up und said,
"Oh, vipe off your chin, und bull your fest town;" den she lait back
und laft like she voot split herself more as effer. Mat as I vas, I
tought to myself, Katrina, she shbeak English booty goot, but I only
sait, mit my greatest dignitude, "Katrina, vill you bull me oud dis
parrel?" und she see dot I look booty red, so she sait, "Of course I
vill, Sockery;" den she laidt me und de parrel town on our side, und I
dook holt de door-sill, und Katrina she bull on de parrel; but de first
bull she mate I yelled, "Donner und blitzen! sthop dat, by cholly, dere
is nails in de parrel!" You see de nails pent town ven I vent in, but
ven I koom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount.

Vell, to make a short shtory long, I told Katrina to go und dell
naper Hansman to pring a saw und saw me dis parrel off. Vell, he koom
und he like to shblit himself mit laf, too; but he roll me ofer, und
saw de parrel all de vay around off, und I git up mit haf a parrel
round my vaist; den Katrina she say, "Sockery, vait a little till I
get a battern of dot new ofer-skirt you haf on;" but I didn't sait
a vort. I shust got a knife oud und vittle de hoops off, und shling
dot confountet old parrel in dot voot-pile. Pimeby, ven I koom in de
house, Katrina she sait, so soft like, "Sockery, dond you goin to put
some aigs under dot olt plue hen?" Den I sait, in my deepest woice,
"Katrina, uf you uffer say dot to me again, I'll git a pill from
you--help me chiminy gracious!" und I dell you, she didn't say dot any
more! Vell, ven I shtep on a parrel now, I dond shtep on it; I git a
pox.




"WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THAT NOSE?"


Snyder kept a beer-saloon some years ago "over the Rhine." Snyder was
a ponderous Teuton of very irascible temper,--"sudden and quick in
quarrel,"--get mad in a minute. Nevertheless his saloon was a great
resort for the boys,--partly because of the excellence of his beer, and
partly because they liked to chafe "old Snyder" as they called him;
for, although his bark was terrific, experience had taught them that he
wouldn't bite.

One day Snyder was missing; and it was explained by his "frau,"
who "jerked" the beer that day, that he had "gone out fishing mit
der poys." The next day one of the boys, who was particularly fond
of "roasting" old Snyder, dropped in to get a glass of beer, and
discovered Snyder's nose, which was a big one at any time, swollen and
blistered by the sun, until it looked like a dead-ripe tomato.

"Why, Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?" said the caller.

"I peen out fishing mit der poys," replied Snyder, laying his finger
tenderly against his proboscis: "the sun it pes hot like ash der tifel,
unt I purns my nose. Nice nose, don't it?" And Snyder viewed it with
a look of comical sadness in the little mirror back of his bar. It
entered at once into the head of the mischievous fellow in front of
the bar to play a joke upon Snyder; so he went out and collected half
a dozen of his comrades, with whom he arranged that they should drop
in at the saloon one after another, and ask Snyder, "What's the matter
with that nose?" to see how long he would stand it. The man who put up
the job went in first with a companion, and, seating themselves at a
table called for beer. Snyder, brought it to them; and the new-comer
exclaimed as he saw him, "Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?"

"I yust dell your frient here I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt the
sun he purnt 'em--zwi lager--den cents--all right."

Another boy rushes in. "Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time:
s'pose I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of lager and
a pret"--(appears to catch a sudden glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks
wonderingly a moment, and then bursts out laughing)--"ha! ha! ha! Why,
Snyder,--ha!--ha!--what's the matter with that nose?"

Snyder, of course, can't see any fun in having a burnt nose or having
it laughed at; and he says, in a tone sternly emphatic,--

"I've peen out fishing mit der poys, unt de sun it juse as hot like ash
dar tifel, unt I purnt my nose; dat ish all right."

Another tormentor comes in, and insists on "setting 'em up" for the
whole house. "Snyder," says he, "fill up the boys' glasses, and
take a drink yourse----ho! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha! Snyder, wha--ha!
ha!--what's the matter with that nose?"

Snyder's brow darkens with wrath by this time, and his voice grows
deeper and sterner,--

"I peen out fishin' mit der poys on der Leedle Miami. De sun pese hot
like as--vel, I purn my pugle. Now, that is more vot I don't got to
say. Vot gind o' peseness? Dat ish all right; I purn my own nose, don't
it?"

"Burn your nose,--burn all the hair off your head, for what I care; you
needn't get mad about it."

It was evident that Snyder wouldn't stand more than one more tweak at
that nose; for he was tramping about behind his bar, and growling like
an exasperated old bear in his cage. Another one of his tormentors
walks in. Some one sings out to him, "Have a glass of beer, Billy?"

"Don't care about any beer," says Billy, "but, Snyder, you may give
me one of your best ciga--Ha-a-a! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! he! he! he!
ah-h-h-ha! ha! ha! ha! Why--why--Snyder--who--who--ha-ha! ha! what's
the matter with that nose?"

Snyder was absolutely fearful to behold by this time; his face was
purple with rage, all except his nose, which glowed like a ball of
fire. Leaning his ponderous figure far over the bar, and raising his
arm aloft to emphasize his words with it, he fairly roared,--

"I've been out fishin' mit ter poys. The sun it pese hot like ash never
vas. I purnt my nose. Now you no like dose nose, you yust take yose
nose unt wr-wr-wr-wring your mean American finger mit em! That's the
kind of man vot I am!"

And Snyder was right.

                                                    OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR.




KEEPIN' THE DE'IL OOT.


He cam' to the door o' my heart the nicht Wat Birney kilt puir dog
Speed for worritin' his Sou'-Downs.

An' the De'il was a bra knocker. "Dugald Moir," he ca'd, loud an' lang,
"opit the door!"

"Nay," said I. "You maun stay oot."

"But I ha'e summat to say."

"I dinna care to listen."

"It's a bit o' gude advice."

"Keep it, then. You'll need it afore you dee."

"But it's aboot Wat Birney. He murdered your auld dog Speed. You maun
ha'e revenge."

"The colley was trespassin'."

"Ay, but Wat kilt him i' cauld blood."

"Weel, he had often warnt us baith to keep off o' his groun'."

"But Wat Birney's bin a bad naybor for years."

"An' sae ha'e I, for the matter o' that. We dinna speak."

"Speed's death maun be revenged. Set Wat's fat straw-stack afire. It
wad mak' a gran' blaze."

"Nay, nay!" I cried. "Gae lang noo. I willna be your partner i' ony
sich doin's!"

At that, the De'il bided awee. But I cud hear him lashin' his tail just
outside my heart-door. It was bolted an' barred sae that he cudna walk
i'. "Dugald Moir," he ca'd again, "ha'e you buried puir Speed?"

"Nay, Mister De'il. I canna pairt wi' him juist noo."

"Wat's Sou'-Downs will nibble the sod aboon his grave. Better pop owre
ane or twa o' them. You ca' then feed your loss wi' a bit o' roast
mutton. It wad ainly be tooth for tooth."

"I daurna, auld Timpter. The Maister's Book says: 'Return gude for
evil.' Wat's Sou'-Downs are nae mine to kill an' eat."

"Hoot, mon! Was Speed his ain dog to shoot doon i' a minit?"

"But he was worritin' the wee lambs o' the flock."

Here the De'il knockit hard an' strong. "Dugald Moir, Wat ha'e a dog o'
his ain. Ca' him up, an' treat him to a bit o' poisoned meat. That wad
ainly be tit for tat."

"Nay, again, Mister De'il. Wat's dog Bruce ance fished my bairn oot
o' the burn. He's a bra' beast, an' weel worth twa o' puir, meddlin'
Speed."

"But that wad ainly mak' your revenge completer."

"I willna tak' revenge. I'll do Wat sum gude turn i' place o' it. I
maun heap coals o' fire on his head."

Then the De'il knockit ance mair. "Dugald Moir, I thocht you a mon o'
spirit! You'll be the butt o' the country-side. Get even wi' Wat Birney
while you ca'. It isna yet too late. He's cumin' up the glen. Speed's
killin' was an insult; wipe it oot wi' your fists."

"But sister Bel luvs the lad. He'll be my ain brither sune. I wauna
lift a han' to my brither."

"Whist! ha's nae mair your brither than I!"

"Nay, an' thank God for that las'! Gang awa'. You canna enter the heart
o' Dugald Moir."

There was a knock at the hoose door just then; an' Wat Birney hissel'
entered, wi' Bruce at his heels. Puir Speed lay deid between us.

"W'at wad you ha'e?" I asked, stern-loike, for the De'il was batterin's
awa' at my heart's door.

The lad held oot his han'. "I ha'e cam' to mak' peace. We maun be
friends."

But I turned awa' i' anger. "We canna. Dinna ask it."

Ay, but the De'il was knockit fas' an' loud then. But Wat Birney cud
not ken.

"Bruce ha'e cam' to tak' Speed's place," he said.

It was a bra' giftie, but I wadna heed. "I dinna want him," I cried.
"Bring Speed bac' to life--if you ca'."

"I wish I cud, mon, for Bel's sake. We mauna quarrel."

"Knockit him doon!" shouted the De'il, shrill as a bagpipe.

I lifted my arm; but Wat was such a slender lad, I cudna strike.

"Dinna you do it, Dugald. I canna forgi'e a blow," he said. "I kilt
puir Speed, but I'm baith ready an' willin' to gi'e you Bruce i' his
stead. It will ainly be a fair exchange. Here's the colley, an' my han'
on it. Cum, naybor, what say you?"

"Say you willna ha'e his beast or his friendship," whispered the De'il,
peerin' i' through my heart's window.

An' I said it.

There were tears i' honest Wat's blu' een. "I'm sair fashed, Dugald.
I canna gae hame wi'oot your forgi'eness. It's w'at I cam' for, an' I
maun ha'e it. Dinna you min' the day I picht Jeanie oot o' the burn?
Ha'e you forgotten that, mon? Bruce an' I togither saved the lassie's
life."

"Speed's murder ha'e crosst that oot," I cried.

The De'il was for climbin' richt i' then, but I kept him bac' wi' my
next words. "Wat Birney, I may forgi'e you i' time, but it will ainly
be for Bel's sake. Gang awa'. The De'il is at wark. I'm nae my ainsel'
this nicht. Tak' puir Speed oot, an' bury him. I canna."

The lad fell doon at my feet. "I maun ha'e your forgi'eness first,
Dugald Moir. Bel loves us baith, an' we maun love each ither. Say the
word noo; say, Wat, it's a' forgi'en an' forgotten." I thocht o' bonnie
sister Bel, an' said the words owre; but my heart wasna i' them.

"You dinna mean it," said Wat sadly; "but I'll bury Speed a' the same."

Then he went oot, draggin' the deid beast after him. I followed a'
unnoticed. Doon i' the glen he dug Speed's grave, an' laid the colley
i' it. When he had finished, he knelt aboon it, an' just prayed aloud.

"Lord, forgi'e this day's hasty deed, an' help Dugald Moir to forgi'e
it too. He's sair angry wi' me, an' nae wi'oot cause. But thee kens dog
Speed weel earned my bullet. Ainly an hour sin he mangled two o' my
best Sou'-Downs. But Dugald's hate is worse than a'. I maun ha'e the
mon's love an' friendship."

The De'il ga've a great boun' and left my heart's door as I rushed
roun' to Wat's side.

"You shall ha'e baith frae this minit," I cried. An' then my arm stole
'boot the lad's neck, juist as I had seen Bel's do on mony a moonlit
nicht. He looked at me, bewildered.

"I didna dream you wod hear. But it's juist God's ain gude answer. An'
noo you'll tak' Bruce i' Speed's place."

"Yes," I said; for the De'il had vanished.

Slowly we walked bac' to the hoose. Bel met us wi' a kiss for baith,
her black een beamin' wi' love and gladness.

She wedded Wat sune after, an' for forty lang years he ha'e been a
bra', true brither. The De'il hasna visited me sin'.

                                                  _Mrs. Findley Braden._




THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER.


  "_Nein_" (pronounced _nine_) is the German for "_No_."

    "Got any boys?" the marshal said
      To a lady from over the Rhine;
    And the lady shook her flaxen head,
      And civilly answered, "_Nein!_"

    "Got any girls?" the marshal said
      To the lady from over the Rhine;
    And again the lady shook her head,
      And civilly answered, "_Nein!_"

    "But some are dead?" the marshal said
      To the lady from over the Rhine;
    And again the lady shook her head,
      And civilly answered, "_Nein!_"

    "Husband, of course," the marshal said
      To the lady from over the Rhine;
    And again she shook her flaxen head,
      And civilly answered, "_Nein!_"

    "The devil you have!" the marshal said
      To the lady from over the Rhine;
    And again she shook her flaxen head,
      And civilly answered "_Nein!_"

    "Now, what do you mean by shaking your head,
      And always answering 'Nine?'"
    "_Ich kann nicht Englisch!_" civilly said
      The lady from over the Rhine.

                                                JOHN G. SAXE.




DUTCH SECURITY.


Said Jake Metzenmaker to his sweetheart:

"Loweeza, you vas a poody gal!"

To which that bright-eyed young German damsel replied, "Shake, dot vas
nice; say it again."

"Py golly!" Jake exclaimed; "you vas more peautiful ash a budder-cup,
and I hope you vill marry me right away."

Then that sensible young woman responded:

"Shake, I like dot marriage idea poody vell. I pelieve me it vas a
sensible peezness. Und I like you, Shake, more ash a gooble dimes. But
I vants seguridy."

"Vants seguridy! I undershtand no such dhings," said Jake in amazement.

"Nein? Right avay I dole you. Ouf you read dose babers, you find out it
vas a great peezness by married fellers to run aroundt the saloon, und
don't like to vork, und oufter the vife say some dhings she got a plack
eye, and then she vas goome by the bolice court for some seguridy for
make him do petter."

"Put you don't vas pelieve I do such a dhings, Loweeza? I schwear dot,
my lofe--"

"Schwear vas a leedle fence not more ash a gooble feed high, und you
shump over him ash easy ash you like. I pelieve you vas righdt now,
Shake. Put there vas a great risk, und I vant some seguridy for dose
dime vhen you vill be poss."

"Und you von'd marry me vidout dot seguridy?"

"I pelieve me, Shake, it vas petter ve got him now, ask py-und-py ouf
dot bolice court--ain'd id?"

"Vell, vat seguridy you vant?"

"I dink, anyvay, a tousand tollar pond vould be apout right."

"A tousand tollars! I don't ouver I find some man vhat like to schain
hisself by such a gueldt."

"If you don'd could find a friend mit dot much gonfidence py you,
Shake, vhat sort of a shance you dink I dake?"




THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS.


    A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight,
    Passing to town from Dover, in the night,
    Near the roadside an alehouse chanced to spy,
    And being rather tired, as well as dry,
    Resolved to enter; but first he took a peep,
    In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap.
    He enters. "Hallo, garçon, if you please,
    Bring me a leetel bit of bread and cheese,
    And hallo, garçon, a pot of porter, too!" he said,
    "Vich I shall take, and den myself to bed."

    His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left,
    Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft,
    Into his pocket put; then slowly crept
    To wished-for bed. But not a wink he slept;
    For on the floor some sacks of flour were laid,
    To which the rats a nightly visit paid.
    Our hero now undressed, popped out the light,
    Put on his cap, and bade the world good-night;
    But first his breeches, which contained the fare,
    Under his pillow he had placed with care.

    _Sans ceremonie_, soon the rats all ran,
    And on the flour-sacks greedily began,
    At which they gorged themselves; then, smelling round,
    Under the pillow soon the cheese they found;
    And, while at this they all regaling sat,
    Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap;
    Who, half-awake, cries out, "Hallo, hallo!
    Vat is dat nibble at my pillow so?
    Ah, 'tis one big--one very big, huge rat!
    Vat is it that he nibble, nibble at?"

    In vain our little hero sought repose;
    Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose.
    And such the pranks they kept up all the night
    That he, on end,--antipodes upright,--
    Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light.
    "Hallo, maison, garçon, I say!
    Bring me the bill for what I have to pay."
    The bill was brought; and, to his great surprise,
    Ten shillings was the charge. He scarce believed his eyes.
    With eager haste, he quickly runs it o'er,
    And every time he viewed it thought it more.

    "Vy, zounds and zounds!" he cries, "I sall no pay;
    Vat! charge ten shelangs for what I have _mangé_?
    A leetel sop of portar, dis vile bed,
    Vare all de rats do run about my head?"
    "Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out;
    "I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout:
    I'll pay him well that can."--"Vat's dat you say?"
    "I'll pay him well that can."--"Attend to me, I pray:
    Vill you dis charge forego, vat I am at,
    If from your house I drive away de rat?"
    "With all my heart," the jolly host replies.
    "_Ecoutez donc, ami_," the Frenchman cries.
    "_First den,--regardez_, if you please,--
    Bring to dis spot a leetel bread and cheese:
    _Eh bien!_ a pot of porter too;
    And den invite de rats to sup vid you;
    And after dat,--no matter dey be villing,--
    For vat dey eat, you _charge_ dem just _ten shelang_:
    And I am sure, ven dey behold de score,
    Dey'll quit your house, and _never come no more_."




HEINZ VON STEIN.


    Out rode from his wild, dark castle
      The terrible Heinz von Stein;
    He came to the door of a tavern,
      And gazed on the swinging sign.

    He sat himself down at a table,
      And growled for a bottle of wine;
    Up came, with a flask and a corkscrew,
      A maiden of beauty divine.

    Then, seized with a deep love longing,
      He uttered, "O damosel mine,
    Suppose you just give a few kisses
      To the valorous Ritter von Stein!"

    But she answered, "The kissing business
      Is entirely out of my line;
    And I certainly will not begin it
      On a countenance ugly as thine."

    Oh, then the bold knight was angry,
      And cursed both coarse and fine;
    And asked, "How much is the swindle
      For your sour and nasty wine?"

    And fiercely he rode to the castle,
      And set himself down to dine.
    And this is the dreadful legend
      Of the terrible Heinz von Stein.

                  _Charles G. Leland, from the German._




THE SOLEMN BOOK-AGENT.


He was tall, solemn, and dignified. One would have thought him a
Roman senator on his way to make a speech on finance. But he wasn't,
singularly enough, he wasn't. He was a book-agent. He wore a linen
duster; and his brow was furrowed with many care-lines, as if he had
been obliged to tumble out of bed every other night of his life to dose
a sick child. He called into a tailor-shop on Randolph Street, removed
his hat, took his "Lives of Eminent Philosophers" from its cambric bag,
and approached the tailor with,--

"I'd like to have you look at this rare work."

"I haf no time," replied the tailor.

"It is a work which every thinking man should delight to peruse,"
continued the agent.

"Zo?" said the tailor.

"Yes. It is a work on which a great deal of deep thought has been
expended; and it is pronounced by such men as Wendell Phillips to be a
work without a rival in modern literature."

"Makes anybody laugh when he zees it?" asked the tailor.

"No, my friend: this is a deep, profound work, as I have already said.
It deals with such characters as Theocritus, Socrates, and Plato, and
Ralph Waldo Emerson. If you desire a work on which the most eminent
author of our day has spent years of study and research, you can find
nothing to compare with this."

"Does it shpeak about how to glean cloze?" anxiously asked the man of
the goose.

"My friend, this is no receipt-book, but an eminent work on philosophy,
as I have told you. Years were consumed in preparing this volume for
the press; and none but the clearest mind could have grasped the
subjects herein discussed. If you desire food for deep meditation, you
have it here."

"Does dis pook say sumding about der Prussian war?" asked the tailor as
he threaded his needle.

"My friend, this is not an every-day book, but a work on philosophy,--a
work which will soon be in the hands of every profound thinker in the
country. What is the art of philosophy? This book tells you. Who were,
and who are, our philosophers? Turn to these pages for a reply. As I
said before, I don't see how you can do without it."

"And he don't haf any dings about some fun, eh?" inquired the tailor,
as the book was held to him.

"My friend, must I again inform you that this is not an ephemeral
work, not a collection of nauseous trash, but a rare, deep work on
philosophy? Here, see the name of the author. That name alone should
be proof enough to your mind, that the work cannot be surpassed for
profundity of thought. Why, sir, Gerritt Smith testifies to the
greatness of this volume!"

"I not knows Mr. Schmidt: I make no cloze mit him," returned the tailor
in a doubting voice.

"Then you will let me leave your place without having secured your name
to this volume? I cannot believe it. Behold, what research! Turn these
leaves, and see these gems of richest thought! Ah! if we only had such
minds, and could wield such a pen! But we can read, and, in a measure,
we can be like him. Every family should have this noble work. Let me
put your name down: the book is only twelve dollars."

"Zwelve dollars for der pook! Zwelve dollars, und he has noddings about
der war, und no fun in him, or say noddings how to get glean cloze!
What you take me for, mister? Go right away mit dat pook, or I call der
bolice, and haf you locked up pooty quick!"

                                                      DETROIT FREE PRESS




THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.


    Dhere vas many qveer dings in dis land of der free
      I neffer could qvite understand;
    Der beoples dhey all seem so deefrent to me
      As dhose in mine own faderland.
    Dhey gets blenty droubles, und indo mishaps
      Mitout der least bit off a cause;
    Und, vould you pelief it? dhose mean Yankee chaps,
      Dhey fights mit dheir moder-in-laws!

    Shust dink off a vite man so vicked as dot!
      Vhy not gife der oldt lady a show?
    Who vas it gets oup, ven der night id vas hot,
      Mit mine baby, I shust like to know?
    Und den in der vinter vhen Katrine vas sick,
      Und der mornings vas shnowy and raw,
    Who made righdt avay oup dot fire so qvick?
      Vhy, dot vas mine moder-in-law.

    Id vos von off dhose woman's righdts vellers I been,
      Dhere vas noding dot's mean aboudt me;
    Ven der oldt lady vishes to run dot masheen,
      Vhy, I shust let her run id, you see.
    Und vhen dot sly Yawcob vas cutting some dricks
      (A block off der oldt chip he vas, yaw!),
    Eef she goes for dot chap like some dousand of bricks,
      Dot's all righdt! She's mine moder-in-law.

    Veek oudt und veek in, it vas alvays der same,
      Dot voman vas boss off der house;
    Budt, dhen, neffer mindt! I vos glad dot she came,
      She vas kind to mine young Yawcob Strauss.
    And vhen dhere vas vater to get vrom der spring,
      Und firevood to shplit oup und saw,
    She vas velcome to do it. Dhere's not anyding
      Dot's too good for mine moder-in-law.

                                    _Charles Follen Adams._




SCHNEIDER'S TOMATOES.


Schneider is very fond of tomatoes. Schneider has a friend in
the country who raises "garden sass, and sich." Schneider had an
invitation to visit this friend last week, and regale himself on his
favorite vegetable. His friend Pfeiffer being busy negotiating with
a city produce-dealer, on his arrival, Schneider thought he would
take a stroll in the garden, and see some of his favorites in their
pristine beauty. We will let him tell the rest of his story in his own
language,--

"Vell, I valks shust a liddle vhile roundt, vhen I sees some of dose
dermarters, vot vas so red und nice as I nefer dit see any more, und
I dinks I vill put mineself oudside about a gouple-a-tozen, shust to
geef me a liddle abbedite vor dinner. So I bulls off von ov der reddest
und pest lookin' ov dose dermarters, und dakes a pooty good pite out
ov dot, und vas chewing it oup pooty qvick, vhen--py shiminy!--I dort
I hat a peese of red-hot goals in mine mout, or vas chewing oup dwo or
dree bapers of needles; und I velt so pad, alreaty, dot mine eyes vas
vool of tears; und I mate vor an 'olt oken pucket,' vot I seen hangin'
in der vell, as I vas goomin' along.

"Shust den mine vriend Pfeiffer game oup, und ask me vot mate me
veel so pad, und if any of mine vamily vas dead. I dold him dot I
vas der only von ov der vamily dot vas pooty sick; und den I ask him
vot kind of dermarters dose vas vot I hat shust peen bicking; und,
mine cracious! how dot landsman laughft, und said dot dose vas _red
beppers_, dot he vas raising vor bepper-sauce. You pet my life, I vas
mat. I radder you geef me feefty tollars as to eat some more ov dose
bepper-sauce dermarters."

                                                       CHARLES F. ADAMS.




DUTCH HUMOR.


A German in a Western town, who has not paid much attention to learning
English, had a horse stolen from his barn the other night, whereupon he
advertised as follows:--

"Von nite, de oder day, ven I was bin awake in my shleep, I heare
sometings vat I tinks vas not yust right in my barn, an I out shumps to
bed, and runs mit the barn out; and ven I was dere coom, I seez dat my
pig gray-iron mare he vas bin tide loose, and run mit the staple off.
And who efer will him back pring, I yust so much pay him as vas bin
kushtomary."

       *       *       *       *       *

An old Dutchman froze his nose. While thawing the frost out, he said:
"I haf carry dot nose fordy year, unt he nefer freeze hisself before. I
no understand dis ting."




SQUIRE HOUSTON'S MARRIAGE CEREMONY.


    You bromish now, you goot man dare,
      Vot sthands ubon de vloor,
    To hab dish vooman for your vife,
      Und lub her ebbermore;
    To feed her vell mit sourkraut,
      Peens, putthermilks und scheese,
    Und in all dings to lend your aid,
      Dat vill bromote her ease?

    "Yesh;" und you vooman sthandin dare,
      Do bledge your vord dish tay,
    Dat you vill took for your hoospand,
      Dis man--und him obey;
    Dat you vill ped und poard mit him,
      Vosh, iron und mend his cloothes,
    Laf ven he shmiles, veep ven he moorns,
      Und chare his shoys und voes?

    Vell, den, I now, viddin dese valls,
      Mit shoy, und not mit kreef,
    Bronounch you bote to pe one mind,
      Von name, von man, von beef;
    I pooblish here dese holy pands,
      Dese matthermoonial ties,
    Pefore Got, mine frow, Hans und Poll,
      Und all dese gazin eyes.

    Und, as de shacred Schripture says,
      Vot God unites togedder
    Let no man dare ashunder put,
      Let no man dare dem sever.
    Dare! britekroom, now schoost you sthop,
      I'll hold tight fasht your collar,
    Unteel you anshwer me dish ting,
      Und dat's--_vare ish mine tollar_?




DOT DELEPHONE.


"I guess I haf to gif up my delephone already," said an old citizen
yesterday, as he entered the office of the company with a very long
face.

"Why, what's the matter now?"

"Oh, everyting! I got de delephone in mine house so as I could
shpeak mit der poys in der saloon down town, and mit my relations in
Springville; but I haf to give it up. I nefer haf so much droubles."

"How?"

"Vell, my poy Shon, in der saloon, he rings der pell, and calls opp,
und says an old frient of mine vants to see how she vorks. Dot ish all
right. I says, 'Hello!' und he say, 'Shtand back a leetle closer.' I
shtand back closer, und helloes again. Den he says, 'Shtand a leetle
off.' I shtand back a leetle off, und yells unce more; und he say,
'Shpeak louder!' I yells louder. It goes dat vhay ten minutes; und den
he says, 'Go to Texas, you old Dutchman!' You see?"

"Yes."

"And den mine brudder in Springville, he rings der pells und calls me
oop, und says how I vas dis efenings. I says I vhas feeling like some
colts; und he says, 'Who vants to puy some goats?' I says, 'Colts!
colts! colts!' Und he answers, 'Oh, coats! I thought you said goats.'
Ven I goes to ask him of he feels petter, I hears a voice crying oudt,
'Vot Dutchmans is dot on dis line, enyhow?' Den somepody answers, 'I
don't know, but I likes to punch his headt.' You see?"

