.HJ7 S7 PS 3537 .H17 S7 1909 Copy 1 : ■ M 1 1 1 \ '^m^^-ims^M^sTimmy:^ STORIES OF AN OLD DUTCH TOWN DON CAMERON SHAPER ] l i i====Tf===n i — — if==nr== =i i =i i i r= TORIES OF c^lN OLD DUTCH TOWN In Verse B/^ DON. CAMERON SHAFER ROBSON CS. cy^DEE, Publishers SchenecJtady, c5N^ew York 1 L Jl LiBHARYof GONGf?ESc Two Copitis Received JAN 18 1809 Copyright, 1909 by I FOREWORD These stories of old Schenectady have been carefully selected from the traditions, legends and folk-lore of the Holland Dutch who so early established the frontier city of Schenectady, N. Y. The bits of humor come down to this generation through histories, letters, newspaper files, and by word of mouth and while they may not, fitted as they are into the more rigid forms of vefse, caress the imagination so blithely as though written in prose there can be no doubt but these are the very incidents which the early inhabitants of the old Dutch town loved to recall over their cups or after one of their famous Dutch dinners. Don. Cameron Shafer. September 9, 1908. INDEX I The Toiu-he-nick Wedding 11 II The Dutchman Who Would a Hunting Go 13 III The Jolly Old Host of Glenville 16 [V How the Dutch Made Money 18 V The Language of Holland is Dead 21 V^T Justice Van der Donk's Daughter 22 VII When Glenville First Went "Dry" 25 VTl I Tom Harmon 28 IX In Old Time Dorp 29 X The First Tavern In Schenectady 30 XI The Ballad of Ron-worrigh-wok-qu-na, (The Finder-of- Fault) 32 XII Te-que-se-ra 35 XIII The Ballad of the Sixpence 36 XIV Ballade of Ye Ancient Pasture 38 XV Love vVpples 40 XVI Old "Sandy** Kelley 41 XVII How the Dutch Matrons Went Calling 43 XVIII The Rhyme of an Ancient Man 45 XIX Old Dutch Toast 47 XX Old Dutch Nursery Rhyme 47 2[ljc a[nm-ljc-ttitk OTe^lning Author's Note. — In the early days of Schenectady there were no resident ministers and the duties of the church were performed by "circuit riders," ministers who rode through the country holding services, marriages, funerals, etc. H, young Tyerck Honokel de Graf was Dutch — As his name would doubtless imply. He lived on the bank of Tom-he-nick creek, On his little farm by the *Vlie. Now all Glenville knew young Tyerck was in love With a maid on a nearby farm. This Dutch lassie's name was Tennise Von Bolt — A maiden of beauty and charm. 'T is needless to say Tyerck's love she returned, For he had both land and a cow ; So when he proposed (in Low Dutch of course) She promised to be his igoede Vrouzv. She promised to be his good wife and true — To live in the little log cot, Whene'er a preacher rode in from Ft. Orange, To tie the hymeneal knot. The day came at last — as wedding days do — The parson had been notified. Young Tyerck, in homespun, sat moody and glum. Holding tight the hand of his bride. And watching the clouds on Toiver Enne hill — In truth it had rained all the week ; They were wondering if the parson dare ride O'er the ford in Tom-he-nick creek. * Swamp or mariby lake. f Good wife. 12 While they were watching they spied a lean nag A-jogging along down the road. Mounting the Rev. Harmanus Van Bradt, As gaunt as the beast he bestrode. Down to the ford rode the Rev. Van Bradt — The Tom-he-nick raged like the sea Between the lovers and marital bliss : Robbing the parson of his fee. "Hello !" yells the Rev. Van Bradt, "Hello ! I can't make the ford it is plain. You better postpone your wedding, I say : Next month I will ride here again!" • Farmer, t Daufihter. "Hold on, good father!" cried Tennise. "Hold on!" She ran to the bank with her swain, "You marry us now, for youth cannot wait. Och Hemel! Next month it may rain!" The Rev. Van Bradt remembered his fee — He needed it sorely that week. "Join hands, you Glenville '*een boer and idochter!" His voice carried strong o'er the creek. Loud rang the words of the Rev. Van Bradt, 'T was the old Dutch service he read ; The "I dos" and "ik vills" came faintly back Until Tyerck and Tennise were wed. The service closed with a prayer for their souls And a kiss tossed cross to the bride. Then Tyerck threw over some pieces of gold And Van Bradt continued his ride. a) 13 mit iutrljmatt fflljn Wmih a i^iuUing (^a NCE upon an autumn morning