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The fairies frae their beds o' dew

Will rise and join the lay:
And hey! what a day will be

When Maggie gangs away!

MRS. RATTLEBY MAKES A CALL.

COMEDY COUNTRY-DIALECT MONOLOGUE FOR WOMAN.

LIBBIE C. BAER.

Written expressly for this book.

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CHARACTERS REPRESENTED: MRS. RATTLEBY, speaker present;

Mrs. HARVEY, supposed to be present. SCENE: MRS. HARVEY's sitting-room. Enter Mrs. RATTLEBY.

OOD afternoon, Mrs. Harvey. Thought I'd run in an see

you a minute. It's a lovely day; in fact, it's jist be-u-tiful. [Seats herself.] But I'm too tired to injoy anything. How good it seems to git a chance to set down a minute. You see, I walked clean to Shelbyville an' back since one o'clock—six good, long miles, that's what it is! An' what's the matter with you, Mrs. Harvey? You don't seem to be feelin' fust rate. Oh-o, sick headache! Land sakes! I know what that is; have had it often enough, dear knows. Can't be nothin' done for it, either, that I knows of; jist have to keep right quiet, an' that's all you kin do. It's a kind o’sea-sickness, I hearn 'em say; git tired o' seein' so much I reckon, an' jist collapse an' feel like layin' still an’ shuttin' your eyes an' lettin the world slip by, without takin' any notice o’ what it's comin' to. You can't tell me anything about sick headache that I don't know. It's an awful sickness. Don't feel like talkin' yourself or hearin' anybody else talk. Wouldn't raise your little finger to save your own life or anybody else's life. Now ain't that so?

I jist thought I'd come in an' see how you was gittin' along, an' rest myself a minute. An' didn't I need the rest! You'd ought to see the washin' I did yisterday. The biggist washin' ever done in this town; an' then, besides that, I scrubbed the kitchen an dinin’-room floors, got dinner for four men—all big eaters, every one o' them—an' done all the rest o' the work, an' knit a whole mitten afore bed-time. I was clean played out! But Thomas Jefferson was to Shelbyville yisterday an' he brought home one o' them hand-bills, an' it told all about the big bargains at Jimberlie's. So I got up rale early, got my ironin' all done, baked six loaves o' bread, got dinner for the men-folks, an' started for Shelbyville. An’ straight I walked into Jimberlie's stote an' sez to the clerk—that Vera Donaldson, the one with the yaller hair done up in a gordon knot, I sez: “I want to see some o' them bargains what we've been hearin' about.”

An', sez she, “Anything particular you wish, ma'am ?”

An' sez I, "No, I don't want any particulars, I want some o'them bargains."

“Beg pardon, ma'am, but in what line?" jist like I was a railroad or a telegraph-pole.

“Not any line," I sez, “unless it's the 'bee line' I walked three miles to find out how much truth there is in all that advertisin' you've been sendin' out so peart lately.”

“Jist look around, ma'am, an' pick out what you wish,” sez she, as polite as a basket o'chips.

I'd been lookin' around, an' so I sez, kind o out o' patience like—fur I couldn't see one thing what was on that handbill, “Where's

your
white

aprons fur ten cents, an' double blankets fur a dollar, an' kaliker at two cents a yard, an' handkerchiefs six fur twenty-five cents ?”

Then she called a girl whose waist wasn't much bigger around than the lead-pencil stuck in her hair, an' sez to her, “You show this lady the ten-cent aprons.”

So that girl took me 'way down an' acrost the store to where a small-sized hoop-skirt was hung up by a string, an' the aprons all spread over it, an' she took one down an'handed it to me

to look at, an' land sakes, I wouldn't walk acrost our front yard fur the whole lot o’ 'em-little, skimpy, slimpsy things, made out o'cheese-cloth an' a fringy string o' scallops sewed on the bottom what she called "imbroidery."

"I don't need anything o' that kind," I sez; "I ain't a mason."

Then she showed me the dollar blankets. “Is that what you call blankets?” sez I, spreadin' out a strip of shoddy, cotton stuff with stripes down the sides an' through the middle, an' about big enough fur a sheep.

The two-cent kaliker had quite a purty figger, but it all come out when I wet it with my tongue an' rubbed it between the palms of my hands. Well, the “long an' the short” of it is that I didn't buy anything, only three han'kerchiefs fur fifteen cents. I could have saved five cents by gittin' six, but I didn't have no use fur so many, havin' no small children, an' you won't ketch me runnin' after bargains at Jimberlie's agin.

But I must be gittin' home or I won't git the dinner dishes washed in time fur supper. I hope you'll soon be gittin' over your headache, Mrs. Harvey. You doʻlook sick an' no mistake. Jist take my advice an' keep rale quiet—don't mind to go to the door, I'll find my way out. Good-day, Mrs. Harvey, good-day.

DIE BRÜCKE.

(“TAE BRIDGE.”)

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

Translated into German by Herman Behr,

A

UF der Brücke stand ich um Mittnacht;

Der Stunde Schlag erscholl,
Und der Mond hinterm dunklen Kirchturm

Der Stadt schien klar und voll.

Es fielen seine Strahlen

Aufs Wasser glitzernd herab; Als wär's ein goldener Becher,

Versinkend im Wellengrab. Durch die weite, neblichte Ferne

Der lieblichen Juninacht Schien der Hochöfen flammendes Feuer,

Noch roter als Mondespracht.

Zwischen langem, schwarzem Gebälke

Floh'n Schatten hin und her; Es hob sie und riss sie mit sich

Die Flut vom nahen Meer.

Durchs Holzwerk rauschte tief unten

Des Meeres zögernde Flut;
Mit dem Seetang trieben die Wellen

Ihr Spiel in Mondesglut.
Und wie durchs dunkle Pfahlwerk

Die Wasser rauschten dahin,
Durchwogten tränenschwere

Gedanken meinen Sinn.

Wie oft war ich auf der Brücke

Gestanden bei Mitternacht, Habe niedergestarrt ins Wasser

Und auf zu des Himmels Pracht.

Wie oft hat, und wie sehnlich,

Der Wunsch meine Seele bewegt, Dass ich einer der vielen wär,

Die's Meer in die Ferne trägt.

Schwer schienen mir die Sorgen,

Mein Herz schlug ohne Rast;

Erdrückend, kaum zu tragen,

War mir des Lebens Last.

Doch die ist von mir gefallen,

Versunken in tiefster See;
Nur Schatten von anderer Leiden

Berühren mein Herz noch mit Weh.

Wenn immer ich über das Pfahlwerk

Der hölzernen Brücke geh',
So kehren mir. alte Gedanken

Zurück mit der Salzluft der See.

Ich denke der vielen Tausend

In Lebens Sturm und Drang,
Die die Brücke seither überschritten,

Ein jeder sorgenbang.

Hinüber und herüber

Wallt endlos clas Treiben der Stadt;
Die Jungen heissblütig hastend,

Die Alten gelassen und matt.

Und immer, so lange Wasser

Im tiefen Strombett fliesst, .
Des Lebens Sorgen uns quälen,

Im Herzen Leidenschaft spriesst:

Soll der Mond mit seinem Schatten

Und glitzerndem Wiederschein
Ein Symbol mir der himmlischen Liebe-

Ihr irdisches Abbild—sein.

MANAGER. You are the song-and-dance soubrette who wishes to join my company. What is your compass?

SOUBRETTE. If you refer to my voice, why, it's only two octaves; but I can kick over nineteen.

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