Chapter 7

"Dere vas vonce oopon a dimes a Frantchman who asket if a Sharman could hafe esprit. Allowin for his pad shbellin, de reater will find dat der Herr Breitmann was hafe a spree goot many dimes. You gant ged rount de Dootch." - FRITZ SWACKENHAMMER.

GOTTS blitz! blau Feuer, potz bomben Tod! Vot shimmers in de mitnacht roth? Like hell-shtrom boorst o'er heafen's plain, Trowin dead light on eart acain:- Ja! - wide im nord om Odin shtone Lies a shiant form im glare alone. Troonk py de eis-kalt roarin shdream Der Hans ish hafe ein wunder tream.

Troonk om haunted Odinstein Im Hexenlicht und Elfenschein Vhere blooty Druids omens trew From grin und screech of shaps dey slew; Or vhere der Norseman long of yore Vas carven eagles on de shore, As o'er him yell de Valkyr broot Und crows valk round knee teep im ploot, Vhile rabens schkreem o'er ruddy bay; Dere - ten pottles troonk - Hans Breitmann lay.

Fast und rof der war-man shnore Like de hammer-shlog of Thor, Schnell ash Mjollner's bang und beat Heaved de form from het to veet Vhile apofe him in de shkies Dere he saw a glorie rise, Und im mittle von it all De iron lords of crate Valhall.

Long he gaze mit wolfen glare At de Aesir in de air, Long mit schneerin baren grin He toorn his nase auf und hin (For ne'er a Sherman - tam de otts- Vas efer yet gife in to Gotts), Dill avery Aes owned oop dat he A gott-like man of brass moost pe.

Shtern der Breitmann raise his het, To his fader Gotts he set: "Let your worts of wisehood shlip; Rush your runes, und let 'em rip! For you de gotts hafe efer pe Of dose who vere ash gotts to me:- Alt Thor der Thoren here pelow- Vot hell you vants,[36] I'd like to know?"

Antworded ash de donner clangs, Der fader of de iron bangs: "De gotts will let de hell-dogs go, Und raise damnation here pelow; Until de sassy Frenchmen schmell De rifers ten dat roon troo hell To telle dis I comme dence, Dou lord of lion impudence.

"Drafeller! I know dee vell! Breitmann improturbable! Vhen on eart I hat my shy, Breitmann of dat age vas I. I schwear py Thor! so crate und gay, I smashed de Jotuns in my tay, Und dou shall pe ge-writ sooplime Ash de crate Thor of deiner time.

"Now ve lets de eagles vly Skreemin troo de vlamin shky, Our own specials: - dare nod laugh; For in de London Telegraph, A voondrous poy vot make oos shdare, For hop vhat may, he's alvays dere! Vill dell de worlt, troo blut and flame, Hans Breitmann ist der Uhlan's name.

"Und all dou e'er on eart has done, From oop gang oontil settin sun, Vill pe ash nix - I schvear py Thor! To vat dou'lt do in dieser war; Plazin roofs und mordered men, Hell set loose on eart again; Rush und ride in shtorm und floot, Cannon roarin, pools of bloot; Deutschland mad in fool career, Led py dy Uhlanen speer, Hell's harfest - sheafs of fictorie, Reaped mit deat's sword und reapt by dee!

"Ja! On many a dorf und disch, Dou shalt pring a requisish;[37] Dwendy dimes de Frantscher men Hafe sporned dy land in blut acain- All dose dwenty dimes in von, Py Deutschland shall to France pe done, Und dwenty dimes in blut and wein Shalst dou refenge de Palatine.

"Go! - mit shpeer und fiery muth! Go! - mit durst for bier und blut! Go! - mit lofe for Vaterland, Into burning fury fanned: Towns und hen-roosts shall hafe shown Vhere der Uhlan ist peen gone, Und cocks vill roon und men crow tame To hear of der Uhlanen name."

Der fision fadet in de shky, Und hours vent on und time goed py. Vot heardest dou, Napolium? De rumpitty, rumpitty, rumpitty poom! Ven you hear de sound of de droom, Oh denn you know dat de Dootch hafe coom, De treadful roarin Dootch, mit de droom Und de roompitty, pumpitty, poompity pum! De wild ferocious Dootch on a bum, Mit cannon roar und pattle hum, Mit fee und faw on de foe und fum! Led py de awful Breitemum! Bitty boom!! BOOM!!

