XXVII.—DER PATTER OF DER SHINGLES.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ENGLISH BY D. C. C.

VHEN

,

HEN der angry passion gaddering in my mudder's face I see,

Und she leads me in her pedroom, shendly lays me on her knee, Den I know dot I vill catch it, and my flesh in fancy itches As I lisden for der patter of der shingle on my breeches.

Efery tinkle of der shingle has an echo and a shding,
Und a dousand burning fancies indo active being spring
Und a dousand bees and hornets nead my coad-dail seem to schwarm
As I feel der patter of der shingle, oh, zo warm.

In a shplutter comes mine fadder—whom I supposed had gone-
Do survey der skiduvation, und dell her do lay it on,
Do see her bending o'er me as I lisden do her strain
Blayed by her and by der shingle in a vild and weird refrain.

I a sudden indermission, vich appears my only schance,
I say, “Shtrike shendly, mudder, or you'll shplit mine Sunday bants ;”
She shtops a moment, draws her breath, der shingle holds aloft,
Und says, “I had not thought of dot—mine son, chust dake dem off.”'

Oh, lofeing, tender mercy, cast dhy pitying glances down ;
Und dhou, oh, vamily doctor, put a good, soft bouldice on;
Und
may

I mit vools und dunces afderward comingle,
Und nefer say anudder vord ven my mudder wields der shingle.

XXVIII.—THE CATS.

HLEAR

EAR the warbling of the cats, –

Merry cats !
Oh, I love to hear the music of there midnight nightly spats!
And they waltz around and frisk all,

In the icy air of night,
In a way so weird and brisk all,
While their shapely tails they whisk all,

With a Cataline delight-
Keeping time with their tails,

Like a lot of Runic flails,
To the concat-cantentation, sung in sundry sharps and flats,

Of a canticle on rats,
Rats, rats, rats,

Rats-
To a wild carnivorous canticle on rats!

Hear the turbulent Tom cats,

Daddy cats !
How the catapultic bootjack interrups their fiendish chats !

In the darkness of the night.
How their ghoulish outcries smite

Portland flats!
From their catacoustic throats

An intense

Cataphonic ditty floats

To the turtle cat that gloats

On the fence!—

Ah, the tabby cat that listens, while she gloats,

To the surging cataclysm of their wild, catarrhal notes !

How they make us long to grasp a score of rattling good

brickbats!

They have caught a had catarrh,
Caterwauling at the moon!
(See it? Caught a bad cat R!)
You may hear them from afar,
Roll it like a British R,

Out of tune.

In a clamorous appealing to the aged tabby cat,
In a futile, mad appealing to the deaf, old tabby cat!
Shrieking higher, higher, higher,

Like a demon in a fire

While the little kitten cats

Infant cats

Sing an emulous, sweet ditty of their love for mice and rats?
That's

But a rudimental spasm of the capers of the cats!

So

XXIX.--DER BABY.

O help me gracious, efery day I laugh me wild to see der vay
My small young baby drie to play—Dot funny little baby.

Vhen I look on dhem leetle toes, und saw dot funny leetle nose,
Und heard der vay dat rooster crows, I schmile like I was grazy.

Und when I heard der real nice vay Dhem beoples to my wife dhey say, "More like his fater every day," I was so proud like blazes.

Sometimes dhere comes a little schquall, dots when der vindy vind vill crawl Righd in its leetle schtomach schmall,—dot's too bad for der baby.

Dot makes him sing at night so schveet, uhd gorrybarric he must eat,
Und I must chumb shbry on my feet, to help that leetle baby.

He bulls my nose and kicks my hair, und crawls me ofer everywhere,
Und shlobbers me-but vat I care? Dot was my schmall young baby.

Around my neck dot leetle arm vas squeezing me so nice und varm ;
Mine Gott! may never come some harm to dot shmall leetle baby.

XXX. -FRITZEY'S DEAD.

QOFTY GOOFT.

