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GEORGE COOPER. Along the road two Irish lads
One summer's day were walking, And all the while, with laugh and grin,
In lively strain were talkiug
And who were best at dancing ; While at each pretty face they met
Their eyes were brightly glancing.
And so they strode for many a mile,
And grew in time quite frisky, As now and then, from lip to lip,
They passed the darling whiskey.
At length, a milestone standing close
Beside the hedge they saw,
And straightway up to it they went
To con its letters o'er.
They read, and quickly doffed their hats,
With sorrow in each face;
Then lightly stepped above the sod,
And turned to leave the place.
“Spake low, we're near the dead," cried ode,
“His grave we'll not be troublin'; An old man, sure! 100, and
His name is Miles from Dublin !"
[A parody on Sheridan's Ride.]
(OOFTY GOOFT) GUS PHILLIPS.
From gross der rifer, ad broke of day,
Bringin' by Brooklyn fresh dismay,
Der news vas send by a Dudchman drue
Dot der officers of der refenue
Vood be ofer in less as a hour or dwo
To confiscate all der viskey dey got
In Schneider's blace or near der shbot.
Und vilder yed dem rumors dey flew,
Dill Schneider dinn'd know vat to do;
So he glosed der doors und barred dem dight,
Saying, “Dey kin hammer avay mit all der might;
Of de gid dem oben before id's night,
Den I don'd know-but ve shall see
Who is der shmardesd, dem or me!"
For a hour or dree no regd he got,
Shdil Schneider shdaid righd on der shbot,
Bud dere is a shdreed in Brooklyn down
Dot isn'd bafed, dot leads righd down
To Goney Island, und vat is more •
(Dot's a vonder id nefer vas used before),
It vas righd in frond of der back of der shdore,
Und dere on dot road vas nine drucks und a cart,
Loading mit viskey all ready to shdart;
Dey're mosd all loaded, und Schneider is gay,
In den momends he'll be boud a mile avay.
Dey're off, und uoding is lef to show
Vat vay dey made up deir minds to go,
Und eferyding is mofed, yed nod a sound
Kin be heerd bud der veels agoin around;
As dey mofe so shwifdly ofer der ground;
Und Schneider looks back und says, “Goot day,"
For now he's more as fife miles avay,
Shdill jumps dem horses, shdill on dey go,
Und de vay dey mofe dot isn'd shlow,
Dey're goin down hill, und fasder und fasder
Dey're drifen ahead by Schneider, der masder,
Who shduck to dem now like a poor man's blaster,
For vell he knows dot if now he's dooked,
He kin make ub his mind dot his goose vos cooked,
So efery mussels dey pring in blay,
Cause dey aind any more as den miles avay!
Under dheir flyin' hoofs der road,
Like a grade big mud gudder dot flowed,
Und der flies dot had come all der vay from town,
Now got tired und had to lay down
To took a shmall resd upon der ground;
For “Schneid" und der wagons, dem vent so fasd
Dod efen der flies gifed oud at last;
Der dust vas dick und der horses gray,
Und Schneider vas fifdeen miles avay!...
Der wery first ding dot Schneider saw
Vas der sand, und he heerd der ocean roar.
He shmelled der salt in der goot.olt preeze
Dot vafed ofer vere dere vasn'd some drees,
Und he feld firsd rade mit his mind ad ease.
Und dem wery horses dem seemed to say
“Ve pringed you Schneider all der vay
From Brooklyn town und safed der viskey,
But 'bon our vords 'dwas radder risky!"
Hurrah! hurrah! for Schneider drue !
Hurrah! hurrah ! for der horses, doo !
Und ven deir shdadurs vas high und dry,
Let some bully boy mit a grockery eye
Gid ub on der dop of a barrel und gry
“Dese is der horses dot safed der day
By carting der viskey und Schneider gay
From Brooklyn-dwendy miles avay!
THE STUBBORN BOOT.
“Bother!” was all John Clattery said.
His breath came quick and his cheek was red,
He flourished his elbows, and looked quite bored,
While over and over, his “Bother!" I heard.
Harder and harder the fellow worked,
Vainly and savagely still he jerked;
The boot, half on, would dangle and flap-
“Bother !" and then he burst the strap.
Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed;
Harder than ever he fumed and blamed;
He wriggled his heel and tugged at the leather
Till knees and chin came bumping together.
“My boy," said I, in a voice like a flute,
“Why not-abem!-try the mate of that boot,
Or the other foot!" "I'm a goose," laughed Joha
And be stood in a flash with his two boots on
HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET,
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
The betting men were gathered round
From far and near; the "cracks ” were them
Whose deeds the sporting prints declare;.
The swift g. m., old Hiram's nag,
The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag;
With these a third- and who is he
That stands beside his fast b. g. ?
Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name
So fills the nasal trump of fame.
There, too, stood many a noted stood
Of Messenger and Morgan breed;
Greon horses, also, not a few
Unknown as yet what they could do;
And all the lacks that know so well
The scourging of the Sunday swell.