CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.
AUTHOR OF “LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS.”
HE humorous and dialectic literature of America owes more to Charles Follen Adams perhaps than to any other contributor who has not made literature a business or depended upon his pen for his livelihood. There is not a pretentious book of humorous readings or popular selections of late years which has not enriched its pages from this pleasingly funny man who delineates the German-American character and imitates its dialect with an art that is so true to nature as to be well-nigh perfection. “The Puzzled Dutchman;” “Mine Vamily;” “Mine Moder-in-Law;” “Der Vater Mill;” “Der Drummer,” and, above all, “Dot Leedle Yawcob Strauss,” have become classics of their kind and will not soon suffer their author to be forgotten.
Charles Follen Adams was born in Dorchester, Mass., April 21, 1842, where he received a common school education, leaving school at fifteen years of age to take a position in a business house in Boston. This place he occupied until August, 1862, when he enlisted, at the age of twenty, in the Thirteenth Massachusetts Regiment of Volunteers, and saw service in a number of hard-fought battles. At Gettysburg, in 1863, he was wounded and held a prisoner for three days until the Union forces recaptured the town. After the close of the war he resumed business, and succeeded in placing himself at the head of a large business house in Boston, where he has continued to reside.
It was not until 1870 that Mr. Adams wrote his first poem, and it was two years later that his first dialectic effort, “The Puzzled Dutchman,” appeared and made his name known. From that time he begun to contribute “as the spirit moved him” to the local papers, “Oliver Optic’s Magazine,” and, now and then, to “Scribner’s.” In 1876 he became a regular contributor to the “Detroit Free Press,” his “Leedle Yawcob Strauss” being published in that paper in June, 1876. For many years all his productions were published in that journal, and did much to enhance its growing popularity as a humorous paper.
As a genial, companionable man in business and social circles, Mr. Adams has as great distinction among his friends as he holds in the literary world as a humorist. His house is one of marked hospitality where the fortunate guest always finds a cordial welcome.
DER DRUMMER.[¹]
[¹] Special Permission of the Author.
HO puts oup at der pest hotel,
Und dakes his oysders 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 py der handt, und say,
“Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day?”
Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay?
Der drummer.
Who shpreads his zamples in a trice,
Und dells me, “Look, und see how nice?”
Und says I get “der bottom price?”
Der drummer.
Who dells how sheap der goods vas bought,
Mooch less as vot I gould imbort,
But lets dem go as he vas “short?”
Der drummer.
Who says der tings vas eggstra vine,—
“Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine,”—
Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine?
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 mine bier, and eats 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?
Der drummer.
HANS AND FRITZ.[¹]
[¹] Special Permission of the Author.
ANS and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side,
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride:
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent,
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content.
Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day,
And, lacking a part of the Geld,—as they say,—
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan.
Fritz kindly consented the money to lend,
And gave the required amount to his friend;
Remarking,—his own simple language to quote,—
“Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note.”
The note was drawn up in their primitive way,—
“I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day;”
When the question arose, the note being made,
“Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?”
“You geeps dot,” says Fritz, “und den you vill know
You owes me dot money.” Says Hans, “Dot ish so:
Dot makes me remempers I half dot to bay,
Und I prings you der note und der money some day.”
A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed,
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed.
Says Fritz, “Now dot settles us.” Hans replies, “Yaw:
Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law?”
“I geeps dot now, aind’t it?” says Fritz; “den you see,
I alvays remempers you paid dot to me.”
Says Hans, “Dot ish so: it vas now shust so blain,
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again.”
YAWCOB STRAUSS.[¹]
[¹] Special Permission of the Author.
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 vas mine son,
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He get der measles und der mumbs,
Und eferyding dot’s oudt;
He sbills mine glass off 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 schticks 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 cut 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.”
MINE MODER-IN-LAW.[¹]
[¹] Copyright, Harper & Bros.
HERE 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 blendy droubles, und indo mishaps
Mitout der least bit off a cause;
Und vould you pelief it? dhose mean Yangee shaps
Dhey fights mit dheir moder-in-laws?
Shust dink off a vhite man so vicked as dot!
Vhy not gife der oldt lady a show?
Who vas it gets oup, ven der nighdt id vas hot,
Mit mine baby, I shust like to know?
Und dhen in dher vinter vhen Katrine vas sick
Und der mornings vas shnowy und raw,
Who made righdt avay oup dot fire so quick?
Vhy, dot vas mine moder-in-law.
Id vas von off dhose voman’s righdts vellers I been
Dhere vas noding dot’s mean aboudt me;
Vhen der oldt lady vishes to run dot masheen,
Vhy, I shust let her run id, you see.
Und vhen dot shly Yawcob vas cutting some dricks
(A block off der oldt chip he vas, yaw!)
Ef he goes for dot shap like some dousand off bricks,
Dot’s all righdt! She’s mine moder-in-law.
Veek oudt und veek in, id vas always der same,
Dot vomen vas boss off der house;
But, dehn, neffer mindt! I vas glad dot she came
She vas kind to mine young Yawcob Strauss.
Und ven 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.
YAWCOB’S DRIBULATIONS.[¹]
(SEQUEL TO “LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS.”)
[¹] Copyright, Lee & Shepard.
