frenollogiggers say dat I hav great like for de ladies, aind it? Vell,
I vas goin' down de shtreet der tay after yesterday, und ven I comes to
der blace vat dey calls der corner, so der shtreet mit anoder shtreet
makes a nice leetle cross oder der leetle saw-buck, you know vat dat
is? So soon I comes to der blace, vot you tink? A nice leetle poy mit
great many papers in der hand goes by, and shust so soon as he goes by
he gifs me von leetle paper mitout notings. But it vas padder as vorse
vot I took dot leetle paper, and den I goes and makes me von mineself
von great pig fool. Vat you tink I on dot paper find,--you no guess dot
in twelve tousand year. I dell you vot I see on dot. It vas like diss:
"Come und see your Dolly Varden. She is lovely; she is putiful; she is
rich! You can she hav for most notings." Den der leetle paper gives der
number von der shtreet vare I could she find. It vas said Mr. Shteward,
py Proatvay oud. So soon I reads dot petter as goot, mine heart makes
me von pitty-pat, knock-knock. You know vat dat is. I no more knows
vare I lif, oder var I vas goin'. Dolly Varden! She vas rich; she vas
lovely; she vas putiful; und Dolly, dot vas shust so nice names, aind
it? Und der leetle poy dat me dot paper gives, made he on dot paper say
dot I can she hav for most notings. Der firsht ding vot mine eye come
against vas von dose leetle shticks mit der great American flag round
him, vot says dot dere viskers be taken off dere, und der hair be so
bright and shining made, also der placking boots. Denn I goes right
dere, und I pays dot man fifteen cent--fifteen cent! mind you dot! vile
dot he make mine hair der vay vot I shpeak von. Den, mit mine het up,
feeling dot I shust so pig as Carl Schurz, I goes after der shtreet for
to git me mine Dolly Varden. I vonders so soon I comes to der blace und
sees der pig shtore shop of Mister Shteward, vedder or not she owns all
dot nice buildings. Anoder leetle poy opens dot door so nicely, unt
he looks me in der face so shmilings dot I tinks praps it vos Dolly's
brudder; und mine heart he goes so hot like fire; most like der pig,
plazing Shecawgo fire. Und I says to der poy, so shweet I could, you
know, "You hav der sister here, aint it?" Denn der poy he look me mit
vonder, und he make dot het go so, like dot. I shpeaks no more mit
der poy, but I goes to der shtand, vare I sees von fine gentleman, und
I says, "I vould dot young lady see, vot der leetle poy givs me paper
von."--"Vot is dot?" says der shentlemans. Denn I says, "I vants mine
Dolly Varden!" Und der man says, "Dolly Varden! come dis vay ven you
blease." Und I follows dot man mit mine heart full von great tremblings
unt joy put togedder, shust like der apple und meat in der mince-pie.
Put vat is dot he do now? He go und show me a leetle piece von cloth,
mit great many putiful color. Denn I say, "You nixverstay me. I no vant
to see her dress. I vould see Dolly Varden she self." Dere goes more
vunder donn der poy hat over der face von der shentlemans, und he say,
"Dis is Dolly Varden." Denn I say, "Dolly Varden! Dolly Varden! Oh! I
no vant such voomans as dot." Und mine mind runs vay mit mine het, unt
mine het runs vay mit mine bodies, und mine bodies runs vay mit mine
feet, und der shtore is vay on der odder side von me. Und ven I see
again on der shtreet dot leetle poy I vould him pants make varm for dot
he gif me so much heart-ache.
Und denn ven I tinks on vot I pees und vat I used to vas, I feels
I trow fifteen cent avay mitout sufficient cause. Den I feels mit
mineselfs so mad to trow avays fifteen cents--tree glass lager--for
notinks, dat I go very queeck and trown mineself in de try-tock, till I
vas vashit ashore mit a bar of soft-soap.
ANONYMOUS.
THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA-POWDER.
A FAVORITE COMIC RECITATION.
A Frenchman once--so runs a certain ditty--
Had crossed the Straits to famous London city
To get a living by the arts of France,
And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance.
But, lacking pupils, vain was all his skill:
His fortunes sank from low to lower still.
Until at last,--pathetic to relate,--
Poor monsieur landed at starvation's gate.
Standing one day beside a cook-shop door,
And gazing in, with aggravation sore,
He mused within himself what he should do
To fill his empty maw, and pocket too.
By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan,
And thus to execute it straight began.