"Yes."

"Vhell, somedimes my vife vhants to shpeak mit me ven I am down in der
saloon. She rings mine pell, und I says, 'Hello!' Nopody shpeaks to
me. She rings again, und I says, 'Hello!' like dunder. Den der central
office tells me to go aheads, und den tells me holdt on, und den tells
mine vife dot I am gone avay. I yells oudt, 'Dot is not so;' und
somepody says, 'How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep shtill?'
You see?"

"Yes."

"Und ven I go in de bedt at night, somepody rings der pell like der
house vas on fire; und ven I shumps oudt, und says, 'Hello!' I hear
somepody saying, 'Kaiser, doan't you vhant to puy a dog?' I vants no
dog; und ven I tells 'em so, I hear some peoples laughing, 'Haw! haw!
haw!' You see?"

"Yes."

"Vell, you dake it oudt, dat ish all vhat it ish; und ven somepody
likes to shpeak mit me dey shall coom right avay by mine saloon. Oof
mine brudder ish sick, he shall got petter. Und oof somepody vhants to
puy a dog, apout two glock de morning, let him yust coom vere I can
tole him somedings, dat ish all."




THE UNITED ORDER OF HALF-SHELLS.


"My vhife all der time says to me, 'Carl Dunder, if you vhas to be kilt
by a butcher-cart or ice-wagon, or if some shteamboat plow you oop on
de river, I left mit no money. Vhy doan' you pe insured mit your life?'

"Vhell, I tinks about dot a good deal. It vhas my duty dot my vhife und
Katie doan' go mit der poorhouse if I can help it, und I tink it vhas
pest to get some insurance. I shpeak to my frendt, Shon Plazes, vhas
about it, und Shon he says,--

"'Of course you vhant insurance. You come into my lodge of der United
Order of Half-shells. Dot vhas an order which only cost one dollar a
year, und if you die your family puts on shtyle mit der ten thousand
dollar in greenpacks. I calls a meeting right avhay mit your saloon,
und we put you through like some streaks of greased lightning.'

"Vhell, I goes home and tells der old vhomans, und she says dot
vhas O. K. She doan's like to see me die; but if some shmall-pox or
yellow-fever comes to Detroit, und takes me avay, she likes to haf a
long funeral procession, und build me a grave-stone vhich reads dot
Carl Dunder vhas a goot husband, a kind fadder, und dot he vhas gone
to heaven only a leedle vhile before he vhas ready. I shpeak to my
daughter Katie, und she sheds some tears und dells me dot she looks as
cute as an angel in some mourning gloze for me. So it vhas all right,
und I sweep out my saloon, und about twenty men come in dot eafnings to
make me a Half-shell.

"Oxcuse me if I vhas madt, und use some words like a pirate. My frendt,
Shon Plazes, vas dhere mit a red cap on his head, und a voice so solemn
dot I feels chills go up my pack. He calls de meeting to order, and
says I like to shoine and become a Half-shell.

"'Does he like peer?' asks some mans in the gorner.

"'He does,' said Shon Plazes.

"'Und so do we!' yells all der meeting, and Shon says I was to come
down mit der peer. Dot was nineteen glasses.

"Den Shon Plazes, he reads from a pook mit a plue cover dot man vhas
dying efery day so fast dot you can't count 'em, or somedins like dot,
und he calls oudt,--

"'Vhat shall safe dis man?'

"Und eaferpody yells, 'Lager peer!' Dot means, I set him oop again, und
dot vhas nineteen glasses more. Den two men take me und vhalk me all
aroundt, und Shon Plazes he cries oudt,--

"'Ve vhas here to-day und gone to-morrow! In der midnight, when
eaferpody vhas ashleep, a tief comes und shteals our life away! Vhat
keeps dot tief afar off?'

"Und eaferpody groans oudt like he vhas dying, 'Cool lager!' Dot means
I was to set 'em oop again, und dot vhas nineteen glasses more. Den
Shon Plazes he leads me twice around und says,--

"'Carl Dunder, you tinks you vhas made a Half-shell already, but you
vhas mistaken. Put out your left handt. Dot vhas goot. Now, my frendt,
vhat vas der foundation stone of liberty, equality, und brotection?'

"Und eaferpody lifs oop his voice und groans out, 'All der lager a
man vhants!' Dot means, I vhas to tap a fresh keg; und I believe dot
growd drinks more as forty glasses. I doan' like it so previous like.
I didn't, but my frendt Shon Plazes tells me to lie down on der table
on my pack, und shut my eyes. Vhen I vhas in bosition he hit me three
dimes mit his fist in der stomach, und cries oudt,--

"'Vhen he vhas alife he vhas kind mit der boor; vhen he vhas death, we
forgot his faults. Brudders, vhat vhas der great brinciple dot leads to
charity und penevolence?'

"Und eaferpody shumps to his feet und yells out, 'Some more lager and
cigars!' Vhell, I set 'em oop once more, und den I vhas so madt dot I
take my glub und clean dot crowd oudt mit der street. I belief he vas
a fraud on me. I belief Shon Plazes tells all der poys, und it vhas a
put-up shob. I lose my peer and cigars, und somebody carries off more
as ten bottles of vhiskey from my par, und I vhas no more a Half-shell
as yoo are. If dot vhas some vhey to insure me so dat my vhife und
Katie haf some mourning goods, und puy me a grave-stone mit a lamp on
top, I go out of pollytics right avay. Oxcuse me dot I shed some tears,
und kick oafer der shairs und tables, for I vhas madt like some cats on
a gloze-line."




WHY NO SCOTCHMEN GO TO HEAVEN.


Long years ago, in time so remote that history does not fix the epoch,
a dreadful war was waged by the king of Scotland. Scottish valor
prevailed; and the king of Scotland, elated by success, sent for his
prime minister.

"Weel, Sandy," said he, "is there ne'er a king we canna conquer noo?"

"An it please your majesty, I ken o' a king that your majesty canna
vanquish."

"An' who is he, Sandy?"

The prime minister, reverently looking up, said, "The King o' heaven."

"The king of whaur, Sandy?"

"The King o' heaven."

The Scottish king did not understand, but was unwilling to exhibit any
ignorance.

"Just gang your ways, Sandy, and tell King o' heaven to gi'e up his
dominions, or I'll come mysel' and ding him oot o' them; and mind you,
Sandy, you dinna come back to us until ye ha'e dune oor biddin'."

The prime minister retired much perplexed, but met a priest, and,
re-assured, returned and presented himself.

"Weel, Sandy," said the king, "ha'e ye seen the King o' heaven? and
what says he to our biddin'?"

"An it please your majesty, I ha'e seen one o' his accredited
ministers."

"Weel, and what says he?"

"He says your majesty may e'en ha'e his kingdom for the axin' o' it."

"Was he sae civil?" asked the king, warming to magnanimity. "Just
gang your ways back, Sandy, an' tell the King o' heaven that for his
civility the de'il a Scotchman shall set foot in his kingdom."




YAWCOB STRAUSS.


    I haf von funny leedle poy,
      Vot gomes schust to mine knee;
    Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,
      As efer you dit see.
    He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings
      In all barts off der house;
    But vot off dot? he was mine son,
      Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

    He get der measles und der mumbs,
      Und eferyding dot's oudt;
    He sbills mine glass of lager bier,
      Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.
    He fills mine pipe mit limburg cheese:
      Dot vas der roughest chouse;
    I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
      But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

    He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
      Und cuts mine cane in dwo;
    To make der schtiks to beat it mit,--
      Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
    I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,
      He kicks oup sooch a touse:
    But nefer mind; der poys vas few
      Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

    He asks me questions sooch as dese:
      Who baints mine nose so red?
    Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
      Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
    Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp
      Vene'er der glim I douse.
    How gan I all dose dings eggsblain
      To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?

    I somedimes dink I schall go vild
      Mit sooch a grazy poy,
    Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,
      Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
    But ven he vas ashleep in ped,
      So guiet as a mouse,
    I prays der Lord, "dake anyding,
      But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."

                                    C. F. ADAMS.




LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS--WHAT HE SAYS.


    Maype somedimes you don't half szeen
    Mine fahder told vhen he vas peen
    Szo vild almost as never vas
    Mit me; hees Leedle Yawcob Strauss,
    Und all apout thdose tings because
    Vit me he wasn't haf szome ease,
    Nor schmoke hees bipe, nor schleep in peese
    Nor eats szome schmall limburger scheese;
    Nor dakes hees peer nor saurkraout,
    Yen Leedle Yawcob was apout.

    Vell now! I shbiel hees lager peer?
    Mine gootness! dot ish very queer;
    Don't I haf seen him mit his handt,
    Tdake vup some glass of lager, andt
    Schoost ash he schmell him mit hees eye,
    Shbiel him all in hees schtoomach? vy,
    He shbiel more lager peer don I,
    Andt thden he laff, und dance, und szing,
    More like some poys don anythding.

    I took der meezles; vell I shbose
    Dot thdere vas blenty left of thdose;
    I poots der schnuff inder hees kraout,
    So it make him don't scheeze so loudt,
    I haf der mumps; vot if I is?
    Mine vace don't got szer far abart
    Nor pe szo pig nor redt as his.

    Und thden apout those limburg scheese;
    Vell thdere I dhink dot I agrees
    Mit him, dot it vos szomevat rouff,
    But thden he szay vonce, dat enough
    Vas schoost so petter nor a veest,
    Und szo I think he kouldn't got
    Enough, so scheap und quivck ash vot
    He haf mit hees bipe full off dot.

    Thdose milk-ban dot I learn to blay,
    I get dot drouble in thdis way:
    Poot pottom up across my knee,
    Schoost ash I szeen him do to me,
    I tumps upon him mit ter stdick,
    Und make der music pooty qvick;
    Vy ish it dot hees hed't vas shblit
    Vith sooch a leedle noise, ven it
    Don't preak oup mit der noise dot he
    Make, ven he tump dot stdick on me?

    Put ven I ask apout szome thdings,
    Vot make hees nose szo redt, and prings
    Der schoomth shbot oudt mitin his hedt;
    I shbose dot I shall know apout
    All of thdose thdings--ven I findt out,
    Und szo I vait avhile, and szee
    Vot der next drouble ish to pe,
    Und if der meeschiefs thdake this blace,
    I brays like vot dot fahder says
    Tdake everyding dots in thdis house,
    Put leave thdis leedle Yawcob Strauss.

                                      ARTHUR DAKIN.




ISAAC ROSENTHAL ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.


Mr. Rosenthal, who was proprietor of a clothing store in Avenue A, had
been mentioned to me as an unusually intelligent German Hebrew, and I
met him at the door of his store looking out for customers. As I paused
for a moment, he addressed me thus:--

"Gome righd in, mein liebe Herr! Don'd mind dot leedle tog. He vill
not pide you. I geeb him to trive avay de bad leedle poy in de
sthreed. You like to puy zome very coot glothing? I can zell you dot
goat--for--Nein! _Teufel!_ Id is not dot? So! And you vand to speak to
me aboud de Shinamen? Vell, I dell you dot you gome yust to de righd
blace. You bedder don'd go no furder. You yust gome in de back shtore.
You take ein glas bier? you smoke ein gut zigar?--no, not dot--I call
him real Havana, bud I make him up-shtairs. I gif you a bedder one as
dot. So! I lighd him for you. Now I shpeag mit you aboud dem Shinamen,
und you put vat I say in de baber, pecause de bublic ought to know
vat bad beoples dey ish. I keeb last year ein kleine shop mit mein
bruder--hish name is Zolomon--and ve haf yust as coot glothes as dem
dot you zee dere; and von day dere gome in ein, zwei, drei Shinamen,
and zay to me, 'How do, John?' and I dell him dot my name ish not John;
but he only laugh. Den he zay, 'You got some coot glothes, John? S'pose
hab got, mi likee see.' I haf such vay of shpeaking nefer heard, but I
can a leedle undershtand, and I t'ink dot he vill not know a coot goad
ven he zee id, and I show him some dot ish not of the brime qualidy,
and vill not last so long as dot kind as I show you, and I sharge him a
coot brice; and he look at him, and dry him on, and I dell him dot id
vill him very vell fit. Und den dish great rasgal he say to me dot he
has not much money got, but some leedle box of very coot tea, und he
make a pargain and shwop mit me. Und I t'ink dot I make mit him a coot
drade, und I give him de goat, and dake de dea; and he say, 'Chin chin,
John,' and go out, and I don'd never see him no more. Und vat you tink?
ven I open dot dea, I find him one inch coot, and below dot, noding but
yust rubbish, and some schmall bieces of iron to make him heavy. Und
so, mein liebe Herr, you can de reason undershtand dot I like not to
have dot Shinese beobles gome to New York."

                                                     SCRIBNER'S MONTHLY.




"DER DOG UND DER LOBSTER."


(_From the New York Clipper._)

    Dot dog he vos dot kind of dog
      Vot ketch dot ret so sly,
    Und squeeze him mit his leetle teeth,
      Und den dot ret vos die.

    Dot dog he vas onquisitive
      Vareffer he vas go,
    Und, like dot vooman, all der time
      Someding he vants to know.

    Vone day, all by dot market-stand
      Vare fish und clams dey sell,
    Dot dog vas poke his nose aboud
      Und find out vat he smell.

    Dot lobster he vas took dot snooze
      Mit von eye open vide,
    Und ven dot dog vas come along
      Dot lobster he vas spied.

    Dot dog he smell him mit his nose,
      Und scratch him mit his paws,
    Und push dot lobster all aboud,
      Und vonder vot he vas.

    Und den dot lobster he voke up,
      Und crawl yoost like dot snail,
    Und make vide open ov his claws,
      Und grab dot doggie's tail.

    Und den so quick as never vas
      Dot cry vent to der sky,
    Und, like dem swallows vot dey sing,
      Dot dog vas homeward fly.

    Yoost like dot dunderbolt he vent--
      Der sight vas awful grand.
    Und every street dot dog vas turn,
      Down vent dot apple-stand.

    Der shildren cry, der vimmin scream,
      Der mens fall on der ground;
    Und dot boliceman mit his club
      Vas novare to pe found.

    I make dot run und call dot dog,
      Und vistle awful kind;
    Dot makes no difference vot I say,
      Dot dog don't look pehind.

    Und pooty soon dot race vas end,
      Dot dog vas lost his tail--
    Dot lobster I vas took him home,
      Und cook him in dot pail.

    Dot moral vas, I tole you 'boud,
      Pefore vas neffer known--
    Don't vant to find out too much dings
      Dot vasn't ov your own!

                                    SAUL SERTREW.




"DER WRECK OF DER HEZBERUS."


                         (_Before Longfellow._)

    It vas der goot shkiff Hezberus,
      Dot paddled cross der pond;
    Und dare vas dare der skibber's gal,
      Of whom he vas so fond.

    Green vos her eyes as summer peas,
      Her cheeks I can't define,
    Her boozum brown like pretzel cakes,
      Her voice a vereful whine.

    Mit pibe in mouth der skibber sat,
      Wrabbed in an old pea koad,
    Und vatched his daughter koff and shneeze
      Ven schmoke got down hur throad.

    Den up und spoke der paddle man,
      "Look 'ere, let's turn ride back,
    A schwan lives 'ere, der peebles say,
      Vat likes to peck und hack.

    So let's turn back, mein master dear,
      Und from this voyage refrain,"
    Der skibber blew schmoke oud his pibe,
      Und schmiled mit grim dishdain.

    Den near und near der shkiff did got
      To vare dot schwan hung out;
    Until at last, mit telesgope,
      Dey shpied his head und snowt.

    Vel, down it schwam und schmote der shkiff
      Mit all its might und main,
    Und made it shump dree times its length,
      Und den shump back again.

    "Come 'ere, come 'ere! mein leedle gal,
      Und do not dremble so,
    For I can lick der biggest schwan
      Dot you to me can show."

    He wrabbed her in his old pea koad,--
      His joy, his life, his soul;
    Und mit a piece of paper twine
      He lashed her to a pole.

    "Oh, dad, I hear der dinner bell!
      I feel shust like grub-struck."
    "Vel, hold yer tongue now, Mary Ann,
      Und dry to bear your luck."

    "Oh, dad, I see dot schwan again!
      He'll eat both you und me;"
    But dad he answered not a vord,
      For stiff und frized vas he.

    Den der goot girl she glasped her hands,
      Und through her frost-bit nose
    She said, "Now I avake to sleep,"
      Dot she might not be froze.

    Und dare, through rain and hurrycane,
      Und through der schleet und schnow,
    Der maiden prayed und begged der schwan
      To pick up stakes und go.

    But no; he schwam up to der wreck,
      Und den der fun began;
    He knocked der fellers off der deck,
      But left shweed Mary Ann.

    He picked und pecked der Hezberus,
      Und lashed de pond to foam,
    Und made de poor, wee, leedle shkiff
      Look shust like honeycomb.

    Den by der board der long bean-pole
      Und Mary Ann did go;
    Und shust like lead der shkiff went down.
      Der schwan he roared, Ho! ho!

           *       *       *       *       *

    At break of day, beside der pond,
      Poor Mary Ann vas found;
    Her form vas cold un frozen stiff,
      Und to a bean-pole bound.




SIGNS AND OMENS.


"Hans, what do you think of signs and omens?"

"Vell, I don't dinks mooch of dem dings, und I don't pelieve
averydings; but I dells you somedimes dere is someding in sooch dings
ash dose dings. Now, de oder night I sits und reads mine newspaper, und
mine frau she shpeak und say,--

"'Fritz, de dog ish howlin'.'

"Vell, I don't dinks mooch of dem dings, und I goes on und reads mine
paper, und mine frau she say,--

"'Fritz, dere is somedings pad is happen--de dog ish howlin'.'

"And den I gets oop mit mineself, and looks out troo de vines on de
porch; und de moon vas shinin', und mine leedle dog he shoomp right
up und down like averydings, and he park at the moon dat was shine so
prite ash never vas. Und as I hauled mine het in de winter de old voman
she say,--

"'Mind, Fritz, I dells you dere ish somedings pad ish happen. _De dog
ish howlin._'

"Vell, I goes to pet, und I shleeps: und all night long, ven I vakes
up, dere vas dat dog howl outside; und ven I dream, I hear dat
howlin' vorser ash nefer. Und in de mornin' I kits oop und kits mine
_freestick_ (breakfast),--und mine frau she look at me, und say fery
solemn;

"'Fritz, dere ish somedings ish happen. De dog vas howl all night.'

"Und shoost den de newspaper comes in, and I opens him; und, by shings!
vot you dinks? _Dere vas a man died in Philadelphia!_"




A DUTCHMAN'S ANSWER.


Bill Jones was going to get married a day or two ago, and he forgot
whar de minister libed; so he started to find him out, so as to hab him
come to de house an' perform de marriage ceremony. So, arter getting
along down de road for two or free miles, he became fearful ob gettin'
on de wrong track. So he says to a big Dutchman "I say, can you tell
me where Mr. Swackelhammer, de preacher, lives?" and de Dutchman said,
"Yaw. You just valk de road up to de creek, an' down de pritch over up
shtreme, den you just go on till you cum to a road what vinds de woots
around a schoolhouse; but you don't take dat road. Vell, den you go
on till you meet a pig-pen shingled mit straw, den you durn de road
round de field, and go on till you come to pig red house. Den you turn
dat house around de barn, and see a road dat goes up in de woots. Den
you don't take dat road too. Den you go straight on, and de fust house
you meet is a hay-stack, and de next is a barrack. Vell, he don't live
dere. Den you will get a little furder, and you see a house on top de
hill, about a mile; and you go in dere an' ax de old voman, an' she
will tell you bedder as I can."




THE VAY RUBE HOFFENSTEIN SELLS.


"Herman," said a Poydras street merchant clothier, addressing his
clerk, "haf ye sold all of dose overgoats vat vas left over from last
vinter?"

"No, sir; dere vas dree of dem left yet."

"Vell, ye must sell 'em right avay, as de vinter vill not last, you
know, Herman. Pring me one uf de goats and I vill show you somedings
about de pisness. I vill dell you how ve vill sell dem out, und you
must learn de pisness, Herman; de vinter vas gone, you know, und ve hav
had dose goats in de store more as seex years."

An eight-dollar overcoat was handed him by his clerk, and smoothing it
out, he took a buckskin money purse from the showcase, and, stuffing it
full of paper, dropped it into one of the pockets.

"How, Herman, my poy," he continued," vatch me sell dat coat. I haf
sold over dirty-fife uf dem shust de same vay, und I vant to deech you
de pisness. Ven de next gustomer comes in de shop I vill show de vay
Rube Hoffenstein, my broder in Detroit, sells his cloding and udder
dings."

A few minutes later a negro, in quest of a pair of suitable cheap
shoes, entered the store. The proprietor advanced smiling, and inquired:

"Vat is it you vish?"

"Yer got any cheap shoes hyar?" asked the negro.

"Blenty of dem, my frent, blenty; at any price you vant."

The negro stated that he wanted a pair of brogans, and soon his pedal
extremities were encased in them, and a bargain struck. As he was about
to leave, the proprietor called him back.

"I ain't gwine ter buy nuffin else. I'se got all I want," said the
negro, sullenly.

"Dot may be so, my dear sir," replied the proprietor, "but I shust
vants you to look at dis goat. It vas de pure Russian vool, und dis
dime last year you doan got dot same goat for dwenty-five dollars.
Mine gracious, clothing vos gone down to noding, and dere vas no money
in de pisness any longer. You vant someding dot vill keep you from de
vedder, und make you feel varm as summer dime. De gonsumption vas goin
round, und de doctors dell me it vas the vedder. More dan nine beoples
died roun vere I lif last veek. Dink of dot. Mine frent, dot goat vas
Russian vool, dick and hevy. Vy, Misder Jones, who owns de pank on
Canal streed, took that goat home mit him yesterday, and vore it all
day, but it vas a leetle dight agross de shoulders, und he brought it
pack shust a vile ago. Dry it on, my dear sir. Ah! dot vas all right.
Mister Jones vas a rich man, and he liked dot goat. How deep de pockets
vas, but it vas a leetle dight agross de shoulders."

The negro buttoned up the coat, thrust his hands in the pockets, and
felt the purse. A peaceful smile played over his face when his touch
disclosed to his mind the contents of the pockets, but he choked down
his joy and inquired:

"Who did you say wore this hyar coat?"

"Vy, Mister Jones vot owns de bank on Canal streed."

"What yer gwine to ax fur it?"

"Dwenty dollars."

"Dat's powerful high price fur dis coat, but I'll take it."

"Herman, here, wrap up dis goat fur the schentleman, and throw in a
cravat; it will make him look nice mit de ladies."

"Nebber mind, I'll keep the coat on," replied the negro, and pulling
out a roll of money, he paid for it and left the store.

While he was around the next corner moaning over the stuffed purse,
Hoffenstein said to his clerk:

"Herman, fix up anudder von of dose goats de same vay, and doan forget
to dell dem dot Mister Jones vot runs de pank on Canal streed vore it
yesterday."




A DUTCH RECRUITING OFFICER.


The reader must picture a stout, big-bellied, short-haired
recruiting-officer, with a blue cap, broad, stiff frontispiece, a
short sword, blue uniform a size too small, and a raw customer from
"Faderland," with wooden shoes and a long-tailed gray coat. The officer
was after recruits for a German regiment, and thus went for his
susceptible countryman:--

"Lo, dere, Hans! Be dat you?"

"Yaw."

"Come me to be a sojer man."

"Nein!"

"Yaw, come. It be so nice!"

"Nein! I gets shoots."

"Nix. Py tam! it is better as good. It been foon all de vile. You
enlists mit me, you gets nine hundred dollars bountish."

"So?"

"Yaw. And you gets such nice clothes as never vas. Shust look at me."

"So?"

"Yaw. And in the morning, ven de trum peets, dat ish de gurnel's
gompliments to come an' git your schnapps mit him."

"So?"

"Yaw. And purty soon, bime by, de trum peets again, and dat ish de
gurnel's gompliments to come eat some sourkrout un sausage mit him, py
dam!"

"So, mynheer?"

"Yaw, it ish so. Den purty soon, bime by, de trum peets, an' dat ish
de gurnel's gompliments to ride mit him in der carriage to see your
vrou or your Katrina. And den you rides mit him all over de city mit
him, and no costs you one tam cent. And bime by de trum peets, and dat
ish de gurnel's gompliments to come and schmoke a bipe mit him! And
den bime by, purty soon, right away, de trum peets de tuyful, and dat
ish de gurnel's gompliments to come and get you nine hundred tollars
bountish, I tinks, but guess not, py tam!"

"Yaw! So goot?"

"Yaw! And den de General and Bresident shake hands mit you, and you
eat krout mit de Bresident's vrou, and shust live like one fighting
rooster, by tam! And den in a little wile you say der Bresident be
one nice man, and you gets another hundred tollars bountish; and de
Bresident makes one grand general mit you, purty soon I guess, but I
tink not. You go mit me?"

"Yaw!"




DOT BABY OFF MINE.


    Mine cracious! mine cracious! shust look here und see
    A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe!
    Der beoples all dink dot no prains I haf got;
    Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot:
    Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine;
    Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off mine.

    Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer;
    Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass of peer;
    Mit a bare-footed hed, und nose but a schpeck;
    A mout dot goes most to der pack off his neck;
    Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine
    To gif sooch a charm to dot baby off mine.

    I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys,
    Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise.
    He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English too;
    Says "Mamma" und "Papa," und somedimes "Ah, goo!"
    You don'd find a baby den dimes oudt off nine
    Dot vas qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine.

    He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt,
    Und poots eferyding he can find in his mout;
    He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair,
    Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare.
    Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine
    Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baby off mine.

    Dere vas someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty vell,--
    To hear in der nighdt dimes dot young Deutscher yell,
    Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es,
    Vhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes:
    Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vasn't so fine
    Dot I cuts oup at nighdt mit dot baby off mine.

    Vell, dese leedle schafers vas going to pe men,
    Und all of dese droubles vill peen ofer den:
    Dey vill vear a vhite shirt-vront inshtead off a bib,
    Und vouldn't got tucked oup at nighdt in deir crib.
    Vell, vell, ven I'm feeble, und in life's decline,
    May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine!




DOT LEETLE TOG UNDER DER VAGON.


    "Coom, vife," says goot oldt farmer Gray,
    "Git on your tings: dot's markets-tay.
    Ve'll go so quick vot ve can to town,
    Und pack again 'fore dot sun coomes down.
    _Shpot!_ No: ve'll leave oldt Shpot behint."
    But Shpot he parked, und Shpot he vhined,
    Und soon made out his toggish mind
        To shteal avay under dot vagon.

    Avay dey vent at a merry pace;
    But some sad coomes into dot farmer's face;
    Und he said, "Poor Shpot! he did vant to come,
    But maype dot's petter he's leaved at home.
    He'll vatch de parn, und he'll vatch de cot,
    Und keep dose cattles out of de lot."
    "I'm not so sure of dot," growled Shpot,
        On a dog-trot under dot vagon.

    So soon as all dose tings vas sold,
    Und he gits his pay in silber und gold,
    He shtarted home, a quarter past dark,
    Across a lonesomely forest. _Hark!_
    A robber shumps from pehind a tree:
    "Your money or your life!" says he.
    It's a cross-eyed moon, so he don't can see
        Dot leetle tog under de vagon.