Boor leedle Fritzey

OOR

alas! he's no more, Grim Death dot has dooked him avay ; Nod again vill he shlode on der old cellar door.

Nor oud on der sidevalk vill blay.
His dops und his ball dem musd be laid von side,

His kides flew no more to der preeze ;
De dom cat und kittens vill comford dook now,

Uund der old yaller dog vill had beace.

1

Der doctor was mit him dree nights und five days,

Cause his farder said " Plame der oxpense!”
Dere vosn'd a medicine he didn'd had,

Oh, der bile dot he dook vas immense !
He had bowders und bills und blasders und dings

From der soles of his head to his shesd,
Bud dot vasn'd no use, his dime had arrofe,

Und he's vent up abofe to his resd.

1

He vas a nice leedle feller, so glefer und shmart,

Und gay as der day dot vas long,
For verefer he vas you'd be cerdain to heard

Leedle Fritzey a humming a song,
Bud he's hummed his lasd hum, he's ub abofe now,

Und I'm sure ven he reached Kingdom Come,
Angel's crowded around, flobbed deir vings, und did say,

“He's a reckular son-of-a-gun.'

THERE was a negro preacher, I have heard,

In southern parts, before rebellion stirred,
Who did not spend his strength in empty sound ;
His was a mind deep-reaching and profound.
Others might beat the air, and make a noise,
And help to amuse the silly girls and boys ;
But as for him he was a man of thought,
Deep in theology, although untaught.
He could not read or write, but he was wise,
And knew “right smart” how to extemporize.
One Sunday morn, when hymns and prayers were

said,
The preacher rose, rubbing up his head,
" Bredren and sisterin, and companions dear,
Our preachment for to-day, as you shall hear,
Will be ob de creation,-ob de plan
On which God fashioned Adam, de first man.
When God made Adam, in the ancient day,
He made hisbody out of earth and clay,
He shape him out all right, den by and by,
He set him up agin de fence to dry.”
"Stop,” said a voice; and straightway there uprose

1

An ancient negro in his master's clothes.
Tell me,'' said he, before

you
farder

go,
One little thing which I would like to know.
It does not quite get through this niggar's har,
How came dat fence so nice and handy dar?”
Like one who in the mud is tightly stuck,
Or one non plussed, astonished, thunder-struck,
The preacher looked severely on the pews,
And rubbed his hair to know what words to use :
Bredren,” said he,

dis word I had to say ;
De preacher can't be bothered in dis way;
For, if he is, it's jest as like as not,
Our whole theology will be upsot.

XXXII.—THE COLD-WATER MAN.
It was an honest fisherman,

To charm the fish he never spoke, I knew him passing well,

Although his voice was fine, And he lived by a little pond,

He found the most convenient way Within a little dell,

Was just, to drop a line !

XXXIII.—ECONOMY.-THE TURBOT.

LOR

'A TALE.

ORD ENDLESS, walking to the Hall,
Saw a fine turbot on a stall;

"How much d'ye ask, friend, for this fish?"
"Two guineas, sir," "Two guineas! pish!"

He paused, he thought, "Two guineas! zounds!" "Few fish to-day, sir." "Come, take pounds;

Send it up quick to Bedford Square;

A sov'reign's here-now mind, when there,.
Ask for one pound, and say that's all—

My lady's economical.

The fish was sent, my lady thought it

Superfluous, but-my lord had bought it.

She paid one pound, and cried "Odd rat it!"
Yet could not think the fish dear at it.
A knock announces Lady Tatter,
Come for an hour to sit and chatter!
At length-"My darling Lady E.,
I'm so distressed; you know Lord T.,
Can't dine without fish. and 'tis funny,
There's none to-day for love or money."
"Bless us," cried Lady E. "two hours
Ago a turbot came-
-'tis yours

I paid but thirty shillings for it,

You'd say 'twas dirt cheap if you saw it.
The bargain struck-cash paid—fish gone--
My lord and dinner came anon: