Successful Recitations Part 72

DOT BABY OF MINE.

BY CHARLES F. ADAMS.

Mine cracious! Mine cracious! shust look here und see A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe.

Der beoples all d.i.n.k dat no prains I haf got, Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot; Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine, Id vas all on aggount of dot baby off mine.

Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer; Not mooch pigger round as a goot gla.s.s off beer, Mit a bare-footed hed, and nose but a schpeck, A mout dot goes most to der pack of his neck, And his leedle pink toes mid der rest all combine To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine.

I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys, Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise; He shust has pegun to shbeak goot English, too, Says "Mamma," und "Bapa," und somedimes "ah-goo!"

You don't find a baby den dimes oudt off nine Dot vas qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine.

He grawls der vloor over, und drows dings aboudt, Und puts efryding he can find in his mout; He durables der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair, Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible schare.

Mine hair stands like shquills on a mat borcupine Ven I d.i.n.ks of dose pranks of dot baby off mine.

Der vas someding, you pet, I don't likes pooty veil; To hear in der nighdt dimes dot young Deutscher yell, Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es, Vhile der chills down der sphine off mine pack quickly goes.

Dose leedle s.h.i.+mnasdic dricks vasn't so fine Dot I cuts oop at nighdt mit dot baby off mine.

Veil, dese leedle schafers vos goin' to pe men, Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den; Dey vill vear a vhite s.h.i.+rt-vront inshted of a bib, Und voudn't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib.

Veil! veil! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline, May mine oldt age pe cheered by dot baby off mine.

A DUTCHMAN'S MISTAKE.

BY CHARLES F. ADAMS.

I geeps me von leedle schtore town Proadway, und does a pooty goot peeznis, but I don't got mooch gapital to work mit, so I finds it hard vork to get me all der gredits vot I vould like.

Last veek I hear about some goots dot a barty vas going to sell pooty sheap, und so I writes dot man if he vould gief me der refusal of dose goots for a gouple of days. He gafe me der refusal--dot is, he sait I gouldn't haf dem--but he sait he vould gall on me und see mine schtore, und den if mine schtanding in peesnis vas goot, berhaps ve might do somedings togedder.

Veil, I vas behind mine gounter yesterday, ven a shentle-man gomes in and dakes me py der hant and says, "Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve." I says, "Yaw," und den I tinks to mine-self, dis vas der man vot has doze goots to sell, und I must dry to make some goot imbressions mit him, so ve gould do some peesnis.

"Dis vas goot schtore," he says, looking roundt, "bud you don't got a pooty big shtock already." I vas avraid to let him know dot I only hat 'bout a tousand tollars vort of goots in der blace, so I says, "You ton't tink I hat more as dree tousand tollars in dis leedle schtore, vould you?" He says, "You ton't tole me! Vos dot bossible!"

I says, "Yaw."

I meant dot id vas bossible, dough id vasn't so, vor I vas like 'Shorge Vas.h.i.+ngtons ven he cut town der "olt elm" on Poston Gommons mit his leedle hadchet, and gouldn't dell some lies aboud id.

"Veil," says der shentleman, "I d.i.n.ks you ought to know petter as anypody else vot you haf got in der schtore." Und den he takes a pig book vrom unter his arm and say, "Veil, I poots you town vor dree tousand tollars."

I ask him vot he means py "Poots me town," und den he says he vas von off der tax-men, or a.s.sessors off broperty, und he tank me so kintly as nefer vas, pecause he say I vas sooch an honest Deutscher, und tidn't dry und sheat der gofermants.

I dells you vot it vos, I tidn't veel any more petter as a hundert ber cent, ven dot man valks oudt of mine schtore, und der nexd dime I makes free mit strangers I vinds first deir peesnis oudt.

THE OWL CRITIC.

JAMES T. FIELDS, IN "HARPER'S MAGAZINE."

"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop!

The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop!

The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading The _Daily_, the _Herald_, the _Post_, little heeding The young man who blurted out such a blunt question; Not one raised a head or even made a suggestion; And the barber kept on shaving.

"Don't you see, Mister Brown,"

Cried the youth with a frown, "How wrong the whole thing is, How preposterous each wing is, How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is-- In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis!

I make no apology, I've learned owl-eology.

I've pa.s.sed days and nights in a hundred collections, And cannot be blinded to any deflections Arising from unskilful fingers that fail To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.

Mister Brown! Mister Brown! Do take that bird down, Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!"

And the barber kept on shaving.

"I've _studied_ owls, And other night fowls, And I tell you What I know to be true; An owl cannot roost With his limbs so unloosed.

No owl in this world Ever had his claws curled, Ever had his legs slanted, Ever had his bill canted, Ever had his neck screwed Into that att.i.tude.

He can't _do_ it, because 'Tis against all bird laws, Anatomy teaches, Ornithology preaches, An owl has a toe That _can't_ turn out so!

I've made the white owl my study for years, And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!

Mister Brown, I'm amazed You should be so gone crazed As to put up a bird In that posture absurd!

To _look_ at that owl really brings on a dizziness; The man who stuffed him don't half know his business!"

And the barber kept on shaving.

"Examine those eyes, I'm filled with surprise Taxidermists should pa.s.s Off on you such poor gla.s.s; So unnatural they seem They'd, make Audubon scream, And John Burroughs laugh To encounter such chaff.

Do take that bird down: Have him stuffed again, Brown!"

And the barber kept on shaving.

"With some sawdust and bark I could stuff in the dark An owl better than that.

I could make an old hat Look more like an owl Than that horrid fowl, Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coa.r.s.e leather, In fact, about _him_ there's not one natural feather."

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance a.n.a.lytic.

And then fairly hooted, as if he should say: "Your learning's at fault this time, anyway; Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.

I'm an owl; you're another, Sir Critic, good day!"

And the barber kept on shaving.

THE TRUE STORY OF KING MARSHMALLOW,

O a jolly old fellow was King Marshmallow As ever wore a crown!

At every draught of wine he quaffed, And at every joke of his jester he laughed, Laughed till the tears ran down-- O, he laughed Ha! Ha! and he laughed Ho! Ho!

And every time that he laughed, do you know, The Lords in waiting they did just so.

But Queen Bonniberry was not quite so merry; She sat and sighed all the while, And she turned very red and shook her head At everything Jingle the jester said, And never vouchsafed a smile.

O, she sighed Ah me! and she sighed Heigh-oh!