Charles F. Adams.

THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN.

I'm a proken-hearted Deutscher,
Vot's villed mit crief und shame.
I dells you vot der drouple ish :
I doosn't know my name.

You dinks dis fery vunny, eh?
Ven you der schtory hear,
You vill not vonder den so mooch,
It vas so schtrange und queer.

Mine moder had dwo leedle twins;
Dey vas me und mine broder :
Ve lookt so fery mooch alike,
No von knew vich vrom toder.

Von off der poys was "Yawcob,'
Und "Hans" der oder's name

But den it made no tifferent,
Ve both got called der same.

Vell; von off us got tead-
Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so!
But vedder Hans or Yawcob,
Mine moder she don'd know.

Und so I am in drʊuples :

I gan't kit droo mine hed,
Vedder I'm Hans vot's lifing.
Or Yawcob vot is tead!

A TALE OF A NOSE.

'Twas a hard case, that which happened in Lynn.
Haven't heard of it, eh? Well then, to begin,
There's a Jew down there whom they call "Old Mose,
Who travels about, and buys old clothes.

Now Mose-which the same is short for Moses

Had one of the biggest kind of noses :

It had a sort of an instep in it,

And he fed it with snuff about once a minute.

One day he got in a bit of a row

With a German chap who had kissed his frau,
And, trying to punch him à la Mace,
Had his nose cut off close up to his face.

He picked it up from off the ground,
And quickly back in its place 'twas bound,
Keeping the bandage upon his face
Until it had fairly healed in place.

Which he in his haste that day did make;
For, to add still more to his bitter cup,
He found he had placed it wrong side up.

"There's no great loss without some gain;"
And Moses says, in a jocular vein,
He arranged it so for taking snuff,
As he never before could get enough.

One thing, by the way, he forgets to add,
Which makes the arrangement rather bad
Although he can take his snuff with ease,
He has to stand on his head to sneeze!

John Habberton.

[This charming writer is the author of "Helen's Babies," written, it is said, to amuse sickly wife; of "The Jericho Road," a very clever satire, and various other short stories.]

HELEN'S BABIES.

THE first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only married sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and received just as I was trying to decide where I should spend a fortnight's vacation :-

"HILLCREST, June 15, 1875.

"DEAR HARRY :-Remembering that you are always complaining that you never have a chance to read, and knowing that you won't get it this summer, if you spend your vacation among people of your own set, I write to ask you to come up here. I admit that I am not wholly disinterested in inviting you. The truth is, Tom and I are invited to spend a fortnight with my old schoolmate, Alice Wayne, who, you know, is the dearest girl in the world, though you didn't obey me and marry her before Frank Wayne appeared. Well, we're dying to go, for Alice and Frank live in splendid style; but, as they haven't included our children in their invitation, and have no children of their own, we must leave Budge and Toddie at home. I've no doubt they'll be perfectly safe, for my girl is a jewel, and devoted to the children, but I would feel a great deal easier if there was a man in the house. Besides, there's the silver, and burglars are less likely to break into a house where there's a savagelooking man. (Never mind about thanking me for the compliment.) If you'll only come up, my mind will be completely at rest. The children won't give you the slightest trouble; they're the best children in the world-everybody says so.

"Tom has plenty of cigars, I know, for the money I should have had for a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. He has some new claret, too, that he goes into ecstacies over, though I can't tell it from the vilest black ink, except by the colour. Our horses are in splendid condition, and so is the gardenyou see I don't forget your old passion for flowers. And, last and best, there never were so many handsome girls at Hillcrest as there are among the summer

boarders already here; the girls you already are acquainted with here will see that you meet all the newer acquisitions.

་་

'Reply by telegraph right away. Of course you'll say 'Yes.'

"In great haste, your loving

"SISTER HELEN.

"P.S.-You shall have our own chamber; it catches every breeze, and commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with it; so, if anything should happen to the darlings at night, you'd be sure to hear them."

"Just the thing!" I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had mentally selected books enough to busy me during a dozen vaçations. Without sharing Helen's belief that her boys were the best ones in the world, I knew them well enough to feel assured that they would not give me any annoyance. There were two of them, since Baby Phil died last fall; Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had generally, during my flying visits to Helen, worn a shy, serious, meditative, noble face, with great, pure, penetrating eyes, that made me almost fear their stare. Tom declared he was a born philanthropist or prophet, and Helen made so free with Miss Muloch's lines as to sing :

"Ah, the day that thou goest a wooing,

Budgie, my boy!"

I

Todoe had seen but three summers, and was a happy little know-nothing with a head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very pretty fancy for finding out sunbeams and dancing in them. had long envied Tom his horses, his garden, his house, and his location, and the idea of controlling them for a fortnight was particularly delightful. Tom's taste in cigars and claret I had always respected, while the lady inhabitants of Hillcrest were, according to my memory, much like those of every other suburban village--the fairest of their sex.

Three days later I made the hour and a half trip between New York and Hillcrest, and hired a hackman to drive me over to Tom's. Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence, our horses shied violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, turned to me and remarked :

“That was one of the 'Imps'”

"What was ?" I asked.

There he is now,

"Twould be just like his Here he comes, runnin'.

"That little cuss that scared the hosses. holdin' up that piece of brushwood. cheek, now, to ask me to let him ride. Wonder where t'other is ?-They most generally travel together. these parts, because they're so unAlways skeerin' hosses, or chasin' Nice enough father an' mother, too

We call 'em the Imps, about
common likely at mischief.
cows, or frightenin' chickens.
-queer, how young ones do turn out!"

As he spoke, the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in a very dirty sailor suit, and under a broad-brimmed straw hat, with one stocking about his ankle, and two shoes averaging about two buttons each, I recognised my nephew, Budge! About the same time there emerged from the bushes by the roadside a smaller boy, in a green gingham dress, a ruffle which might once have been white, dirty stockings, blue slippers worn through at the toes, and an old-fashioned straw turban. Thrusting into the dust of the road a branch from a bush, and shouting, "Here's my grass-cutter!" he ran towards us enveloped in a "pillar of cloud," which might have served the purpose of Israel in Egypt. When he paused, and the dust had somewhat subsided, I beheld the unmistakable lineaments of the child Toddie!

"They're my nephews," I gasped.

"What!" exclaimed the driver. "By gracious! I forgot you were going to Colonel Lawrence's! I didn't tell anything but the truth about 'em, though; they're smart enough, an' good enough, as boys go; but they'll never die of the complaint that children has in Sunday-school books."

"Budge," said I, with all the sternness I could command, "do you know me?"

The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied :—

"Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?" "Bring us anything?" echoed Toddie.

"I wish I could have brought you some big whippings," said I, with great severity of manner, "for behaving so badly. Get into this carriage."