Dey dook der Breitmann homewarts, Boot efer on de vay He nefer shpeaket no man, Und nodings else couldt say, Boot, "Maidelein - rothe Waengelein!

Mit wein-gla.s.s in her paw, Ve'll get troonk among de roses, Und pe soper on de shtraw!"

Dey laid der Hans im bette, Peneat' de eider doun, Und sembelet all de doktors Who doktor in de town,- Dat ish, de Deutsche Aertzte,- For Breitmann alvays says, De Deutschers ish de onlies Mit originell idees.

Der vas Doktor Moritz Schlinkenschlag, Dat vork ash Cafeopath, Und de learned Cobus Schoepfskopf, Who use de milchy bath; Und Korschalitschky aus Boehmen, Vhat cure mit slibovitz, Und Wechselbalg, der Preusse, Who only 'tend to fits.

Dere vas Strobbich aus Westfalen, Who mofe all eart'ly ills Mit concentrirter Sc.h.i.n.ken juice, Und Pumpernickel pills.

Und a bier-kur man from Munich, Und a grape-curist from Rhein, Und von who shkare tiseases Mit a dose of Schlesier-wein.

So dey meet in consooldation, Mit Doktor Winkeleck, Who proctice "renovation"

Mit sauer-kraut und speck.

Und dat no man shouldt pe shlightet, Or dreatet ash a tunce, Dey 'greed to dry deir systems Oopon Breitmann - all at vonce.

Dat ish, mit de exscepdion Of gifin' Schlesier-wein: For de remedy vas dangerfull For von who trink from Rhein.

Ash der Teufel vonce deklaret, Vhen he taste it on a shpree, Dat a man, to trink soosh liquor, Moost a p.o.r.n Silesian pe.

So dey all vent los at Breitmann, Und woonderfool to dell, He coom to his Gesundheit, Und pooty soon cot vell.

Some hinted at Natura, Mit her olt vis sanatrix, Boot eash doktor shvore he curet him, Und de rest were taugenix.

I know not vot der Breitmann More newly has pegun; Boot dey say he talks day-dayly Mit Dana of de Sun.

Dey talk in Deutsch togeder, Und volk say de end will be, Philosopedal shanges In de Union Cavallrie.

Gott helf de howlin' saf.a.ge!

Got helf de Indi-an!

Shouldt Breitmann shoin his forces Mit Sheneral Sheridan!

Und denn, to sing his braises, I'll write anoder lied: Hier hat dis dale an ende, Of Breitmann's Philosopede!

DIE SCHONE WITTWE[9]

(DE POOTY VIDOW.)

I.

VOT DE YANKEE CHAP SUNG.

DAT pooty liddle vidow Vot ve dosh'nt vish to name, Ish still leben on dat liddle shtreet, A doin' shoost de same.

De glerks aroundt de gorners Somedimes goes round to zee How die tarlin' liddle vitchy ees, Und ask 'er how she pe.

Dey lofes her ver' goot liquoer, Dey lofes her liddle shtore; Dey lofes her little paby, But dey lofes die vidow more.

To dalk mit dat shveet vidow, Ven she hands das lager round, Vill make der shap dat does id Pe happy, ve'll be pound.

Dat ish if we can vell pelieve De glerks vat drinks das beer, Who goes in dere for noding elshe, Put simply for to zee her.

II.

HOW DER BREITMANN CUT HIM OUT.

Oh yes I know die wittwe, Mit eyes so prite und proun!

She's de allerschoenste wittwe Vot live in dis here down.

In her plack silk gown - mine grashious!- All puttoned to de neck- Und a pooty liddle collar, Mitout a shpot or shpeck.

Ho! clear de drack you oder fraus- You can't pegin to shine Vhen de lofely vidder cooms along- Dis vidder ash ish mine!

Ho! clear de drack you Yankee chaps, You Englishers und sooch, You can't pegin to coot me out, Mitout you dalks in Dootch.

Ich hab die schoene wittwe Schon lange nit gesehn, Ich sah sie gestern Abend Wohl bei dem Counter Stehn.

Die w.a.n.gen rein wie Milch and Blut Die Augen h.e.l.l und klar.

Ich hab sie sechsmal auch gekusst- Potztausend! das ist wahr.[10]

BREITMANN IN BATTLE

"TUNC TAPFRE AUSFUHRERE STREITUM ET RITTRIS DIGNUM POTUERE ERIAGERE LOb.u.m."

"Hiltibraht enti Hadubrant."

DER FADER UND DER SON.[11]

I d.i.n.kS I'll go a vightin'" - outshpoke der Breitemann.

"It's eighdeen hoonderd fordy-eight since I kits swordt in hand; Dese fourdeen years mit Hecker all roostin' I haf been, Boot now I kicks der Teufel oop and goes for sailin' in."

"If you go land out-ridin'," said Caspar Pickletongue, "Foost ding you knows you cooms across some repels prave and young.

Away down Sout' in Tixey, dey'll split you like a clam"- "For dat," spoke out der Breitmann, "I doos not gare one tam!

"Who der Teufel pe's de repels, und vhere dey kits deir sa.s.s?

If dey make a run on Breitmann he'll soon let out de gas; I'll shplit dem like kartoffels; I'll schlog em on de kop; I'll set de plackguarts roonin' so, dey don't know vhere to shtop."

Und de outshpoke der Breitmann, mit his schlaeger py his side: "Forvarts, my pully landsmen! it's dime to run and ride; Vill riden, vill vighten - der Copitain I'll pe, It's sp.o.r.n und horn und saddle now - all in de Cavallrie!"

Und ash dey rode droo Vinchesder, so herrlich to be seen, Dere coomed some repel cavallrie a riden' on de creen; Mit a sa.s.sy repel Dootchman - an colonel in gommand, Says he, "Vot Teufel makes you here in dis mein Faderland?

"You're dressed oop like a shentleman mit your plackguart Yankee crew, You mudsills and meganics! Der Teufel put you droo!

Old Yank, you ought to shtay at home und dake your liddle horn, Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse" - der Breitmann laugh mit shkorn.

"Und should I trink mein lager beer und roost mine self to home?

I'fe got too many dings like you to mash beneat' my thoom: In many a fray und fierce foray dis Dootchman will be feared Pefore he stops dis vightin' trade - 'twas dere he grayed his peard."

"I pools dat peard out py de roots - I gifes him such a dwist Dill all de plood roons out, you tamned old Apolitionist!

You creenpacks mit your swordt und vatch, right ofer you moost sh.e.l.l, Und den you goes to Libby stright - und after dat to h-ll!"

"Mein creenpacks and mein schlaeger, I kits 'em in New York, To gife dem up to creenhorns, young man, is not de talk;"

De heroes shtopped deir sa.s.sin' here und grossed deir sabres dwice, Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork vos von pig ding on ice.

Der younger fetch de older such a gottallmachty shmack Der Breitmann d.i.n.ks he really hears his skool go shplit and crack; Der repel shoomps dwelfe paces back, und so he safe his life: Der Breitmann says: "I guess dem shoomps, you learns dem of your vife."

"If I should learn of vomans I d.i.n.ks it vere a shame, Bei Gott I am a shentleman, aristograt, and game.

My fader vos anoder - I lose him fery young- Der Teufel take your soul! Coom on! I'll split your vaggin' tongue!"

A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried - dat oldt gray-pearded man- For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran.

All round der shlim yoong repels vaist his arms oldt Breitmann pound, Und shlinged him down oopon his pack and laidt him on der ground.

"Who rubs against olt kittle-pots may keep vhite - if he can, Say vot you d.i.n.ks of vightin' now mit dis oldt shentleman?