A piece of common brick he quickly found,
And with a harder stone to powder ground;
Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece
Of paper, labelled "Poison for de Fleas,"
And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try,
To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy.
From street to street he cried with lusty yell,
"Here's grand and sovereign _flea-poudare_ to sell!"
And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last,
For soon a woman hailed him as he passed;
Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot,
And made him five crowns richer on the spot.
Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale,
Went into business on a larger scale;
And soon, throughout all London, scattered he
The "only genuine poudare for de flea."
Engaged one morning in his new vocation
Of mingled boasting and dissimulation,
He thought he heard himself in anger called;
And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled--
In not a mild or very tender mood--
From the same window where before she stood.
"Hey, there," said she, "you Monsher Powder-man!
Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can.
I'll let you dirty, thieving Frenchmen know
That decent people won't be cheated so."
Then spoke monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
With humble attitude and tearful eye:
"Ah, madame! s'il vous plait, attendez vous,
I vill dis leetle ting _explain_ to you.
My poudare gran'! magnifique! why abuse him?
Aha! I show you _how to use him_,
First, you must wait until you _catch de flea_;
Den tickle he on de petite rib, you see;
And when he laugh--aha! he ope his throat;
Den _poke de poudare down_!--BEGAR! HE CHOKE."
THE FRENCHMAN AND THE SHEEP'S TROTTERS.
A CELEBRATED COMIC RECITATION.
A monsieur from the Gallic shore,
Who, though not over-rich, wished to appear so,
Came over in a ship with friends a score--
Poor emigrants, whose wealth, good lack!
Dwelt only on their ragged backs--
Who thought him rich: they'd heard _him_ oft declare so,
For he was proud as Satan's self,
And often bragged about his pelf;
And as a proof--the least
That he could give--he promised when on land,
At the first inn, in style so grand,
To give _a feast_!
The Frenchmen jumped at such an offer.
Monsieur did not forget his proffer;
But at the first hotel on shore,
They stopped to lodge and board.
The Frenchman ordered in his way
A dinner to be done that day;
But here occurred a grievous bore:--
Monsieur of English knew but little.
Tapps of French knew not a tittle.
In ordering dinner, therefore, 'tis no wonder
That they should make a blunder.
Whether the landlord knew, or no,
The sequel of my tale will show.
He blundered, and it cannot be denied,
To some small disadvantage on his side.
The order seemed immense to Boniface:
But more the expense, to him the greater fun;
For all that from the order he could trace,
Was,--"Messieur Bull, you lettee me have, I say,
Vich for vid cash, I sal you pay,
_Fifteen of those vid vich the sheep do run_!"
From which old Tapps could only understand
(But whether right or wrong, cared not a button),
That what monsieur desired, with air so grand,
_Was fifteen legs of mutton_!
"A dinner most enormous!" cried the elf.
"Zounds! each must eat a leg, near, to himself!"
However, they seemed a set of hungry curs;
And so, without more bother or demurs,
Tapps to his cook his orders soon expressed,
And fifteen legs of mutton quick were dressed.
And now around the table all elate,
The Frenchman's friends the dinner doth await.
Joy sparkled in each hungry urchin's eyes,
When they beheld, with glad surprise,
Tapps quick appear with leg of mutton hot,
Smoking, and just ejected from the pot!
Laughed, stared, and chuckled more and more,
When _two_ they saw, then _three_, then _four_!
And then a _fifth_ their eager glances blessed,
And then a _sixth_, larger than all the rest!
But soon the Frenchman's countenance did change,
To see the legs of mutton on the table.
Surprise and rage by turns
In his face burns,
While Tapps the table did arrange
As nice as he was able.
And while the Frenchmen for the feast prepared,
Thus, in a voice that quite the landlord scared,
Our hero said,--
"Mon Dieu, monsieur! vy for you make
Dis vera great blundare and mistake?
Vy for you bring to me dese mouton legs?"
Tapps with a bow his pardon begs:--
"I've done as you have ordered, sir," said he.
"Did you not order _fifteen legs_ of me?
_Six_ of which before your eyes appear,
And _nine besides_ are nearly done down-stair!
Here, John!"--"Go, hang you, Jean! you fool! you ass!
You one great clown to bring me to dis pass:
Take vay dis meat, for vich I sall no pay.
I did no order dat."--"What's that you say?"
Tapps answered with a frown and with a stare,
"You ordered fifteen legs of me, I'll swear,
Or _fifteen things with which the sheep do run_,
Which _means the same_:--I'm not so easy done."
