Two gentlemen their appetite had fed,
When opening his toothpick-case, one said,
"It was not until lately that I knew
That anchovies on terrâ firmâ grew."
"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they grow, indeed,
Like other fish, but not upon the land;
You might as well say grapes grow on a reed,
Or in the Strand!"
"Why, sir," returned the irritated other,
"My brother,
When at Calcutta
Beheld them bonâ fide growing;
He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir; so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit
To the assertion—none e'er saw or read it;
Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."
"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are
Perverse—in short—"
"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,
And then his port—
"If you will say impossibles are true,
You may affirm just anything you please—
That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,
And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese!
Only you must not force me to believe
What's propagated merely to deceive."
"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"
Return'd the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool:
It made the listener stagger;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
"The traveler lied
Who had the impudence to tell it you;"
"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace?"
"I do!"
Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it—bone,
And take to duelling or thumping têtes;
Thinking by strength of artery to atone
For strength of argument; and he who winces
From force of words, with force of arms convinces!
With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show
It might be better they shook hands—but no;
When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right,
Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!
And they did fight: from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,
Ran up, and with a duelistic fear
(His ire evanishing like morning vapors),
Found him possess'd of one remaining ear,
Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried—"The deuce is in't—
Sir, I meant—CAPERS!"
William Basil Wake.

HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Dey had biano-blayin':
I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,
Her name was Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I vent dere, you'll pe pound.
I valtzet mit Madilda Yane
Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Fräulein in de house,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I dells you it cost him dear.
Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
Of foost-rate Lager Beer,
Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
I dinks dat so vine a barty
Nefer coom to a het dis year.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Dere all vas Souse und Brouse;
Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house.
Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst und Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty.
We all cot troonk ash bigs.
I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks
Dill be coonshtable made oos shtop.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty—
Where ish dat barty now!
Where ish de lofely golden cloud
Dat float on de moundain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrablende Stern—
De shtar of de shpirit's light?
All goned afay mit de Lager Beer—
Afay in de Ewigkeit!
Charles Godfrey Leland.

BALLAD BY HANS BREITMANN

Der noble Ritter Hugo
Von Schwillensaufenstein
Rode out mit shpeer and helmet,
Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.
Und oop dere rose a meermaid,
Fot hadn't got nodings on,
Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo,
Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?"
And he says, "I ride in de creenwood,
Mit helmet und mit shpeer,
Till I cooms into em Gasthaus,
Und dere I trinks some beer."
Und den outshpoke the maiden
Vot hadn't got nodings on:
"I ton't tink mooch of beoplesh
Dat goes mit demselfs alone.

"You'd petter coom down in de wasser,
Vhere deres heaps of dings to see,
Und hafe a shplendid tinner
Und drafel along mit me.
"Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin',
Und you catches dem efery von:"—
So sang dis wasser maiden,
Vot hadn't got nodings on.
"Dere ish drunks all full mit money
In ships dat vent down of old;
Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder!
To shimmerin' crowns of gold.
"Shoost look at these shpoons and vatches!
Shoost see dese diamant rings!
Coom down and fill your pockets,
And I'll giss you like efery dings.
"Vot you vanst mit your schnapps and lager?
Come down into der Rhine!
Der ish pottles de Kaiser Charlemagne
Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"
Dat fetched him—she shtood all shpell-pound;
She pooled his coat-tails down;
She drawed him oonder der wasser,
De maiden mit nodings on.
Charles Godfrey Leland.

GRAMPY SINGS A SONG

Row-diddy, dow de, my little sis,
Hush up your teasin' and listen to this:
'Tain't much of a jingle, 'tain't much of a tune,
But it's spang-fired truth about Chester Cahoon.
The thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made
Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.
He was boss of the tub and the foreman of hose;
When the 'larm rung he'd start, sis, a-sheddin' his clothes,
—Slung cote and slung wes'cote and kicked off his shoes,
A-runnin' like fun, for he'd no time to lose.
And he'd howl down the ro'd in a big cloud of dust,
For he made it his brag he was allus there fust.
—Allus there fust, with a whoop and a shout,
And he never shut up till the fire was out.
And he'd knock out the winders and save all the doors,
And tear off the clapboards, and rip up the floors,
For he allus allowed 'twas a tarnation sin
To 'low 'em to burn, for you'd want 'em agin.
He gen'rally stirred up the most of his touse
In hustling to save the outside of the house.
And after he'd wrassled and hollered and pried,
He'd let up and tackle the stuff 'twas inside.
To see him you'd think he was daft as a loon,
But that was jest habit with Chester Cahoon.
Row diddy-iddy, my little sis,
Now see what ye think of a doin' like this:
The time of the fire at Jenkins' old place
It got a big start—was a desprit case;
The fambly they didn't know which way to turn.
And by gracious, it looked like it all was to burn.
But Chester Cahoon—oh, that Chester Cahoon,
He sailed to the roof like a reg'lar balloon;
Donno how he done it, but done it he did,
—Went down through the scuttle and shet down the lid.
And five minutes later that critter he came
To the second floor winder surrounded by flame.
He lugged in his arms, sis, a stove and a bed,
And balanced a bureau right square on his head.
His hands they was loaded with crockery stuff,
China and glass; as if that warn't enough,
He'd rolls of big quilts round his neck like a wreath,
And carried Mis' Jenkins' old aunt with his teeth.
You're right—gospel right, little sis,—didn't seem
The critter'd git down, but he called for the stream,
And when it come strong and big round as my wrist;
He stuck out his legs, sis, and give 'em a twist;
And he hooked round the water jes' if 'twas a rope,
And down he come easin' himself on the slope,
—So almighty spry that he made that 'ere stream
As fit for his pupp'us' as if 'twas a beam.
Oh, the thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made
Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.
Holman F. Day.