Part 6

"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!"