"Parbleu, monsieur! vy you no comprehend?
You may take back de legs unto de pot:
I telle you, sare, 'tis not de legs I vant,
But _dese here leetel tings vid vich de sheep do trot_!"
"Why, hang it!" cried the landlord in a rage,
Which monsieur vainly tried to assuage,
"Hang it!" said he, as to the door he totters:
"Now, after all the trouble that I took,
These legs of mutton both to buy and cook,
It seems instead of _fifteen legs,
You merely wanted fifteen poor sheep's trotters_!"
I VANT TO FLY.
A HUMOROUS RECITATION.--FRENCH DIALECT.
Shortly before the conclusion of the war with Napoleon, there were a
number of French officers in an inland town on their parole of honor.
Now, one gentleman being tired with the usual routine of eating,
drinking, gambling, smoking, etc., therefore, in order to amuse himself
otherwise, resolved to go a-fishing. His host supplied him with rod
and line, but, being in want of artificial flies, he went in search
of a fishing-tackle maker's shop. Having found one, kept by a plain,
painstaking John Bull, our Frenchman entered, and with a bow, a cringe,
and a shrug of the shoulders, thus began:--
"Ah, Monsieur Anglais! comment vous portez-vous?"
"Eh! that's French," exclaimed the shopkeeper; "not that I understand
it, but I'm very well, if that's what you mean."
"Bon, bon, ver good; den, sare, I sall tell you, I vant deux fly."
"I dare say you do, mounseer," replied the Englishman, "and so do a
great many more of your outlandish gentry; but I'm a true-born Briton,
and can never consent to assist the enemies of my country to leave it,
particularly when they cost us so much to bring them here."
"Ah, monsieur, you no comprehend! I shall repeate, I vant deux fly, on
the top of de vater."
"Oh! what, you want to fly by water, do you? then I'm sure I can't
assist you; for we are at least a hundred miles from the seacoast, and
our canal is not navigable above ten or twelve miles from here."
"Diable! sare, you are un stup of the block. I sall tell you once seven
times over again--I vant deux fly on the top of de vater, to dingle
dangle at the end of de long pole."
"Ay, ay! you only fly, mounseer, by land or water, and if they catch
you, I'll be hanged if they won't dingle dangle you, as you call it, at
the end of a long pole."
"Sacre un de Dieu! la blas! vat you mean by dat, enfer diable? you are
un bandit jack of de ass, Johnny de Bull. Ba, ba, you are effrontee,
and I disgrace me to parley vid you! I tell you, sare, dat I vant deux
fly on the top of de vater, to dingle dangle at the end of the long
pole, to la trap poisson."
"What's that you say, you French mounseer--you'll lay a trap to poison
me and all my family, because I won't assist you to escape? why, the
like was never heard. Here, Betty, go for the constable."
The constable soon arrived, who happened to be as ignorant as the
shopkeeper; and of course, it was not expected that a constable should
be a scholar. Thus the man of office began:--
"What's all this? Betty has been telling me that this here outlandish
Frenchman is going to poison you and all your family! Ay, ay, I
should like to catch him at it, that's all! Come, come to prison, you
delinquent."
"No, sare, I sall not go to de prison; take me before de what you call
it--de ting that nibble de grass?"
"Nibble grass? You mean sheep?"
"No, I mean de--de"--
"Oh, you mean the cow!"
"No, sare, not de cow; you stup Johnny bœuf--I mean de cheval, vat you
ride. [Imitating.] Come, sare, gee up. Ah, ha!"
"Oh, now I know! you mean a horse."
"No, sare, I mean de horse's vife."
"What, the mare?"
"Oui, bon, yes, sare; take me to de mayor."
This request was complied with; and the French officer soon stood
before the English magistrate, who, by chance, happened to be better
informed than his neighbors, and thus explained the dilemma of the
unfortunate Frenchman, to the satisfaction of all parties:--
"You have mistaken the intention of this honest gentleman: he did not
want to fly the country, but to go a-fishing, and for that purpose
went to your shop to purchase two flies, by way of bait, or, as he
expressed it, to la trap la poisson. Poisson, in French, is fish."
"Why, ay," replied the shopkeeper, "that may be true, you are a
scholard, and so you know better than I. Poison: in French, may be very
good fish, but give me good old English roast beef."
THE FRENCHMAN'S MISTAKE.
FRENCH DIALECT RECITATION.
Not long since, a sober, middle-aged gentleman was quietly dozing in
one of our railroad-trains, when his pleasant, drowsy meditations were
suddenly interrupted by the sharp voice of the individual by his side.