    Den Shpot parked vonce, und vonce he vhined,
    Und he grapped dot tief py de pants pehind;
    He dragged him down in de mud und dirt;
    He teared his coat, likevise his shirt;
    Und dot tief in de mud got nearly drowned,
    Und he don't could rise pooty kvick off de ground;
    So his lecks und arms de farmer bound,
        Und histed him into dot vagon.

    So Shpot he safed de farmer's life,
    Also his money, likevise his vife;
    Und now a hero grand und gay,
    A silber necktie he vears to-day.
    He goes verefer his master goes;
    Und you bet he holds pooty high his nose,
    Mit lots of frients, und not any foes,--
      Dot leetle tog under de vagon.




SCHNITZERL'S VELOCIPEDE.


    Hans Schnitzerl made a velocipede,
      Vone of dot newest kind;
    It didn't hafe no vheel before,
      Und der vasn't none pehind.

    Aber dere vas vone in de middle, dhough,
      Dat's shust as sure as eggs;
    Und he shtraddled across dot axle,
      Mit de vheel between his legs.

    Und vhen he vants to shtart it off,
      He paddled mit his feet,
    Und soon he made it gone so fast
      Dat eferytings he beat.

    He took it out on Broadway vonce,
      Und shkeeted like de vind.
    Phew! how he passed dot fancy schaps!
      He leafed dem all pehind.

    Dem fellers on dose shtylish nags
      Pulled up to see him pass;
    Und der Deutschers, all ockstonished, cried,
      "Potz tauzand! Vas ist das?"

    But faster shtill Herr Schnitzerl flew,--
      On, mit a ghastly schmile:
    He didn't touch de ground, py Jinks,
      Not vonce in half a mile.

    So vas it mit Herr Schnitzerl
      Und his velocipede:
    His feet both shlipped right inside out
      Vhen at its extra shpeed.

    He falled upon dot vheel, of course:
      Dot vheel like blitzen flew;
    Und Schnitzerl, he vas schnicht in vacht,
      Dot schliced him grode in two.

                                    _Hans Breitmann._




THE LATEST BARBARIE FRIETCHIE.


    Id was droo der sdreeds of Fredericksdown;
    Der red-hot zun he vas shine him down.

    Bast der zaloons all filt mit bier,
    Der rebel vellers valked on deir ear.

    All day droo Fredericksdown so fast,
    Horses, und guns, und sozers bast.

    Der rebel flags he shone him out so bridt,
    As if, by Jinks! he got some ridt.

    Vere vas der Onion flag? Der zun
    He look him down not on a vun.

    Up jumped dot olt Miss Frietchie den,
    Zo oldt by ninescore years and ten.

    She grabbed up der old flag der men haul down,
    And fasen'd id quick by her nidtgown.

    Den she sot by der vindow ver all could see,
    Dere vas none vot lofe dot flag so free.

    Purty soon come ridin' up Stonewall Jack,
    Sittin' from der mittle of his horse's back.

    Under him brow he squint him's eyes.
    Dot flag! Dot make him great surprise.

    Halt! each feller, make him sdill!
    Fire! vas echoed from hill do hill.

    Id busted der sdrings from dot nidtgown,
    But Barbarie Frietchie, she vas around.

    She grabbed the flag again so guick,
    Und oud of the vindow her arms did sdick.

    "Obuse if you would dis olt bald head,
    But leave alone dot flag!" she said.

    Zo soon, so guick as Jack could do,
    He holler him oud mit a face so blue:

    "Who bulls a hair oud of dat bald head
    Dies awful guick. Go aheat!" he said.

    Und all dot day, und all dot nite,
    Till efery rebel vas oud of site,

    Und leave behind him dot Fredericksdown,
    Dot flag he vas sthicken by dot nidtgown.

    Dame Barbarie Frietchie's vork is done,
    She don't forever get some fun.

    Bully for her! und drop a tear
    For dot old vomans midout some fear.




MR. HOFFENSTEIN'S BUGLE.


"Mr. Hoffenstein," said Herman, as he folded up a pair of pants, and
placed them on a pile, "if you don't haf any objections, I vould like
to get from de store avay von efening, und go mit de soldiers to de
Spanish Fort."

"Vell, Herman, I dinks you had better keep avay from de soldiers,"
replied Hoffenstein, "und stay mit de store, because, you know, you
don't can put any confidence mit de soldiers--I vill tell you vhy. Von
day, vile I vas in Vicksburg during de var, a cock-eyed soldier came
in my store mit an old bugle in his hand, und he looks around. I asks
him vat he vants, und he buys a couple of undershirts; den he tells
me to keep his bundle and his bugle behind de counter until he comes
back. After de cock-eyed soldier vent de store out, some more soldiers
come in und valk all around, vile dey look at de goods. 'Shentlemens,'
I says, 'do you vant anydings?'--'Ve are shust looking to see vat you
haf,' said one of dem; und after avile anodder says, 'Bill, shust look
dere at de bugle! de very ding de captain told us to get. You know ve
don't haf any bugle in de company for dree months.--How much you ask
for dot bugle?' I dells dem dot I don't can sell de bugle, because it
belongs to a man vat shust vent oud. 'I vill gif you fifty dollars for
it,' says de soldier, pulling his money oud. I dells him I don't can
sell it, because it vasn't mine. 'I vill gif you one hundred dollars,'
he said. Mine gr-r-acious! Herman, I vants to sell de bugle so bad dot
I vistles. De soldiers dells me, vile dey vas leaving de store, dot if
I buy de bugle from de man vot owns it, dey vill gif me one hundred und
dwendy-five dollars for it. I dells dem I vill do it. I sees a chance,
you know, Herman, to make some money py the oberation. Ven de cock-eyed
soldier comes back he says, 'Gif me my bundle und bugle; I got to go
to de camp.' I says, 'Mine frent, don't you vant to sell your bugle?'
He dells me no, und I says, 'My little boy, Leopold, vot plays in de
store, sees de bugle, und he goes all around crying shust so loud as
he can, because he don't get it. Six times I takes him in de yard und
vips him, und he comes right back und cries for de bugle. It shows, you
know, how much drouble a man vill haf mit a family. I vill gif you den
dollars for it, shust to please little Leopold.' De soldier von't dake
it; und at last I offer him fifty dollars, und he says, 'Vell, I vill
dake fifty dollars, because I can't vaste any more time: I haf to go
to de camp.' Afder he goes avay, I goes to de door, und vatches for de
soldiers vat vanted de bugle. I sees dem passing along de street, und
I says, 'My frents, I haf got de bugle;' und dey say, 'Vell, hang it!
vy don't you blow it?' Mine gr-r-acious! Herman, vat you dink? All dem
soldiers belong to de same crowd, und dey make de trick to swindle me.
Levi Cohen, across de street, he finds it out, und efery day he gets
boys to blow horns in front of mine store, so as to make me dink how I
vas swindled. Herman, I dink you had better stay mit de store."




FRITZ AND HIS BETSY FALL OUT.


    Draw oop dem bapers, lawyer, und make 'em shtrong and lawful.
    My house vas getting oopside oudt, und Baitsy she vas awful.
    Dere's no use talkin', ve can't agree. Sooch aickshuns I naifer saw;
    To tell you der troot, between you und me, she vas vorse as a
        mudder-in-law.
    Ven I virst got married mit Baitsy, I liked her pooty vell,
    But now she vas got more stubborn vot nopody can dell;
    I've talked mit her togedder, vor two veeks aifery tay,
    Und der furder we vas togedder, der nearer ve vas avay.

    Dot all gommenced aboudt der Pible: I youst took it down vrom der
        shelf,--
    Dot's a ding I naifer look into mooch: you know how dot vas,
        yourself,--
    Und I vas a-reading 'boudt Daniel, how he shoomped in der lion's den,
    Und youst a leedle farder along, I vas reading dem lines den
    Vere it says, "Und Daniel got hees back oop--righdt oop against der
        vall;
    Bud der lions don'd vas shkared--dey didn't do none notting at all."
    Und ven I read dot shapter dru, ve both vas a goot deal puzzled;
    Und I says, "Baitsy, now I see how t'vas, dem lions must bin muzzled."

    She told me I vas lyin'; dot vas not vot it meant.
    I said she vas anudder, und dot's youst der vay it vent;
    Und den she vas got awful mad, und dold me to my vace,
    "I vish, py shinks! dot Dan vas oudt, und you vas een hees blace."
    "Vell," I says, "I'm villings to shange mit Daniel; let heem comb und
        lif mit you,
    Und I'll go and shoomp een der lion's den, und enshoy myself better'n
        I do!"

    Bud vot een der dooce vould Daniel dink ov I ashk heem to shange mit
        me?
    He vould say, 'Oh, no! I know Baitsy too vell. I vould rather shtay
        vere I be.'
    She shoomped righdt gwick vor der broomshtick, und vas goin' to gife
        me a douse;
    Bud ven she turned roundt to shtruck me, she vas all alonein der house;
    Dot's der reason I comb to talk to you aboudt der varm und homeshtead.
    Dere moosht no vone trust Baitsy on my aggount: she left my board und
        bedshtead.

    Vone day she vanted soam vater, und dold me to go oud und pump it.
    I dold her I vouldn't do it, und ov she didn't like she could lump it.
    She shoked me oop against der vall, und shut my vindpipe off;
    I tell you I seen shtars dot time, und I dought my head vas off.
    Py krashus! She's liable to kill me mit vatefer she gets her hands on,
    Und I get mixed oop so, I can't tell vich endt my head shtands on.
    She shtruck me vonce mit a cord-wood shtick, righdt on der shpine ov
        my back.

    I lefd her home, und vrom dot day till dees--vor dree veeks--I didn't
        comb back.
    I dell you, Meesder Lawyer, it beats all vot I've endoored,
    Besides der money I've baid oudt to keeb my life enshoored.
    Der more I dink ov dese dings, der less I vant to, sir,
    Und der more I dink ov Baitsy, der less I dink ov her.

    Der virst time I aifer met her, I vas shtruck mit her vinning vay;
    Bud now a shange vas tooken blace--I get shtruck in a deafferent vay.
    Dot time veil ve got married, she vas a lass een shkool,
    Und I vas youst aboudt the same--alas! I vas a vool.

    She alvays used to shmile so nice venefer I shanced to meet her,
    I didn't dought she vould become sooch an orvul oogly creetur;
    Bud shoore I vas meesdaken, und I got beat like der dooce;
    Ov you could only hear her, you'd dink her jaw vas loose.

    Vone day she says, "Shut oop your moudt! your blabbin' all der time!"
    I says "I vouldn't do it"--dot's der kind ov a Dootchman I am.
    Und den, bevore I knew it, she took me by soorbrise,
    Und keeked me oudt der house, sir--righdt bevore my vace und eyes!
    I tell you vat it vas, sir, I velt a goot deal put oudt,
    To hafe my own belofed vife tell me to shut my moudt,
    Und, because I dought I vouldn't, to keek me oudt der door.
    Youst on aggount sooch aickshuns, dot's vy I veel so sore.

    I've yelled und shkolded at her until my droat vas hoarse;
    Bud dot naifer didn't do no goot--she's gettin' vorse und vorse;
    Und I've made oop my mind oudt, dot vas my only course
    To comb here und get your adwice--und also a diworce.

           *       *       *       *       *

    You talk 'boudt bein' henpecked, und ruled by voman's tongue,
    I tell you vat it is, sir, I'm vorse off den Prigham Young.
    So wrode oop dot baper, lawyer, und draw it righdt avay,
    Und I'll take it home to Baitsy, und see vot she vill say.

    Und den to-morrow morning I vill sell aiferyding I own,
    Und bid Baitsy und our shild goot-by, und go oudt een der vorld alone.
    Und ven I dink ov Baitsy a dousand milse avay,
    I'll baed she'll vant to hafe me comb righdt back home und shtay.
    Bud I naifer vill comb back again, unless she's tooken sick,
    Ov she is, you tailegraf me to comb back pooty gwick.
    Remaimber vot I tell you, und don'd keeb me in soosbense;
    Youst bay the tailegrafer, und sharge to my oxbense.

    Dot puts me een mind ov someding dot I can't dink ov now;
    I can't remaimber vot I vorget--dot beats all, ainyhow!
    Oh! now I've got it--wrode it down, dot ven I'm dead und gone,
    Baitsy'll bring back me to her, und bury me een der lawn.
    Und on my tombstone let it read, in ledders large und blain,
    "Here lies Shon Shtuffenheimer, and hees vife she is to blame."
    Und I hope dot in a veek or two, righdt after I hafe died,
    Baitsy und I vill both ov us be laying side by side.

    Und ven Gabreel blows hees drumpet oop, und all der dead shall rise,
    Baitsy und I vill both shoomp oop, and vipe our veeping eyes;
    Und den, if it looks doubtful, ve'll shtand righdt dere und vait,
    Und ven no vone vas lookin', ve'll shkweeze dru der Golden Gate.

                                        GEORGE M. WARREN.




CUT, CUT BEHIND.


    Vhen shnow und ice vas on der ground,
      Und merry shleigh-bells shingle;
    Vhen Shack Frost he vas peen around,
      Und make mine oldt ears tingle--
    I hear dhose roguish gamins say,
      "Let shoy pe unconfined!"
    Und dhen dhey go for efry shleigh,
      Und yell, "Cut, cut pehind!"

    It makes me shust feel young some more,
      To hear dhose youngsters yell,
    Und eef I don'd vas shtiff und sore,
      Py shings! I shust vould--Vell,
    Vhen some oldt pung was coomin' py,
      I dink I'd feel inclined
    To shump right in upon der shly,
      Und shout, "Cut, cut pehind!"

    I mind me vot mine fader said
      Vonce vhen I vas a poy,
    Mit meeschief alvays in mine head,
      Und fool of life und shoy.
    "Now, Hans, keep off der shleighs," says he,
      "Or else shust bear in mind,
    I dake you righdt across my knee,
      Und cut, cut, cut pehind!"

    Vell, dot vas years und years ago,
      Und mine young Yawcob too,
    Vas now shkydoodling droo der shnow,
      Shust like I used to do;
    Und ven der pungs coom py mine house,
      I shust peeks droo der plind,
    Und sings oudt, "Go id, Yawcob Strauss,
      Cut, cut, cut, cut, pehind!"

                        _Charles Follen Adams, in Harper's._




TICKLED ALL OAFER.


The Chief of Police yesterday had a visit from an old farmer living out
on the Center Line road, who had a story to tell. After two or three
efforts, he began:--

"I vhas goin home, last night, ven I overtakes two men on der roadt.
Dose fellers dey laft, und saidt would I gif 'em a ride? I laft, too,
und say, 'shump in.'"

"Yes, I understand."

"Pooty queek one feller laft, und saidt he likes Dutchmens, 'cause his
uncle vas a Dutchmans. Dot vhas all right, und so I laft, too. I vhas
real tickled, und I shakes all oafer."

"Yes."

"In a leetle vhile one feller vhants me to shange a seven-tollar bill,
so as he could gif some money to der orphan assylums; und he lafts, ha!
ha! ha! Dot tickled me some more, und I lafts too. Den de odder feller,
he grabs me py der collar und pulls me down behind, und says dey looks
in my pockets for a shteampoat dot vos stolen from Detroit. Dot makes
us all laff, like some goot shoke."

"It must have been funny."

"It vhas. Dose fellers took out my wallet and counted oop der monish.
I had shust ten tollar; und dey laft, und said dot dey must go on some
trips to der seashore mit dot. Dot tickled me some more, und I laft,
too."

"Well, what then?"

"Vhell, den dey shumped oud, und put deir fingers on der noses,
und says, 'Goot-py, old Dutchmans,' und avhay dey goes like some
horse-races."

"And you didn't laugh at that?"

"Vhell, not pooty much. I vhas all ready to, but I shtopped. If dem
fellers vhas up to shokes, it was all right; but if they vhas robbers,
I vhants you to catch 'em, und gif 'em some pieces of my mind, like
dunder. I doan' like somepody to laff at me vhen they doan' feel
tickled all oafer."




AN ERROR O' JUDGMENT.


We are a quiet, law-abiding people doon here in Saltcoats. Indeed, I
havna seen a polisman for sax weeks, an' trooly when I think o' hoo
happy we a' are I'm aye reminded o' the hundred and thirty-third Saum.

Being orderly folk, an' in oor beds at a proper oor, the street-lamps
are a' screwed oot every nicht at twal o'clock--an' quite late eneuch
tae, for if folk are no hame by that time they should be. Oor gas,
I may remark, is cheaper and better than the Glasgow thing; altho'
we don't make a great wark aboot it bein' equal ta sae mony "caunle
po'er," an' ither nonsense o' that kin'. Bein' savin' folk, moreover,
on nichts when the mune's up the lamps are no lichtit at a'. It wad be
o' nae use, you see, an' a perfect throwin' awa o' gas. But that brings
me to what I was goin' tae say.

The ither nicht, though it wis vera dark, no a lamp was lichtet, a
matter that rather bothered the inhabitants. By-an'-by a few o' the
principal folk cam' doon tae my place jist as I wis closin', an' after
a bit crack we made up oor mind tae gie a ca' on the lamplighter. The
reg'lar man wis through at Kirkliston--he's East country himsel', if
I don't mistak he belangs tae Manuel--buryin' his wife's auntie; so it
wis jist, as ye micht say, a depute-proxy that wis daein' the wark.
Weel, we daunnert up tae this depute-proxy's hoose; bit he wis in bed,
on' a' oor chappin' at the door couldna rouse him. Seein' this, we
borrow't a lether, frae a slater that steys next door, an' twa o' the
ithers steadin' it, I crept up the rungs an' twirlt at the window wi'
my fingers, singin' a' the time--

    O are ye sleeping, Wullie!
    O are ye sleeping, Wullie!
    O are ye----

"Whit ye oh-in' at?" cries Wullie, comin' tae the window: "a body wid
think it wis some lass you were serenadin'."

"Wullie," says I solemnly, "what's this ye hae been daein' at a' at a'?"

"I've been daein' naething but sleepin': it's you that's kicking up the
row."

"But ye hivna lichtet the lamps the nicht."

"This is no my nicht: it's the mune the nicht."

"Surely ye've made a mistak, Wullie: there's nae mune that I see."

"I've made nae mistak, for I lookit the almanac."

"But will ye no listen tae reason? Put yer heid oot an' see for
yersel'."

Wullie put his heid oot. "Woel," he says, "there's nae mune, certainly;
but ye surely widna hae me responsible for that. I go by the almanac;
an' if it says there's to be a mune, it's a' one tae me whether there's
nae mune or a million o' munes, not a lamp will I licht."

"That's quite richt, Wullie: nae doot ye maun hae some rule to go
by--Gentlemen," I cries doon, "he has the best o' the argument: what am
I tae dae noo?"

"Haul him oot the window," they cried up.

"Oh! if ye're goin' tae begin fechtin' I'll come doon," I replies, "and
let some o' the rest o' ye up." But they cried, that I'd better jist
settle it when I wis there, so I says, "Wullie, whit almanac d'ye go
by? Is't Orr's, or the Belfast?"

"Here it's up on the mantlepiece, ye can see it for yersel';" and he
took it doon, an' held it oot tae me, giein' me a cannle at the same
time to read it by. One look, hooever, explained the hale affair.
"Gracious guidness, Wullie," I cries, "this is last year's!"

"Eh! what! last year's?"

"It is that," says I.

"Mr Kaye," says Wullie, "don't say another word. Wait a minute, an'
I'll put on my troosers, an' in hauf an oor every lamp'll be shinin'
sae that ye wid think it wis a general illumination."

He wis as guid as his word; an' we a' accompanied him on his rounds,
an' the cheers the laddies gied as each lamp wis lichtet wid 'a' dune
yer hert guid. We had a meetin' in the coalree afterwards; an' I
proposed that Wullie, for his strict attention tae duty--it was only an
error o' judgment he had made, very different frae carelessness--should
get the first vacant place we had, at a guid wage; an' the motion wis
carried, an' Wullie an' us a' went hame happy.




SOCKERY KADAHCUT'S KAT.


Oh! I had de vorst dime lasd veek dot you effer saw. Katrina (dot vos
mine frau) vent avay to make a liddle bicnic, und as I vas been hafin'
de shake und agers und didn't feel pooty goot, I shtayed to home.

Vell, as I vas valkin' arount de parn yart, I saw dot same olt plue hen
coom out from unter der parn sayin': "Kut, kut, ka-dah-kut; kut, kut,
ka-dah-kut," und dot puts me in mint of a shoke dot Katrina mait on me
von tay: she sait dot I autto vas bin a olt rooster, cos de hens called
me effery dime ven day lait a aigs. Dot vas a pooty goot shoke on me.
Vell, as I vas saying, I saw dot olt plue hen coom out from unter de
parn, und I tought to myself, meppy dere vas a nest of aigs unter dere;
so I pull oud half a tozzen more sdones, und mait a hole so pig as I
can crawl unter, und den as I vas crawlin' arount unter a lookin' for
some nest mit aigs, all at once I spiet de pootiest liddle kat vat I
effer seen; he vas all plack mit vite shtripes, und vas shnuggled ub in
a little pall fahst asleeb.

Vell, ve vas bin vantin' a kat because dere vas so many mouses in de
house, und I tought uf I kin git dot von I'll make Katrina a little
surbrise barty; so I krawl along so sdill as never vas, till I got ub
close to him, den I mait a grab und I ketched him by the neck so dot
he dont kin pite me; but ach, mine gootness, vat shmell, vorse as a
huntred parrels of limburgher! _I tought I had stepped on someding dot
vas deat, und proke him mit my knees._ I vas most shoke mit dot shmell;
but I held dot liddle kat up close to me und klimb oud so kwick as I
can. Ven I got oud in de parn yart, dere vas pig Chake Moser goin' py,
und ven he seen me, he sait, "Sockery, you olt deutch fool, vot are you
doin' mit dot skunk?"--"Shkunk!" I sait, "I tought dot vas a liddle
kat;" und I drop him so quick like he was hot.

Vell, Chake, he laf like he vould kill himself; und I ask him vot I kin
do to git me off dot shmell. He sait dot de only ding vas to be perried
in de ground till de earth absorp de shmell; und he sait he vould tig
de hole und fix me in, if I vish. Vell, I dink dot is very goot of
Chake, und I tought if I can get me dot shmell off before Katrina cooms
home, I von't say any ding about dot liddle kat to anypody. So Chake
dig de hole, und I sit down in it und vas perried up to de neck; den
Chake sait he vas in a hurry und he must go to de willage, und he vent
avay. Booty soon kwick a fly lite on my face, und I koodn't prush him
off, cos my arms vas perried doo; und booty soon more as a hundret
flies und effery ding vas krawl all ofer my het, und I shpit and plow,
und vink my face dill I tink I vas gone crazy. Bimepy I heart a noise
doun de roat, und I looked und dere vas apoud every man, vooman, und
shildren in de willage, mit shpades, mit bic-axes, mit shuffles, mit
efery dings, und all runnin rite ub de hill to my house; in a minnit
more as dwenty vas in der yart, und ven dey see me perried to de chin,
und vinkin und shpitten at dem flies, dere eyes shtuck oud more as a
half a feet, und Dick Klaus sait, "_Vot vas you doin dere, Sockery?_"

Vell, I see dot dere vas no use drying to keep dot shdill, so I told
dem all aboud dot liddle kat; und, my chimminy cracious! you kood hear
dem fellows laff more as a mile.

You see dot shackass of a Chake Moser run und told dem in de willage
dot dere vas a man perried alive up to Kadahcut's, so of course
eferypody coom to git him oud.

Vell, dey tig me oud, und I trow away dem clothes, und vash, und vash;
but ven Katrina coom ad nide, I shmell so dot she mait me sleeb in de
parn for a whole veek.

I tink I shall moof avay; eferypody vants to know if I vant to py a
kat, und I don'd kan shtand dis much longer yet.




I VASH SO GLAD I VASH HERE!

A HUMOROUS RECITATION.


One who does not believe in immersion for baptism was holding a
protracted meeting, and one night preached on the subject of baptism.
In the course of his remarks he said that some believe it necessary
to go down into the water, and come up out of it, to be baptized.
But this he claimed to be fallacy; for the preposition "into" of the
Scripture should be rendered differently, as it does not mean _into_ at
all times. "Moses," he said, "we are told, went up into the mountain;
and the Saviour was taken up into a high mountain, etc. Now, we do not
suppose either went into a mountain, but went unto it. So with going
down into the water: it means simply going down close by or near to
the water, and being baptized in the ordinary way by sprinkling or
pouring." He carried this idea out fully, and in due season closed his
discourse, when an invitation was given for any one so disposed to rise
and express his thoughts. Quite a number of his brethren arose and
said they were glad they had been present on this occasion, that they
were well pleased with the sound sermon they had just heard, and felt
their souls greatly blessed. Finally, a corpulent gentleman of Teutonic
extraction, a stranger to all, arose and broke the silence that was
almost painful, as follows:--

"Mister Breacher, I is so glad I vash here to-night, for I has had
explained to my mint some dings dat I neffer could pelief before. Oh,
I is so glad dat into does not mean into at all, but shust close by or
near to; for now I can pelief many dings vot I could not pelief pefore.
We reat, Mr. Breacher, dat Taniel vash cast into de ten of lions, and
came out alife. Now I neffer could pelief dat, for wilet peasts would
shust eat him right off; but now it is fery clear to my mint. He vash
shust close py or near to, and tid not get into de ten at all. Oh, I
ish so glad I vash here to-night! Again, we reat dat de Heprew children
vash cast into de firish furnace, and dat always look like a peeg story
too, for they would have been purnt up; but it ish all blain to my mint
now, for dey was shust cast py or close to de firish furnace. Oh, I
vash so glad I vash here to-night! And den, Mr. Breacher, it ish said
dat Jonah vash cast into de sea, and taken into de whale's pelly. Now
I neffer could pelief dat. It alwish seemed to me to be a peeg fish
story, but it ish all blain to my mint now. He vash not into de whale's
pelly at all, but shump onto his pack and rode ashore. Oh, I vash so
glad I vash here to-night!

"And now, Mr. Breacher, if you will shust exblain two more bassages of
Scriptures, I shall be oh, so happy dot I vash here to-night. One of
dem ish vere it saish de vicked shall be cast into a lake dat burns mit
fire and primstone alwish. Oh, Mr. Breacher, shall I be cast into dat
lake if I am vicked, or shust close py or near to--shust near enough to
be comfortable? Oh, I hope you tell me I shall be cast only shust py
a good vays off, and I will pe so glad I vash here to-night. De oder
bassage is dat vich saish, blessed are they who do these commandments,
dat dey may have right to de dree of life, and enter in droo de gates
of de city, and not shust close py or near to,--shust near enough to
see vat I have lost,--and I shall pe so glad I vash here to-night!"




DOT SHLY LEEDLE RASKEL.


    I kin saw you, you shly leedle raskel,
      A-beekin' ad me drough dot shair!
    Come here righd away now und kiss me--
      You doughd I don't know you vas dere.
    You all der dime hide from your fader,
      Und subbose he can't see mit his eyes,
    You vas goin' to fool me--eh, Fritzey?--
      Und gafe me a grade big surprise?

    Dot boy vas a rekular monkey--
      Dere vas noding so high he don'd glimb;
    Und his mudder, she says dot his drousers
      Vants new bosoms in dem all der dime.
    He vas schmard, dough, dot same leedle feller,
      Und he sings all der vile like a lark,
    From vonce he gids up in der mornin'
      Dill ve drofe him to bed afder dark.

