Vell den: von tay as Fritzerl Vas valk Dolores Shtreet, Mein Gott! how he vas over-rush Ein gut oldt friendt to meet; Hans Liederschnitz aus Augsburg, Vot professed in Bayrisch bier- "Gottskreuz! du alter Schlingel!" Cried Fritz: "Was mochst du hier?" Now in des dimes I scribe of, Dree ways der vere bakannt, Und only dree, to get to Das Californigen Landt. De virst de Plains coom ofer; De next, de Istmoos troo; De dird aroundt Cape Horne, All ofer de ocean plue. But de first lot of surveyors For de railroad overland, Vas seek a new vay northwarts, All for de Eisenbahn, Und mit dem, der professor Of Lager vent along; So he kommed to San Franciscus, Und den into dis song. But ash unto Herr Fritzerl Dis news vas unerheard, He couldt not know de tidings Wherevon he had no vord; Und derefore dis here quesdion He makes to Hans: "Old hoss, I kess de vay you kit hier, You kommed de Blains agross?" "Nein, nein," sayt Liederschnitzerl; "I komm not ash you say." "Vell, den," antworded Fritzerl, "It pe's anoder vay. If you komm de Blains not uber, I see vot you hafe do: You make an longer um-way Und gross de Istmoos troo." "Nein, nein," acain saidt Schnitzerl, "Dat road I nefer know, Und vas not ride de Istmoose!" Cried Fritz, erstaunisched, "SO You komm de Blains not uber, Nor gross de Istmoose troo? Vell, den - to make de Horn aroundt Vas all dat you could do!" "I shvears py Gott!" says Schnitzerl, "So sure as you vas porn, Exshept oopon some ochsen I nefer saw a horn. Dat ish - mitwiles, too - while-en-- I hafe von in mine hand, Und trink to dy Gesundheit, Im lieben Vaterland." Erstaunished stoot der Fritzerl: No wort herout brought he: Und sinned, und sinned - den sighftserd. "Potz blitz! how vash dis pe?" Ontill a light from Himmel Vlash down into him shtraight, Ash Heafen in Yacob Bohme Vlash from a bewter blate. Den laut he cry, eye-shbarklin, Ash droonk mit Truth tifine, Like der Wahrheitseher Novalis: "Herr Gott! es leuch't mir ein! If you komm de Blains not over, Nor py Horn, nor py canal, Den I shwears you dis, Hans Schnitzerl, Du bist not here at all!" MORAL. Go in for Wahrheit, Und for Pure Reason seek; If it land you in a pog-hole, Den die dere - like a brick! Gott brosber all logikers, Und pless deir nople breed; Und so ist komm zu ende Dis Breitmanns letzte Lied. THE GYPSY LOVER. DOT vos a schwartz Zigeuner[84] Dot on a viddle played, Und oonderneat' a fenster He mak't a serenade. Dot vos a lofely gountess Who heardt de gypsy blay'n. Said she, "Who make dot musik Vot sound so wunderscheen?" Dot vos de schwartz Zigainer Who vos fery quick to twig; Und he song a mournvoll pallad How his hearts vos proken - big! Dot vos de lofely gountess Said, "Dell me who you are?" He saidt, "Mein name is Janosch, De Lord of Temesvar."