Sallied forth one Jans Van Corning, With dog and gun to hunt along the Mohawk shore. He was a Holland weaver lad, But had the hunting fever bad, Though he had ne'er been gunning in his life before. "Oh, it's deer meat you'll be buying," Yelled his comrades, just to guy him, When they saw Jans passing with little dog and gun. "Don't let bears or panthers scratch ye. Or the horrid Redskins catch ye!" They yelled, "be sure you're headed homeward when you run. But these jokes and jibes sardonic Could not stop this young Teutonic, For Jans just hurried on as though he did not care. As he walked along he nnittered : "I'll just show them once," he sputtered, "That I'm a hunter if I meet a lion or bear!" The big wood was dark and dreary. Every shadow made Jans "skeery;" He held his gun ready despite his shaking knees. The faithful dog walked well in front, For he actually liked to hunt. And wasn't 'fraid of anything that walked beneath the trees. 14 Now, when Jans stopped to take account, He saw a savage catamount. Standing- quite suspiciously on a ledge of rock. The Dutchman sneaks a trifle up And brings his trusty rifle up, Shuts his eyes completely and fires the old flint-lock. With a tremendous rumbling roar. The gun kicks Jans a-tumbling o'er Upon his broad Dutch back beneath the greenwood tree. With an awful caterwauling Came that catamount a-crawling To spring upon the victim of that Dutch fusee. With a screechy, shrieking yowling. All a-snarling and a-growling, Leap'd the panther to the man sprawling in the wreck. Then the little dog precocious Grabbed the catamount ferocious, And fastened his strong teeth deep in the varmint's neck. Cat a-scratching, dog a-biting, Towards Jans they rolled a-fighting; 'T was plain without help the dog would die in the trail. As they tumbles o'er the Dutchman Jans just makes a hurried clutch and Grabs the snarling panther by his long and furry tail. "Sic him Toby!" yells Jans, "Sic him, 'Til I get where I can kick him ; This is the queerest fix I was ever in. 15 But I'll hold him while you choke him; Or I find something- to soak him — Heads or tails I wonder which one of us will win !'' Just then Jans finds a hickory club And plays a merry rub-a-dub On that big panther's ribs until it gasps for breath ; 'Til its whole nine lives are lifeless, And it's powerful claws are strifeless. And the cat's stretched out on the ground quite cold in death. Never lived a hunter prouder — Never yelled a Dutchman louder Than Jans Van Corning when he saw he'd killed the beast : "Won't those loafer's be astounded, And just a wee bit confounded," Says he, "they'll be surprised to see a lion, at least!" Walking along quite breezily, Carrying his game quite easily, Came Jans Van Corning down the little village street. Every Dutchman who laughed at him — 'Every Burgher who chafed at him. Drank his beer hurriedly and beat a quick retreat. 16 S[l?c Jolly ®lb ioat of (JlEniitllc H, Captain John Sanders, old-fashion "Judge" Sanders. The jolly old host of Glenville; His mansion commanding in Scotia is standing Across from the old Binnekill. But each time-stained rafter Which echoed the laughter Of those ancient days is now still. This sociable Sanders, this fun-loving Sanders, Gave many a party and ball. The mansion was lighted and neighbors invited To dance in the large dining hall. Every matron and maid, Every dashing young blade, On Captain John Sanders would call. And, oh, the sweet maidens, those dimpling Dutch lassies, Up-stairs 'neath the candle's soft glow, All dimpling and smiling, with laughter beguiling. They flirted with every young beau ; While old-fashion lunches, And hot whisky punches Were served to the old folks below. And after the luncheon the guests were for dancing; The furniture 'way from all harm, With laughter they'd greet, the old slave "General Peet" His fiddle tucked under his arm. Then the wild hurrying — Men scrambling and scurrying. For maidens of beauty and charm. 