    He's der bussiest von in der family,
      Und I bed you de louder he sings
    He vas raisin' der dickens mit some von--
      He vas up to all manner of dings.
    He vos beekin' away, dot young raskel,
      Drough der shair--Moly Hoses! vot's dot?
    Dot "son-of-gun" mit a sceesors
      Is cut off der dail of der cat!




A JEW'S TROUBLE.

HURWOOD.


Vot a coundry dot is, anyvays! unt vot a peebles! Ye poor Shews don'd
got some quietness anyveres. Ve vas been persecooted! dot is vot it is.
Yust lisden vonce, vat droubles I haf by mineself.

In the vorst blace my name vos Isaacs--dot is my lasd name: my vrond
name vas Solomon, unt I keeps me a nice leedle cloding schtore in de
Powery. You oughd to seen it vonce! I got me eferyt'ing in dot schtore.
Vell, von day last veek a nice cushdomer, vot liefed in Yarsey, come
in, unt I sells him a peautiful coat very sheep. Von he pud id on, id
vas a leedle, _yust a leedle_, full preasded in de pack; bud I got dot
coat ub in my handt, so he did nod know it vas too pig enough. I dold
him dot vas _peautiful_ fid--yusd like it vas made for him!

"Of you don'd peleef dot," says I, "I galls my vife. Maria, don'd dot
coat fid dot shentlemans?"

"Yah, Solomon, dot vas a loafly fid, for sure!" said Maria.

So dot shentleman buy dot coat, and giefe me yust vot I asked, und
nefer said vonce, "I giefe you hafe of dot brice," or somedings like
dot, und I vas mad yust like a hornet dot I didn'd ask him dwice as
mooch!

But vot has all dot got to do mit my droubles?

Nix!

Veil, go ahade!

Von day I gone me oud for a leedle valk, und vas scmoking von of dose
real Hafana segars vot you buy dree for den cents, ven ub comes a pig,
bulled-headed mans, vot hafe his hair all viled off, und he busds me in
de schnood righd avay quick, pefore I know me some dings; unt, as my
nose don'd vas fery schmall, it hurd me like fury.

"Vot de madder is, ain'd it?" said I. "Vot for you hid me dot vay?"

"Pecause you vas a _Shew_; dot is vot de madder vas!" said that old
fighder.

"Vell, vot if I vas a Shew? I don'd do somedings by you! I don'd know
you anyvays."

Unt den he giefe id do me again righdt in my left ear.

"Dot ish pecause you vas a Shew vot _killed de Saviour_! Dot is vy I
hid you; und I'll busd efery hook nose vot I meed!"

"Vot hafe I got to do mit dot, anyvays? Id vas more ash a dousand years
ago ven dot habbened, und I vas nod borned yet! You pig shackass, vot
you means, anyvays?"

"Vell," says old schwell headt, "dot makes me nod different! I don'd
hear me noding about it _till lasd nightd_, unt I'm going to 'put a
headt' on every Shew I see, for doin' it!"

Vell, dot vas pig fool anyvays; so I left him and gone me home to
Maria, und she pud mustard boultice on my schmeller. I vill sent dot
feller up to blay "scheckers mit his nose," yust so soon as I catch him
again!




DER MULE SHTOOD ON DER STEAMBOAD DECK.


    Der mule shtood on der steamboad deck,
      For der land he wouldn't dread.
    Dhey tied a halder rount his neck,
      Und vacked him over der headt.

    But obstinate and braced he shtood,
      As born der scene do rule.
    A creature of der holt-back brood,--
      A shtubborn, shteadfast mule.

    Dhey cursed and shwore, bud he vould not go
      Undill he felt inclined;
    Und dough dhey dundered blow on blow,
      He aldered nod his mind.

    Der boats-boy to der shore complained,
      "Der varmint's bound do shtay!"
    Shtill ubon dot olt mule's hide
      Der sounding lash made blay.

    His masder from der shore reblied,
      "Der boads aboud do sail;
    As oder means in vain you've dried,
      Subbose you dwist his dail.

    "I dhink dot dat vil magke him land."
      Der boats-boy, brave, dough bale,
    Den near drew mit oudstretched hand,
      Do magke der dwist avail.

    Dhen game a kick of thunder sound!
      Dot boy--oh, vhere vas he?
    Ask of der vaves dot far around
      Beheld him in der sea.

    For a moment nod a voice was heard;
      Bud dot mule he vinked his eye,
    As dhough to ask, to him occurred,
      "How vas dot for high?"

                                          ANON.




TEACHING HIM THE BUSINESS.


"Herman," said a Poydras-street merchant clothier, addressing his
clerk, "haf ve sold all of dose overgoats vat vas left over from last
vinter?"

"No, sir; dere vas dree of dem left yet."

"Vell, ve must sell 'em right avay, as the vinter vill not last, you
know, Herman. Pring me one uf de goats und I vill show you somedings
about de pisness. I vill tell you how we vill sell dem oud, und you
must learn de bisness, Hermann; de vinter vas gone, you know, und ve
hav had dose goats in de store more es seex years."

An eight-dollar overcoat was handed him by his clerk, and, smoothing it
out, he took a buckskin money-purse from the showcase, and stuffing it
full of paper, dropped it into one of the pockets.

"Now, Herman, my poy," he continued, "vatch me sell dot goat. I haf
sold over dirty-fife uv dem shust de same vay, und I vant to deech you
de pisness. Yen de nexd gustomer comes in de shop I vill show de way
Rube Hoffenstein, mine broder in Detroit, sells his cloding und udder
dings."

A few minutes later a negro, in quest of a suitable pair of cheap
shoes, entered the store. The proprietor advanced smiling, and
inquired--

"Vat is it you vish?"

"Yer got any cheap shoes hyar?" asked the negro.

"Blenty uf dem, my frient, blenty; at any brice you vant."

The negro stated that he wanted a pair of brogans; and soon his pedal
extremities were encased in them, and a bargain struck. As he was about
to leave, the proprietor called him back.

"I ain't gwine to buy nuffin' else. I'se got all I want," said the
negro sullenly.

"Dot may be so, my dear sir," replied the proprietor, "but I shust
vants you to look at dis goat. It vas de pure Russian wool, und dis
dime last year you doan got dot same goat for twenty-five dollars.
Mine gracious! cloding vas gone down to noding, and der vas no money
in de pisness any longer. You vant someding dot vill keep you from de
vedder, und make you feel varm as summer-dime. De gonsumption vas going
round, und de doctors dell me it vas de vedder. More den nine beobles
died round vere I lif last week. Dink of dot! Mine frient, dot goat
vas Russian vool, dick und hevy. Vy, Misder Jones, who owns der pank
on Canal Streed, took dot goat home mit him yesterday, und vore it all
day; but it vas a leedle dight agross de shoulders, und he brought it
pack shust a vile ago. Dry it on, my dear sir. Ah! dot vas all righd.
Misder Jones vas a rich man und he liked dot goat. How deep de pockets
vas! but it vas a leedle dight agross de shoulders."

The negro buttoned up the coat, thrust his hands in the pockets and
felt the purse. A peaceful smile played over his face when his touch
disclosed to his mind the contents of the pockets, but he choked down
his joy and inquired--

"Who did you say wore this hyar coat?"

"Vy, Misder Jones, vot owns de pank on Canal Streed.

"What yer gwine to ax for it?"

"Dwenty dollars."

"Dat's pow'ful high price fur dis coat, but I'll take it."

"Herman! here, wrap up this goat for de schentleman and drow in a
cravat; it vill make him look nice mit de ladies."

"Nebber mind, I'll keep de coat on," replied the negro; and pulling out
a roll of money he paid for it and left the store.

While he was around the next corner moaning over the stuffed purse,
Hoffenstein said to his clerk:--

"Herman, fix up anudder vun of dose goats de same vay; and doan forget
to dell dem dot Misder Jones vot run de pank on Canal Streed vore it
yesterday."




DER GOOD-LOOKIN SHNOW.


    Oh! dot shnow, dot goot-lookin shnow,
    Vhich makes von der shky out on tings below,
    Und yoost on der haus vhere der shingles vas grow,
    You come mit some coldness, vherefer you go;
        Valtzin und pblayin und zinging along,--
        Goot-lookin shnow, you dond cood done wrong.
    Ofen of you make on some oldt gal's scheek,
    It makes notting tifferent, ofer das shendlesom freak.
    Goot-lookin shnow, von der glouds py der shky,
    You vas bully mit cold vedder, und bully von high.

    Oh! dot shnow, dot goot-lookin shnow,
    Yoost dis vay und vot you make vhen you go;
    Fhlyin aroundt, you got matness mit fun,
    Und fhreeze makes der nose of efery von;
        Lafein, runnin, mit gwickness go py,
        Yoost shtobbin a leedle, den pooty gwick fhly;
    Und efen der togs, dot vas out in der vet,
    Vood shnab at der bieces vhich makes on dhere hedt.
    Der peobles vas grazy, und caddles vood crow
    Und say how you vas, you goot-lookin shnow.

    Und so gwick you vas dhere, und der vedder did shnow,
    Dhey shpeak out in dones so shweeder as low,
    Und der shleigh-riders, too, vas gone py in der lite,
    You dond cood saw dhem, dill quite out of site.
        Schwimmen, shkimmen, fhlirdin dhey go
        Rect on der tob of dot goot-lookin shnow.
    Dot shnow vas vhite glean vhen it comes der shky down,
    Und yoost so muddy like mud, vhen it comes of der town;
    To been valked on py more as dwo hoondret fife feet,
    Dill gwick, vas yoost lookin so phlack like der shtreet.

    Vell, I vas yoost lookin vonce so goot like dot shnow,
    But I tumbled me off, und vay I did go;
    Nicht so glean, like der mut dot growed on der shtreet,
    I vas shcraped von der poots off, of der peobles I meet.
        Dinkin und shworin, I like of I die,
        To been shtiff like a mackerel mit no von to buy;
    Vhile I trink me some lager to got a shquare meal,
    I vas afraid von der ghosts mine pody vood shteal.
    Got in Himmel! how ish dot? Vas I gone down so low,
    Vhen I vonce vas so vhiteness like dot goot-lookin shnow?

    Yah, for dhrue, I vas told you, I vas vonce pure like dot shnow,
    Mit blaindy of lofe, von mine heart out vas grow;
    I dink von dhem efery von, and dhey dink von me too,
    Und I vas humpugged mit fhladeries, dot's yoost vot dhey do.
        Mine Fadder, Mudder, Gabruder der same,
        Vas loose me some sympadies, und forget vonce mine name;
    Und dot raskals who comes of me in der tarkness py nite,
    Vood gone more as a plocks to got out of mine site,
    Der coat von mine leeks und poots of mine toe,
    Vas not gleaner as doze of dot goot-lookin shnow.

    It was gweer it shood been dot dot goot-lookin shnow
    Vood make on a pad mans mit novhere to go;
    Und how gweer it vood been, vhen yoost pehindt tay,
    Ofer der hail und das vind mit mine pody vood pblay,
        Hobbin, skibben, und me dedt like an eel--
        Mine mat vas got oop, never a vord could I shpeil,
    To been zeen py der peobles who vas valk der town,
    Who vas dickled mit pbleasures, of der shnow vas come down,
    I yoost lay der ground, und gone died mit a woe,
    Mid a pedgwilts und billows, von der goot-lookin shnow.




HOW JAKE SCHNEIDER WENT BLIND.


In Germantown, near Philadelphia, several years ago, a native,
simple-minded Dutchman, named Jacob Schneider, kept a liquor and
lager-beer saloon. Jacob was not only fond of drinking lager with
his customers, but would not refuse either corn-juice, red-eye, or
Jersey lightning, when asked to imbibe thereof in a social way--the
customer, of course, paying an extra half-dime for Jacob's drink. One
would not suppose that this friendly habit could, by any possibility,
bring trouble and vexation upon honest Jacob; but it did, as we shall
presently show.

One eventful night it was observed that Schneider had shut up his
saloon and gone home full an hour earlier than usual. Being asked, next
day, what was the matter, he told the following droll story:--

"I shut up mine blace pecause I vas mat as ter tyfel, and vas humpugged
into der pargain. I'll tell you 'pout it. Yer see, dree or four young
shcamps gomes into mine saloon, and one says to me, 'Yacob, you got
some fresh lager?' I says 'yaas,' and I draws der lager; anoder von
says he vants gards, and I prings de gards, and da blays gards. Pimeby
noder says, 'Yacob, old poy, let's have some red-eye! and mind you,
Yacob, pring an extra glass for yourself.' Vell den, I prings der
pottle of ret-eye, and da drinks two dree dimes, and I drinks mit 'em
two dree dimes; and I gets so tam trunk dat I lies down on der pench
and goes to shleep. Ven I vakes up, der room ish dark as der tyfel, put
I hears der young chaps calling der gards; von says, 'bass!' nodder
says, 'left power!--right power!' den nodder von, he says, 'uker'd!'
and shwears like a drooper. Da vas all blaying at der taple, shust as
da vas ven I goes to shleep, but mine eyes vas nix--I could shust see
notting at all--the room vas bitch dark. So I dinks I vas plind, and I
feel pad, and I cry out, 'Oh, mine Gott! I p'lieve I'm shtruck plind!'
Den der young chaps leaves der taple and gomes vhere I vas, and makes
p'leeve da very sorry. One says, 'Poor Yacob! you can no see--vat
vill der poor man's vamerly do!' Nodder call me poor cuss, and says
I no pusiness to trink noding stronger dan lager. I got mat den--mat
as dunder--and I says to him, 'Vy, den, you vants me to drink it mit
you? I p'leeve you put shtuff in der liquor to make me plind!' Den he
laughs at me, and says I needn't trink if I didn't pe a mind to. Shust
den von little poy gomes to der door mit a lantern, and I finds der
drick da vas blaying me--I see shust as goot as ever! Der rascals had
plow out der lights, and make p'leeve play uker to vool me! I told 'em
'twas all humpug, and they petter glear out, for I vouldn't light up no
more. Dat's vat mine shaloon vas shut up for."




THE DUTCHMAN AND THE RAVEN.


    Vonce upon a midnite dreary, as I pondered, veak and veary,
    Ofer many a glass of lager, vot I drank in days of yore,
    In my bed I vas faschd nabbing, ven I dream I heert some dapping,
    As if some von gently drowing brickbats at my voodshed door;
    "Dis dot Snyder poy," I muttered, "trying to preak my voodshed door--
                Only dis, und noding more."

    Yah, disdinctly I remember, it was in dot pleak December,
    Und each seberate dying ember vos gone oud long pefore;
    Dot nide I felt quoide heardy, for Louise vent to a bardy,
    Und of cause I drunk more lager as I nefer did pefore;
    But schdill I know dot somedings sthruck my oudside voodshed door--
                Only dot, und noding more.

    From oud mine bed I makes von jumb, und see vot vos dis drubble,
    Mine Got! vot makes mine legs so veak? I feel so not pefore;
    I sckarce could valk, I could not talk, mine mind was in a muddle;
    But I dought vas Johnny Snyder dryin' to open schud mine door,
    Und mit cabbage-sdumps to hit me, as he often doned pefore--
                Dis I said, und noding more.

    Py und py I vos got praver; den I takes mine gun and sabre,
    Und schloly valks, midout mine pants, up to mine voodshed door;
    Und dare for von half hour I sdood mitout no power,
    So veak I vos I could not lift mine hands up any more;
    But at vonce I got more polder, und I opened vide de door--
              Plack as darkness, noding more.

    Deep into dot plackness peeping, all around mine voodshed creeping,
    Dreaming dreams no Dutchman efer dare to dream pefore.
    Der silence vos unbroken, und der sdillness gave no token;
    But I hear somepody spoken, "You vill vare dem pants no more."
    "Vot is dot?" I cried, and someding answered back the vord, "No more."
              Merely dis, und noding more.

    Back indo my bedroom turning, all mine sole mitin me burning,
    Den vonce more I heert a tapping, someding louder as pefore.
    Now I cries out, "Dunder vedder! vot the devil ish the madder?"
    Surely dis ain't Johnny Snyder hitting cabbage mit mine door?
    No! I dink dis cannot be, for I bet, by geminee!
              'Twas the vind, und noding more.

    Oben here I flung mine vindow, ven dere all at vonce came into
    A ding just like a big plack cat I never saw pefore;
    Von fearful vink he gafe me, not von moment sdoped nor sdayed he;
    His pack he humped, und den he jumped upon mine bedroom door.
              Dare he sat, und noding more.

    The air dew vas so funny, for it schmells no more like honey,
    Und den I squease mine nose hard until it vas quide sore;
    Den vonce I cried mid all my mide, "I vant to vare mine pants to-night,
    Und of you dink dot I vos dighd, chust chumped down of dot floor;"
    Again I heard it gently say: "You'll vare dem pants no more."
                Dis it said, und noding more.

    "Profid," said I, "ding of efil; profid sdill, if dorg or devil,
    For vot you comes into mine house? I vant you here no more;
    Leafe no ding here as a doken of dot lie vich you hafe spoken;
    You go home, I vas not joking, for I told you vonce pefore,
    Chust dake dot smell frum out mine house, und jump down off mine door!"
                But it vinked, und said no more.




THE DUTCHMAN WHO GAVE MRS. SCUDDER THE SMALL-POX.


Some years ago, a droll sort of a Dutchman was the driver of a stage in
New Jersey, and he passed daily through the small hamlet of Jericho.
One morning, just as the vehicle was starting from Squash Point, a
person came up and requested the driver to take in a small box, and
"leave it at Mrs. Scudder's, third house on the left after you get into
Jericho."

"Yaas, oh yaas, Mr. Ellis, I knows der haus!" said the driver," I
pleeve der voman dakes in vashin', vor I always sees her mit her
clothes hung out."

"You're right, that's the place," said Ellis (for that was the man's
name), "she washes for one of the steamboats."

The box was thereupon duly deposited in the front boot, the driver took
his 'leven-penny bit for carrying it, and the stage started on its
winding way. In an hour or two, the four or five houses comprising the
village of Jericho hove in sight. In front of one of them, near the
door, a tall, muscular woman was engaged at a wash-tub; while lines of
white linen, fluttering in the wind, ornamented the adjoining lawn. The
stage stopped at the gate, when the following ludicrous dialogue, and
attendant circumstances, took place:--

Driver--Is dis Miss Scutter's haus?

Woman [looking up, without stopping her work,]--Yes, I'm Mrs. Scudder.

Driver--I'fe got der small pox in der stage; vill you come out and dake
it?

Woman [suddenly throwing down the garment she was washing]--Got the
small-pox! Mercy on me! why do you stop here, you wicked man? You'd
better be off, quick as you can. [Runs into the house.]

Driver mutters to himself--I vonder vat's der matter mit der fool; I'fe
goot mind to drow it over der fence.

Upon second thought, he takes the box, gets off the stage, and carries
it into the house. But in an instant he reappears, followed by a broom
with an enraged woman at the end of it, who is shouting in a loud
voice--

"You git out of this! clear yourself quicker! You've no business to
come here exposing decent people to the small-pox; what do you mean by
it?"

"I dells you it's der shmall _pox_!" exclaimed the Dutchman,
emphasising the word box as plainly as he could--"Ton't you
versteh?--der shmall _pox_ dat Misther Ellis sends to you."

But Mrs. Scudder was too much excited to comprehend this explanation,
even if she had listened to it. Having it fixed in her mind that there
was a case of small-pox on the stage, and that the driver was asking
her to take into the house a passenger thus afflicted, her indignation
knew no bounds. "Clear out!" exclaimed she, excitedly, "I'll call the
men folks if you don't clear!" and then shouting at the top of her
voice, "Ike! you Ike! where are you?" Ike soon made his appearance, and
inquired--

"W-what's the matter, mother?"

The driver answered--"I dells you now onct more, for der last time,
I'fe got der shmall pox; and Misther Ellis he dells me to gif it to
Miss Scutter, and if dat vrow ish Miss Scutter, vy she no dake der pox?"

By this time several of the passengers had got off the stage to see the
fun, and one of them explained to Mrs. Scudder that it was a box, and
not small-pox, that the driver wished to leave with her.

The woman had become so thoroughly frightened that she was still
incredulous, until a bright idea struck Ike.

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed he," I know what 'tis--it's Madame Ellis's box
of laces, sent to be done up."

With this explanation the affair was soon settled, and Mistress Scudder
received the Dutchman's "shmall pox" amidst the laughter and shouts of
the occupants of the old stage-coach. The driver joined in, although
he had not the least idea of what they were laughing at, and as the
vehicle rolled away, he added not a little to the mirth by saying, in
a triumphant tone of voice, "I vas pound ter gif der old vomans der
shmall pox, vether she vould dake it or not!"




ELLEN McJONES ABERDEEN.


    Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus McClan
    Was the son of an elderly laboring man.
    You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,
    And p'r'aps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right.

    From the bonnie blue Forth to the beastly Deeside,
    Round by Dingwell and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde,
    There wasn't a child or a woman or man
    Who could pipe with Clonglocketty Angus McClan.

    No other could wake such detestable groans
    With reed and with chaunter, with bag and with drones.
    All day and all night he delighted the chiels
    With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.

    He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground,
    And the neighboring maidens would gather around
    To list to his pipes and to gaze in his een,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    All loved their McClan, save a Sassenach brute
    Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot.
    He dressed himself up in a Highlander way;
    Though his name it was Pattison Corby Torbay.

    Torbay had incurred a good deal of expense
    To make him a Scotchman in every sense;
    But this is a matter, you'll readily own,
    That isn't a question of tailors alone.

    A Sassenach chief may be bonnily built;
    He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;
    Stick a skean in his hose--wear an acre of stripes--
    But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.

    Clonglocketty's pipings all night and all day
    Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay.
    The girls were amused at his singular spleen,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    "Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus, my lad,
    With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.
    If you really must play on that horrid affair,
    My goodness, play something resembling an air."

    Boiled over the blood of Macphairson McClan--
    The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;
    For all were enraged at the insult, I ween,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    "Let's show," said McClan," to this Sassenach loon
    That the bagpipes can play him a regular tune.
    Let's see," said McClan, as he thoughtfully sat,
    "'_In my Cottage_' is easy,--I'll practise at that."

    He blew at his "Cottage," and he blew with a will,
    For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until
    (You'd hardly believe it) McClan, I declare,
    Elicited something resembling an air.

    It was wild--it was fitful--as wild as the breeze:
    It wandered about into several keys.
    It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware;
    But still it distinctly suggested an air.

    The Sassenach screamed, and the Sassenach danced;
    He shrieked in his agony, bellowed and pranced.
    And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    "Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around;
    And fill a' ye lugs wi' the exquisite sound.
    An air fra' the bagpipes--beat that if you can!
    Hurrah for Clonglocketty Angus McClan!"

    The fame of his piping spread over the land:
    Respectable widows proposed for his hand,
    And maidens came flocking to sit on the green,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore
    He'd stand it no longer--he drew his claymore,
    And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste)
    Divided Clonglocketty close to the waist.

    Oh, loud were the wailings for Angus McClan!
    Oh, deep was the grief for that excellent man!
    The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene,
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

    It sorrowed poor Pattison Corby Torbay
    To find them "take on" in this serious way.
    He pitied the poor little fluttering birds,
    And solaced their souls with the following words:--

    "O maidens!" said Pattison, touching his hat,
    "Don't blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that;
    Observe, I'm a very superior man,
    A much better fellow than Angus McClan."

    They smiled when he winked and addressed them as "dears,"
    And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears,
    A pleasanter gentleman never was seen--
    Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

                                              W. S. GILBERT.




A DUTCH SERMON.


Mine friends, ven first you come here, you was poor; and now, friends,
you is prout; and you's gotten on your unicorns, ant dem vits you like
a dongs upon a hog's pack. Now, mine friends, let me dell you dis: a
man is a man if he's no pigger as my dumb. Ven Tavid vent out to fight
mit Goliah, he dook noting vid him but one sling. Now don't mistake
me, mine friends: it vas not a rum sling; no, nor a gin sling; no,
nor a mint vater sling; no: it was a sling made mit an hickory stick.
Now, ven Goliah sees Tavid coming, "You little dampt scoundrel, does
you comes to vight me? I vill give you to de birds of de fielt, and de
peasts of de air!" Tavid says, "Goliah, Goliah, de race is not always
mit de shwift, nor ish de battle mit de strong; and a man is a man if
he's no pigger ash my dumb." So Tavid he fixes a shtone in his sling,
and he drows it at Goliah, and knocks him rite in de vorehead; and
den Tavid takes Goliah's swort, and cuts off his head; and den all de
pretty cals comes out and strewed flowers in his way, and sung, "Saul
is a creat man, vor he has kilt his tousands; put Tavid is creater as
he, vor he has kilt Goliah." Now, mine friends, when you coes out to
vight mit te rebels, remember vat I dell you,--dat a man is a man if
he's no pigger as my dumb.




SHACOB'S LAMENT.


    Oxcoose me if I shed some tears,
      Und wipe my nose avay;
    Und if a lump vos in my troat,
      It comes up dere to shtay.

    My sadness I shall now unfoldt;
      Und if dot tale of woe
    Don'd do some Dutchmans any good,
      Den I don't pelief I know.

    You see I fall myself in love;
      Und effery night I goes
    Across to Brooklyn by dot pridge,
      All dressed in Sunday clothes.

    A vidder vomans vos der brize,
      Her husband he vos dead;
    Und all alone in this colt vorldt,
      Dot vidder vos, she said.

    Her heart for love vos on der pine,
      Und dot I like to see;
    Und all der time I hoped dot heart
      Vos on der pine for me.

    I keeps a butcher shop, you know,
      Und in a stocking stout,
    I put avay my gold and bills,
      Und no one gets him oudt.

    If in der night some bank cashier
      Goes skipping off mit cash,
    I shleep so sound as nefer vos,
      Vhile rich folks go to shmash.

    I court dot vidder sixteen months,
      Dot vidder she courts me;
    Und vhen I says, "Vill you be mine?"
      She says, "You bet I'll be!"

    Ve vos engaged--oh, blessed fact!
      I squeeze dot dimpled hand;
    Her head upon my shoulder lays,
      Shust like a bag of sand.

    "Before der vedding day vos set,"
      She vispers in mine ear,
    "I like to say I haf to use
      Some cash, my Jacob, dear.

    "I owns dis house and two big farms,
      Und ponds und railroad shtock;
    Und up in Yonkers I bossess
      A grand big peesness block.

    "Der times vos dull, my butcher boy,
      Der market vos no good;
    Und if I sell"--I squeezed her handt
      To show I understood.

    Next day--oxcoose my briny tears--
      Dot shtocking took a shrink;
    I counted out twelf hundred in
      Der cleanest kind o' chink.

    Und later, by two days or more,
      Dot vidder shlopes avay;
    Und leaves a note behindt for me,
      In vhich dot vidder say,--

    "DEAR SHAKE:--

            Der rose vas redt,
              Der violet blue--
            You see I've left,
              Und you're left, too!"




MR. SCHMIDT'S MISTAKE.


