The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

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Pupils in public schools on declamation days are limited to five minutes each for the delivery of "pieces." There is a great complaint of the scarcity of material for such a purpose, while the injudicious pruning of eloquent extracts has often marred the desired effects. To obviate these difficulties, new "Five-Minute" books have been prepared by a competent teacher.

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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

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 d'en,—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."