17 And off in one corner, the figures a-calling, In his chair swayed old "General Peet" ; His black arm a-shaking the music a-making In time for the fast gliding feet. His black eyes a-twinkle And black face a-\vrinkle, — luitranced with the music so sweet. "Hunting Squirrel", "Old Sushyea" and "Turkey in Straw" With other old favorites he played ; While the "Judge" of Glenville led a pretty quadrille, With a blushing Schenectady maid. From the old-fashion "set" To stately minuette The dancing was never delayed. 'Til matrons a-yawning and tall clocks a-striking The dancers would cease their gay whirls. While garments a-seeking the gallants were speaking If they might go home with the girls. Each lover and sv/eetheart With "good-nights" would depart "Mid lausrhter and tossinsf of curls. Oh, Captain John Sanders, old-fashion "Judge" Sanders, Peace be to your ashes, I say. The mansion commanding alone is still standing To tell of the company so gay. Jolly comrades and slaves Have been long in tlieir graves — And silent for many a day. 18 j^om ^\}t iutclj Malic Mmm Author's A^o/e.— Owing to the scarcity of small money in 1790-2 the First Reformed charch ofiicials issued "church money" as a circulating medium. This paper money was prinled by G. R. and G. Webster of Albany, in one, two, three and fourpence notes. Later a sixpence and one and two shilling notes were issued. They were guaranteed by the church and were exchanged for gold. E talk long of present panics — Of markets gone to smash, As though our ancient forefathers Ne'er knew the want of cash. Ahhongh the Wolf, quite in the flesh. Hung 'round the cabin door. They never knew Want's vulpine fonu In those brave davs of vore. For the harvests on the lowlands Were all that man could wish ; With forests full of tasty game And rivers full of fish, Still, they had their money troubles. When cash was hard to find : When raw skins were legal tender And payments made in "kind." It happened in Schenectady In seventeen ninety-two, That small change was so very scarce They didn't know what to do. Of course the church folk suffered most Collections to enjoin. The plate went 'round and 'round and 'round And never got a coin. 19 They could not bring raw skins to church, Or vegetables and such. In fact this monetary question Bid fair to "beat the Dutch", 'Til Deacons of the First Reformed, (The pastor's pay was due,) Met one September afternoon In Van Slyck's Inn at two. With well-filled i)ipes they sat and thought In silence long and drear. And then they thought some more and smoked. And eke they drank some beer. Then finally agreed on a plan, A goodly scheme and true, Whereby the church would get some cash — The Domine his due. One rode to Albany next day, Before the morning sun ; At Webster's ancient printery He had some printing done. Soon paper money, crisp and fresh. Was issued on the street — And the panic fold'd up its tents And made a quick retreat. From one pence up to three and four. In colors new and bright; Then a crinkly paper six-pence, The first time saw the light. The people left with those church folk Their coin of yellow gold, And got it changed to paper script Their credit to uphold. 20 And on ye Sabbath morning fair, After the ushers' trips. The silver plates which went around Were filled with paper slips. And when the pastor saw the sum. He preached five hours that day ; As soon as the last prayer was done He went and drew his pay. He drew his pay in paper cash — In slips of dififerent hue, Then swapped them off for yellow gold And thus he got his due. 'T is hard indeed to beat the Dutch At bargaining and trade — For when their money once was gone Why, they some money "made." '«;:; 31 5[ljc Eauguagc of ^ollanb is Scab Fn V j HE Dutch that we spoke in our youth, |_.^^ I. ike those ancient costumes rrrown sere. ^ Sounded simple, vulgar, uncouth, t '\vv\ To the Yankee invader's ear. y /^\ The New England tradesmen would sneer. 