I geeps me von leedle schtore town Proadway, und does a pooty goot
peesnis; bud I ton't got mooch gapital to vork mit, so I finds id hard
vork to get me all der gredits vot I vould like. Last veek I hear
aboud some goots dot a barty vas going to sell pooty sheap, und so I
writes dot man if he vould gife me der refusal of dose goots for a
gouple a days. He gafe me der refusal; dot is, he sait I gouldn't haf
dem. But he sait he vould gall on me, und see mine sthore; and den if
mine schtanding in peesnis vas goot, berhaps ve might do somedings
togedder. Vell, I vas behint mine gounter yesderday, ven a shentleman
gomes in, und dakes me py der hant, und say, "Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve."
I say, "Yaw," und den I dinks to mineself, "Dis vas de man vot has
dose goots to sell, und I musd dry to make some goot imbression mit
him so ve gould do some peesnis."--"Dis vas goot schtore," he says,
looking aroundt; "bud you ton't got a pooty pig schstock already." I
vas avraid to let him know dot I only hat 'bout a tousand tollars voort
off goots in der blace, so I says, "You ton't vould dink I hat more as
dree tousand tollars in dis leedle schtore, aind id?" He says, "You
ton't tole me! Vos dot bossible?" I says, "Yaw." I meant dot id _vas
bossible_, dough id vasn't so; vor I vas like Shorge Vashingtons ven
he cut town der "olt elm" on Poston Gommons mit his leedle hadget, und
gouldn't dell some lies aboudt id. "Vell," says der schentleman, "I
dinks you ought to know petter as anypody else vot you haf got in der
schtore;" und den he dakes a leedle book vrom his bocket oudt, und say,
"Vell, I poots you town vor dree tousand tollars." I ask him vat he
means py "poots me town;" und den he says he vas von off der daxmen, or
assessors of broperty, und he tank me so kindly as nefer vos, because
he say I vos sooch an honest Deutscher, und tidn't dry und sheat der
gofermants. I dells you vat it vos, I tidn't veel any more petter as a
hundord ber cent, ven dot man valks oudt off mine schtore, und der nexd
dime I makes free mit sdrangers, I vinds first deir peesnis oudt.

                                                       CHARLES F. ADAMS.




JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S DISPUTE.


    John Davison and Tibbie, his wife,
      Sat toasting their taes ae nicht,
    When something startit in the fluir,
      And blinkit by their sicht.

    "Guidwife," quoth John, "did ye see that moose?
      Whar sorra was the cat?"
    "A moose?"--"Aye, a moose."--"Na, na, guidman:
      It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat!"

    "Ow, ow, guidwife! to think ye've been
      Sae lang aboot the hoose,
    An' no to ken a moose frae a rat!
      Yon was'na a rat! 'twas a moose!"

    "I've seen mair mice than you, guidman,--
      An' what think ye o' that?
    Sae haud your tongue, an' say nae mair,
      I tell ye, it was a rat!"

    "_Me_ haud my tongue for _you_, guidwife!
      I'll be mester o' this hoose:
    I saw't as plain as een could seet,
      An' I tell ye, it was a moose!"

    "If you're the mester o' the hoose,
      It's I'm the mistress o't;
    An' _I_ ken best what's in the hoose:
      Sae I tell ye, it was a rat!"

    "Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose,
      An' ca' it what ye please."
    So up she rose, and made the brose,
      While John sat toasting his taes.

    They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,
      And aye their lips played smack:
    They supit, and supit, and supit the brose,
      Till their lugs began to crack.

    "Sic fules we were to fa' oot, guidwife,
      Aboot a moose."--"A what?
    It's a lee ye tell; an' I say again
      It was'na a moose; 'twas a rat!"

    "Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face?
      My faith, but ye craw croose!
    I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't!
      'Twas a moose!"--"'Twas a rat!"--"'Twas a moose!"

    Wi' her spoon she strack him ower the pow.
      "Ye dour auld doit, tak' that;
    Gae to your bed, ye canker'd sumph,--
      'Twas a rat!"--"'Twas a moose!"--"'Twas a rat!"

    She sent the brose caup at his heels,
      As he hirpled ben the hoose;
    Yet he shoved oot his head as he steekit the door,
      And cried, "'Twas a moose! 'twas a moose!"

    But when the carle was fast asleep,
      She paid him back for that,
    And roared into his sleepin' lug,
      "'Twas a rat! 'twas a rat! 'twas a rat!"

    The de'il be wi' me if I think
      It was a beast ava!--
    Neist mornin', as she sweepit the fluir,
      She faund wee Johnnie's ba'!

                                            ROBERT LEIGHTON.




FRITZ UND I.


    Mynheer, blease helb a boor oldt man,
      Vot gomes vrom Sharmany,
    Mit Fritz, mine tog und only freund,
      To geep me gompany.

    I haf no gelt to puy mine pread,
      No blace to lay me down,
    For ve vas vanderers, Fritz und I,
      Und strangers in der down.

    Some beoples gife us dings to eadt,
      Und some dey kicks us oudt,
    Und say, "You ton't got peesnis here,
      To sdroll der schtreets aboudt!"

    Vot's dat you say? You puy mine tog
      To gife me pread to eadt?
    I vas so boor as nefer vas,
      But I vas no "tead peat."

    Vot! sell mine tog, mine leetle tog,
      Dot vollows me aboudt,
    Und vags his dail, like anydings,
      Yene'er I dakes him oudt!

    Schust look at him, und see him schump!
      He likes me pooty vell;
    Und dere vas somedings 'bout dat tog,
      Mynheer, I vouldn't sell.

    "Der collar?" Nein, 'tvas somedings else
      Vrom vich I gould not bart;
    Und if dot ding vas dook avay,
      I dinks it prakes mine heart.

    "Vot vas it, den, aboudt dat tog,"
      You ashk, "dat's not vor sale?"
    I dells you vat it ish, mine freund:
      Tish der vag off dat tog's dail!

                                  CHARLES F. ADAMS.




A TUSSLE WITH IMMIGRANTS.


The Ethnological Society of North America wished me to photograph types
of immigrants arriving from Europe, at New York.

Castle Garden is where all steerage passengers land; and I was allowed
every facility by the authorities.

I began with an Italian, swarthy, under-sized, dressed in velveteen,
and scented with garlic. As I placed him in front of the camera, he
said:--

"Ah been here before. Ah no greenhorn. Ah know the ropes a. You take a
pictura don't cost you a centa; you don't pay me a dolla; ah make ah
face a so you don't getta the pictura. You don't picka me up a sardine.
I sale the banana lass year in New York."

A Frenchman was the next subject. Tall, meagre, polite, and talkative.

"Sare," he remarked, "ze photographie ees not to me for ze first
taime. Ze art of all kind faind himself at home in ma countrie--_la
belle France_. I also am artist. I make ze wall papaire to beautify ze
house. I am artist in ze pastepot, and ze scissaires. To faind already
a brothaire artist makes me to weep. Excuse me zat I weep. I remove to
you ze hat; I salute ze veritable artist." Then this artist tried to
kiss me, and because I repulsed him stood in gloomy majesty while I
photographed him.

Following my French friend, a Scotchman was brought. He wished me to
take pictures of his entire family--eleven in all--and when informed
that only types, not families, were required, he broke forth:--

"I'm no able exactly to see why types should be needed, and no
families. A type is guid eneugh thing gin ye'll want to prent a
paper, but a lairge family o' braw lads an' bonnie lasses gangs a
lang distance in a new land, an' I'm free to say my ain family is the
lairgest ye'll see frae the ship."

Even the stolid immigrants had to smile when the next subject was
brought. He was a young German, tight-sleeved, long-skirted, smiling,
and chatty.

"Vell! Py jimmeny! you took my picture mid a box! How you done it I
gifs oop! Und you told me ov I move I spoil him alretty. Den I don'd
move. Ov a flea pites me, I don'd move,--ov you don'd stand me too
long. Ov a man gifs me a glass of peer, I don'd move. Ov I got hungry,
I don'd go to dinner all der vile. I shoost stand here like I vas a
dellygraff bole! Don'd it?"

I finished the morning's work with a splendid specimen of a young
Irishman, who had, I suspect, been injudiciously "treated" by his
friends.

As I placed him before the camera, he said:--

"Av' it's taking aim ye are, don't say I thrimbled. God knows I'm
willin' an' proud to die for ould Oireland! Foire! ye base murdherer,
to desthroy me the day I kem ashore!"

Matters were explained, and he apologized.

"Why didn't ye say ye wouldn't shoot? How would I know ye didn't have
dynamite in yer box? Av its only the picthure av me mug you want, take
it an' welkim. I'm no pig to be wantin' to kape a threasure hid from
the wurruld."

In departing I explained to the group that I would present each one
with a copy of his picture if their addresses were furnished, and a
Babel of words followed me.

"Ah don't want a picture a. Ah want a dolla!"

"Sare, I am _comble de l'honneur_. I zank you, sare!"

"I'm vara muckle ableeged till ye. I'll tak' a dozen on the same
tairms."

"Ov I don'd send you dot address, never mind; you send me dot bicture,
ennyhow!"

"Faith! Amerika's a darlin' counthry! The best word I got at home was,
Leve the way, ye vagabone! Here it is, Misther O'Ryan, will it plaze ye
have yer picther taken, an' where'll we send it for ye?"

                                                        PHILIP DOUGLASS.




A DOKETOR'S DRUBBLES.


    I youst to bin a doketor vonce,
      Vat koored all kints ov gases;
    Und in my bragtis I have met
      A goot mainy _deaferent_ fases.

    Vor dwendy milse round vere I leved,
      De beeple vas gwite seekly;
    Boud vonce a veek I galled arount,
      Und zo I vound um veekly.

    Soam vas seek mit vone decease,
      Und soam dey had anoder,
    Und soam you vooden't doght vood leve
      Vrom one ent do de oder.

    Bud pooty soon I vound dot oud
      My bocket book was dhry,
    Und also my oxpensays
      Vas runing oval high.

    So I vent oud gollecting;
      Bud aifery vere I vent,
    My batients vas oxhorseted,--
      Dey vas not vort a cendt.

    Und I vent und seed vone men,
      He vas briefing hees preath lasht;
    I doght de gwicker I got dot,
      De sooner it vas kashed.

    So I showed de men hees node,
      Und I dold heem do pay;
    Hees dime vas shoost up,
      Dot vos hees lasht tay.

    Hees hands vas in each bocked,
      Und dots vy I doght so sdrange;
    He died--und hees lasht vords vas,
      "I don'd veel ainy shange."

    Und vone sed do me, "Doketor,
      Howefer can I pay?
    You know dot I'm not aple--
      I'm _vailing_ afery tay."

    Und anoder vailer dold me,
      "Shoost valk you ride avay;
    You got dot oll vat's due you
      Ven comes de shoodgment-tay."

    I eshked vone men vor hees sheck,
      Id vas yoost pefore hees deadth;
    But I vound he hadn't no dime,
      He vas drawing hees lasht breadth.

    Und I found _dish vash_ de drubble--
      Een my kase ainy vay--
    De beeple vot I doketored
      Heddent _cents_ enoff to bay.

    You'f hurt dot goot old sayink,
      Verein dot goot pook says--
    I dink id combs out desewise--
      "Soam rools ken vork bote vays."

    Und so it ess mit de doketor;
      Of he eshkt a man to bay,
    Und he tails him, "I ken't do id,"
      Hees shoor to die dot day.

    I vent beck to my offus,
      Veeling dired dru und dru;
    Und togedder mit dese drubble
      I vash med and shleeby doo.

    I lade down on de sofy,
      Und dried to haive a shnooze;
    Bud een a doketors' offus,
      Dot didn't vas no youse.

    I hurt soam kolling, "Doketor!"
      Und I run ub do my shbout,
    Und dese vords vent his ears down:
      "_Vat's de metter mit your mout?_"

    Und den dot failer holleret,--
      Hees woice vas shdrong und glear,
    Und dese vords vent de shpout oop,--
      "Dooce Dr. Sholtz leve hier?"

    Und gwickly beck my an-swear
      Dot shbout vas goin dro:
    "Dr. Sholtz, dot vas my name, sir,
      Vat vood you hev me doo?"

    "Now let me eshk you doketor;
      You shoore I'fe got dot righd?
    Ish your name _Dr. Vriederick Sholtz_?"
      Hee yelt mit oll hees mighd.

    I doght dot men was crazy--
      Oar meppy he vas dight.
    I sed, "Yaas--'tvas Doketor Vriederick Sholtz,
      Vat you vant dese dime off nighd?"

    Und I vas zo oxtonished,
      Bud de naixt dings vat I hear,
    Ven dot failer dold me, "Doketor,
      How long hev you leefed hier?"

    Un den I vas oxcited,
      I felt yooust like a row;
    I sed, "I'fe leefed hier dwendy years:
      Vat you vant, ainyhow?"

    Dot men he vas a villane,
      Und dot's yoost vat I kin brove;
    He singed oud to me lowdly,
      "Vat's de reason you dond moofe?"

    I run down dru de shdairvay,
      Und oud into de shdreed;
    Bud I only hurt de bavemends
      Klattering fashd agenshd hees feed.

    I reely dink sooch ekshuns
      Shoot not be oferlooked;
    Of I kood kaitch dot failer--
      Py cosh, hees coose vas kooked!

    Now I vood say doo de doketors,
      Yoost pefore id vas doo late,
    Dond naifer loose your batients,
      Und you'll suckseed fushtrate.

    No metter vots de reason,
      You naifer shood get vexed;
    You may loose your bay in dese vorldt,
      Bud you'll get id in de next.

                                GEORGE M. WARREN.




CHARLIE MACHREE.


    Come over, come over the river to me,
    If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree!
    Here's Mary McPherson and Susy O'Linn,
    Who say ye're faint-hearted, and dare not plunge in.
    But the dark, rolling river, though deep as the sea,
    I know cannot scare you, nor keep you from me;
    For stout is your back, and strong is your arm,
    And the heart in your bosom is faithful and warm.
    Come over, come over the river to me,
    If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree!
    I see him! I see him! He's plunged in the tide!
    His strong arms are dashing the big waves aside.
    Oh! the dark, rolling water shoots swift as the sea,
    But blithe is the glance of his bonnie blue e'e;
    His cheeks are like roses, twa buds on a bough,--
    Who says ye're faint-hearted, my brave laddie, now?
    Ho, ho! foaming river, ye may roar as ye go;
    But ye canna bear Charlie to the dark loch below.
    Come over, come over the river to me,
    My true-hearted laddie, _my_ Charlie Machree!
    He's sinking! he's sinking! Oh, what shall I do!
    Strike out, Charlie, boldly, ten strokes, and ye're through.
    He's sinking, oh, Heaven! Ne'er fear, man, ne'er fear:
    I've a kiss for ye, Charlie, as soon as ye're here!
    He rises: I see him--five strokes, Charlie, mair--
    He's shaking the wet from his bonnie brown hair;
    He conquers the current, he gains on the sea.
    Ho, where is the swimmer like Charlie Machree!
    Come over the river, but once come to me,
    And I'll love ye forever, dear Charlie Machree!
    He's sinking! he's gone! O God! it is I,
    It is I who have killed him! Help! help!--he must die.
    Help! help! Ah! he rises! Strike out, and ye're free!
    Ho, bravely done, Charlie, once more, now, for me!
    Now cling to the rock, now give me your hand,--
    Ye're safe, dearest Charlie, ye're safe on the land!
    Come rest on my bosom, if there ye can sleep:
    I canna speak to ye; I only can weep.
    Ye've crossed the wild river, ye've risked all for me,
    And I'll part frae ye never, dear Charlie Machree!

                                      WILLIAM J. HOPPIN.




A DUTCHMAN'S DOLLY VARDEN.


Vell, mine freund, you know dat I hav on my het dat leedle bump der
frenollogiggers say dat I hav great like for de ladies, aind it? Vell,
I vas goin' down de shtreet der tay after yesterday, und ven I comes to
der blace vat dey calls der corner, so der shtreet mit anoder shtreet
makes a nice leetle cross oder der leetle saw-buck, you know vat dat
is? So soon I comes to der blace, vot you tink? A nice leetle poy mit
great many papers in der hand goes by, and shust so soon as he goes by
he gifs me von leetle paper mitout notings. But it vas padder as vorse
vot I took dot leetle paper, and den I goes and makes me von mineself
von great pig fool. Vat you tink I on dot paper find,--you no guess dot
in twelve tousand year. I dell you vot I see on dot. It vas like diss:
"Come und see your Dolly Varden. She is lovely; she is putiful; she is
rich! You can she hav for most notings." Den der leetle paper gives der
number von der shtreet vare I could she find. It vas said Mr. Shteward,
py Proatvay oud. So soon I reads dot petter as goot, mine heart makes
me von pitty-pat, knock-knock. You know vat dat is. I no more knows
vare I lif, oder var I vas goin'. Dolly Varden! She vas rich; she vas
lovely; she vas putiful; und Dolly, dot vas shust so nice names, aind
it? Und der leetle poy dat me dot paper gives, made he on dot paper say
dot I can she hav for most notings. Der firsht ding vot mine eye come
against vas von dose leetle shticks mit der great American flag round
him, vot says dot dere viskers be taken off dere, und der hair be so
bright and shining made, also der placking boots. Denn I goes right
dere, und I pays dot man fifteen cent--fifteen cent! mind you dot! vile
dot he make mine hair der vay vot I shpeak von. Den, mit mine het up,
feeling dot I shust so pig as Carl Schurz, I goes after der shtreet for
to git me mine Dolly Varden. I vonders so soon I comes to der blace und
sees der pig shtore shop of Mister Shteward, vedder or not she owns all
dot nice buildings. Anoder leetle poy opens dot door so nicely, unt
he looks me in der face so shmilings dot I tinks praps it vos Dolly's
brudder; und mine heart he goes so hot like fire; most like der pig,
plazing Shecawgo fire. Und I says to der poy, so shweet I could, you
know, "You hav der sister here, aint it?" Denn der poy he look me mit
vonder, und he make dot het go so, like dot. I shpeaks no more mit
der poy, but I goes to der shtand, vare I sees von fine gentleman, und
I says, "I vould dot young lady see, vot der leetle poy givs me paper
von."--"Vot is dot?" says der shentlemans. Denn I says, "I vants mine
Dolly Varden!" Und der man says, "Dolly Varden! come dis vay ven you
blease." Und I follows dot man mit mine heart full von great tremblings
unt joy put togedder, shust like der apple und meat in der mince-pie.
Put vat is dot he do now? He go und show me a leetle piece von cloth,
mit great many putiful color. Denn I say, "You nixverstay me. I no vant
to see her dress. I vould see Dolly Varden she self." Dere goes more
vunder donn der poy hat over der face von der shentlemans, und he say,
"Dis is Dolly Varden." Denn I say, "Dolly Varden! Dolly Varden! Oh! I
no vant such voomans as dot." Und mine mind runs vay mit mine het, unt
mine het runs vay mit mine bodies, und mine bodies runs vay mit mine
feet, und der shtore is vay on der odder side von me. Und ven I see
again on der shtreet dot leetle poy I vould him pants make varm for dot
he gif me so much heart-ache.

Und denn ven I tinks on vot I pees und vat I used to vas, I feels
I trow fifteen cent avay mitout sufficient cause. Den I feels mit
mineselfs so mad to trow avays fifteen cents--tree glass lager--for
notinks, dat I go very queeck and trown mineself in de try-tock, till I
vas vashit ashore mit a bar of soft-soap.

                                                              ANONYMOUS.




THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA-POWDER.

A FAVORITE COMIC RECITATION.


    A Frenchman once--so runs a certain ditty--
    Had crossed the Straits to famous London city
    To get a living by the arts of France,
    And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance.
    But, lacking pupils, vain was all his skill:
    His fortunes sank from low to lower still.
    Until at last,--pathetic to relate,--
    Poor monsieur landed at starvation's gate.
    Standing one day beside a cook-shop door,
    And gazing in, with aggravation sore,
    He mused within himself what he should do
    To fill his empty maw, and pocket too.
    By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan,
    And thus to execute it straight began.
    A piece of common brick he quickly found,
    And with a harder stone to powder ground;
    Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece
    Of paper, labelled "Poison for de Fleas,"
    And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try,
    To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy.
    From street to street he cried with lusty yell,
    "Here's grand and sovereign _flea-poudare_ to sell!"
    And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last,
    For soon a woman hailed him as he passed;
    Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot,
    And made him five crowns richer on the spot.
    Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale,
    Went into business on a larger scale;
    And soon, throughout all London, scattered he
    The "only genuine poudare for de flea."
    Engaged one morning in his new vocation
    Of mingled boasting and dissimulation,
    He thought he heard himself in anger called;
    And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled--
    In not a mild or very tender mood--
    From the same window where before she stood.
    "Hey, there," said she, "you Monsher Powder-man!
    Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can.
    I'll let you dirty, thieving Frenchmen know
    That decent people won't be cheated so."
    Then spoke monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
    With humble attitude and tearful eye:
    "Ah, madame! s'il vous plait, attendez vous,
    I vill dis leetle ting _explain_ to you.
    My poudare gran'! magnifique! why abuse him?
    Aha! I show you _how to use him_,
    First, you must wait until you _catch de flea_;
    Den tickle he on de petite rib, you see;
    And when he laugh--aha! he ope his throat;
    Den _poke de poudare down_!--BEGAR! HE CHOKE."




THE FRENCHMAN AND THE SHEEP'S TROTTERS.

A CELEBRATED COMIC RECITATION.


    A monsieur from the Gallic shore,
      Who, though not over-rich, wished to appear so,
    Came over in a ship with friends a score--
      Poor emigrants, whose wealth, good lack!
      Dwelt only on their ragged backs--
    Who thought him rich: they'd heard _him_ oft declare so,
      For he was proud as Satan's self,
      And often bragged about his pelf;
        And as a proof--the least
      That he could give--he promised when on land,
      At the first inn, in style so grand,
        To give _a feast_!
    The Frenchmen jumped at such an offer.
    Monsieur did not forget his proffer;
      But at the first hotel on shore,
        They stopped to lodge and board.
    The Frenchman ordered in his way
    A dinner to be done that day;
      But here occurred a grievous bore:--
    Monsieur of English knew but little.
    Tapps of French knew not a tittle.
    In ordering dinner, therefore, 'tis no wonder
    That they should make a blunder.
    Whether the landlord knew, or no,
    The sequel of my tale will show.
    He blundered, and it cannot be denied,
    To some small disadvantage on his side.
      The order seemed immense to Boniface:
        But more the expense, to him the greater fun;
    For all that from the order he could trace,
        Was,--"Messieur Bull, you lettee me have, I say,
        Vich for vid cash, I sal you pay,
          _Fifteen of those vid vich the sheep do run_!"
        From which old Tapps could only understand
          (But whether right or wrong, cared not a button),
        That what monsieur desired, with air so grand,
          _Was fifteen legs of mutton_!
    "A dinner most enormous!" cried the elf.
    "Zounds! each must eat a leg, near, to himself!"
    However, they seemed a set of hungry curs;
    And so, without more bother or demurs,
    Tapps to his cook his orders soon expressed,
    And fifteen legs of mutton quick were dressed.
    And now around the table all elate,
    The Frenchman's friends the dinner doth await.
    Joy sparkled in each hungry urchin's eyes,
    When they beheld, with glad surprise,
    Tapps quick appear with leg of mutton hot,
    Smoking, and just ejected from the pot!
    Laughed, stared, and chuckled more and more,
    When _two_ they saw, then _three_, then _four_!
    And then a _fifth_ their eager glances blessed,
    And then a _sixth_, larger than all the rest!
      But soon the Frenchman's countenance did change,
        To see the legs of mutton on the table.
          Surprise and rage by turns
          In his face burns,
      While Tapps the table did arrange
        As nice as he was able.
        And while the Frenchmen for the feast prepared,
        Thus, in a voice that quite the landlord scared,
                      Our hero said,--
    "Mon Dieu, monsieur! vy for you make
    Dis vera great blundare and mistake?
    Vy for you bring to me dese mouton legs?"
    Tapps with a bow his pardon begs:--
    "I've done as you have ordered, sir," said he.
    "Did you not order _fifteen legs_ of me?
    _Six_ of which before your eyes appear,
    And _nine besides_ are nearly done down-stair!
    Here, John!"--"Go, hang you, Jean! you fool! you ass!
    You one great clown to bring me to dis pass:
    Take vay dis meat, for vich I sall no pay.
    I did no order dat."--"What's that you say?"
    Tapps answered with a frown and with a stare,
    "You ordered fifteen legs of me, I'll swear,
    Or _fifteen things with which the sheep do run_,
    Which _means the same_:--I'm not so easy done."
    "Parbleu, monsieur! vy you no comprehend?
      You may take back de legs unto de pot:
    I telle you, sare, 'tis not de legs I vant,
      But _dese here leetel tings vid vich de sheep do trot_!"
    "Why, hang it!" cried the landlord in a rage,
    Which monsieur vainly tried to assuage,
    "Hang it!" said he, as to the door he totters:
      "Now, after all the trouble that I took,
      These legs of mutton both to buy and cook,
        It seems instead of _fifteen legs,
    You merely wanted fifteen poor sheep's trotters_!"




I VANT TO FLY.

A HUMOROUS RECITATION.--FRENCH DIALECT.


Shortly before the conclusion of the war with Napoleon, there were a
number of French officers in an inland town on their parole of honor.
Now, one gentleman being tired with the usual routine of eating,
drinking, gambling, smoking, etc., therefore, in order to amuse himself
otherwise, resolved to go a-fishing. His host supplied him with rod
and line, but, being in want of artificial flies, he went in search
of a fishing-tackle maker's shop. Having found one, kept by a plain,
painstaking John Bull, our Frenchman entered, and with a bow, a cringe,
and a shrug of the shoulders, thus began:--

"Ah, Monsieur Anglais! comment vous portez-vous?"

"Eh! that's French," exclaimed the shopkeeper; "not that I understand
it, but I'm very well, if that's what you mean."

"Bon, bon, ver good; den, sare, I sall tell you, I vant deux fly."

"I dare say you do, mounseer," replied the Englishman, "and so do a
great many more of your outlandish gentry; but I'm a true-born Briton,
and can never consent to assist the enemies of my country to leave it,
particularly when they cost us so much to bring them here."

"Ah, monsieur, you no comprehend! I shall repeate, I vant deux fly, on
the top of de vater."

"Oh! what, you want to fly by water, do you? then I'm sure I can't
assist you; for we are at least a hundred miles from the seacoast, and
our canal is not navigable above ten or twelve miles from here."

"Diable! sare, you are un stup of the block. I sall tell you once seven
times over again--I vant deux fly on the top of de vater, to dingle
dangle at the end of de long pole."

"Ay, ay! you only fly, mounseer, by land or water, and if they catch
you, I'll be hanged if they won't dingle dangle you, as you call it, at
the end of a long pole."

"Sacre un de Dieu! la blas! vat you mean by dat, enfer diable? you are
un bandit jack of de ass, Johnny de Bull. Ba, ba, you are effrontee,
and I disgrace me to parley vid you! I tell you, sare, dat I vant deux
fly on the top of de vater, to dingle dangle at the end of the long
pole, to la trap poisson."

"What's that you say, you French mounseer--you'll lay a trap to poison
me and all my family, because I won't assist you to escape? why, the
like was never heard. Here, Betty, go for the constable."

The constable soon arrived, who happened to be as ignorant as the
shopkeeper; and of course, it was not expected that a constable should
be a scholar. Thus the man of office began:--

"What's all this? Betty has been telling me that this here outlandish
Frenchman is going to poison you and all your family! Ay, ay, I
should like to catch him at it, that's all! Come, come to prison, you
delinquent."

"No, sare, I sall not go to de prison; take me before de what you call
it--de ting that nibble de grass?"

"Nibble grass? You mean sheep?"

"No, I mean de--de"--

"Oh, you mean the cow!"