AYBE dot you don’d rememper,
Eighdeen—dwendy years ago,
How I dold aboudt mine Yawcob—
Dot young rashkell, don’t you know,
Who got schicken-box und measles;
Filled mine bipe mit Limburg sheeze;
Cut mine cane oup indo dhrum-schticks,
Und blay all sooch dricks as dhese.
Vell! dhose times dhey vas been ofer,
Und dot son off mine, py shings!
Now vas taller as hees fader,
Und vas oup to all sooch dhings
Like shimnasdic dricks und pase pall;
Und der oder day he say
Dot he boxes mit “adthledics,”
Somevheres ofer on Back Bay.
Times vas deeferent, now, I dold you,
As vhen he vas been a lad;
Dhen Katrine she make hees drowsers
Vrom der oldt vones off hees dad;
Dhey vas cut so full und baggy,
Dot id dook more as a fool
To find oudt eef he vas going,
Or vas coming home vrom school.
Now, dhere vas no making ofer
Off mine clothes to make a suit
For dot poy—der times vas schanged;
“Der leg vas on der oder boot;”
For vhen hees drowsers dhey gets dhin,
Und sort off “schlazy” roundt der knee,
Dot Mrs. Strauss she dake der sceessors
Und she cuts dhem down for me.
Shust der oder day dot Yawcob
Gife me von electric shock,
Vhen he say he vants fife-hundord
To invesht in railroadt schtock.
Dhen I dell him id vas beddher
Dot he leaf der schtocks alone,
Or some fellar dot vas schmardter
Dake der meat und leaf der bone.
Und vhen I vas got oxcited,
Und say he get “schwiped” und fooled,
Dhen he say he haf a “pointer”
Vrom soom frendts off Sage und Gould;
Und dot he vas on “rock bottom;”
Had der “inside drack” on “Atch—”
Dot vas too mooch fur hees fader,
Und I coom oup to der scratch.
Dhen in bolitics he dabbles,
Und all qvesdions, great und schmall,
Make no deeferent to dot Yawcob—
For dot poy he knows id all.
Und he say dot dhose oldt fogies
Must be laid oup on der shelf,
Und der governors und mayors
Should pe young men—like himself.
Vell! I vish I vas dransborted
To dhose days of long ago,
Vhen dot schafer beat der milk-ban,
Und schkydoodled droo der schnow.
I could schtand der mumbs und measles,
Und der ruckshuns in der house;
Budt mine presendt dribulations
Vas too mooch for Meester Strauss.
THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN.[¹]
The copy for this selection was forwarded to us by the author himself with the notation on the side, “My First Dialect Poem.”
[¹] Copyright, Lee & Shepard.
’M a broken-hearted Deutscher,
Vots villed mit crief unt shame.
I dells you vot der drouble ish—
I doesn’t know my name.
You dinks it ferry vunny, eh?
Ven you der story hear,
You vill not wonder den so mooch,
It vas so shtrange und queer.
Mein mudder had dwo liddle dwins—
Dey vas me und mein brudder;
Ve lookt so very mooch alike
No von knew vich from toder.
Von of der poys was Yawcob
Und Hans der oder’s name;
But den it made no different—
Ve both got called der same.
Vell, von of us got tead—
Yaw, Mynheer, dat is so;
But vedder Hans or Yawcob,
Mein mudder she don’t know.
Und so I am in droubles;
I gan’t git droo mein hed
Vedder I’m Hans vot’s living,
Or Yawcob vot is tead.
DER OAK AND DER VINE.[¹]
[¹] From “Dialect Ballads.” Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers.
DON’D vas preaching voman’s righdts,
Or anyding like dot,
Und I likes to see all beoples
Shust gondented mit dheir lot;
Budt I vants to gondradict dot shap
Dot made dis leedle shoke;
“A voman vas der glinging vine,
Und man, der shturdy oak.”
Berhaps, somedimes, dot may be drue;
Budt, den dimes oudt off nine,
I find me oudt dot man himself
Vas peen der glinging vine;
Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone,
Und he vas shust “tead proke,”
Dot’s vhen der voman shteps righdt in,
Und peen der shturdy oak.
Shust go oup to der paseball groundts
Und see dhose “shturdy oaks”
All planted roundt ubon der seats—
Shust hear dheir laughs and shokes!
Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs,
Mit glothes oudt on der lines;
Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine friendts,
Und vhich der glinging vines?
Ven sickness in der householdt comes,
Und veeks und veeks he shtays,
Who vas id fighdts him mitoudt resdt,
Dhose veary nighdts und days?
Who beace und gomfort alvays prings,
Und cools dot fefered prow?
More like id vas der tender vine
Dot oak he glings to, now.
“Man vants budt leedle here below,”
Der boet von time said;
Dhere’s leedle dot man he don’d vant,
I dink id means, inshted;
Und ven der years keep rolling on,
Dheir cares und droubles pringing,
He vants to pe der shturdy oak,
Und, also, do der glinging.
Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more,
Und don’d so shturdy peen,
Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance
To helb run life’s masheen.
In helt und sickness, shoy und pain,
In calm or shtormy veddher,
’Twas beddher dot dhose oaks und vines
Should alvays gling togeddher.