2LVi At every Dutch word that was said. We halt now to drop but a tear — The languag-e of Holland is dead. They tell of a Dutchman, forsooth, Who would not learn English for fear It would spoil his Dutch, and, in truth. He bragg'd of his Mother Tongue here. But he sailed to Holland one year And he found he talked dialect instead ; Full of Mohawk, guttural and queer — The language of Holland was dead. The Yankees who came here made ruth Of a language fallen and drear. English they spoke in mart and booth, And Holland Dutch met with a jeer ; — They wanted it to disappear. In school it was English they read, In cities and on the frontier — The language of Holland is dead. IJUnvoy It's English we all like to hear When other old dialects have fled. Now no one is sorry, 't is clear. The language of Holland is dead. 22 Juiitici^ Ban let Sutik's iaugljter UNDAY with the old-time Dutch was a sacred day ; The work and pleasures of the week were laid away, For they were forbidden by the rigid laws of "blue", And every Burgher of a Sabbath sought his pew To listen to the preaching or to sleep, perhaps ; Then departed homeward to his old clay pipe and 'K<;chnapps. But those who rode to chinch could use the King's Highway, For traveling was forbid upon ye Sabbath day. Aaron a Yankee was, who carried forth a pack ( )f jewelry and such things upon his Yankee back. I'P the Mohawk valley his numerous wares he sold ; Th.en homeward started he with pockets filled with gold. Th.rough Schenectady came he on a Sabbath morn, Breaking the old Dutch laws wath Yankee thrift and scorn. "Mcijn Got," groaned a Deacon of the Dutch church, "I say, "See that Yankee traveling upon ye Sabbath day!" vSent they for the Constable, with his badge and sword. And arrested the man for blaspheming the Lord. l>efore Justice Van der Donk the prisoner was hailed. Where he could either be severely fined or jailed. The Justice was a-sitting quite contentedlee With his long pipe and sch.napps beneath an apple tree; And as he sat a-dozing in the summer air in the house working was his tlaughter young and fair. "What you travel Sunday for?" the stern Justice cried. "I've sold out and going home," the peddler replied. Famous Dutch drink. 23 "H'm-m-in", growled the Dutcliman, with a fearful frown, "You want to bring God's wrath upon this peaceful town ! You stop here 'til tomorrow, else you go to jail. Then you make a cloud of dust down the Ft. Orange trail.'" Now this penalty did not seem so very bad To this stalwart and handsome young New England lad. For he had seen Katrina, the daughter young and gay. As he laid down his things, and glad he was to stay. The Yankee was a prisoner to a Holland maid So thanked his lucky stars the journey was delayed. Though the father wouldn't let his daughter have a beau. (He wanted her to stay at home and work, you know). This maiden gave the Yankee all her trusting heart And e're the day had gone they'd vowed to never part. Katrina had a thousand dollars in the bank. Left by her mother for a dowry of rank. And this cruel Dutch parent was the sole trustee — Trust him not to give it to any bold Yankee. So while the two were plaiming to elope thai night Aaron was scheming hard to get the cash in sight. At last the Yankee offered five shillings to pay For Van der Donk's consent to pass by on his way. 'T is as hard in these days as in the days of old For any Dutchman to refuse good Yankee gold. Maybe he suspected the Yankee liked his lass, For Van der Donk consent'd to sign the young man's pass. Then the Yankee wrote, the quill shaking in his clutch. One "pass" in good English and one in Holland Dutch. To all intents and purposes they were the same ; The Justice read the Dutch one and signed each with his name 24 Next morning: when the Justice called his daughter fair,. No answering response came softly down the stair ; So he roused the neighbors, they hunted high and low, But never found the daughter or her Yankee beau. To old Van der Donk a strange letter came one day : ■' "T is from mine daughter," cried the Judge, "who ran away "To marry that yokel and your last guilder bet "Not a single cent of that dowry will she get!" With face red with anger the irate parent took The letter from the neighbor, out of it he shook A statement of his accoimt in the Albany bank. "A thousand gone !" he cried and in a faint he sank When he saw the order, all signed by him to pay The dowry to his daughter who was wed that day. Thus did a Yankee win both dowry and maid And best her wilv Dad at barter and at trade. 