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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,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit-

Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,

He kicks oup sooch a touse:
But nefer mind; der poys vas few

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions sooch as dese:

Who baints mine nose so red?
Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt

Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
Und vere dere plaze goes vrom der lamp

Vene'er der glim I douse.
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ?

I somedimes dink I schall go vild

Mit sooch a grazy poy,
Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,

Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
But ven he vas aschleep in ped

So guiet as a mouse,
I prays der Lord, “Dake anyding,
But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."

Charles Follen Adams


SCENE. — A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged cut

ting hair, making wigs and other barberesque operations.

Enter JONES, meeting Only 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. Jones. They were.

Oily. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us
Until the end.

Jones. At one time - so did I.
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.

Jones. No! in town!
Oily. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise.
Jones. 'Twas cut in town - and in this very room.

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
Than all my skill can in a year repair.
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.
Jones. Oh! indeed.
Oily. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it.
Jones. I like it dry.

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 en-

veloped 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.

(Exit JONES.
Oily (to his man). That's a rum customer, at any rate.
Had I cut him as short as he cut me,
How little hair upon his head would be !
But if kind friends will all our pains requite,
We'll hope for better luck another night.

(Shop-bell rings and curtain falls.



"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, alune.

O come and be my mate!” said the Lion to the Sheep;

My love for you is deep!
I slay, a Lion should,
But you are mild and good!”
Said the Sheep, “I do no ill

Could not, had I the will -
But I joy to see my mate pursue, devour, and kill."
They wed, and cried, “ Ah, this is Love, my own!”
And the Sheep browsed, the Lion prowled, alone.

“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



I wrote some lines once on a time,

In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say

They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,

I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,

A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came;

How kind it was of him,
To mind a slender man like me,

He of the mighty limb!

“These to the printer," I exclaimed,

And, in my humorous way,

I added (as a trifling jest),
“ There'll be the devil to pay.”

He took the paper, and I watched,

And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face

Was all upon the grin.

He read the next; the grin grew broad,

And shot from ear to ear;
He read the third; a chuckling noise

I now began to hear.

The fourth; he broke into a roar;

The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,

And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,

I watched that wretched man, And since, I never dare to write As funny as I can.

Oliver Wendell Holmes


My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang;
An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang,

Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines !

A' down my beard the slavers trickle!
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle

To see me loup;
An', raving mad, I wish a heckle

Were i' their doup!


When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,

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