II.

BREITMANN IN A BALLOON.

WHO vas efer hear soosh voonders, Holy breest or virshin nonn? As pefelled de Coptain Breitmann, Vhen he hoont an air-ballon. Der Bizzy[38] und der Dizzy,[39] Mit lothairingen und Lothair, Vas nodings to dis Deutscher, Who vent kitin troo de air.

Id was in yar Nofember, In eighdeen sefendee, Der Breitmann vent a prowlin, By monden light vent he. In fillages deserted He hear de Uhu moan; For you alvays hear der Uhu[40] Vhere der Uhu-lan ish gone.

Alone allonsed[41] der Uhlan, Boot nodings could he find Safe whitey clouds a drivin In moonshine fore de wind. Boot ash he see dese cloudins He bemark dat von vas round, Und inshtead of goin oopwarts It kep risin towards de ground.

"Oh, vot ish dis a gomin? Some planet, py de Lord! Too boor to life in heafen, Coom down on eart to poard; Und pelow it schwing tree engels- Two he-vons mit a wench. Boot, mein Gott! vot sort of engels Can dose pe, dalkin Fraentsch!

"I hafe read in Eckhartshausen Dat oop in heafen - py tam! De engels dalk in Sherman, Und sing Mardin Luther's psalm. O nein - es sind kein engeln Vot sail so smoofly on, Das sind verfluchte Franzosen In einem luft-ballon!"[42]

Hei! how der Breitman streak it Ven vonce he kess de trut'! He spurred id like de wild fire Of hope in early yout'. Troo de weingarts like der teufel Vhen he shase a lawyer's soul; Down der moundain mit his lanze Und his wafin banderol.

Down de moundain, o'er de valley, Troo de village he ish gone; Dog-barks die out pehind him, Oders bark ash he come on. Liddle heedet he deir bellin, Liddle mind der Hahnen crow; Liddle hear der Bauern yellin, Clotter, clodder, on he go.

"Oh, vot ish hoontin foxen, Und vot ish yager pliss, Und vot ish shasin bison On de blains, to soosh ash dis? I hafe dinked dat roonin rebels Vas de best of eartly fun; Boot id isn't half so sholly Ash to go a luft-ballon."

Und ash id shdill vent onwart, Shdill onwarts mit der wind, Der coom a real madness To catch id, o'er his mind. Und had'st dou seen him vylin, Dat wild onfuriate brick, Dou'st hafe schworn dat Coptain Breitmann Was pecome balloonatic.

In fain dey trow deir sand-bags, In fain all dings let fall, De ballon shdill kep a sinkin, Und id vouldn't rise at all. Yet de wild wind trife id onwarts, Onwarts shdill der Breitmann go, Dill he cotch id py a rope-ent Vot vas hangin town pelow.

Boot vhen it risen oopwarts, Ash he cling to id, of corse, Mit de lefter hand he holtet To de pridle of his horse. Der horse valk on his hind-legs: Too schwer to rise vas he; Mein Gott! vot fix for Breitmann Of de Uhlan cavallrie!

So he go for seferal stunden Petween himmel und eart pelow, Boot der teufel und die engels Couldn't make der Hans let go. Dill all at vonce an idee Coom from his loocky shtar- He led co his horse's pridle Und glimb oop indo de car.

Und vot you dinks he foundet Vhen in dat air-ballon? A nople Englisch vicomte, Milord de Robinson; Und mit him vas a laity, Mit whom he'd rooned afay, Whom he indroduce to Breitmann Ash die Jungfer Salome.

Und der dritte was a barson, Whom Milord, mit prudent view, Hat took als secretaire, Likevise for pallast doo. Dey should hafe bitched him ofer Vhen de gas was out, dey say; Boot de dame vould not 'low it:- She'd an arriere pensee.

Sait Milord: "Afar we've wandered, We are completely brown; And I'll give a thousand shiners If you'll take me to a town Where no one will molest us Till we find our way to Lon--" Here der Breitmann ent de sentence Ash he gry out, shortly, "done."

"And as for this fair lady To whom I would be bound," Sait Milord, "we'll have a wedding Before we reach the ground. To escape her father's anger We fled to live in peace, But she's relatives in London, And they have - the police."

