Chapter 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_!"