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Dey rolled in more as sefen kecks
Of foost-rate Lager Beer.

Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De Deutschers gifes a cheer;
I dinks dat so vine a barty

Nefer coom to a het dis year.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;

Dere all vas Souse und Brouse.
Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house;
Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst und Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.

Hans Breitmann give a barty ;
We all cot troonk ash bigs.

I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und den I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty
Where ish dat barty now?
Where ish de lofely golden cloud
Dat float on de moundain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern -
De shtar of de shpirit's light ?
All goned afay mit de Lager Beer
Afay in de Ewigkeit !

-

CHARLES G. LELAND.

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"Now, laddie!

I winna stay under your plaidie,
If I gang hame in the rain!"

But, on an after Sunday,

When cloud there was not ane,
This self-same winsome lassie

(We chanced to meet in the lane)
Said, “Laddie,

Why dinna ye wear your plaidie ?
Wha kens but it may rain ?"

BITE BIGGER

[YORKSHIRE BALLAD.]

CHARLES SIBLEY.

As Aw hurried throo th' toan to mi wark,
(Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had goan),
Aw happen to hear a remark

At ud fotch tears throo th' heart of a stoan;
It wur raänin, an' snowin, an' cowd,

An' th' flagstoans wur covered wi' muck,
An' th' east wind boath whistled and howled,
It soanded like nowt but ill-luck;
When two little lads, doun'd i' rags,

Baght stockings or shoes o' ther feet,
Coom trapesin away o'er th' flags,
Booath on em soddened wi' th' weet.
Th' owdest wud happen be ten,
Th' yungen be hauf on 't- noa mooar;
As aw luked on, aw sed to mysen,

God help fowk this weather 'at 's poor!
Th' big en sawed summut off the gräand,
An' aw luked just to see what 't could be;
'T wur a few wizened flaärs he 'd faänd,
An' they seemed to ha' filled him wi' glee,
An' he said, "Come on, Billy, may be
We shall find summut else by an' by,
An' if net, tha mun share these w' me
When we get to some spot where its dry."
Leet-hearted they trotted away,

An' aw followed, coss twur in mi roaäd,
But aw thowt aw 'd neer seen such a day
It wurn't fit to be aght for a tooad.
Sooin th' big en agean slipt away,

An' sawed summut else aght o' th' muck, An' he cried aght, "Luk here, Bill! to-day Aren't we blessed wi' a seet o' goord luck? Here's a apple, an' th' mooast on it 's saänd; What 's rotten aw 'll throw in th' street

Worn't it gooid to lig thear to be faänd?
Nah booath on us con hav a treat."
Soa he wiped it, an' rubbed it, an' then
Sed, "Billy, thee bite off a bit;

If tha hasn't been lucky thisen

Tha shall share wi' me sich as aw get."
Soa th' little en bate off a touch;

T'other's face beamed wi' pleasure awl throo,
An' he sed, "Nay, tha hasn't taen much,
Bite agean, an' bite bigger; nah, do!".
Aw waited to hear nowt no mooar,—

Thinks aw, thear 's a lesson for me!
Tha's a heart i' thy breast, if tha 'rt poor;

Th' world wur richer wi' mooar sich as thee! Tuppince wur all th' brass aw had,

An' awd ment it fur äale when coom nooin, But aw thowt aw 'll goa gie it yond lad,

He desarves it fur what he 's been dooin; Soa aw sed, "Lad, he 's tuppince fur thee, For thysen;" an' they stared like two geese, But he sed, woll th' tear stood in his e'e,

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Nah, it'll just be a penny apiece."

"God bless thee! do just as tha will,

An' may better days speedily come;

Tho' clamed an' hauf donned, mi lad, still
Tha 'rt a deal nearer heaven nur some !"

ANONYMOUS.

POPPING CORN

AND there they sat, a-popping corn,

John Styles and Susan Cutter

John Styles as fat as any ox,

And Susan fat as butter.

And there they sat and shelled the corn,
And raked and stirred the fire,
And talked of different kinds of corn,
And hitched their chairs up nigher.

Then Susan she the popper shook,
Then John he shook the popper,
Till both their faces grew as red
As saucepans made of copper.

And then they shelled, and popped, and ate,
All kinds of fun a-poking,

While he haw-hawed at her remarks,

And she laughed at his joking.

And still they popped, and still they ate -
John's mouth was like a hopper
And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,
And shook and shook the popper.

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The clock struck nine the clock struck ten,
And still the corn kept popping;

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,
And still no signs of stopping.

And John he ate, and Sue she thought -
The corn did pop and patter

Till John cried out, "The corn 's a-fire!
Why, Susan, what 's the matter?"

Said she, "John Styles, it 's one o'clock;
You 'll die of indigestion;

I'm sick of all this popping corn,

Why don't you pop the question ?"

ANONYMOUS.

A HOUSEKEEPER'S TRAGEDY

ONE day as I wandered, I heard a complaining,
And saw a poor woman, the picture of gloom;
She glared at the mud on her doorsteps ('t was raining),
And this was her wail as she wielded the broom:

"O, life is a toil, and love is a trouble,

And beauty will fade, and riches will flee ;
And pleasures they dwindle, and prices they double,
And nothing is what I could wish it to be.

"There's too much of worriment goes to a bonnet ;
There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt;
There's nothing that pays for the time you waste on it;
There's nothing that lasts but trouble and dirt.

"In March it is mud; it 's slush in December;
The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust;

In fall, the leaves litter; in muggy September
The wall-paper rots, and the candlesticks rust.

"There are worms in the cherries, and slugs in the roses,
And ants in the sugar, and mice in the pies;
The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes,
And ravaging roaches and damaging flies.
"It 's sweeping at six, and dusting at seven ;
It's victuals at eight, and dishes at nine;
It's potting and panning from ten to eleven;

We scarce break our fast ere we plan how to dine.

"With grease and with grime, from corner to centre, Forever at war, and forever alert,

No rest for a day, lest the enemy enter

I spend my whole life in a struggle with dirt.

"Last night, in my dreams, I was stationed forever
On a bare little isle in the midst of the sea;
My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor
To sweep off the waves ere they swept over me.

"Alas, 't was no dream! Again I behold it!
I yield; I am helpless my fate to avert !"
She rolled down her sleeves, her apron she folded,
Then laid down and died, and was buried in dirt.
ANONYMOUS.

THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION

ONE night came on a hurricane,

The sea was mountains rolling,
When Barney Buntline turned his quid,
And said to Billy Bowling:

"A strong nor-wester 's blowing, Bill;
Hark! don't ye hear it roar now?

Lord help 'em, how I pities all

Unhappy folks on shore now!

"Foolhardy chaps who live in town,
What danger they are all in,
And now are quaking in their beds
For fear the roof should fall in :
Poor creatures, how they envies us,
And wishes, I 've a notion,
For our good luck, in such a storm,
To be upon the ocean.

"But as for them who 're out all day,
On business from their houses,
And late at night are coming home,
To cheer the babes and spouses;
While you and I, Bill, on the deck,
Are comfortably lying,

My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots
Ábout their heads are flying!

"And very often have we heard

How men are killed and undone,

By overturns of carriages,

By thieves and fires in London.

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