The Wit and Humor of America Volume X Part 21

"So I beg you dake it easy If on de raw I touch, Vhen I say I can't apide de sound Of your groontin, s.h.i.+-s.h.i.+ng Dutch.

Should I in the Legisladure As your slumgullion shtand, I'll have a bill forbidding Dutch Troo all dis 'versal land.

"Should a husband talk it to his frau, To deat' he should pe led; If a mutter breat' it to her s.h.i.+ld, I'd bunch her in de head; Und I'm sure dat none vill atfocate Ids use in public schools, Oonless dey're peastly, nashdy, prutal, Sauerkraut-eaten vools."

Here Mishder Twine, to gadder breat, Shoost make a liddle pause, Und see sechs hundert gapin eyes, Sechs hundert shdarin chaws, Dey shtanden erstarrt like frozen; Von faindly dried to hiss; Und von set: "Ish it shleeps I'm treamin?

Gottausend! vat ish dis?"

Twine keptet von eye on de vindow, Boot poldly went ahet: "Of your oder shtinkin hobits No vordt needt hier pe set.

Shtop goozlin bier--shtop shmokin bipes-- Shtop rootin in de mire; Und shoost _un-Dutchify_ yourselfs: Dat's all dat I require."

Und _denn_ dere coomed a s.h.i.+ndy, Ash if de shky hat trop: "Trow him mit ecks, py doonder!

Go shlog him on de kop!

Hei! Shoot him mit a powie-knifes; Go for him, ganz and gar!

Shoost tar him mit some fedders!

Led's fedder him mit tar!"

Sooch a teufel's row of furie Vas nefer oop-kickt before: Soom roosh to on-climb de blatform-- Soom hoory to fasten te toor: Von veller vired his refolfer, Boot de pullet missed her mark: She coot de cort of de shandelier: It vell, und de hall vas tark!

Oh, vell was it for Hiram Twine Dat nimply he couldt shoomp; Und vell dat he light on a misthauf, Und nefer feel de boomp; Und vell for him dat his goot cray horse Shtood sattled shoost outside; Und vell dat in an augenblick He vas off on a teufel's ride.

Bang! bang! de sharp pistolen shots Vent pipin py his ear, Boot he tortled oop de barrick road Like any mountain deer: Dey trowed der Hiram Twine mit shteins, But dey only could be-mark Von climpse of his vhite obercoadt, Und a clotterin in de tark.

So dey all versembled togeder, Ein ander to sprechen mit, Und allow dat sooch a rede Dey nefer exshpegd from Schmit-- Dat he vas a foorst-gla.s.s plackguard, And so pig a Lump ash ran; So, _nemine contradicente_, Dey vented for Breitmann.

Und 'twas annerthalb yar dereafter Before der Schmit vas know Vot maket dis rural fillage Go pack oopon him so; Und he schvored at de Dootch more schlimmer Ash Hiram Twine had tone.

_Nota bene_: He tid it in earnesht, Vhile der Hiram's vas pusiness fun.

Boot vhen Breitmann heard de shdory, How de fillage hat peen dricked, He shvore bei Leib und Leben He'd rader hafe been licked Dan be helped bei sooch shumgoozlin; Und 'twas petter to pe a schwein Dan a schwindlin honeyfooglin shnake, Like dat lyin Yankee Twine.

Und pegot so heafy disgoosted Mit de boled.i.c.ks of dis land, Dat his friendts couldn't barely keep him From trowin oop his hand, Vhen he helt shtraidt flush, mit an ace in his poot; Vich phrase ish all de same, In de science of de pokerology, Ash if he got de game.

So Breitmann cot elegtet, Py vollowin de vay Dey manage de elegdions Unto dis fery day; Vitch shows de Deutsch _Dummehrlichkeit_, Also de Yankee "wit": Das ist Abenteuer How Breitmann lick der Schmit.

LOVE SONG

BY CHARLES G.o.dFREY LELAND

Overe mine lofe a sugar-powl, De fery shmallest loomp Vouldt shveet de seas from bole to bole, Und make de s.h.i.+ldren shoomp.

Und if she vere a clofer-fieldt, I'd bet mine only pence, It vouldn't pe no dime at all Pefore I'd shoomp de fence.

Her heafenly foice it drill me so, It really seems to hoort; She ish de holiest anamile Dat roons oopon de dirt.

De re'nbow rises ven she sings, De sonn s.h.i.+ne ven she dalk, De angels crow und flop deir vings Ven she goes out to valk.

So livin vhite--so carnadine-- Mine lofe's gomblexion glow; It's shoost like abendcarmosine Rich gleamin on de shnow.

Her soul makes plooshes in her sheek, As sommer reds de wein, Or sonlight sends a fire-life troo An blank karfunkelstein.

De ueberschwengliche idees Dis lofe put in my mind, Vould make a foostrate philosoph Of any human kind.

'Tis shuderned sweet on eart' to meet An himmlisch-hoellisch qual, Und treat mit whiles to k.u.mmel schnapps De Shoenheitsideal.

CONTENTMENT

"_Man wants but little here below_"

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A _very plain_ brownstone will do,) That I may call my own;-- And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten;-- If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen!

I always thought cold victual nice;-- My _choice_ would be vanilla-ice.

I care not much for gold or land;-- Give me a mortgage here and there,-- Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share,-- I only ask that Fortune send A _little_ more than I shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know, And t.i.tles are but empty names; I would, _perhaps_, be Plenipo,-- But only near St. James; I'm very sure I should not care To fill our Gubernator's chair.

Jewels are bawbles; 'tis a sin To care for such unfruitful things;-- One good-sized diamond in a pin,-- Some, _not so large_, in rings,-- A ruby, and a pearl, or so, Will do for me;--I laugh at show.

My dame should dress in cheap attire; (Good, heavy silks are never dear;)-- I own perhaps I _might_ desire Some shawls of true Cashmere,-- Some marrowy c.r.a.pes of China silk, Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

I would not have the horse I drive So fast that folks must stop and stare; An easy gait--two, forty-five-- Suits me; I do not care;-- Perhaps, for just a _single spurt_, Some seconds less would do no hurt.

Of pictures, I should like to own t.i.tians and Raphaels three or four,-- I love so much their style and tone,-- One Turner, and no more, (A landscape,--foreground golden dirt,-- The suns.h.i.+ne painted with a squirt.)

Of books but few,--some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor;-- Some _little_ luxury _there_ Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream.

Busts, cameos, gems,--such things as these, Which others often show for pride, _I_ value for their power to please, And selfish churls deride;-- _One_ Stradivarius, I confess, _Two_ Meerschaums, I would fain possess.

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;-- Shall not carved tables serve my turn, But _all_ must be of buhl?

Give grasping pomp its double share,-- I ask but _one_ rec.u.mbent chair.

Thus humble let me live and die, Nor long for Midas' golden touch; If Heaven more generous gifts deny, I shall not miss them _much_,-- Too grateful for the blessing lent Of simple tastes and mind content!

TOM'S MONEY

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD

Mrs. Laughton had found what she had been looking for all her life--the man under her bed.