"No, sare, not de cow; you stup Johnny bœuf--I mean de cheval, vat you
ride. [Imitating.] Come, sare, gee up. Ah, ha!"

"Oh, now I know! you mean a horse."

"No, sare, I mean de horse's vife."

"What, the mare?"

"Oui, bon, yes, sare; take me to de mayor."

This request was complied with; and the French officer soon stood
before the English magistrate, who, by chance, happened to be better
informed than his neighbors, and thus explained the dilemma of the
unfortunate Frenchman, to the satisfaction of all parties:--

"You have mistaken the intention of this honest gentleman: he did not
want to fly the country, but to go a-fishing, and for that purpose
went to your shop to purchase two flies, by way of bait, or, as he
expressed it, to la trap la poisson. Poisson, in French, is fish."

"Why, ay," replied the shopkeeper, "that may be true, you are a
scholard, and so you know better than I. Poison: in French, may be very
good fish, but give me good old English roast beef."




THE FRENCHMAN'S MISTAKE.

FRENCH DIALECT RECITATION.


Not long since, a sober, middle-aged gentleman was quietly dozing in
one of our railroad-trains, when his pleasant, drowsy meditations were
suddenly interrupted by the sharp voice of the individual by his side.
This was no less a personage than a dandified, hot-blooded, inquisitive
Frenchman, who raised his hairy visage close to that of the gentleman
he addressed.

"Pardonnez, sare; but vat you do viz ze pictair--_hein_?"

As he spoke, monsieur pointed to some beautiful steel-plate engravings
in frames, which the quiet gentleman held in his lap, and which suited
the fancy of the little French connoisseur precisely.

The quiet gentleman looked at the inquisitive foreigner with a scowl
which he meant to be very forbidding, and made no reply. The Frenchman,
nothing daunted, once more approached his hairy visage into that of his
companion, and repeated the question:--

"Vat you do viz ze pictair--_hein_?"

"I am taking them to Salem," replied the quiet gentleman gruffly.

"Ha! you take 'em to sell 'em!" chimed in the shrill voice of the
Frenchman. "I be glad of zat, by gar! I like ze pictair. I buy 'em of
you, sare. Mow much you ask?"

"They are not for sale," replied the sleepy gentleman, more thoroughly
awake, by the by, and not a little irritated.

"_Hein_?" grunted monsieur in astonishment. "Vat you say, sare?"

"I say I don't want to sell the pictures!" cried the other, at the top
of his voice.

"By gar! _c'est drole_!" exclaimed the Frenchman, his eye beginning to
flash with passion. "It is one strange circumstance, _parbleu_! I ask
you vat you do viz ze pictair, and you say you take 'em to sell 'em,
and zen you vill not sell 'em! Vat you mean, sare--_hein_?"

"I mean what I say," replied the other sharply. "I don't want to sell
the engravings, and I didn't say I did."

"_Morbleu!_" sputtered monsieur, in a tone loud enough to attract
the attention of those of his fellow-travellers who were not already
listening; "_morbleu_! you mean to say I 'ave not any ear? _Non_,
monsieur, by gar I hear ver' well vat you tell me. You say you sell ze
pictair. Is it because I one Frenchman, zat you will not sell me ze
pictair?"

The irritated gentleman, hoping to rid himself of the annoyance, turned
his back upon his assailant, and made no reply.

But monsieur was not to be put off thus. He laid his hand on the
shoulder of the other, and, showing his small white teeth, exclaimed,--

"_Sacristie!_ monsieur, zis is too muche. You've give me one insult,
and I shall 'ave satisfaction." Still no reply. "By gar, monsieur,"
continued the Frenchman, "you are not one gentleman. I shall call you
one _poltroon_--vat you call 'em?--coward!"

"What do you mean?" retorted the other, afraid the affair was beginning
to get serious. "I haven't insulted you, sir."

"Pardonnez, monsieur; but it is one grand insult! In America, perhaps
not; but in France, one blow your brains out."

"For what, pray?"

"For vat? _Parbleu!_ you call me one _menteur_--how you speak
'em--liar? you call me one liar? you call me one liar?"

"Oh, no, sir! You misunderstood"--

"No, by gar! I've got ears. You say you vill sell ze pictair; and ven I
tell you vat you say, you say ze contrarie--zat is not so!"

"But I didn't tell you I would sell the pictures," remonstrated the
man with the engravings, beginning to feel alarmed at the passion
manifested by the other. "You misunderstood"--

"I tell you no! It is not posseebl'! Ven I ask you vat you do viz ze
pictair, vat you say?"

"I said I was taking them to Salem."

"Yes, _parbleu_!" exclaimed monsieur, more angry than ever: "you say
you take 'em to sell 'em"--

"No, no!" interrupted the other, "not to _sell them_, but _Salem_--the
city of Salem."

"Ze city of Sell 'em!" exclaimed the Frenchman, amid the roars of
laughter that greeted his ears. "_Sacristie!_ Zat is one grand mistake.
Pardon, monsieur! _Que je suis bête!_ Ze city of Sell 'em? Ha, ha!
I vill remember zat, by gar!" And he stroked his mustache with his
fingers, while the man with the engravings once more gave way to his
drowsy inclinations.




"TWO TOLLAR?"


[From the Detroit Free Press.]

There was a slight blaze on the roof of a house on Russell Street a
few days ago; and when the insurance adjusters went up to make their
survey, they found that about two dollars would cover all the loss.

"Two tollar!" exclaimed the owner when he heard the decision--"I can't
take no two tollar."

"But you see for yourself that a dozen shingles and an hour's work will
make good all damages."

"Gentlemens, you doan' put me off like dot. Vhen my vhife finds dot ve
vhas on fire, she screams boleece und murder, und falls down-shtairs.
Vould you let your vhife fall down-shtairs for dot sum? If so, I goes
home mit you und sees der fun."

"We do not insure husbands and wives, but buildings," was the reply.

"I know; but mein oldest poy, he runs for der fire-box, und falls a
picket-fence-oafer, und breaks his good clothes all to pieces. Two
tollar! Dot doan' bay me for goming oop here."

"Yes, but we can only pay for actual damages."

"Dot's all I vhant. Who stole my dog ven my house vhas on fire? Dot dog
ish gone, und he vhas ten tollar wort."

"We didn't insure the dog."

"Und maybe you don't insure dem poys who set on der fence und called
out, 'Dot ole Dutchman's red nose has set his house on fire!' Do you
oxpect I take such sass like dot for two tollar? Und vhen the firemens
come here dey break mein clothes-line down mit der ladders, und dey
spill wasser all oafer my carpets. Two tollar! Vhell, vhell! you go
right avhay from here, und I takes dot old insurance bolicy und steps
him into der mud!"




A FRENCHMAN ON MACBETH.


An enthusiastic French student of Shakspeare thus comments on the
tragedy of Macbeth:--

"Ah! your Mossieu' Shak-es-pier! He is
gr-r-aand--mysterieuse--sooblime! You 'ave reads ze Macabess--ze scene
of Mossieu' Macabess vis ze Vitch--eh? Superb sublimitee! W'en he say
to ze Vitch, 'Ar-r-roynt ye, Vitch!' she go away; but what she say
when she go away? She say she will do s'omesing dat aves got no naame!
Ah, ha! she say, 'I go, like ze r-r-aa-t vizout ze tail, but I'll do!
I'll do!' W'at she do? Ah, haviola le graand, mysterieuse Mossieu'
Shak-es-pier! She not say what she do!"

This was "grand," to be sure; but the prowess of Macbeth, in his "bout"
with Macduff, awakens all the mercurial Frenchman's martial ardor:--

"Mossieu' Macabess, he see him come, clos' by: he say (proud
empressement), 'Come-o-o-n, Mossieu' Macduffs, and d----d be he who
first say enuffs!' Zen zey fi-i-ght-moche. Ah, ha! voila! Mossieu'
Macabess, vis his br-r-ight r-r-apier, 'pink' him, vat you call, in
his body. He 'ave gots mal d'estomac: he say, vis grand simplicite,
'Enoffs!' What for he say 'Enoffs'? 'Cause he got enoffs--plaanty: and
he expire r-right away, mediately, pretty quick! Ah, mes amis, Mossieu'
Shak-es-pier is rising man in La Belle France!"

                                                              ANONYMOUS.




LIKE MOTHER USED TO MAKE.


    "I was born in Indiany," said a stranger lank and slim,
    As us fellers in the restaurant was kind o' guyin' him,
    And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another pun'kin pie
    And a extra cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye,--
    "I was born in Indiany, more'n forty year ago;
    And I hain't been back in twenty, and I'm workin' back'ards slow;
    "But I've et in every restarunt 'twixt here and Santa Fee,
    And I want to state, this coffee tastes like gittin' home to me!
    "Pour us out another, daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
    A-speakin' 'crost a saucerful, as uncle tuck his cup.
    "When I seed yer sign out yender," he went on to uncle Jake,--
    "'Come in and git some coffee like your mother used to make,'--
    I thought of my old mother and the Posey-county farm,
    And me a little kid agin', a-hangin' on her arm;
    And she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs, and poured 'em in"--
    And the feller kind o' halted with a trimble in his chin.
    And uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
    As solemn, for a minute, as a undertaker would.

    Then he sort o' turned, and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen-door; and next,
    Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs;
    And she rushes for the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!
    Thank God, we've met him comin'! Don't you know your mother, Jim?"
    And the feller, as he grabbed her, says, "You bet I hain't forgot."
    But, wipin' of his eyes, says he, "Your coffee's mighty hot."

                    _James Whitcomb Riley, in New-York Mercury._




JOHN CHINAMAN'S PROTEST.


    Melican man no wantee John Chinaman ally mo':
      He no slay, "John, you velly good washee."
    Not muchee: he slay, "John, I wipee flo'
      Withee you if mo' comee this countlee."
                    What fo'
                    Melican man
                    No wantee
                    John Chinaman
                    Ally mo'?

    John Chinaman he no gettee dlunk heap:
      He mind his own washee, washee,
    Alle dayee long, and takee sleep,
      Boil watel fo'--wat you call him?--oh, hashee!
                      What fo'
                      Melican man
                      No wantee
                      John Chinaman
                      Ally mo'?

    John Chinaman he no punchee head much;
      He no, like Melican man, say "Hellee!"
    He usee sloap, watel, sclubbin'-blush,
      Ebly dayee to help fillee bellee.
                      What fo'
                      Melican man
                      No wantee
                      John Chinaman
                      Ally mo'?

    John Chinaman he vellee pool man;
      He no have timee to fool away;
    He workee allee dayee fast he can:
      He no workee, he no gettee pay.
                      What fo'
                      Melican man
                      No wantee
                      John Chinaman
                      Ally mo'?

    John Chinaman no loafee lound the sleets;
      He workee hald fo' makee livin':
    He washee collals, shirtee, cuffee, sheets;
      He do no beggin' or no t'iefin.
                      What fo'
                      Melican man
                      No wantee
                      John Chinaman
                      Ally mo'?

    John Chinaman he havee no votee:
      Is that leason why he no wantee here?
    He no go lound 'lection day, and shoutee,
      Fightee evelybody smokee cigal, or dlink beer.
                      What fo'
                      Melican man
                      No wantee
                      John Chinaman
                      Ally mo'?

                                                    M. F. D.




THE WHISTLER.


    "You have heard,"--said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood
    While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline,--
    "You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood:
    I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine."

    "And what would you do with it? Tell me," she said,
    While an arch smile played over her beautiful face.
    "I would blow it," he answered; "and then my fair maid
    Would fly to my side, and would there take her place."

    "Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours
    Without any magic!" the fair maiden cried:
    "A favor so slight one's good-nature secures;"
    And she playfully seated herself by his side.

    "I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the charm
    Would work so, that not even modesty's check
    Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm."
    She smiled; and she laid her white arm round his neck.

    "Yet once more I would blow; and the music divine
    Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss,--
    You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine:
    And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."

    The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee,--
    "What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make!
    For only consider how silly 'twould be
    To sit there and whistle for what you might take."




MOTHER'S DOUGHNUTS.


                            EL DORADO, 1851.

    I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys,
      'N' feelin' kind o' blue,
    I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch,"
      Ter find out what wuz new;
    When I seen this sign a-hangin'
      On a shanty by the lake:
    "Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts
      Like yer mother used ter make."

    I've seen a grizzly show his teeth;
      I've seen Kentucky Pete
    Draw out his shooter, 'n' advise
      A "tenderfoot" ter treat;
    But nothin' ever tuk me down
      'N' made my benders shake,
    Like that sign about the doughnuts
      That my mother used ter make.

    A sort o' mist shut out the ranch;
      'N' standin' thar instead,
    I seen an old white farmhouse,
      With its doors all painted red.
    A whiff came through the open door--
      Wuz I sleepin', or awake?
    The smell wuz that of doughnuts
      Like my mother used ter make.

    The bees wuz hummin' round the porch,
      Whar honeysuckles grew;
    A yellow dish of apple-sass
      Wuz sittin' thar in view;
    'N' on the table, by the stove,
      An old-time "johnny-cake,"
    'N' a platter full of doughnuts
      Like my mother used ter make.

    A patient form I seemed ter see,
      In tidy dress of black:
    I almost thought I heard the words,
      "When will my boy come back?"
    'N' then--the old sign creaked; but now
      It was the boss who spake:
    "Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts
      Like yer mother used ter make."

    Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;
      'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,
    I ruther think I'll pack my kit,
      Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.
    I'll make the old folks jubilant;
      'N' if I don't mistake,
    I'll try some o' them doughnuts
      Like my mother used ter make.

                               _Charles Follen Adams._




OVER THE LEFT.


    Their deposits were _left over night_ in the bank,--
      In a bank without whisper of fault:
    The amounts to their credit were placed on the books,
      And were left over night in the vault.

    _To their credit_, I say it, the bank was locked tight,
      Guarding thus against fire and theft;
    A patrol on the walk, and a new 'lectric light,
      Throwing beams to the _right_ and the _left_.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Just here the cashier he _left over night_,
      Taking all but the house and the soil;
    And the _long_ and the _short_ of the story is this,--
      He was _too long_ of stocks--_short_ of oil.

    A receiver was called, and he looked o'er the wreck,
      And _received_ those who called--thus bereft.
    "_Have you nothing left over?_" they timidly ask:
      He answers, "_Yes, over the left_."

                                                      _W. C. Dornin._




A JOLLY FAT FRIAR.


    A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store,
      And he had drunk stoutly at supper;
    He mounted his horse in the night at the door,
      And he sat with his face at the crupper.
    "Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to remorse,
      Some thief, whom a halter will throttle,
    Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse
      While I was engaged at the bottle,
    Which went gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."

    The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale,
      'Twas the friar's road home straight and level;
    But when spurred a horse follows his nose, not his tail,
      So he scampered due north like the devil.
    "This new mode of docking," the friar then said,
      "I perceive doesn't make a horse trot ill;
    And 'tis cheap--for he never can eat off his head
      While I am engaged at the bottle,
    Which goes gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."

    The steed made a stop--in a pond he had got:
      He was rather for drinking than grazing;
    Quoth the friar, "'Tis strange, headless horses should trot;
      But to drink with their tails is amazing!"
    Turning round to see whence this phenomenon rose,
      In the pond fell this son of a pottle.
    Quoth he, "The head's found, for I'm under his nose;
      I wish I were over a bottle,
    Which goes gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."

                                          ANONYMOUS.




THE ENOCH OF CALAVERAS.


    "Well, dog my cats! Say, stranger,
      You must have travelled far!
    Just flood your lower level
      And light a fresh cigar.
    Don't tell me in this weather!
      You hoofed it all the way?
    Well, slice my liver lengthwise!
      Why, stranger, what's to pay?

    "Huntin' yer wife, you tell me:
      Well, now dog-gone my skin!
    She thought you dead and buried
      And then bestowed her tin
    Upon another fellow!
      Just put it here, old pard!
    Some fellows strike the soft things,
      But you have hit it hard.

    "I'm right onto your feelin's,
      I know how it would be,
    If my own shrub slopped over
      And got away from me.
    Say, stranger; that old sage hen,
      That's cookin' thar inside,
    Is warranted the finest wool,
      And just a square yard wide.

    "I wouldn't hurt yer, pardner,
      But I tell _you_, no man
    Was ever blessed as I am
      With that old pelican.
    It's goin' on some two year
      Since she was j'ined to me,
    She was a widder prior,
      Her name was Sophy Lee--

    "Good God! Old man, what's happened?
      Her? She? Is that the one?
    That's her? Your wife, you tell me?
      Now reach down fer yer gun,
    I never injured no man,
      And no man me, but squealed,
    And any one who takes her
      Must do it d--d well heeled!

    "Listen? Surely. Certainly
      I'll let you look at her.
    Peek through the door, she's in thar,
      Is that your furnitur'?
    Speak, man, quick! You're mistaken!
      No! Yours! You recognize
    My wife, your wife the same one?
      The man who says so, lies!

    "Don't mind what I say, pardner,
      I'm not much on the gush,
    But this thing comes down on me
      Like fours upon a flush.
    If that's your wife--hold--steady!
      That bottle. Now, my coat,
    She'll think me dead as you were.
      My pipe. Thar. I'm afloat.

    "But let me leave a message.
      No; tell her that I died,
    No, no; not that way, either,
      Just tell her that I cried.
    It don't rain much. Now, pardner,
      Be to her what I've been.
    Or by the God that hates you,
      You'll see me back again!"

                                    F. BRET HARTE.




CURLY-HEAD.


    What are yer askin', stranger, about that lock o' har
    That's kep' so nice and keerful in the family Bible thar?
    Wal, then, I don't mind tellin', seein' as yer wants ter know.
    It's from the head of our baby. Yes, that's him.--Stand up, Joe.

    Joe is our only baby, nigh on ter six foot tall;
    And he'll be one-and-twenty comin' this next fall.
    But he can't yet beat his daddy in the hay-field or the swales,
    A-pitchin' on the wagon, or splittin' up the rails.

    For I was a famous chopper, jest eighteen year ago,
    When this strange thing happened, that came to me and Joe.
    Curly-head we called him then, sir--his hair is curly yet,
    But them long silky ringlets I never shall forget.

    Them was tough times, stranger, when all around was new,
    And all the kentry forests, with only "blazes" through.
    We lived in the old log-house then, Sally and me and Joe,
    In the old Black-river country, whar we made our clearin' show.

    Wal, one day I was choppin' nigh to our cabin door,--
    A day that I'll remember till kingdom come and more,--
    And Curly-head was playin' around among the chips;
    A beauty, if I do say it, with rosy cheeks and lips.

    I don't know how it happened; but quicker'n I can tell,
    Our Curly-head had stumbled, and lay thar whar he fell
    On the log that I was choppin', with his yellow curls outspread;
    And the heavy axe was fallin' right on his precious head;

    The next thing, I knew nothin', and all was dark around.
    When I come to, I was lyin' stretched out thar on the ground;
    And Curly-head was callin', "O daddy, don't do so!"
    I caught him to my bosom, my own dear little Joe.

    All safe, sir. Not a sliver had touched his little head;
    But one of his curls was lyin' thar on the log outspread.
    It lay whar the axe was stickin', cut close by its sharpened edge;
    And what then was my feelin's, per'aps, sir, you can jedge.

    I took the little ringlet, and pressed it to my lips;
    Then I kneeled down and prayed, sir, right thar on the chips.
    We put it in the Bible, whar I often read to Joe,--
    "The hairs of your head are numbered;" and, sir, I believe it's so.

                                              _B. S. Brooks._




WARNING TO WOMAN.


"John," said Mrs. Sanscript to her husband one evening last week,
"I've been reading the paper."--"That's nothin'," grunted John:
"I've seen people before who read newspapers."--"Yes; but there are
several things in the paper I can't understand."--"Then don't read
'em."--"What do they mean by the strike, John? What is a strike,
anyhow?"--"A strike is where they have struck;" and Sanscript knocked
the ashes from his cigar. "I don't grasp your meaning exactly," said
Mrs. Sanscript, with a puzzled look. "Now, these strikers have stopped
all the railroad-trains in the country. Why did they do it?"--"To
prevent 'em from running."--"Yes, but why didn't they want trains
to run?"--"Because they wanted more money for running them."--"Do
they pay more for stopping trains than for running them?"--"No, you
stupid woman!"--"Then why in the world did they stop 'em? why didn't
they run more of 'em, or run 'em faster? Seems to me that would pay
better."--"Mary Ann, you will never surround the problem."--"Maybe
not, John. Some things are gotten up purposely to bother women. Now
here is a column headed 'Base-Ball.' What is base-ball, John?"--"Don't
you know what base-ball is? Happy woman! you have not lived in
vain."--"Here it says that 'The Hartfords could not collar Cumming's
curves.' What under the sun are Cumming's curves?"--"It's the way he
delivers the ball."--"Is the ball chained?"--"No, you booby!"--"Then
how does he deliver it?"--"I mean, pitches it."--"Oh! Now here it
says Jones muffed a ball after a hard run. What was a ball doing
after a hard run?"--"Hadn't you better confine your research to the
obituary and marriage columns, Mary, with an occasional advertisement
thrown in to vary the monotony?"--"Yes, but, John, I want to know!
There's Mrs. Racket, over the way, who goes to all the base-ball
games, and comes home to talk me blind about 'fly fouls,' 'base hits,'
'sky-scrapers,' and all those things. For heaven's sake, John, what
is a sky-scraper?"--"Compose yourself, old woman. You are treading on
dangerous ground; your feet are on slippery rocks, while raging billows
roll beneath."--"Mercy on me! What do you mean?"--"I mean, my dear
madam, that whenever a woman begins to pry about among three strikes,
fair balls, base hits, daisy cutters, home runs, and kindred subjects,
she's in danger of being lost."--"Well, I confess I'm completely lost
to know what this newspaper means when it says Addy stole a base, while
the spectators applauded. Have we come to such a pass that society
will applaud a theft? Why wasn't Addy arrested? Now here's Manning put
out by Start, assisted by Carey, and I can't see that he did any thing
wrong, either. Jemima Christopher! Here it says that Pike flew out.
I don't believe a word of it. I never saw a man fly yet, and I won't
believe it can be done till I see it with my own eyes. John, what makes
these newspaper men lie so horribly?"

John was asleep; and Mrs. Sanscript turned gloomily, not to say
sceptically, to the letter-list for information. Newspapers were not
made for women.




AN EXCITING CONTEST.


We have doubts about the following story, which comes to us from the
interior; but the author is responsible for what he says, and his name
can be obtained upon application at this office.

Last winter two of my neighbors, Mr. Miller and Mr. Grant, lost their
wives upon the same day; and both of the funerals took place three days
afterwards, the interments being made at the cemetery about the same
hour. As the two funeral parties were coming out of the burying-ground,
Miller met Grant; and, clasping each other's hand, they indulged in a
sympathetic squeeze, and the following conversation ensued:--

_Miller._ "I'm sorry for you. It's an unspeakable loss, isn't it?"

_Grant._ "Awful! She was the best woman that ever lived."

_Miller._ "She was, indeed. I never met her equal. She was a good wife
to me."

_Grant._ "I was referring to my wife. There couldn't be two best, you
know."

_Miller._ "Yes, I know. I know well enough that your wife couldn't hold
a candle to mine."

_Grant._ "She couldn't, hey? Couldn't hold a candle! Why, she could
dance all round Mrs. Miller every day in the week, including Sundays,
and not half try! She was an unmitigated angel, take her any way you
would."

_Miller._ "Oh! she was, was she? Well, I don't want to be personal; but
if I owned a cross-eyed angel with red hair and no teeth, and as bony
as an omnibus-horse, I'd kill her if she didn't die of her own accord.
Dance!--how could a woman dance that had feet like candle-boxes, and
lame at that?"

_Grant._ "Better be cross-eyed than wear the kind of a red nose that
your wife flourished around this community. I bet it'll burn a hole
through the coffin-lid. And you pretend you're sorry she's gone. But
you can't impose on me: I know you're so glad you can hardly hold in.
She was the chuckle-headedest woman that ever disgraced a graveyard:
that's what _she_ was."

_Miller._ "If you abuse my wife, I'll knock you down."

_Grant._ "I'd like to see you try it."

Then the two disconsolate widowers engaged in a hand-to-hand combat;
and, after tussling a while in the snow, the mourners pulled them
apart, just as Mr. Miller was about to insist upon his wife's virtues
by biting off Mr. Grant's nose.

When they got home, Mr. Grant tied crape upon all his window-shutters
to show how deeply he mourned; and, as Miller knew that his grief for
Mrs. Miller was deeper, he not only decorated his shutters, but he
fixed five yards of black bombazine on the bell-pull, and dressed his
whole family in mourning. Then Grant determined that his duty to the
departed was not to let himself be beaten by a man who couldn't feel
any genuine sorrow: so he sewed a black flag on his lightning-rod, and
festooned the front of his house with black alpaca.

Then Miller became excited; and he expressed his sense of bereavement
by painting his dwelling black, and by putting up a monument to Mrs.
Miller in his front-yard. Grant thereupon stained his yellow horse
with lampblack, tied crape to his cow's horn, daubed his dog with
ink, and began to wipe his nose on a black handkerchief. As soon as
Miller saw these proceedings, he spread a layer of charcoal all over
his front-yard, he assumed a black shirt, he corked the faces of his
family when they went to church, and he hired a colored man to stand on
his steps and cry for twelve hours every day. Just as Grant was about
to see this, and go it one better, he encountered Miss Lang, a young
lady from the city; and in a couple of weeks they were engaged. Then he
began to take in the evidences of his grief; and this made Miller so
mad, that he went around and proposed to Miss Jones, an old maid who
never had an offer before. She accepted him on the spot; and they were
married the day before Grant's wedding, which so disgusted him that he
would have given up Lang if she hadn't threatened him with a suit for
breach of promise. There is peace between the two families now; but,
when Mrs. Miller gets on the rampage sometimes, Mr. Miller mourns for
his first wife more than ever.




A LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.


Admiring my flowers, sir? P'raps you'd step inside the gate, and
walk round my little place? It ain't big, but there's plenty of
variety,--violets and cabbages, roses and artichokes. Any one that
didn't care for flowers 'ud be sure to find beauty in them young spring
onions. People's ideas differ very much, there ain't a doubt of it. One
man's very happy over a glass of whiskey and water, and another thinks
every thing 'ud go straight in this 'ere world if we all drank tea and
lemonade. And it's right enough: it keeps things even. We should have
the world a very one-sided affair if everybody pulled the same way.
Philosopher, am I? Well, I dunno. I've got a theory to be sure--every
one has nowadays; and mine is, that there is a joke to be found in
every mortal thing if only we look in the right place for it. But some
people don't know how to look for it. Why, sir, if you'll believe it, I
was talking to a man yesterday that couldn't see any thing to laugh at
in the naval demonstration.

Am I independent? Well, I makes money by my fruit and vegetables, if
that's what you mean. But there's so many ways of being independent.
One man marries a woman with £20,000 a year, and calls that
independence. Another votes on the strongest side, and calls that being
independent. One takes up every new-fangled idea that comes out, and
says he's independent. Some calls impudence independence. There's not
a name as fits so many different articles. No! I've never bin married.
Somehow, I don't think married men see the fun in every thing same
as single ones. I don't mean to be disrespectful to the ladies, but
I do think they enjoy a good cry more than a good laugh. Was I ever
in love? and did I laugh then? Why, yes, never laughed heartier in my
life. It's a good many years ago now. I was living in lodgings down
Clerkenwell way, and the landlady's daughter was as pretty a creature
as ever you see, bright and cheery, like a robin, when first I knew
her. But, by and by, she grew pale and peaky,--used to go about the
house without singing, and had such big, sad-looking eyes. Her home
wasn't a particularly happy one, for her mother was a nagger. Perhaps
you've never come across a woman of that pertikler character. Well,
then, you should say double the prayers of ordinary people; for you've
much to be thankful for. I never looked at her without feeling that
her husband must have been very happy indeed when he got to heaven. I
sometimes think, sir, that women of this sort might be made use of, and
prisons, and all other kind of punishment, done away with: perhaps,
though, the lunatic asylums 'ud get too full.