This was no less a personage than a dandified, hot-blooded, inquisitive
Frenchman, who raised his hairy visage close to that of the gentleman
he addressed.
"Pardonnez, sare; but vat you do viz ze pictair--_hein_?"
As he spoke, monsieur pointed to some beautiful steel-plate engravings
in frames, which the quiet gentleman held in his lap, and which suited
the fancy of the little French connoisseur precisely.
The quiet gentleman looked at the inquisitive foreigner with a scowl
which he meant to be very forbidding, and made no reply. The Frenchman,
nothing daunted, once more approached his hairy visage into that of his
companion, and repeated the question:--
"Vat you do viz ze pictair--_hein_?"
"I am taking them to Salem," replied the quiet gentleman gruffly.
"Ha! you take 'em to sell 'em!" chimed in the shrill voice of the
Frenchman. "I be glad of zat, by gar! I like ze pictair. I buy 'em of
you, sare. Mow much you ask?"
"They are not for sale," replied the sleepy gentleman, more thoroughly
awake, by the by, and not a little irritated.
"_Hein_?" grunted monsieur in astonishment. "Vat you say, sare?"
"I say I don't want to sell the pictures!" cried the other, at the top
of his voice.
"By gar! _c'est drole_!" exclaimed the Frenchman, his eye beginning to
flash with passion. "It is one strange circumstance, _parbleu_! I ask
you vat you do viz ze pictair, and you say you take 'em to sell 'em,
and zen you vill not sell 'em! Vat you mean, sare--_hein_?"
"I mean what I say," replied the other sharply. "I don't want to sell
the engravings, and I didn't say I did."
"_Morbleu!_" sputtered monsieur, in a tone loud enough to attract
the attention of those of his fellow-travellers who were not already
listening; "_morbleu_! you mean to say I 'ave not any ear? _Non_,
monsieur, by gar I hear ver' well vat you tell me. You say you sell ze
pictair. Is it because I one Frenchman, zat you will not sell me ze
pictair?"
The irritated gentleman, hoping to rid himself of the annoyance, turned
his back upon his assailant, and made no reply.
But monsieur was not to be put off thus. He laid his hand on the
shoulder of the other, and, showing his small white teeth, exclaimed,--
"_Sacristie!_ monsieur, zis is too muche. You've give me one insult,
and I shall 'ave satisfaction." Still no reply. "By gar, monsieur,"
continued the Frenchman, "you are not one gentleman. I shall call you
one _poltroon_--vat you call 'em?--coward!"
"What do you mean?" retorted the other, afraid the affair was beginning
to get serious. "I haven't insulted you, sir."
"Pardonnez, monsieur; but it is one grand insult! In America, perhaps
not; but in France, one blow your brains out."
"For what, pray?"
"For vat? _Parbleu!_ you call me one _menteur_--how you speak
'em--liar? you call me one liar? you call me one liar?"
"Oh, no, sir! You misunderstood"--
"No, by gar! I've got ears. You say you vill sell ze pictair; and ven I
tell you vat you say, you say ze contrarie--zat is not so!"
"But I didn't tell you I would sell the pictures," remonstrated the
man with the engravings, beginning to feel alarmed at the passion
manifested by the other. "You misunderstood"--
"I tell you no! It is not posseebl'! Ven I ask you vat you do viz ze
pictair, vat you say?"
"I said I was taking them to Salem."
"Yes, _parbleu_!" exclaimed monsieur, more angry than ever: "you say
you take 'em to sell 'em"--
"No, no!" interrupted the other, "not to _sell them_, but _Salem_--the
city of Salem."
"Ze city of Sell 'em!" exclaimed the Frenchman, amid the roars of
laughter that greeted his ears. "_Sacristie!_ Zat is one grand mistake.
Pardon, monsieur! _Que je suis bête!_ Ze city of Sell 'em? Ha, ha!
I vill remember zat, by gar!" And he stroked his mustache with his
fingers, while the man with the engravings once more gave way to his
drowsy inclinations.
"TWO TOLLAR?"
[From the Detroit Free Press.]
There was a slight blaze on the roof of a house on Russell Street a
few days ago; and when the insurance adjusters went up to make their
survey, they found that about two dollars would cover all the loss.
"Two tollar!" exclaimed the owner when he heard the decision--"I can't
take no two tollar."
"But you see for yourself that a dozen shingles and an hour's work will
make good all damages."