O vas not dis a voonders To make de Captain shdare?- A tausend pounds in bocket Und a veddin in de air? He gafe avay de laity, Und als sie wieder kam Zur festen Erde wieder, Ward sie Robinson Madame.[43]

"O go mit me," said Breitmann, "O go in mein Quartier! Don't mind dem gommon soldiers, For I'm an officier." He guide dem troo de coontry Till dey reach de ocean strand; Now dey sit und pless Hans Breitmann, In de far-off English land.

Dis ish Breitmann's last adfenture How troo Himmel air flew he: Und it's dime, oh nople reader! For a dime to part from dee. Dou may'st dake it all in earnest Or pelieve id's only fon; Boot dere's woonder dings has hoppent Fery oft in Luft-ballon. III.

BREITMANN AND BOUILLI.

"Tres estime ami, - Ick seyn nock nit verdorb, Vielleickt Sie denck wohl kar, das ick sey tod gestorb, Ock ne Kott loben Danck, ick leb nock kanss wohl auf. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Naturlich wie Kespenst die off die Kasse keh." - Deutsch-Franzos, Leipzig, 1736.

Vot roombles down de Bergstrass? Vot a grash ish in de air! Mit a desberate gonfusion, Und a gry of wild tespair, Das sind gethrasht Franzosen,[44] Und dose who after flee Are de terror of Champagner, Die Uhlan cavallrie.

So liddle say die hoonted, De hoonters lesser shdill; Der Frank is ride for's leben, Der Deutscher rides to kill. Ofer dickly-doosty faces Deir eyes like wild-katzs glare; De blut und iron ridin Of furie und despair.

Boot of all de wild Uhlanen, Der Breitmann ride de pest; For he mark de Frantsch gommanter Ish most elegandtly tresst. Und ash he coom down on him, Dere's a deat' look in his eye: "Gotts! if I carfe dat toorkey, How I'll make de stoofin vly!"

Mit a clotter und a flotter Like a hell-sturm dey are on: Mit a rottle to de pattle Coom de Deutschers, knockin' down, Down de moundain to a brucke- Vhy die Frantschmen toorn ad bay? Oder Deutsch were dere pefore dem, Und die pridge ish coot avay!

Von second der Franzose Look down mit blitzen eye; Von second at de brucke, Den toorn him round to die. Vhile mit out-ge-poke-te lanze, Like ter teufel shot from hell, Rode der ploonder-shtarvin Breitmann On der grau-bart Colonel.

Vot for der Coptain Breitmann Ish shdop in his career? Vot for he pool his pridle? Vot for let down his speer? Vot for his eyes like saucers Grow pigger, rimmed mit staub? Vot for his hair, a pristlin, Lift oop his pickel-haub?[45]

So awfool - so oneart'ly, So treadful was his glare, So unbeschreiblich gastly, Dat der Colonel self was shkare. Oop come der Breitmann ridin, Und mit gratin force he said: "Bist - du - wirkelich - lebendig?[46] Can de grafe gife oop its tead?

"Dou livest yet - dou breaf'st yet, Dough oldter now you pe Since I mordered you in Strasburg, Mein freund - mon Jean Bouilli. We lofed de selfe maiden Wohl forty years agone:- She died to hear I kilt you:- Jean - how weiss your beard ish grown!

"I would gife my Hab' und Guter,[47] Dereto mein bit of life Couldt I pring dat shild to leben, Und make her, Jean, dy wife!" Here der Breitmann boorst out gryin, Like a liddle prook vept he; Und dey hugged and gissed einander, Der Breitmann und Bouilli.

"Ach, de efils dat from efil Troo a life ish efer grow! Had I nefer dink I killed you, Many a man were livin now- Many a man dat shleeps in cane-brakes, Many a man py pillow-shore; For dy morder mate me reckelos, Und von tead man gries for more!

"O Madchen! schon im Himmel![48] (Warst schon on eart' difine)- Can'st dink among de Engeln Of soosh as me und mine? Den look on soosh a Reue, Ash eart' has nefer known:- Whereto hast dou a sabre? Wherefore not kill me, Jean?"

"O, ne pleurez pas, mon Breitmann! Je trouve cela trop fort," Gry der Colonel sehr politely; "How! - you crois dat I was mort! Mon Dieu! 'Tis but one minute, As we galloped to this plain, I thought your spear, mon gaillard, Would kill me o'er again.

Je vous fais mon compliment, Your tendresse becomes you well; Et ne pleurez pas, mon brave, Pour la petite demoiselle. I have had a thousand since; One can always find such game; Et pour dire la verite, I have quite forgot her name."

Der Breitmann lok so earnest, Long and earnest at his foe, Ash if seein troo his augen To de forty years ago. Mit vot a shmile der Breitmann Toorned roundt und rode away: Dat was all his parting greetin To der Colonel Francais. IV.

BREITMANN TAKES THE TOWN OF NANCY.

O HEAR a wondrous shdory Vot soundet like romance, How Breitmann mit four Uhlans Vas dake de town of Nantz. De Frantschmen call it Nancy,[49] Und dey say its fery hard Dat Nancy mit her soldiers Vas getook py gorpral's guard.

Dey dink id vas King Wilhelm Ash Hans ride in de down, Und like Odin in his glorie Gazed derriply aroun'. Denn mit awfool condesenchen He at de Frantschmen shtare, Und say, "Ye wretsched shildren? Abbortez mir vodre mere!"

Hans mean de city Syndic, Whom maire de Frantschmen call; So mit a tousand soldiers Dey 'scort him to de Hall; In de shair of shtade dey sot him, Der maire coom to pe heard, Und Hans glare at him fife minutes Pefore he shbeak a word.

Den in iron dones he ootered: "Ich temand que rentez fous: Shai dreisig mille soldaten Bas loin l'ici, barploo! Aber tonnez-moi Champagner; Shai an soif exdrortinaire- Apout one douzaine cart-loads; Und dann je fous laisse faire."[50]

Denn he say to Schwackenhammer, His segretaire - "Read A liddle exdra liste Of dings de army need, Und dell dem in Franzosisch Dey moost shell de neetfool down In less dan dwendy minudes, Or, py Gott, I'll purn de town."

"Item - one tousand vatches Of purest gold so fair; Dazu funf tousand silbern, For de gommon soldiers' wear; Und tree dousand diamant ringe Dey moost make tirectly come, We need dem for our schweethearts Ven we write to em at home!

"Von million cigarren Ve'll accept ash extra boons For not squeezin dem seferely, Dazu dwelf tousand shboons." Here der maire fell down in schwoonin, Denn all dat he could say Vas ,"O mon dieu, de dieu, dieu! Nous voila ruinees!"[51]

No wort der Breitmann ootered, He only make a sgratch, Calm and silend on de daple, Mit a liddle friction match. De maire versteh de motion, So went him to de task Of raisin mong de peoples Vot it vas der Breitmann ask.

So kam he mit de ringe, Dey vind dem pooty soon; So kam he mit de vatches, Und avery silber spoon. Boot ash for de champagner, He wept and loudly call Dat par dieu! he hadn't any, For de Deutsch hafe troonk it all.

Ja! - de gorporal's guart have trinket Efery pottle in de down, Vhile dese negotiations Oop-stairs vere written down. Boot der Breitmann sooplimely, Like von who nodings felt, Said, "Instet of le champagner Nous brentirons du gelt."[52]

Ja wohl! Donnes cent mille franken, C'est mir egal, you know;[53] Pid dem pring id in a horry, For 'tis dime for oos to go." Der maire he pring de money, Und der Breitmann squeeze his hand,- "Leb wohl, dou nople brickbat, Herzbruder in Frankenland!

"Boot it griefes my soul to larmen, Und I sympathize mit dein, To pense of you, mon ami, Sans le champagner wein. Dere will oder Deutsch pe gomin, Und it preak mine heart to dink De vay dey'll bang and slang you If dere's no champagne to trink!

"Cela fous fera misere Que she ne feux bas see; So, vollow mes gonseilles, Et brenez mon afis. Shai, moi, deux mille boutelles, De meilleur dat man can ashk,[54] Vich I will gladly sell- Sheap as dirt - ten franks a flask."

De maire look oop to heafen, Wohl nodings could he say, Vhile oud indo de mitnight Der Breitmann rode afay. Away - atown de falley, Till noding more abbears Boot de glitter of de moonlight, De moonlight on deir spears.

V.

BREITMANN IN BIVOUAC.

HE sits in bivouacke, By fire, peneat' de drees; A pottle of champagner Held shently on his knees; His lange Uhlan lanze Stuck py him in de sand; Vhile a goot peas-poodin' sausage Adorn his oder hand.

Und jungere Uhlanen Sit round mit oben mout' To hear der Breitmann's shdories Of fitin in de Sout' Und he gife dem moral lessons, How pefore de battle pops: "Take a liddle brayer to Himmel, Und a goot long trink of schnapps."

Denn his leutenant bemarket: "How voonder shdrange it peen Dat so very many wild pigs Ish dis year in de Ardennes. Ash I sout dere - donner'r'wetter!- I sah dem coom heraus, Shoost here und dere an Eber Mit a hoondert tousand sows.

"Shoost dink of all dese she-picks Vot flet to neutral land!" Said Breitmann: "Fery easy Ish dis to oonderstand: Dese schwein-picks mit de sauen Vot you saw a-roonin rond, Ish a crate medempsygosis Of the Frantsche demi-monde.

"I hafe readet in de Bible How soosh a coterie Vas ge-toornet into swine-picks, Und roon down indo de see; Boot since de see aint handy, Or de picks vere all too dumm, Dey hafe coot across de porder Und vly to Belgium."

Now ash dey boorst oud laughin, Und got more liquor out, Dey hearden from de sendry A shot und denn a shout. Und Breitmann crasp his sabre Quick ash de bullet hiss, Und leapin out, demantet, "Herr'r'r'r Gott! vat row ish dis?"

Und bold der Schwabian answert: "Dis minute on de ground Dere comed a Frantschman greepin, On all-fours a-prowlin round. I ask him vat he vanted; Werda! I gry; boot he Say nodings to my shallenge, Und only answer 'Oui.'

"So I shoot him like der teufels, Und I rader dink our friend, Dis sneakin Frank-tiroir, Ish a-drawin to his end." So dey hoonted in de pushes, Und in avery gorner dig, Boot, mein Gott! how dey vas laughin, Ven dey found a - mordered pig.

Next week dey hear from Paris, Und reat in de Gaulois Of de most adrocious action De vorlt vas efer saw. How de Uhlan cannibalen, Dis vile und awful prood, Hafe killt a nople Frantschman, Und cut him oop for food.

"Ja - shop him indo sausage, Und coot him indo ham; Und schwear dey'll serfe all oders Exacdly so - py tam! Sons of France, awake to glory, Let your anciend valor shine! Und shweep dis Prussian vermin Het und dails indo de Rhine!"

VI.

BREITMANN'S LAST PARTY.

For fear of some missed onder standings, I vould shtate, dat dis is only mean de last Barty dat der Coptain Breitmann has ge given - as yed. Pimepy I kess he gife anoder von, und if I kits an in- leading, or indrotuckshun, I kess I'll go. I am von of de vellers dat vas ad de virst Barty, vhere mine swister-in-law de Madilda Yane vas tantz mit Herr Breitmann.

FRITZ SCHWACKENHAMMER, Olim Studiosus Theologiae, now Uhlan free-lancer, und Segretarius of Coptain Breitmann.

VOT gollops at mitnight, Mit h'roolah and yell, Like der teufel's wild yager Boorst loose out of hell? Vot cleams in the sonrise Bright vlashin in gold? Das sind die Uhlancers Of Breitmann der bold.

Dey frighten de coontry, Dey ploonder de town; And when dey are oop Die Franzosen co down: For pefore de wild Norsemen De Southron must flee; Ab ira Normannorum Libera nos Domine![55]

How dey sweep de chateaux! How dey grab oop de hens! Und gobble de toorkeys Shoot oop in de pens Like de Angel of Deat' Dey are ragin abroad: You may track dem py fedders Knee-deep in de road.

O der Breitmann ish on, Und der Breitmann is on, Und mit him de Uhlans Are ploonderin gone. De demon of fengeance His wings o'er em vave, Mit deir fingers like hooks, Und mit maws like de grafe.

Dey coom to a castel, So shplendid, of bricks; Franzosen defend it, Das help em gar nichts. For de Uhlans hafe take it, Dey smash in de gate, Und inshpired by Gott's fury, Dey shdole all de plate.