Well, I grew to be quite intimate with Bessie; and one evening, I don't
know how it was, she told me all her troubles. She was engaged to a
young man; and her mother wouldn't consent to them marrying, and was
always worrying her to break it off. I asked her if there were any
thing against him. Nothing, except that her mother had taken a dislike
to him: he wasn't very strong, but he was the best, cleverest, dearest
fellow that ever lived. All the time she was talking I felt a gnawing
sort of pain somewhere in my inside. First, I thought I must be hungry;
but, when I came to eat, all my food seemed to get in my throat, and
stick there. This won't do, old fellow, thinks I: there must be a joke
to be got out of it somewhere. So I set to consider; and there, clear
enough, it was. Why, the joke 'ud be to let Bessie marry her young
man, and see the pretty cheeks grow round and pink again. But how to
do it, there was the rub. I began to cultivate the old lady's society
with a view to finding out her weak point: for, being a woman, of
course she had a weak point; and, being a very ugly woman, what do you
think it was? Why, vanity, to be sure. I soon noticed a change in her.
She took her hair out of paper every day, instead of only on Sundays,
as she had been used to do; and she put on a clean cap sometimes,
and smirked whenever I passed her. Why, here's a bigger joke than I
bargained for, thinks I! While I've been studying the woman to find
out her weak point, she thinks I've been admiring her. But I soon saw
what use I could make of this. I went down into the kitchen when she
wasn't busy,--I knew it would be rather too hot other times,--and I got
talking about Bessie. "It's strange," I says, "that a fine-looking girl
like that shouldn't have a sweetheart. Things was different when you
was younger, I'll be bound."

"As for that," says she, "Bessie has a sweetheart; but I don't approve
of him. He's not exactly the sort of man I expected for her."

"But, lor'," I says, "you wouldn't go and keep that girl single! Think
what harm you may do yourself. You can't be so cruel as to give up
all idea of marrying agin! Why, you don't look forty." That wasn't
an untruth, for she looked fifty. She tossed her head, and told me
to go along. I didn't go along. I says, "There's no doubt lots of
young fellows 'ud be glad enough of a good-looking wife like you, but
mightn't care for a daughter as old as Miss Bessie." This seemed to
strike her very much. I followed it up, got talking to her day after
day, and always led the conversation to the same point. At last one day
when I came home from work, she says, "It's all settled. Bessie's going
to be married, and her Tom's coming here this evening." Then I went up
to my own room, and laughed till I cried. Presently I heard the little
girl run up-stairs as she hadn't run for many a long day, and I knew
she'd gone to put on a smart ribbon for Tom's sake. She tapped at my
door as she passed. Would I come down? somebody was there, and wanted
to know me. I called out that I was busy, and couldn't come; and she
went away. But after about an hour she came again. I was sitting in the
dark, thinking of a good many things; and before I had time to speak
she was down oh her knees beside me, and hiding her face.

"You told me you were busy," she said; "and here you are all in the
dark and cold, and I can't bear any one to be dull or lonely to-night,
because I'm so very, very happy. And I know it's all through you.
Mother would never have given in of her own accord. You've always been
my friend when I wanted one very badly; and now you must be angry with
me, or you wouldn't stay away to-night. And you won't even speak to me.
Oh, whatever I've done to vex you, don't think of it any more!"

She nestled up to me so close that her hair touched my coat-sleeve, and
her pretty eyes looked up all swimming with tears. I ground my teeth,
and clinched my hands, or--or I don't know what I mightn't ha' done.
You see the joke of this, sir, don't you? Here was the girl crying, and
asking me to forgive her, and like her a little; and there was I--not
disliking her a bit all the time. Ha, ha, ha! I had a hearty laugh at
her, and hurried with her down-stairs, and was introduced to Tom, and
I talked to the old lady, and drank the young people's health, and was
as happy as possible. And on the wedding-day I gave her away as if I
had been her father; and I sang a song and danced: and, when the time
came for Bessie to go away with her husband, I dried her eyes; for at
the last moment the tender-hearted little thing broke down, and cried,
and kissed us all, and asked her mother not to feel angry with her for
leaving her all alone; and then the mother cried, and what with having
so many eyes to wipe, I found myself wiping my own just as if it all
weren't a tremendous joke.

How have they got on since? 'Bout as well as most people, I suppose:
she loves him, and takes care of him. And the mother's softened down a
bit since she's bin a grandmother. And as to my godson, there never was
such a boy. I have him with me as much as possible, and he's beginning
to see the joke of every thing almost as much as I do myself. And when
I die, all this little place'll belong to him, and he'll be a rich man:
so my death'll be the biggest joke of all, you see, sir.




IN DER SHWEED LONG AGO.


    In der shweed long ago I dinked I vas shmard,
      Und I dinked I did vant me a vife
    To share all my money und sorrows und joys,
      Und to helb me along drough my life.
    I vanted a lady kind-hearted und goot,
      Dot vas handsome und sensiple doo,
    Dot cood blay der biano or cook a beefshdeak,
      Darn my shdockings or made me a shdew.

    She must nod be doo shmall-seized or neider doo dall,
      Und she musn'd be old or doo young,
    Und ven I vas shboking had visdom enuff
      To alwoys kebd quied her tongue.
    She musd nod be doo dark or agin be doo lighd--
      A kinder bedwixed und bedween;
    She musd nod knew doo leedle, or vorse, knew it all,
      Or be vat some beebles call "creen."

    She musd be good-nadured, vear always a shmile,
      No madder of dings did vent wrong;
    Ven my friends came around for to make me a call,
      Be ready to sung dem a song.
    Of der lodge bisness habben'd to kebd me oud lade,
      Und I come valdzing home "dighdly-shlighd,"
    She musd pet und caress me, und dank her good shdars
      Dot I didn'd shdaid apsend all nighd.

    In a vord, be berfecd--mind, feature, und form--
      From her feet to der crown of her head.
    Now, dot vas der damsel dot I had in view,
      Und der von I vas villing to ved.
    Dot's a long dime ago, and my head dot vas pald,
      And I vas a pachelor shdill.
    My gal, I hafe nefer saw shkibbing round loose--
      Vat's more, I don'd dink dot I vill.

                                          OOFTY GOOFT.




DOT STUPPORN PONY.


    I growt so ferry heffy
      Dot too much de walkin' pe,
    So I pyed me of von pony;
      But dot pettler he sheat me.
    Bote eyes of him was limpy,
      Bote leeks of him vas plint;
    But dot vot prake of me mine heart
      Dot pony vas oonkint.

    He keeck shust like a chackess,
      Oop, town, pefore, pehint;
    Und how to cure dot pony
      I rollt oop in my mint.
    Dot sympathee vas nonsense,
      Shust efery dinks he preak;
    Vhen sutton coomt von grant itee,
      I tole you how I make:

    I keetch him mit de shafters,
      But--outsite in instet--
    His het oop py dot vagon,
      His dail vere vos his het.
    Den--one, doo, tree--I schlag him.
      Ach, himmel! how he keeck!
    But vhen he fints he noddings stroock,
      He stop dot pooty queeck.

    Den looks he oop aschtountet,
      Oxcited pooty pat;
    Den sutten makes he backvarts,
      Like as of he vas mat
    I laugh as I vas tying
      Vhen I see him go dat vay;
    Den on his haunch he stoomples town,
      As he vas going to bray.

    How schamt he look, vateffer!
      I tole him vat I dinks;
    Doo dears drop oud his eyepalls,
      Mit grief his dail he vinks.
    Arount all right I toorn him,
      His het pefore him now,
    Und streecks!--he trives as goot und kind
      As he vas peen my frau!

                            HARRY WOODSON.




SPOOPENDYKE OPENING OYSTERS.


"My dear," queried Mr. Spoopendyke, "did you put those oysters on the
cellar floor with the round shells down, as I told you to?"

"I did most of 'em," replied Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Some of 'em wouldn't
stay that way. They turned right over."

"Must have been extraordinary intelligent oysters," murmured Mr.
Spoopendyke, eying her with suspicion. "Didn't any of 'em stand up on
end, and ask for the morning paper, did they?"

"You know what I mean," fluttered Mrs. Spoopendyke. "They tipped over
sideways, and so I laid them on the flat shell."

"That's right," grunted Mr. Spoopendyke. "You want to give an oyster
his own way, or you'll hurt his feelings. Suppose you bring up some of
those gifted oysters, and an oyster-knife, and we'll eat 'em."

Mrs. Spoopendyke hurried away, and pattered back with the feast duly
set out on a tea-waiter, which she placed before Mr. Spoopendyke with a
flourish.

"Now," said she, drawing up her sewing-chair, and resting her elbows on
her knees, and her chin on her hands, "when you get all you want, you
may open me some."

Mr. Spoopendyke whirled the knife around his head, and brought it down
with a sharp crack. Then he clipped away at the end a moment, and
jabbed at what he supposed was the opening. The knife slipped, and
ploughed the bark off his thumb.

"Won't come open, won't ye?" he shouted, fetching it another lick, and
jabbing away again. "Haven't completed your census of who's out here
working at ye, have ye?" and he brought it another whack. "P'rhaps ye
think I haven't fully made up my mind to inquire within, don't ye?"
and he rammed the point of the knife at it, knocking the skin off his
knuckles.

"That isn't the way to open an oyster," suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke.

"Look here," roared Mr. Spoopendyke, turning fiercely on his wife.
"Have you got any private understanding with this oyster? Has the
oyster confided in you the particular way in which he wants to be
opened?"

"No-o!" stammered Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Only I thought"--

"This is no time for thought!" shouted Mr. Spoopendyke, banging away
at the edge of the shell. "This is the moment for battle; and if I've
happened to catch this oyster during office hours, he's going to enter
into relations with the undersigned. Come out, will ye?" he yelled, as
the knife flew up his sleeve. "Maybe ye don't recognize the voice of
Spoopendyke. Come out, ye measly coward, before ye make an enemy of
me for life!" and he belted away at the shell with the handle of the
knife, and spattered mud like a dredging-machine.

"Let me get you a hammer to crack him with," recommended Mrs.
Spoopendyke, hovering over her husband in great perturbation.

"Don't want any hammer," howled Mr. Spoopendyke, slamming around with
his knife. "S'pose I'm going to use brute force on a measly fish that
I could swallow alive if I could only get him out of his house? Open
your measly premises!" raved Mr. Spoopendyke, stabbing at the oyster
vindictively, and slicing his shirt-sleeve clear to the elbow. "Come
forth, and enjoy the society of Spoopendyke!" And the worthy gentleman
foamed at the mouth, and he sunk back in his chair, and contemplated
his stubborn foe with glaring eyes.

"I'll tell you what to do," exclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke, radiant with a
profound idea. "Crack him in the door."

"That's the scheme," grinned Mr. Spoopendyke, with horrible contortions
of visage. "Fetch me the door. Set that door right before me on a
plate. This oyster is going to stay here. If you think this oyster is
going to enjoy any change of climate until he strikes the tropics of
Spoopendyke, you don't know the domestic habits of shell-fish. Loose
your hold!" squealed Mr. Spoopendyke, returning to the charge, and
fetching the bivalve a prodigious whack. "Come into the outer world,
where all is gay and beautiful. Come out, and let me introduce you to
my wife." And Mr. Spoopendyke laid the oyster on the arm of his chair,
and slugged him remorselessly.

"Wait," squealed Mrs. Spoopendyke: "here's one with his mouth open,"
and she pointed cautiously at a gaping oyster, who had evidently taken
down the shutters to see what the row was about.

"Don't care a measly nickel with a hole in it," protested Mr.
Spoopendyke, thoroughly impatient. "Here's one that's going to open
his mouth, or the resurrection will find him still wrestling with
the ostensible head of this family. Ow!" and Mr. Spoopendyke, having
rammed the knife into the palm of his hand, slammed the oyster against
the chimney-piece, where it was shattered, and danced around the room
wriggling with wrath and agony.

"Never mind the oysters, dear," cried Mrs. Spoopendyke, following him
around, and trying to disengage his wounded hand from his armpit.

"Who's minding 'em?" roared Mr. Spoopendyke, standing on one leg, and
bending up double. "I tell ye that when I start to inflict discipline
on a narrow-minded oyster that won't either accept an invitation or
send regrets, he's going to mind me! Where's the oyster? Show me the
oyster! Arraign the oyster!"

"Upon my word, you've opened him," giggled Mrs. Spoopendyke, picking up
the smashed bivalve between the tips of her thumb and forefinger.

"Won't have him," sniffed Mr. Spoopendyke, eying the broken shell,
and firing his defeated enemy into the grate. "If I can't go in the
front-door of an oyster, I'm not going down the scuttle. That all comes
of laying 'em on the flat shell," he continued, suddenly recollecting
that his wife was to blame for the whole business. "Now you take the
rest of 'em down, and lay 'em as I told you to."

"Yes, dear."

"And another time you want any oysters, you sit around in the cellar,
and when they open their mouths you put sticks in. You hear?"

"Yes, dear."

And Mrs. Spoopendyke took the bivalves back, resolving that the next
time they were in demand they would crawl out of their shells, and walk
up-stairs arm in arm, before she would have any hand in the mutilation
of her poor, dear, suffering husband by bringing them up herself.

                                                        STANLEY HUNTLEY.




TO A FRIEND STUDYING GERMAN.


    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      Denn set it on your card,
    Dat all de nouns have shenders,
      Und de shenders all are hard;
    Dere ish also dings called pronoms,
      Vitch it's shoost ash vell to know;
    Boot ach! de verbs, or timevords--
      Dey'll vork you bitter voe.

    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      Den you allatag moost go
    To sinfonies, sonatas,
      Or an oritorio.
    Vhen you dinks you knows 'pout musik
      More ash any oder man,
    Be sure de soul of Deutschland
      Into your soul ish ran.

    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      Dou moost eat apout a peck
    A veek of stinging sauerkraut,
      Und sefen pounds of speck,
    Mit Gott knows vot in vinegar,
      Und deuce knows vot in rum;
    Dish ish de only cerdain way
      To make de accents coom.

    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      Brepare dein soul to shtand
    Soosh sendences ash ne'er vas heardt
      In any oder land.
    Till dou canst make parenteses
      Intwisted--ohne zahl--
    Dann wirst du erst Deutschfertig seyn;
      For a languashe ideal.

    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      Dou must mitout all fear
    Trink efery tay an gallon dry
      Of foamin' Sherman beer.
    Und de more you trinks, pe certain
      More Deutsche you'll surely pe;
    For Gambrinus is de Emperor
      Of de whole of Shermany.

    Vill'st dou learn de Deutsche Sprache?
      Be sholly, brav, an' treu,
    For dat veller is kein Deutscher
      Who ish not a sholly poy,
    Find out vot means Gemuthlichkeit,
      Und do it mitout fail,
    In Sang und Klang dein Lebenlang,
      A brick--gans Kreuzfidel.

    Vill'st dou learn de deutsche Sprache?
      If a shendleman dou art,
    Denn shtrike right indo Deutschland
      Und get a schveetes heart,
    From Schwabenland or Sachsen,
      Vhere now dis writer pees;
    Und de bretty girls all wachsen
      Shoost like apples on de drees.

    Boot if dou bee'st a laty,
      Denn, on de odder hand,
    Take a blonde moustachiod lofer
      In de vine green Sherman land,
    Und if you shoost kit married
      (Vood mit vood soon makes a vire),
    You'll learn to sprechen Deutsch, mein Kind,
      Ash fast as you tesire.

                        CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.




TAMMY'S PRIZE.


"Awa' wi' ye, Tammy man, awa' wi' ye to the schule, aye standin'
haverin'," and the old shoemaker looked up through his tear-dimmed
spectacles at his son, who was standing with his cap on and his book in
his hand.

Tammy made a move to the door. "An' is't the truth, Tammy? and does the
maister say't himsel'? Say't ower again."

The boy turned back, and stood looking on the ground.

"It wasna muckle he said, fayther. He just said, 'It'll be Tammy
Rutherford that'll get the prize i' the coontin.'"

"He said you, did he?" said the old man, as if he had heard it for the
first time, and not for the hundredth.

Again Tammy made a move for the door; and again the fond father would
have called him back, had not the schoolbell at that instant rung out
loud and clear.

"Ay, ay!" said he to himself, after his son had gone, "a right likely
lad, and a credit to his fayther;" and he bent again to the shoe he was
working at, though he could scarcely see it for the tears that started
in his eyes.

The satisfied smile had not worn off his face when the figure of
a stout woman appeared at the door. The shoemaker took off his
spectacles, and wiped them, and then turned to the new-comer.

"A bra' day till ye, Mistress Knicht. An' hoo'll ye be keepin'?"

"Oh! brawly, Maister Rutherford. It's the sheen I've come aboot for my
guidman; the auld anes are sare crackit."

"Aweel, mistress, the new anes'll be deen the morn. Set yersel' doon;"
and, complying with this invitation, she sat down. "An' hoo's yere
Sandie gettin' on at the schule, Mistress Knicht?"

"'Deed, noo ye speak on't, he's a sare loon; he'll niver look at's
lessons."

"He winna be ha'in' ony o' the prizes, I'm thinkin' at that gate."

"Na, na; he'll niver bother his heed aboot them. But he's sayin' yer
Tam'll ha'e the coontin' prize."

"Ye _dinna_ say sae! Weel, that is news." And he looked up with
ill-concealed pride. "The lad was talkin' o't himsel'; but 'deed I
niver thocht on't. But there's nae sayin'."

"Aweel, guid-day to ye; and I'll look in the morn for the sheen."

"An' are they sayin' Tam'll ha'e a prize?" continued the old man.

"Ay, ay; the laddie was sayin' sae." And she went away.

The shoemaker seemed to have fallen on a pleasant train of thought; for
he smiled away to himself, and occasionally picked up a boot, which
he as soon let drop. Visions of Tammy's future greatness rose before
his mind. Perhaps of too slight a fabric were they built; but he saw
Tammy a great and honored man, and Tammy's father leaning on his son's
greatness....

"Presairve us a'! it's mair nor half-six!" (half-past five.) And he
started up from his revery. "Schule'll hae been oot an 'oor, an' the
laddie's no hame." And he got up, and moved towards the door. The sun
was just sinking behind the horizon, and the light was dim in the
village street. He put up his hand to his eyes, and peered down in the
direction of the school.

"What in a' the world's airth's keepin' him?" he muttered; and then
turning round he stumbled through the darkness of his workshop to the
little room behind. He filled an antiquated kettle, and set it on the
fire. Then he went to the cupboard, and brought out half a loaf, some
cheese, a brown teapot, and a mysterious parcel. He placed these on the
table, and then gravely and carefully unrolled the little parcel, which
turned out to be tea.

"Presairve us, I can niver min' whaur ye put the tea, or hoo muckle.
It's an awfu' waicht on the min' to make tea."

His wife had died two years before; and his little son, with the
assistance of a kindly neighbor, had managed to cook their humble
meals. Porridge was their chief fare; but a cup of tea was taken as a
luxury every evening.

"I'm jist some fear't about it. I'll waicht till Tammas comes in;" and
he went out again to the door to see what news there was of his son.

The sun had completely disappeared now; and the village would have been
quite dark had it not been for the light in the grocer's window, a few
doors down.

The shoemaker leaned against his cottage, and tried to see if any one
were in sight; but not a soul seemed about, although now and then a
sound of laughter was borne up the street.

The door of his next neighbor's house was wide open. He looked in,
and saw a woman standing at the fire, superintending some cooking
operation, with her back to him.

"Is yer Jim in, mistress?"

"Na," she said, without turning her head. "He'll be doon at some o' his
plays. He's nae been in frae the schule yet."

"It's the same wi' Tam. Losh! I'm wunnerin, what's keepin' him."

"Keepin' him, say ye? What wad keep a laddie?"

Half satisfied, the shoemaker went back to his house, and found the
kettle singing merrily on the fire. He felt a little anxious. The boy
was always home in good time. He crept round again to his neighbor's.

"I'm gettin' fear't about him," he said: "he's niver been sae late's
this."

"Hoot, awa' wi' ye! he'll be doon, maybe, at the bathin' wi' the lave,
but I'll gang doon the village wi' ye, an' we'll soon fin' the laddie."

She hastily put her bonnet on her head, for the night air was cold, and
they both stood together outside the cottage.

He clutched her arm. What was that? Through the still night air, along
the dark street, came the sound of muffled feet and hushed voices, as
of those who bore a burden. With blanched face the old man tried to
speak, but he could not. A fearful thought came upon him....

They are coming nearer. They are stopping and crowding together, and
whispering low. The two listeners crept up to them; and there in the
middle of the group lay Tammy dead--drowned.

With a loud shriek, "Tammy, my Tammy!" the old man fell down beside the
body of his son.

They carried both in together into the little room behind the shop, and
went out quietly, leaving one of their number who volunteered to stay
all night.

The shoemaker soon revived. He sat down on one side of the fire, and
the man who watched with him sat on the other. The kettle was soon
on the fire, and he watched its steam rising with a half-interested
indifference. Then at times he would seem to remember that something
had happened; and he would creep to the side of the bed where the body
lay, and gaze on the straight, handsome features and the bloodless
cheeks, quiet and cold in death. "Tammy, my man; my ain Tammy, speak to
me ance--jist ance--I'm awfu' lonesome-like." Then the watcher would
lead him quietly to his seat by the fire; and there they sat the whole
night long, till the stir of the outer world aroused them....

The school is filled with happy, pleasant faces. The prize day has
come. There stands the minister, looking very important, and the
schoolmaster very excited. The prizes are all arranged on a table
before the minister, and the forms for the prize-winners are before the
table. And now every thing is ready. The minister begins by telling
the parents present how he has examined the school, and found the
children quite up to the mark; and then he addresses a few words to
the children, winding up his remarks by telling them how at school he
had thought that "multiplication is a vexation," &c., but that now he
found the use of it. And then the children laughed, for they heard the
same speech every year; but it made the excitement greater when they
had the prizes to look at, as they shone on the table in their gorgeous
gilding, during the speech. And now the schoolmaster is going to read
out the prize-winners, and the children are almost breathless with
excitement,--you might have heard a pin drop,--when from the end of the
room, a figure totters forward, the figure of an old man, white-headed,
and with a strange, glassy look in his eye. He advances to where the
children are sitting, and takes his place amongst them. Every one looks
compassionately towards him, and women are drying their eyes with their
aprons. The schoolmaster hesitates a moment, and looks at the minister.
The minister nods to him, and he begins the list. It is with almost a
saddened look that the children come to take their prizes, for they
think of the sharp, bright, active playmate who was so lately with
them; and they gaze timidly towards his father who sits in their midst.

"Thomas Rutherford," reads out the master, "gained the prize for
arithmetic."

"I'll tak' Tam's prize for him. The laddie's na weel. He's awa'. I'll
tak' it;" and the shoemaker moved hastily up to the table.

The minister handed him the book; and, silently taking it, he made his
way to the door....

A quiet old man moves listlessly about the village. He does nothing,
but every one has a kind word for him. He never walks towards the
river, but shudders when its name is mentioned. He sits in his workshop
often, and looks up expectantly when he hears the joyous shout of the
boys as they come out of school, and then a look of pain flits across
his face. He has one treasure,--a book, which he keeps along with his
family Bible, and he is never tired of reading through his blurred
spectacles the words on the first page:--

                             BARNES SCHOOL.
FIRST CLASS.
PRIZE FOR ARITHMETIC
AWARDED TO
                           THOMAS RUTHERFORD.




THE SCOTCHMAN AT THE PLAY.


After paying our money at the door, never while I live and breathe will
I forget what we saw and heard that night. It just looks to me, by
all the world, when I think on it, like a fairy dream. The place was
crowded to the full; Maister Glen and me having nearly got our ribs
dung in before we found a seat, the folks behind being obliged to mount
the back benches to get a sight. Right to the forehand of us was a
large green curtain, some five or six ells wide, a good deal the worse
of the wear, having seen service through two-three summers: and just
in the front of it were eight or ten penny candles stuck in a board
fastened to the ground, to let us see the players' feet like, when they
came on the stage; and even before they came on the stage; for, the
curtain being scrimpit in length, we saw legs and sandals moving behind
the scenes very neatly; while two blind fiddlers they had brought with
them played the bonniest ye ever heard. 'Od! the very music was worth a
sixpence of itself.

The place, as I said before, was choke-full, just to excess; so that
one could scarcely breathe. Indeed, I never saw any part so crowded,
not even at a tent-preaching when the Rev. Mr. Roarer was giving his
discourses on the building of Solomon's Temple. We were obligated to
have the windows opened for a mouthful of fresh air, the barn being
as close as a baker's oven, my neighbor and me fanning our red faces
with our hats to keep us cool; and, though all were half stewed, we
certainly had the worst of it, the toddy we had taken having fermented
the blood of our bodies into a perfect fever.

Just at the time that the two blind fiddlers were playing the "Downfall
of Paris" a hand-bell rang, and up goes the green curtain; being hauled
to the ceiling, as I observed with the tail of my eye, by a birkie
at the side, that had hold of a rope. So, on the music stopping, and
all becoming as still as that you might have heard a pin fall, in
comes a decent old gentleman at his leisure, well powdered, with an
old-fashioned coat on, waistcoat with flap-pockets, brown breeches
with buckles at the knees, and silk stockings with red gushats on a
blue ground. I never saw a man in such distress: he stamped about,
and better stamped about, dadding the end of his staff on the ground,
and imploring all the powers of heaven and earth to help him to find
out his runaway daughter, that had decamped with some ne'er-do-weel
loon of a half-pay captain, that keppit her in his arms from her
bedroom-window, up two pair of stairs.

Every father and head of a family must have felt for a man in his
situation, thus to be robbed of his dear bairn, and an only daughter
too, as he told us over and over again, as the salt, salt tears ran
gushing down his withered face, and he aye blew his nose on his clean
calendered pocket-napkin. But, ye know, the thing was absurd to suppose
that we should know any inkling about the matter, having never seen
him or his daughter between the een before, and not kenning them by
headmark: so, though we sympathized with him, as folks ought to do
with a fellow-creature in affliction, we thought it best to hold our
tongues, to see what might cast up better than he expected. So out he
went stumping at the other side, determined, he said, to find them out,
though he should follow them to the world's end, Johnny Groat's house,
or something to that effect.

Hardly was his back turned, and almost before ye could cry Jack
Robison, in comes the birkie and the very young lady the old gentleman
described, arm-and-arm together, smoodging and laughing like daft. Dog
on it! it was a shameless piece of business. As true as death, before
all the crowd of folk, he put his arm round her waist, and called her
his sweetheart, and love, and dearie, and darling, and every thing that
is fine. If they had been courting in a close together on a Friday
night, they could not have said more to one another, or gone greater
lengths. I thought such shame to be an eye-witness to sic on-goings,
that I was obliged at last to hold up my hat before my face, and look
down; though, for all that, the young lad, to be such a blackguard as
his conduct showed, was well enough faured, and had a good coat to his
back, with double gilt buttons and fashionable lapels, to say little of
a very well-made pair of buckskins, a thought the worse of the wear, to
be sure, but which, if they had been well cleaned, would have looked
almost as good as new. How they had come we never could learn, as we
neither saw chaise nor gig; but, from his having spurs on his boots,
it is more than likely that they had lighted at the back-door of the
barn from a horse, she riding on a pad behind him, maybe, with her hand
round his waist.