"Gentlemens, you doan' put me off like dot. Vhen my vhife finds dot ve
vhas on fire, she screams boleece und murder, und falls down-shtairs.
Vould you let your vhife fall down-shtairs for dot sum? If so, I goes
home mit you und sees der fun."
"We do not insure husbands and wives, but buildings," was the reply.
"I know; but mein oldest poy, he runs for der fire-box, und falls a
picket-fence-oafer, und breaks his good clothes all to pieces. Two
tollar! Dot doan' bay me for goming oop here."
"Yes, but we can only pay for actual damages."
"Dot's all I vhant. Who stole my dog ven my house vhas on fire? Dot dog
ish gone, und he vhas ten tollar wort."
"We didn't insure the dog."
"Und maybe you don't insure dem poys who set on der fence und called
out, 'Dot ole Dutchman's red nose has set his house on fire!' Do you
oxpect I take such sass like dot for two tollar? Und vhen the firemens
come here dey break mein clothes-line down mit der ladders, und dey
spill wasser all oafer my carpets. Two tollar! Vhell, vhell! you go
right avhay from here, und I takes dot old insurance bolicy und steps
him into der mud!"
A FRENCHMAN ON MACBETH.
An enthusiastic French student of Shakspeare thus comments on the
tragedy of Macbeth:--
"Ah! your Mossieu' Shak-es-pier! He is
gr-r-aand--mysterieuse--sooblime! You 'ave reads ze Macabess--ze scene
of Mossieu' Macabess vis ze Vitch--eh? Superb sublimitee! W'en he say
to ze Vitch, 'Ar-r-roynt ye, Vitch!' she go away; but what she say
when she go away? She say she will do s'omesing dat aves got no naame!
Ah, ha! she say, 'I go, like ze r-r-aa-t vizout ze tail, but I'll do!
I'll do!' W'at she do? Ah, haviola le graand, mysterieuse Mossieu'
Shak-es-pier! She not say what she do!"
This was "grand," to be sure; but the prowess of Macbeth, in his "bout"
with Macduff, awakens all the mercurial Frenchman's martial ardor:--
"Mossieu' Macabess, he see him come, clos' by: he say (proud
empressement), 'Come-o-o-n, Mossieu' Macduffs, and d----d be he who
first say enuffs!' Zen zey fi-i-ght-moche. Ah, ha! voila! Mossieu'
Macabess, vis his br-r-ight r-r-apier, 'pink' him, vat you call, in
his body. He 'ave gots mal d'estomac: he say, vis grand simplicite,
'Enoffs!' What for he say 'Enoffs'? 'Cause he got enoffs--plaanty: and
he expire r-right away, mediately, pretty quick! Ah, mes amis, Mossieu'
Shak-es-pier is rising man in La Belle France!"
ANONYMOUS.
LIKE MOTHER USED TO MAKE.
"I was born in Indiany," said a stranger lank and slim,
As us fellers in the restaurant was kind o' guyin' him,
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another pun'kin pie
And a extra cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye,--
"I was born in Indiany, more'n forty year ago;
And I hain't been back in twenty, and I'm workin' back'ards slow;
"But I've et in every restarunt 'twixt here and Santa Fee,
And I want to state, this coffee tastes like gittin' home to me!
"Pour us out another, daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
A-speakin' 'crost a saucerful, as uncle tuck his cup.
"When I seed yer sign out yender," he went on to uncle Jake,--
"'Come in and git some coffee like your mother used to make,'--
I thought of my old mother and the Posey-county farm,
And me a little kid agin', a-hangin' on her arm;
And she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs, and poured 'em in"--
And the feller kind o' halted with a trimble in his chin.
And uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
As solemn, for a minute, as a undertaker would.
Then he sort o' turned, and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen-door; and next,
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs;
And she rushes for the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!
Thank God, we've met him comin'! Don't you know your mother, Jim?"
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says, "You bet I hain't forgot."
But, wipin' of his eyes, says he, "Your coffee's mighty hot."
_James Whitcomb Riley, in New-York Mercury._
JOHN CHINAMAN'S PROTEST.
Melican man no wantee John Chinaman ally mo':
He no slay, "John, you velly good washee."
Not muchee: he slay, "John, I wipee flo'
Withee you if mo' comee this countlee."
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
John Chinaman he no gettee dlunk heap:
He mind his own washee, washee,
Alle dayee long, and takee sleep,
Boil watel fo'--wat you call him?--oh, hashee!
