He sbills mine glass off lager bier, Poots schnuff indo mine kraut. Hè fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese Dot vas der roughest chouse; I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. He asks me questions sooch as dese: Und vere dere plaze goes vrom der lamp How gan I all dose dings eggsblain I somedimes dink I schall go vild Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, But ven he vas aschleep in ped So guiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding, Charles Follen Adams JONES AT THE BARBER SHOP SCENE. - A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged in cutting hair, making wigs and other barberesque operations. Enter JONES, meeting OILY the barber Jones. I wish my hair cut. Oily. Pray, sir, take a seat. [OILY puts a chair for JONES, who sits. During the following dialogue OILY continues cutting JONES's hair. Oily. We've had much wet, sir. Jones. Very much, indeed. Oily. And yet November's early days were fine. Oily. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us Oily. But we have had it very wet. Jones. We have. [A pause of some minutes. Oily. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last time; But this I say, sir, it was badly cut: No doubt 'twas in the country. Oily. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise. Oily. Amazement! — but I now remember well. - We had an awkward, new provincial hand, A fellow from the country. Sir, he did More damage to my business in a week He must have cut your hair. Jones (looking at him). No-'twas yourself. Oily. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake. Jones. I don't mistake - 'twas you that cut my hair. [A long pause, interrupted only by the clipping of the scissors. Oily. Your hair is very dry, sir. Oily. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it. Oily. But, sir, the hair when dry Turns quickly gray. Jones. That color I prefer. Oily. But hair, when gray, will rapidly fall off, And baldness will ensue. Jones. I would be bald. Oily. Perhaps you mean to say you'd like a wig. — We've wigs so natural they can't be told From real hair. Jones. Deception I detest. [Another pause ensues, during which OILY blows down JONES's neck and relieves him from the linen wrapper in which he has been enveloped during the process of hair-cutting. Oily. We've brushes, soaps, and scent, of every kind. Jones. I see you have. (Pays 6d.) I think you'll find that right. Oily. If there is nothing I can show you, sir. Jones. No: nothing. Yet there may be something, too, That you may show me. Oily. Name it, sir. Jones. The door. Oily (to his man). [Exit JONES. That's a rum customer, at any rate. Had I cut him as short as he cut me, (Shop-bell rings and curtain falls. Punch WEDDED BLISS "O come and be my mate!" said the Eagle to the Hen; "I love to soar, but then I want my mate to rest Forever in the nest!" Said the Hen, "I cannot fly, I have no wish to try, But I joy to see my mate careering through the sky!" They wed, and cried, "Ah, this is Love, my own!" And the Hen sat, the Eagle soared, alone. 'O come and be my mate!" said the Lion to the Sheep; But I joy to see my mate pursue, devour, and kill." "O come and be my mate!" said the Salmon to the Clam; "You are not wise, but I am. I know sea and stream as well; You know nothing but your shell." Said the Clam, "I'm slow of motion, But my love is all devotion, And I joy to have my mate traverse lake and stream and ocean!' They wed, and cried, "Ah, this is Love, my own!" And the Clam sucked, the Salmon swam, alone. Charlotte Perkins (Stetson) Gilman THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS I wrote some lines once on a time, And thought, as usual, men would say They were so queer, so very queer, Albeit, in the general way, A sober man am I. I called my servant, and he came ; To mind a slender man like me, These to the printer," I exclaimed, And, in my humorous way, I added (as a trifling jest),` He took the paper, and I watched, He read the next; the grin grew broad, He read the third; a chuckling noise The fourth; he broke into a roar; The sixth; he burst five buttons off, And tumbled in a fit. Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, And since, I never dare to write As funny as I can. Oliver Wendell Holmes ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE My curse upon your venom'd stang, A' down my beard the slavers trickle! When fevers burn, or ague freezes, |