Allaweil dese dings oonfolded, Dere vas rows of anoder kind, Und drople in de wigwam Enough to trife dem plind.

Und a crate six-vooted Soudern man Vot hafe vorked on a Refiew, Shvear he hope to Gott he mighd pie de forms If de Breitmann's book warn't true.

For de Sout' vas ploundered derriple, Und in dat darksome hour He hafe lossed a yallow-pine maiden, Of all de land de vlower.

Bright gold doublones a hoondered For her he'd gladly bay Ash soon ash a thrip for a ginger-cake, Und deem it cheap dat day.

To him antworded a Yorker Who shoomp den dimes de boun-ti-ee: (De only dings he lossed in de war Was a sense of broperty.) Says he, "Votefer you hafe dropped Some oder shap hafe get, Und de yallow-pine liked him petter ash you, On dat it is safe to bet!"

Dead pale pecame dat Soudern brave, He tidn't so moosh as yell, Boot he drop right on to de Yorker, Und mit von lick bust his sh.e.l.l.

Denn out he flashed his pig-sticker, Und mit looks of drementous gloom, Rooshed vildly in de pattle Dat vas ragin round de room.

Boot in angulo, in de corner- Anoder quarrel vas grow 'Twix a Boston shap mit a Londoner; Und de row ish gekommen so: De Yankee say dat de H-u-mor Of soosh writin vas less dan small, Dough it maket de beoples laughen, Boot dat vas only all.

Denn a Deutscher say, by Donner!

Dat soosh a baradox Vould leafe no hope for writers In all Pandora's baender box.

'Twas like de sayin dat Heine Hafe no witz in him goot or bad, Boot he only kept sayin witty dings To make beoples pelieve he had.

Denn de oder veller be-headed Dat dere vas not a shbark of foon In de pad spelt lieds when you lead dem Into Englisch correctly done:- Den a Proof Sheet veller respondered, For he d.i.n.k de dings vas hard, "Dat ish shoost like de goot oldt lady Ash vent to hear Artemus Ward.

"Und say it vas shames de beoples Vas laugh demselfs most tead At de boor young veller lecturin, Vhen he tidn't know vot he said."

Hereauf de Yankee answered, "Gaul dern it:- Shtop your fuss!"

And all de crowd togeder Go slap in a grand plug-muss.

De Yankee shlog de Proof Sheet Soosh an awfool smock on de face, Dat he shvell right oop like a poonkin Mit a sense of his tisgrace; Boot der Deutscher boosted an ink-keg On dop of de oder's hair: It vly troo de air like a boomsh.e.l.l - denn- Mine Gotts! - Vot a sighdt vas dere!

Denn ofer all de shapel Vierce war vas ragin loose; Fool many a vighten brinter Got well ge-gooked his goose.

Fool many a nose mit fisten, I ween was padly scrouged; Fool many an eye pright gleamin Vas ploody out-gegouged.

Do wart ufgehouwen,[78]

Dere vas hewin off of pones; Do horte man darinne Man heardt soosh treadful croans.

Jach waren da die Geste, De row vas rough and tough, Genuoge sluogen wunden- Dere vas plooty wounds enough.

De souls of anciend brinters From Himmel look down oopon, Und allowed dat in a chapel Dere was nefer soosh carryins on.

Dere was Lorenz Coster mit Gutemberg, Und Scheffer mit der Fust, Und Sweynheim mit Pannartz trop deers, Oopon dis teufel's dust.

Dere vas Yankee jours extincted Who lay upon de vloor, Dere vas Soudern rebs destructed, Who vouldt nefer Jeff no more.

Ash deir souls rise oop to Heafen, Dey heardt de oldt brinters' calls, Und Gutemberg gifed dem all a kick Ash he histed dem ofer de walls.

Dat ish de vay dese Ballads Foorst vere crooshed in ploot and shdorm, Fool many a day moost ba.s.s afay Pefore dey dook dis form.

De copy flootered o'er de preasts Of heroes lyin todt, Dis vas de dire peginnin- Das war des Breitmann's Noth.

Dis song in Philadelphia Long dimes ago pegun, In Paris vas gondinued, und In Dresden ist full-done.

If any toubt apout de facts, In nople minds ish grew, Let dem ashk Carl Benson Bristed, He knows id all ish drue.