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
John Chinaman he no punchee head much;
He no, like Melican man, say "Hellee!"
He usee sloap, watel, sclubbin'-blush,
Ebly dayee to help fillee bellee.
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
John Chinaman he vellee pool man;
He no have timee to fool away;
He workee allee dayee fast he can:
He no workee, he no gettee pay.
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
John Chinaman no loafee lound the sleets;
He workee hald fo' makee livin':
He washee collals, shirtee, cuffee, sheets;
He do no beggin' or no t'iefin.
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
John Chinaman he havee no votee:
Is that leason why he no wantee here?
He no go lound 'lection day, and shoutee,
Fightee evelybody smokee cigal, or dlink beer.
What fo'
Melican man
No wantee
John Chinaman
Ally mo'?
M. F. D.
THE WHISTLER.
"You have heard,"--said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood
While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline,--
"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood:
I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine."
"And what would you do with it? Tell me," she said,
While an arch smile played over her beautiful face.
"I would blow it," he answered; "and then my fair maid
Would fly to my side, and would there take her place."
"Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours
Without any magic!" the fair maiden cried:
"A favor so slight one's good-nature secures;"
And she playfully seated herself by his side.
"I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the charm
Would work so, that not even modesty's check
Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm."
She smiled; and she laid her white arm round his neck.
"Yet once more I would blow; and the music divine
Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss,--
You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine:
And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."
The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee,--
"What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make!
For only consider how silly 'twould be
To sit there and whistle for what you might take."
MOTHER'S DOUGHNUTS.
EL DORADO, 1851.
I've jest bin down ter Thompson's, boys,
'N' feelin' kind o' blue,
I thought I'd look in at "The Ranch,"
Ter find out what wuz new;
When I seen this sign a-hangin'
On a shanty by the lake:
"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts
Like yer mother used ter make."
I've seen a grizzly show his teeth;
I've seen Kentucky Pete
Draw out his shooter, 'n' advise
A "tenderfoot" ter treat;
But nothin' ever tuk me down
'N' made my benders shake,
Like that sign about the doughnuts
That my mother used ter make.
A sort o' mist shut out the ranch;
'N' standin' thar instead,
I seen an old white farmhouse,
With its doors all painted red.
A whiff came through the open door--
Wuz I sleepin', or awake?
The smell wuz that of doughnuts
Like my mother used ter make.
The bees wuz hummin' round the porch,
Whar honeysuckles grew;
A yellow dish of apple-sass
Wuz sittin' thar in view;
'N' on the table, by the stove,
An old-time "johnny-cake,"
'N' a platter full of doughnuts
Like my mother used ter make.
A patient form I seemed ter see,
In tidy dress of black:
I almost thought I heard the words,
"When will my boy come back?"
'N' then--the old sign creaked; but now
It was the boss who spake:
"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts
Like yer mother used ter make."
Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;
'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,
I ruther think I'll pack my kit,
Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.
I'll make the old folks jubilant;
'N' if I don't mistake,
I'll try some o' them doughnuts
Like my mother used ter make.
_Charles Follen Adams._
OVER THE LEFT.
Their deposits were _left over night_ in the bank,--
In a bank without whisper of fault:
The amounts to their credit were placed on the books,
And were left over night in the vault.
_To their credit_, I say it, the bank was locked tight,
Guarding thus against fire and theft;
A patrol on the walk, and a new 'lectric light,
Throwing beams to the _right_ and the _left_.
* * * * *
Just here the cashier he _left over night_,
Taking all but the house and the soil;
And the _long_ and the _short_ of the story is this,--
He was _too long_ of stocks--_short_ of oil.
A receiver was called, and he looked o'er the wreck,
And _received_ those who called--thus bereft.
"_Have you nothing left over?_" they timidly ask:
He answers, "_Yes, over the left_."
_W. C. Dornin._
A JOLLY FAT FRIAR.
A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store,
And he had drunk stoutly at supper;
He mounted his horse in the night at the door,
And he sat with his face at the crupper.
"Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to remorse,
Some thief, whom a halter will throttle,
Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse
While I was engaged at the bottle,
Which went gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."
The tail of the steed pointed south on the dale,
'Twas the friar's road home straight and level;
But when spurred a horse follows his nose, not his tail,
So he scampered due north like the devil.
"This new mode of docking," the friar then said,
"I perceive doesn't make a horse trot ill;
And 'tis cheap--for he never can eat off his head
While I am engaged at the bottle,
Which goes gluggity, gluggity--glug--glug--glug."