If efer man hat manly heart, He'd veel dat heart to beat, Vhen mit de oldten dime of Ghent He valks troo efery shdreet. Und ach! de volk are yet so goot, It gave me soosh a pliss, Vhen I hear a bier-hous spielman sing A melodie like dis:- "Het was op eenen Monday, All on a Monday free, Dat mijnheere Jacob Van Artevelde Unto his men said he: He seide - 'Mijn lief gesellen, Ve all moost ride out land, And trive our way to Bruges town Or Brussel in Braband.' "Und as he oonto Brussel cam, De meisjes sprong from bed, Und found Mynheere Van Artevelde Mit a cross-bolt troo his head." Und shoost pecause dis bier-hous song Recht troo my heartsen vent, I feel dat I could life und die All in de down of Gent. BREITMANN IN HOLLAND. ----- 'S GRAVENHAGE - THE HAGUE. IN dis boem, mein freund der Herr Breitmann hafe his fiews on art pefore-geset mit a deepness und shorthood vich is bropably oonliked in Aesthetik. Ve hafe here, within de circumcomprehensifeness of dirty-two lines, a theorie vitch - shortsomely exbressed - sends to der teufel efery dings ash vas efer gescribed pefore on kunst or art, und maket efery podies from Baumgartner doun to Fischer und Taine, look shoost like puddin-headet old gasbalgs. Boot to de boem. For de informadion of dem ash ish not gestudied art, I vould shtate dat Adriaan Brauwer (who ish as regards an unvollkomene technik de first of all Holland malers), vas nefer paint nodings boot droonken plackguards und liederlich dings, und Van Ostade und Jan Steen vas in most deir bilds a goot deal like him. - FRITZ SCHWACKENHAMMER. Hans reitet troo de Nederland, From Rotterdam below, To Gravenhaag und Leyden Und Haarlem - all a row; He shtoodit in de galleries A tausend works of art; Boot ach - der Adriaan Brauwer, Vent most teepest to his heart. Und dus exglaim der Breitmann In woonder-solemn shdrain, "De cratest men vere Brauwer, Van Ostade, und Jan Steen. Der Raffael vas vel enof; Dat ish in his shmall vay; Boot - Gott im Himmel! - vot vas he Coompared mit soosh as dey? "Shoost see dat vight of troonken boors- Von tears de oder's goat: Vhile de oder mit a pointet knife Ish goin for his troat. Und a madchen mit a tree-leg shtuhl Ish clip him on de het, In dese higher human passion valks, Der Raffael's coldt und deadt. "De more ve digs into de eart'- Or less ve seeks a star,- De nearer ve to Natur coom, More pantheistich far; To him who reads dis myst'ry right, Mit insbiration gifen, Der Raffael's rollen in de dirt, Vhile Brauwer soars to Heafen. LEYDEN. TIS shveet to valk in Holland towns Apout de twilicht tide, Vhen all ish shdill on proad canals, Safe vhere a poat may clide. Shdrange light on darkenin vater falls, In long soft lines afar, Der abenddroth on dunkelheit, Vitch shows - or hides - a star.