25 en a^lenttille 3Itat Wmt " ir^ OW alcohol's banished and taverns have vanished Within Glenville township border. An election crusade now they drink lemonade, (And kegs from Schenectady order.) This whisky defeating was history repeating For Glenville went dry long before ; And this is the story, in plain allegory, From out of historical lore. Along the town's occupants were Irish immigrants Who came into Glenville one day ; On the Wolf Hollow road they cheerfully abode, In little log huts by the way. They raised tubers and pigs and were radical Whigs, Like every true son of the Isle; For fighting and frolic and things alcoholic Thev had the Dutch beat bv a mile. And among them there dwelt a graybearded old Celt Who potato whisky could make. So he sat up a still in the town of Glenville And opened it up with a wake. (Dh. the boose that he brewed was volcanic and crude- It tasted of tubers and oil. And each sparkling bubble was filled full of trouble. While a drink would start a mad broil. But this whisky "fireish" just suited those Irish — They each drank a quart every day. 26 On holidays and such they would all drink too much And pummel each other away. With their systems quite filled with this trouble distilled Through Glenville they'd stampede at night, With shillalahs flying and curses a-crying A-looking for Dutchmen to fight. Now the Irish and Dutch love each other too much To live in peace and in quiet. This quarrelling and fighting, this gouging and biting, Made one continuous riot ; 'Til one August morning, without any warning, A thoroughly determined Dutch dame In grim emulation of Mrs. C. Nation Of latter day history and fame. Unknown to the patrons led forth some Dutch matrons To destroy the troublesome still. With hatchets clutched tightly and stepping quite lightly Fared forth these Dutch dames of Glenville. The Celts had partaken too much to awaken When they broke the door with a crash : A candle was lighted and nothing was slighted But everything broken to smash. Without any stopping they kept right on chopping And spilling the whisky around, Then before they retired the building was fired And it burned right down to the ground. One Celt superstitious heard a noise suspicious As homeward he came in the dawn. And he afterwards swore he saw witches a score Following a big *leprechawn. Evil spirit of Irish folk lore. 27 Now the Irish won't stay where the wierd witches play, Or goblins make merry and jest. A-packing they started and quickly departed, Up the trail towards the wild west. And the ruins of the still can be seen in Glenville To vouch for the truth of this tale. But if you go near it and ask for the "spirit" The Justice will lodge you in jail. 28 2[om J^armott ESIDE the Public Hay Market Oil lower Union street, Tom Harmon, the Weight Master, stood. A load of hay to meet. Now Tom Harmon had surrendered To Old King Alcohol, Though once a lawyer well-to-do He worked like any thrall ; And every sixpence he received For weighing of the hay, For whisky at a nearby inn He spent it all straightway. Full long he stood a-waiting there. Too thirsty e'en to talk, A-watching those ancient oxen Come creeping at a walk. Now back and forth Tom Harmon paced Across the old platform, Then raised his hat and wiped his brow — • The summer air was warm. Still slower came the toiling beasts — It seemed they most stood still. Far "dryer than a covered bridge" Tom Harmon stood until With patience ended quite he gasjis. As fate his dry throat mocks : -My God, Joe Carley ! Only look. How slow a thing's an ox !" 29 ain ffilb-J5tmc iotji Author's Note. — The favorite amusement of young men in the early days of Schenectady was to deplete the hen-roosts of the neighborhood for mid-night feasts. N old-time Dorp, of long ago, Those Holland Dutch, the day yet bright, Would lock the chicken coop up tight; While stock was left for friend or foe. Great care they took of fowls, as though They feared sometime a mid-night flight ; In old-time Dorp. Those old Dutchmen were not so slow ; They knew young men, e're it was light, Were wont to rob the roosts at night To hold a feast by campfire's glow — - In old-time Dorp. 30 5fl|e 3Iirat 5[aucrn in ^tljcttectal^g