The father looked to be a rich old bool, both from his manner of
speaking, and the rewards he seemed to offer for the apprehension of
his daughter; but, to be sure, when so many of us were present that
had an equal right to the spullaie, it would not be a great deal, a
thousand pounds, when divided. Still it was worth the looking after: so
we just bidit a wee.

Things were brought to a bearing, howsoever, sooner than either
themselves, I dare say, or anybody else present, seemed to have the
least glimpse of: for, just in the middle of their fine goings-on, the
sound of a coming foot was heard; and the lassie, taking guilt to her,
cried out, "Hide me, hide me, for the sake of goodness! for yonder
comes my old father!"

No sooner said than done. In he stappit her into a closet; and, after
shutting the door on her, he sat down upon a chair, pretending to
be asleep, in the twinkling of a walking-stick. The old father came
bouncing in; and, seeing the fellow as sound as a top, he ran forward
and gave him such a shake as if he would have shooken him all sundry;
which soon made him open his eyes as fast as he had steeked them.
After blackguarding the chield at no allowance, cursing him up hill
and down dale, and calling him by every name but a gentleman, he held
his staff over his crown, and, gripping him by the cuff of the neck,
asked him, in a fierce tone, what he had made of his daughter. Never
since I was born did I ever see such brazen-faced impudence! The rascal
had the brass to say at once, that he had not seen word or wittens of
the lassie for a month, though more than a hundred folk sitting in
his company had beheld him dauting her with his arm round her jimpy
waist not five minutes before. As a man, as a father, as an elder of
our kirk, my corruption was raised; for I aye hated lying as a poor
cowardly sin, and an inbreak on the Ten Commandments; and I found my
neighbor, Mr. Glen, fidgeting on the seat as well as me. So I thought
that whoever spoke first would have the best right to be entitled to
the reward: whereupon, just as he was in the act of rising up, I took
the word out of his mouth, saying, "Dinna believe him, auld gentleman;
dinna believe him, friend: he's telling a parcel of lees. Never saw her
for a month! It's no worth arguing, or calling witnesses: just open
that press-door, and ye'll see whether I'm speaking truth or not!"

The old man stared, and looked dumfoundered; and the young one, instead
of running forward with his double nieves to strike me, the only thing
I was feared for, began a-laughing, as if I had done him a good turn.
But never since I had a being did I ever witness such an uproar and
noise as immediately took place. The whole house was so glad that the
scoundrel had been exposed, that they set up siccan a roar of laughter,
and thumped away at siccan a rate at the boards with their feet, that
at long and last, with pushing and fidgeting, clapping their hands,
and holding their sides, down fell the place they call the gallery,
all the folk in't being hurled topsy-turvy, headforemost, among the
sawdust on the floor below; their guffawing soon being turned to
howling, each one crying louder than another at the top note of their
voices, "Murder! murder! hold off me! murder! my ribs are in! murder!
I'm killed! I'm speechless!" and other lamentations to that effect:
so that a rush to the door took place, in the which every thing was
overturned; the door-keeper being wheeled away like wildfire; the furms
stramped to pieces; the lights knocked out; and the two blind fiddlers
dung headforemost over the stage, the bass-fiddle cracking like thunder
at every bruise. Such tearing and swearing, and tumbling and squealing,
was never witnessed in the memory of man since the building of Babel;
legs being likely to be broken, sides staved in, eyes knocked out,
and lives lost,--there being only one door, and that a small one: so
that, when we had been earned off our feet that length, my wind was
fairly gone; and a sick dwalm came over me, lights of all manner of
colors, red, blue, green, and orange, dancing before me, that entirely
deprived me of common sense; till, on opening my eyes in the dark, I
found myself leaning with my broadside against the wall on the opposite
side of the close. It was some time before I minded what had happened:
so, dreading skaith, I found first the one arm, and then the other, to
see if they were broken; syne my head; and finally both of my legs;
but all, as well as I could discover, was skin-whole and scart-free.
On perceiving this, my joy was without bounds, having a great notion
that I had been killed on the spot. So I reached round my hand very
thankfully to take out my pocket-napkin, to give my brow a wipe, when,
lo and behold! the tail of my Sunday's coat was fairly off and away,
docked by the hainch buttons.

So much for plays and play-actors,--the first and last, I trust in
grace, that I shall ever see. But indeed I could expect no better,
after the warning that Maister Wiggie had more than once given us from
the pulpit on the subject. Instead, therefore, of getting my grand
reward for finding the old man's daughter, the whole covey of them,
no better than a set of swindlers, took leg-bail, and made that very
night a moonlight flitting; and Johnny Hammer, honest man, that had
wrought from sunrise to sunset for two days, fitting up their place by
contract, instead of being well paid for his trouble, as he deserved,
got nothing left him but a ruckle of his own good deals, all dung to
shivers.




AN IRISH LOVE-LETTER.

  A SCENE FROM GEORGE M. BAKER'S NEW PLAY (FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS
    ONLY) IN THREE ACTS, ENTITLED "REBECCA'S TRIUMPH."


_Characters_: KATY, _an Irish servant_, GYP, _a colored girl_; DORA, _a
young lady_.

             (_Enter_ KATY, _with a letter in her hand_.)

KATY (_turning letter over and over_). An' sure I got a love-lether
frum Patsy; an' phat will I do wid it I dunno. I can't rade, and the
misthress is away wid the company girls. How will I find out phat's
inside it? It's bothered I am intirely.

             (_Enter from_ L., _through_ C. _door_, DORA.)

DORA. Ah, Katy! Is it ther yees are? Where's Mrs. Delaine's shawl? I
see it. (_Goes towards window_ R.)

KATY. If yees plase, Miss Dora, might I be after troubling yees?

DORA (_comes down_). Certainly, Katy. What's the trouble?

KATY. If yees plase, I have a lether.

DORA. From the ould counthry?

KATY. No, indade: it's from--it's from--sure you'll be afther laughin'
if I tole yees.

DORA. Then you needn't tell me, Katy; I can guess. It's a love-letter.

KATY. An' who towld yees that?

DORA. Yourself, Katy, by the blushes on your cheeks and the sparkle in
your eyes. You want me to read it for you?

KATY. If yees plase, Miss Dora. (_Hands letter._)

DORA (_opening letter_). I shall learn all your secrets, Katy. Perhaps
the young man would not like that.

KATY. Thin yees moight shkip the sacrets.

DORA (_laughs_). All right, Katy. (_Reads._) "Lovely Katy."

KATY. That's me. Sure that's no sacret.

DORA (_reads_). "I take me pin in hand wid a bating heart, to till yees
uv the sthrong wakeniss I have for yees."

KATY. Yees moight shkip that.

DORA (_reads_). "I have nather ate, dhrunk, nor slipt, for a wake."

KATY. Will, that jist accounts for the wakeniss.

DORA (_reads_). "Barrin' my thray males a day, an 'me pipe an'
tobacyer."

KATY. An' he wid the hearty appetite!

DORA (_reads_). "An' all me slapeliss nights are fill wid drames of
yees, Katy mavourneen."

KATY. Sure he's the darlin'.

DORA (_reads_). "I have yees phortygraff nailed to the hid uv me bid;
and ivery night, afther I've blown out the candle wid me fingers, I tak
a good look at it, an' if ye'll belave me, there's not a dry thread in
me eyes."

KATY. Sure he was alwus tinder-hearted.

DORA (_reads_). "If yees don't belave me, tak a good look at yees own
face before yees open the lether, and see if I have not cause to wape."

KATY. Sure I ought to have known that before the lether came.

DORA (_reads_). "If yees foind these tinder loins blotted wid tears,
it's all owing to the bad quality uv the ink, which has compilled me to
pin this wid a pincil."

KATY. That's no mather.

DORA (_reads_). "If yees don't recave this lether, or can't rade
it, niver moind: ye'll know that all that's in it is the truth, an'
nades nather radin' or writin' to till the same. So name the day,
Katy darlin', whin me single blissidniss is to exphire, an' the
mathrimoonial noose shlipped over the hid of yees lovin' and consolin'

                                                             PATSY DOLAN.

"P.S.--These last lines are the poethry uv love.

"SECOND P.S.--To be rid fhirst. I inclose a ring for yees finger, which
same yees will find in me nixt lether." That's all, Katy. (_Hands back
letter._)

KATY. It's jist illigant. I'm obleeged to yees.

DORA (_takes shawl from chair_). Quite welcome, Katy. When you get
ready to name the day, I'll answer it for you. But be quick, Katy; for
the poor fellow will not live long on "only his thray males a day, an'
his pipe an' tobacyer." (_Runs off_ C. _to_ L.)

KATY (_looks at letter_). Sure it's a darlin' lether, an' Patsy Dolan's
a broth uv a bye.

_Enter_ R., GYP.

GYP. Ah, dar you is, Katy! Whar's de misses? Whar's Miss Becky? Whar's
eberybody?

KATY. In the garden, sure. Yees may coom in, if yees wipe yers fate.

GYP. Yas, indeed! How yer was? And how's Patsy Dolan?

KATY. He's will. I've jist recaved a lether from him.

GYP. Dat so? Dat's good! Lub-letters am bery consolin' to de flutterin'
heart. Got a letter, hab you? S'pose you red it frough and frough.

KATY. Sure I can't rade at all, at all.

GYP. Dat so? Well, well! De ignoramance ob de foreign poperlation am
distressin'.

KATY. Can you rade?

GYP. Read? What you take me for? How else could I debour de heaps and
heaps ob lub-letters dat I constantly receibe from my adorers?

KATY (_Aside._) Faith, I'd loike to hear Patsy's lether again.
(_Aloud._) Thin plase rade this for me. (_Hands letter._)

GYP (_confused_). Wh-wh-what you take me fur? (_Aside._) Golly! she
cotch me den. (_Aloud._) No, chile: dose tender confections am fur you
alone, and dey shouldn't be composed to de world.

KATY. An' sure yees can't rade.

GYP. What's that? Can't read? (_Takes letter, and turns it round
several times._) Berry long letter. Want to hear it all?

KATY. Ivery word.

GYP (_Aside._) Mussn't gib in. Spec dase all alike. (_Aloud._) Ob
course, ob course. (_Pretends to read._) "Lubliest ob your sexes."

KATY. Sure that's not there.

GYP (_shows letter_). See fur yerself, see fur yerself.

KATY. Go on wid the lether.

GYP. "Sublimest ob de fair sexes, dis am a whale ob tears. Dar ain't no
sunshine of moonshine widout you."

KATY. That's not thrue at all, at all.

GYP (_shows letter_). Read it yerself, read yerself.

KATY. Go on wid the lether.

GYP. "De moon on de lake am beamin', de lubly sunflower perfumeries in
de garden, de tuneful frogs meliferously warble in de riber, an' de
breezes blow fro' de treeses; but my lub, my lub, whar, oh, whar am
she?"

KATY. I don't belave--

GYP (AS BEFORE). See fur yerself, see fur yerself!

KATY. Oh, quit yees talkin' an' talkin'. Go on wid the lether.

    GYP. "My lub she isn't hansum,
          My lub she isn't fair;
          But to cook de beef and 'taters
          Can't beat her anywhar."

Dat's potry, Katy, dat is; alwus find lots ob dat in lub-letters: it
gibs dem a flabor.

KATY. I don't belave it's there.

GYP (_as before_). See fur yerself, see fur yerself!

KATY. Go on wid the lether.

GYP. Luf me see, wha was I? "Come rest on dis yere head your aching
breast." Dey all got dat, Katy, an'--an' (_aside_), well, I'se jest
puzzled fur more: guess we'll hab some more poetry (_aloud_) an'--an'--

    "We'll dance all night till broad daylight,
    An' go home with de girls in de morning."

KATY. It's no such thing! Yer desavin' me, so yees are! Me Patsy
wouldn't go home wid the girls at all, at all.

GYP. See fur yerself, see fur yerself!

KATY (_snatching letter_). So I will. It's false and desateful yees
are, for Miss Dora rid the lether, an'--an'--it was jist illegant, so
it was an' it's yersilf.--bad luck to the loikes ov yees, whin yees
can't rade! an' it's the blissid troth I'm tillin',--invintin' a bit
uv blarney to make trouble betwane a poor girl an' her Patsy. Away wid
yees!

                                                         [_Exit door_ R.

GYP. Well, I guess she fooled me dat time. No use. Dar's alwus trubble
interferin' in lub affairs, jest like domestic affairs: when man and
wife am fighting, ef you try to be a messenger ob peace, ef you don't
look out, you'll git de broomstick onto yer own head.           [_Exit._


                      YANKEE DIALECT RECITATIONS.

                      Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER.

                   _BOARDS 50 CENTS PAPER 30 CENTS._

                  LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

                               CONTENTS.

                                                                    PAGE

  Goin' Somewhere                      _M. Quod_                       5

  Old Farmer Grey Gets Photographed    _John H. Yates_                 8

  Speech of the Hon. Perverse Peabody
  on the Acquisition of Cuba                                          10

  Widder Green's Last Words                                           13

  Widow Stebbins on Homœopathy         _C. F. Adams_                  14

  Farmer Bent's Sheep-Washing                                         16

  The Little Peach                                                    17

  Mr. Pickwick's Romantic Adventure
  with a Middle-aged Lady in Yellow
  Curl-Papers                          _Dickens_                      18

  Goin' Home To-day                    _W. M. Carleton_               24

  Jakie on Watermelon Pickle                                          25

  Putty and Varnish                    _Josh Billings_                26

  London Zoölogical Gardens                                           28

  Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man      _Mark Twain_                   29

  The Old Ways and the New             _John H. Yates_                31

  The Bumpkin's Courtship                                             33

  The Ballad of the Oysterman          _Oliver Wendell Holmes_        35

  The Deck Hand and the Mule                                          36

  A Lay of Real Life                   _Thomas Hood_                  37

  Middlerib's Rheumatic Cure           _R. J. Burdette_               39

  Two Fishers                          _Harper's Weekly_              43

  Jim Wolfe and the Cats               _Mark Twain_                   44

  Mr. Stiver's Horse                   _J. M. Bailey_                 46

  Mosquitoes                           _Kaleb Keating_                50

  The City Man and the Setting Hen                                    51

  The Owl Critic                       _James T. Fields_              53

  The Man with a Cold in His Head                                     54

  Forcible Entry                       _J. M. Bailey_                 5?

  The Village Sewing Society                                          57

  Yankee Courtship                                                    59

  The Patter of the Shingle                                           63

  The Paper Don't Say                                                 64

  The Jonesville Singin' Quire         _Betsey Bobbitt_               65

  The Knife-Grinder                    _George Canning_               69

  Malaria                                                             70

  The Story of the Bad Little Boy who
  Didn't Come to Grief                 _Mark Twain_                   72

  Mr. Caudle and His Second Wife       _Douglas Jerrold_              75

  Mollie or Sadie                                                     78

  The Baffled Book Agent                                              79

  She Would Be a Mason                 _James C. Leighton_            80

  The Loves of Lucinda                 _Mark Melville_                83

  Something Split                                                     87

  From the Sublime to the Ridiculous                                  88

  A Howl in Rome                       _Bill Nye_                     89

  Butterwick's Weakness                                               93

  The Old Man Goes to Town             _J. G. Swinnerton_             95

  Mr. Watkins Celebrates               _Detroit Press_                98

  The Squire's Story                   _John Phœnix_                  99

  The Conversion of Colonel Quagg      _George Augustus Sala_        100

  In the Surf                                                        105

  Variegated Dogs                      _Peck_                        107

  Judge Pitman's Watch                 _Max Adeler_                  110

  An Æsthetic Housekeeper                                            111

  "Mebbe" Joe's True Fish Story                                      112

  Aunt Sophronia Tabor at the Opera                                  114

  The Village Choir                    _Andre's Journal_             117

  The Light From Over the Range                                      118

  The Christening                      _E. T. Corbett_               121

  Mr. Covill Proves Mathematics        _J. M. Bailey_                123

  Mary's Lamb on a New Principle                                     124

  Address of Spottycus                                               125

  Our Visitor, and What He Came For                                  128

  In the Catacombs                     _H. H. Ballard_               130

  The Showman's Courtship              _A. Ward_                     132

  Clerical Wit                                                       134

  Greely's Ride                        _Mark Twain_                  135

  No Yearning for the Beautiful        _Max Adeler_                  138

  A Very Naughty Little Girl's View of
  Life                                                               141

  Burdock's Goat                                                     142

  Awfully Lovely Philosophy                                          145

  Aunt Parsons' Story                  _Presbyterian Journal_        146

  The National Game                                                  151

  A Disturbance in Church              _Max Adeler_                  153

  The Engineer's Story                 _Eugene J. Hall_              155

  The Judge's Search for a Waterfall   _Harper's Magazine_           156

  The Railroad Crossing                                              158

  Asking the Gov'nor                                                 159

  Intensely Utter                      _Albany Chronicle_            162

  The Way Astors Are Made              _J. M. Bailey_                164

  A Mysterious Disappearance           _Dickens_                     166


                        THE GRAND ARMY SPEAKER.

                      Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER.

              _BOARDS 50 CENTS_         _PAPER 30 CENTS._

                  LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

                               CONTENTS.

                                                                      PAGE

  The Rescue                           _John Brownjohn_                5

  Decoration                           _T. W. Higginson_               8

  The Little Black-eyed Rebel          _Will Carleton_                 9

  The Palmetto and the Pine            _Mrs. Virginia L. French_      11

  Battle Hymn                          _Korner_                       13

  The Song of the Dying                                               14

  By the Alma River                    _Miss Mulock_                  15

  At the Soldiers' Graves              _Robert Collyer_               17

  The Sergeant of the Fiftieth                                        18

  The Minute-men of '75                _George William Curtis_        19

  Blue and Gray                                                       21

  Custer's Last Charge                 _Frederick Whittaker_          23

  The Pride of Battery B               _F. H. Gassaway_               25

  The Cavalry Charge                   _F. A. Durivage_               27

  The Last Redoubt                                                    28

  Kelly's Ferry                        _Benjamin F. Taylor_           30

  Noble Revenge                                                       34

  Civil War                            _Anonymous_                    35

  "Dashing Rod," Trooper               _S. Conant Foster_             36

  The Tramp of Shiloh                  _Joaquin Miller_               38

  The Sharpshooter's Miss              _Frank H. Gassaway_            40

  The Fight at Lookout                 _R. L. Cary, jun._             44

  The Countersign was "Mary"           _Margaret Eytinge_             46

  A Second Review of the Grand
  Army                                 _Bret Harte_                   47

  The Bivouac of the Dead                                             49

  The Tramp                            _George M. Baker_              52

  The Canteen                                                         55

  The Charge by the Ford                                              56

  Harry Brandon                        _Edmund E. Price_              58

  Post Number Three                    _Sherman D. Richardson_        59

  The Patriot Spy                      _F. M. Finch_                  62

  The Dandy Fifth                      _Frank H. Gassaway_            63

  The American Flag                    _Joseph Rodman Drake_          66

  Somebody's Darling                   _Anonymous_                    68

  "Little Potter's" Story                                             69

  The Bravest Boy in Town              _Emma Huntington Nason_        71

  Our Folks                            _Ethel Lynn_                   74

  "Picciola"                                                          76

  "Fall in"                            _Mary Clemmer_                 78

  "The Boys who Never Got Home"        _George W. Peck_               79

  Abraham Lincoln and the Poor
  Woman                                                               80

  Elizabeth Zane                       _John S. Adams_                82

  Keenan's Charge                                                     84

  The Old Canteen                                                     86

  Mobile Bay                                                          88

  Ravenswood's Oath                    _A. Wallace Thaxter_           90

  The Story of the Swords              _Adelaide Cilley Waldron_      91

  "Only a Crippled Soldier!"           _J. Russell Fisher_            93

  Somebody's Pride                     _Clement Scott_                97

  My Wife and Child                    _Henry Rootes Jackson_         98

  The Song of the Drum                 _I. E. Diekenga_               99

  "Bay Billy"                          _Frank H. Gassaway_           102

  Sheridan's Ride                                                    106

  "Them Yankee Blankits"               _Samuel W. Small_             108

  The Soldiers' Monument               _John L. Swift_               110

  The Crutch in the Corner             _John McIntosh_               112

  Roll-call                                                          113

  The Cruise of the Monitor            _George M. Baker_             115

  Missing                                                            117

  Decoration Day                       _Mary Bassett Hussey_         118

  Back from the War                    _T. De Witt Talmage_          120

  A Piece of Bunting                   _Hon. F. W. Palmer_           121

  Grant's Strategy                     _Judge Veazey_                123

  The Charge at Valley Maloy                                         124

  The Hero-woman                       _George Lippard_              126

  Union of Blue and Gray               _Paul H. Hayne_               130

  After "Taps"                         _Horace Binney Sargent_       131

  The Soldier's Reprieve               _Rosa Hartwick Thorpe_        133

  At Arlington                         _James R. Randall_            135

  The Man with the Musket              _H. S. Taylor_                137

  A Baby Peacemaker                    _Herbert W. Collingwood_      138

  The Veterans                         _General Sherman_             141

  Barbara Frietchie                    _Whittier_                    142

  What Saved the Union                                               144

  Re-enlisted                          _Lucy Larcom_                 145

  The Soldier's Dream                  _C. G. Fall_                  147


                      IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS.

                      Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER.

              _BOARDS 50 CENTS_        _PAPER 30 CENTS._

                  LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

                               CONTENTS.

                                                                      PAGE

  How Teddy Saved His Bacon                                              5

  Mr. O'Hoolahan's Mistake                                               7

  The Last of the Sarpints                                               9

  The Irish Boy and the Priest                                          11

  An Irish Wake                                                         12

  Biddy's Philosophy                   _R. H. Stoddard_                 14

  Reflections on the Needle            _Cormac O'Leary_                 15

  The Red O'Neil                       _Thomas S. Collier_              16

  Deaf and Dumb                        _Anna F. Burnham_                20

  Mr. Murphy Explains His Son's Conduct                                 21

  A Ram for Ould Oireland                                               22

  The Gridiron                         _William B. Fowle_               23

  The "O'Meara Consolidated"           _Va. City Enterprise_            26

  Paddy's Metamorphosis                _Moore_                          28

  The Widow O'Shane's Rent                                              29

  Why Biddy and Pat Got Married                                         30

  Don Squixet's Ghost                  _Harry Bolingbroke_              31

  Mr. O'Gallagher's Three Roads to
  Learning                             _Captain Marryat_                33

  Two Irish Idyls                      _Alfred Perceval Graves_         37

  The Broken Pitcher                                                    39

  Paddy's Excelsior                    _Harper's Magazine_              40

  The Irish Philosopher                                                 41

  Mary Maloney's Philosophy            _Philadelphia Bulletin_          42

  Bridget McRae's Wedding Anniversary    _Nina Gray_                    44

  Paddy O'Rafther                      _Samuel Lover_                   45

  Pat's Reason                                                          47

  O'Branigan's Drill                   _W. W. Fink_                     47

  Pat and the Pig                                                       48

  Pat and the Oysters                                                   50

  A Penitent                           _Margaret Eytinge_               51

  Mike McGaffaty's Dog                 _Mark Melville_                  51

  Jimmy Butler and the Owl                                              53

  Tipperary                                                             56

  Pat's Dream of Heaven                                                 58

  Biddy's Troubles                                                      61

  Make It Four, Yer Honor                                               62

  The Post-Boy                         _Mrs C. J. Despard_              64

  That Fire at the Nolans'             _Life_                           67

  Ninety-Eight                                                          70

  Pat's Bondsman                       _Lilian A. Moulton_              71

  Washee, Washee                       _Joaquin Miller_                 73

  Annie's Ticket                                                        74

  O'Thello                             _Harper's Magazine_              76

  Lanty Leary                          _Samuel Lover_                   77

  Katie's Answer                                                        78

  Paddy's Dream                                                         79

  Lessons in Cookery                   _Detroit Free Press_             80

  The Irish Traveller                                                   82

  Teddy's Six Bulls                                                     82

  A Miracle                            _Charles H. Webber_              84

  Pat and Miss Skitty                  _Bessie Bently_                  84

  At the Rising of the Moon            _Leo Casey_                      86

  The Irish Schoolmaster                                                87

  How Dennis Took the Pledge                                            89

  When McGue Puts the Baby to Sleep                                     90

  The Confession                       _Samuel Lover_                   91

  Father Phil's Collection             _Samuel Lover_                   92

  St. Patrick's Martyrs                                                100

  Pat's Correspondence                 _W. M. Giffin_                  102

  Little Pat and the Parson                                            104

  Patrick O'Rouke and the Frogs        _George W. Bungay_              105

  Widow Malone                         _Charles Lever_                 108

  The Birth of St. Patrick             _Samuel Lover_                  109

  Murphy's Mystery of the Pork Barrel                                  110

  Paddy Blake's Echo                   _Samuel Lover_                  111

  A Cook of the Period                                                 112

  Larry's on the Force                 _Irwin Russell_                 113

  Pat and the Frogs                    _R. M. T._                      114

  Paddy's Courting                     _W. A. Eaton_                   116

  A Bit of Gossip                      _Josephine Pollard_             118

  Paddy and His Pig                                                    120

  Teddy McGuire and Paddy O'Flynn      _Amanda T. Jones_               121

  Paudeen O'Rafferty's Say-Voyage                                      125

  Irish Astronomy                      _Charles G. Halpine_            128

  Paddy McGrath's Introduction to Mr.
  Bruin                                                                129

  Larrie O'Dee                         _W. W. Fink_                    131

  Irish Coquetry                                                       132


                 FOR SCHOOL EXERCISES AND EXHIBITIONS.

  =PARLOR VARIETIES= (Part III.). Plays, Pantomimes, Charades. By
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      _Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail,
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                  LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.


                      NEW ELOCUTIONARY HAND-BOOK.

                      EDITED BY GEORGE M. BAKER.

  IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. A series of the most popular Readings
    and Recitations in prose and verse. Boards, 50 cents; paper, 30
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  [Illustration]

  NEGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS. A series of the most popular Readings in
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  [Illustration]

  THE GRAND ARMY SPEAKER. A collection of the best Readings and
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  [Illustration]

  YANKEE DIALECT RECITATIONS. A humorous collection of the best
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  [Illustration]

  MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS. A series of the most popular German,
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  [Illustration]

  THE READING CLUB and Handy Speaker, No. 18. Paper, 15 cents.
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  BAKER'S HUMOROUS SPEAKER. A compilation of popular selections in
    prose and verse in Irish, Dutch, Negro, and Yankee dialect.
    Uniform with "The Handy Speaker," "The Prize Speaker," "The
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  Sold by all Booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of
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                                                  LEE & SHEPARD, Boston.





  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


  TEACHING HIM THE BUSINESS on p. 67 is virtually identical to THE
  VAY RUBE HOFFENSTEIN SELLS on p. 45.

  On p. 137, the second digit is missing from the page number for the
  line "Forcible Entry _J. M. Bailey_ 5".

  Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
  errors.

  Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

  Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

  Enclosed bold font in =equals=.