Und now, dese Breitmann shdories In gebrindt in many a lant, Sogar in far Australia Dey're gestohlen und bekannt:- "Geh hin mein Puch in alle VVelt Steh auss was dir kompt zu!

Man beysse Dich, man reysse Dich Nur da.s.s man mir nichts thu!"[79]

BREITMANN'S LAST BALLADS.

BREITMANN IN TURKEY.

DERR BREITMANN hear im Turkenreich Vas fighten high und low, "Steh auf, oh Schwackenhammer mein!

It's dime for us to go.

Zieh dein Kanonenstiefel an, Und schleife Dir das Schwert, Schon lang her han mer nichts gethan, Der Weg ist reitenswerth."[80]

"Oopon vitch side? I hartly know Boot von side in dis war: Dere ist de holy Russ-land All mit a holy Tsar; But I pe not a holy-er, Nor you von Saint, I fear; Out line is holy ploonder, Mit sacred Lager-bier.

"Dere's von Constantin.o.ble-man Vot write to me, und say He kits me an commission To make me Breitmann Bey, Und if I mounts de turpan Und keeps de Muslin law, Und bribes ein wenig, den I rise To Breitemann Pasha.

"Dis much is drue, dat Toorkey is A real Powder land, Und if dey're goin' to touch it off, Vy, ve moost pe on hand.

Und if ve shpring into de airs Vhile meddlin' in de fuss, I rader d.i.n.k some Russian bears Vill shpring along mit us."

Und ven he kit to Turkreich Der Breitmann work like mad, Und kit ein corps togeder,- Mein Gott! vat men he had!

Mit Polers und mit Shipsies, Ungaren, Turks, und such, Und allerlei Gesindel. "Hei!"

Says Hans: "dis beats de Dutch!"

Den onwards to his Schicksal[81]

Und forvarts troo de night, Und oopwarts to his mission, Und downvarts in de vight.

Until in de Bulgaren Von night his horse he strode, Und meet a tausand Kossacks Pefore him on de road.

Slap forward rode der Breitmann Right on de Kossack spears, But forvarts coom deir leader And halted his careers, Und gry, "O Turkisch Ritter, I am de Capitan, And if you want a shindy, Step up, and I'm your man."

Dey fightet like der teufel, Dey fightet mit deir swords, Und Breitmann vould hafe kilt him, But 'twas not on de cards, For de Kossack fire a bistol As his retreadt pegan,- Down from his horse all senseless Flop! went der Breitemann.

Vhen he hafe kit his senses, Der Breitmann find he lay Insite a nople castell, Upon a canape; Und py his side a lady So wunderschon to see, Vas shlisin oop a lemon Indo a cop of thee.

Den to himself say Breitmann, Aldough he hold his jaw, "Dis is de vinest womans, Py Gott! I efer saw.

Vot lofeliness! vot muscle!

Mit efery himmlisch charm!

She measures twenty inches, Bei Donner! roundt de arm."

De lady see his glances So n.o.ble und so game, Und yust as he reflected She d.i.n.k of him de same, Und she say, "Wie gehts?" in English, "Du galiant cavalier, Who art pecome de captive All of my bow und spear.

"I am a gal dis mornin', Yestreen I vas a knight, Old hoss - you nearly smashedme, I guess, in that small fight; And if I hadn't shot you I think I should have ran."

"Gottshimmel mit Potzbomben!

Egsclaim der Breitemann.

"But say, O nople lady, Vot got you in dot set Of plackgards - vilt dou dell me?"

De dame rebly: "You bet!

My father came from Boston, And when this war began He got a splendid contract, All with the Russi-an,

"To sell the army shoe-strings; But I have read of fights, And I dream of war and glory, For I go for women's rights; Then I read a book of poems Which fairly turned my head, The ballads of Hans Breitmann"-- "Oh --- ho!" Hans Breitmann said.

"And as I think the Breitmann Must be the greatest man Who ever went a-fighting Since History began, I dressed me like a soldier, For I am stark of limb; With Breitmann for a model, And try to act like him.

"Oh, tell me, n.o.ble captive, While rolling in this storm Which men call life, hast ever Beheld Hans Breitmann's form?

Oh, could I once embrace him, And gaze into his eye, And feel his arms around me, Then I would gladly die.