O yoiT know that Ackes Cornelise Van Slyck Ran the first little tavern, "The Sign of the Pike", Where a Dutch Burgher could find good victuals to eat Or spend a few guilders his old comrades to treat? For the cellar was full of fine sausage and kraut. And barrels of brown ale, Holland gin and good stout. The mugs were of pewter, there was sand on the floor ; And you ran up a bill it was chalked on the door. Oh. the rug-a-chug-chugs of the old pewter nuigs, As each Dutchman emptied his stein, Kept barmaids a-going, Brown ale a-flowing, From kegs to the tables of pine. When Albany fur traders came out of the west. They haul'd up their birch canoes and stopped for a rest And a mug of cool ale at the little Dutch inn — Or if the weather was cold they drank Holland gin. And young German lads from the flats of Schoharie, After their purchasing with Van Slyck would tarry. To join with the travelers in general debate. Discussing the issues of each borough and state. Oh, the ratty-tat-tattle of the watchman's rattle — They gave small heed to the warning; Those boisterous, roisterous chaps Who sang over their schnapps 'Til wee sma' hours o' th' morning. Sometimes the wild Mohawks from their castle would come To barter their peltries and fresh game for good rum. 31 With three drinks of whisky they'd be shouting for France And in the Httle bar room they'd do the war dance. They would top off their load with a pint of mixed ale And defy all the soldiers to put them in jail. Then Van Slyck would yell out, when they made too much noise : "Donder und blitzen ! Rouse mid ter dam Iroquois !" Such slashing and crashing and furniture smashing, When the Whites sailed into the Red ; Then the Dutchmen victorious Would get good and glorious, — And the Watch would put them to bed. 32 3[ljc ISallaJi of Sott-uiornglt-iuok-gu-tta S[I)e 3Itnb^r-of-3Iault HIS is the ballad of Ron-worrig-h-wok-gu-na. Signifying "Alan-With-a-Grouch", Who lived with his tribe in Con-nis-ka-yu-na. Where he sat on a bearskin conch In a ])essimistic fault-finding flinik A-grumbling from morning 'til night. His body was wrinkled, dried-up and shrunk And filled to the eyebrows with spite. Mis one pleasure was to find fault and jaw. Or cackle out "I told you so!" Re sjjanked the i)apo(3se and beat up his squaw And bored all the tribe with his woe. He grumbled when Sachems sold land to the Whites, And kicked if the payment was rum; Then drank the liquor and talked Indian Rights, While croaking of troubles to come. 1 le said it just gave his old soul a wrench, And made him exceedingly sad, W'ay they were running the war witli the French — The army was all to the bad. The country, he said, was swarming with s])ies Who thronged in each city and tow^n. And kei)t the Frenchmen exceedingly wise To the campaign rim by the Crown. It hapi)ened one day, so history relates, That a spy came down from Quebec 33 To inspect Schenectady's fortress and gates At the risk of his body and neck. He came in town by Conniskayuna, (Meaning Great Fields of Corn), Past the hut of Ronworrighwokguna, Hungry, tired and forlorn. The Fault-Finder lay too ugly to sleep — Outside he heard the leaves crackle. Getting up he saw an Indian creep To the house of Jans Von Brakkle. A true Hollander was Jans Von Brakkle Who loved his good pipe and his ease. He invited the Indian to tackle A huge wooden bowl of stewed pease. Good feeder himself the Dutchman stood by And watched the barbarian eat ; Not suspecting he was feeding a spy Who was hollow down to his feet. 'T was plain that the Indian's appetite Had grown all way from Quebec ; They say the food that he put out of sight Lacked not a split pea of a peck. "Meijn Got", groaned the Dutchman, "Meijn lieve Got! 'T is hungry you goes from mine house ! Und youse come again a skipple I'll pot, Und open a keg of pig-souse." Outside the hut stood the Finder-of-Fault, An eye to a crack in the wall ; He recognized the guest as Jules Renault, A half-breed spy from Montreal. 