From shamber to shamber Dey fighted deir way, Till dead in de hall De Franzosen all lay; Und dere shtood a madchen, So lieblich und hold, Who laugh at de dead Troo her ringlocks of gold.

Denn der Breitmann, all plooty, To'm madel so lind, Spoke courtly und tender: "Vy laughst dou, mein kind?" Denn de plue-eyed young peaudy, Mit lippe so red, Said, "Vy not shall I laughen? Vhen Frenchmen are dead.

"I coom here from Deutschland, De shildren to teach; Dey mock me for Deutsch, Und dey sneer at mein sbeech; Und since de war komm, I vas nearly gone mad, You wouldn't peliefe How dey dreet me so pad."

Mit a tear Breitmann bend To de peaudifool miss; "Crate Gott! can'st dou suffer Soosh horrors ash dis?" His arm round de maiden Der hero has bound, Und it shtaid dere goot vhile, Fore dey got it unwound.

"Ho! fetch me de diamonds! Ho! shell out de rings! Mit all in de castle Of dat sort of dings." Twas brought to de Captain- A donderin load: At de veet of de madchen Dat ploonder he trowed.

"Ho! pring oos champagner! Und light oop de hall! Dis night der Herr Breitmann Will gife you a ball. Dat pile of dead vellers, Vot died for La France, May see, if dey like, How de Shermans can tance."

Dey find laties' garments, Und - troot to confess- Likewise som Frantsch maidens, Who help dem to tress. De rest of de Uhlans Who hadn't soosh loves, Fixed oop in black clothes Mit white chokers und gloves.

Now hei! for de fittles! Und hei! for clavier! For de tantz of de Uhlans- De men of de speer! How de shendlemen ashk If dey'd blease introduce; How de ladies mit beards Were called Espionnes Prusses!

Hei, ho! how dey tanzet! Hei, ho! how dey sang! How mit klingen of glasses De braun arches rang. How dey trill from deir hearts Ash dey pour out der wein, De songs of de Oberland,- Songs of der Rhein.

Und madder und wilder, All whirlin around, Vent Hans mit de maiden In Bacchanal bound. She helt to his peard, Und dey gissed as if mad; I tont dink dat efer Vas dimes like dey had.

Boot calm in de hall, Ever calm on de floor, Was a row of still guests Dat wouldn't tantz nefermore. Mit plood shtreams black winding, Der lord mit his men, When der Youngest Day cooms Hans may meet dem acain.

Hoorah for der Uhlan, So rash und so wild! Hoorah for der Uhlan, Der teufel's own child!- Dis ish "Breitmann's Last Barty," Dey'll sing it for years; De lords of de lanzes, De sons of de speers.

For dey frighten de coontry, Dey ploonder de town; Und when dey are oop De Franzosen go down; For pefore de wild Norsemen Weak Southrons moost flee, Ab ira Normannorum Libera nos Domine!

EUROPE.

BREITMANN IN PARIS. (1869.)

"Recessit in Franciam."

"Et affectu pectoris, Et toto gestu corporis, Et scholares maxime, Qui festa colunt optime." - Carmina Burana, 13th century.

DER teufel's los in Bal Mabille, Dere's hell-fire in de air, De fiddlers can't blay noding else Boot Orphee aux Enfers: Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy? Da capo - Bravo! - bis!! It's a Deutscher aus Amerika: Hans Breitmann in Paris.

Dere's silber toughts vot might hafe peen, Dere's golden deeds vot must: Der Hans ish come to Frankenland On one eternal bust. Der same old rowdy Argonaut Vot hoont de same oldt vleece, A hafin all de foon dere ish- Der Breitmann in Paris.

Mit a gal on eider shoulder A holdin py his beard, He tantz de Cancan, sacrament! Dill all das Volk vas skeered. Like a roarin hippopatamos, Mit a kangarunic shoomp, Dey feared he'd smash de Catacombs, Each dime der Breitmann bump.

De pretty liddle cocodettes Lofe efery dings ish new, "D'ou vient il donc ce grand M'sieu? O sacre nom de Dieu!" In fain dey kicks deir veet on high, And sky like vlyin geese, Dey can not kick de hat afay From Breitmann in Paris.

O vhere vas id der Breitmann life? Oopon de Rond Point gay, Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house? La rue de Rabelais. Aroundt de corner Harper's shtands Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill, Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet, Der lies de Bal Mabille.