34 With a thankful grunt the spy started out On the Dorpian trail post-haste; The Grumbler followed bemoaning about "A peck of good pease gone to waste!' Alone sat the Dutchman, hungry and sad ; He took up a notch in his belt : "Der teiifel," he moaned, "I thinks he feel pad. Mid all of dot under his pelt." Just as he spoke something thumped on the- tloor And bounced around on the planks, And a voice yelled in through the open door : "Reworrighwokguna asks no thanks For bringing the head of your Eater-of-Pease. Food is wasted when death is nigh : Better a Dutchman sat taking his ease Than wasting good pease on a spy !" 35 ^t-qm-Bt'tn ±S OHAWK Wan-Kji-s Oft did seek 'e-que-se-ra — "Color Creek", To dig the red cla}' For face paint — Tribal costume, Old and quaint. Oone forever The red men, Who dug red clay In the glen, By the chasm of the rill — Te-que-se-ra, In Glenville. 36 5[lje ffiallab of tlje ^ixprucc 11. Coonrad Von Horn ran a little Dutch Inn, He called it the "No Morning After", And this is the tale that his jolly comrades told O'er their mugs of brown ale as they sat there of old, And they told it with boisterous laughter: It happened that Van Horn was a-going away. With a party of friends to hunt deer, So he hired a Dutch yokel, so stupid and dense He couldn't tell a fi'penny bit from sixpence. To supply the Dutch Burghers with beer. "Now der fivepence you see has der vooman's head. Yohn,' Von Horn explained in a simplified way, "Und der piece midout der voomans, now understand, Is der silver sixpence I hold here mid mine hand ; Bier is threepence, be sure of der pay." "Yah ! Yah", answered Yohn, for his memory was fine, " 'T is sixpcnse midout der vooman's head." Cautioning him to watch the Yankees without fail Von Horn departed with his friends a-down the trail. Leaving Yohn repeating what he said. Now it ha])pened a Yankee much given to drink. Had heard the brief lesson rehearsed. For he was the first drunkard, 1 write it with shame. And he had just a three penny bit to his name. And a gigantic, perpetual thirst. 37 He lurched to the bar with a satisfied chuckle — Though his laughter was mirthless and strange ; And he laid down his threepence and drank up his beer, While Yohn looked for the "vooman", which did not appear. And handed him back three pennies change. And thus it continued through the long autumn day, The sharp Yankee kept drinking his sack ; Yohn watched for the "vooman" to make no mistake. Then took in the silver with an impatient rake And always gave three pennies back. It was late in the evening when Von Horn returned Awful thirsty and tired from the hunt. And he drank a big beer e're he opened the till : *'Och ! vot is dese here, Yohn," he cried, "dat seem to fill Der cash draw from der back to der front?" "Sixpences," answered Yohn. "der trade sure has been fine." "Sixpences." echoed Coonrad Von Horn. "'Dander iind blifccn! You take all dose for sixpence! From who. hein?" he bellowed in sudden violence. "Och. I'm ruined as sure as 3-our born!" "I take dem from der tall fellow mid der viskers Who drink mid himself all der long day." Answered the yokel with Dutch innocence sublime. "Der teufel! You give him der right change every time?" "Yah, Yah, he vas all der time goot pay." ''Der teufel catch der scheming Yankees!" groaned \\m Horn As he counted his pile of threepence. While with a load that defied all gravitation Lay the Yankee in frightful inebriation Fast asleep beside his cottage fence. 38 lallalie of ^t ^ntltnt pasture Author's Note. — Less than a hundred years ago that portion of the city above Barren fitreet wa§ a common cow pasture. OD speed thee mine Ancient Father, And give thee a good day, Wherefore now the cause, I pray you, So sadly here you stay? And why do you keep such gazing Forever up the street? What kind of beast or man be it That you do hope to meet?'' "Chill tell thee by my halidome That sometime thou hast known, Zome vair and goodlie pasture lande With meadow grasse well grown, ft was a place where cows did feede, And other stock as well — Each morn and night, a-down ye streete, They walked with tinkling belle." "Alas, I must tell thee, Father, In truth and veritie, Why this fair and goodlie pasture Thou canst not now days see. Here in this spot, beyond the park. The ancient pasture lay W'here all these rows of buildings stan