Part 27

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.

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'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.

De pridges risen all aroundt So quaindly, left und right, Pedween each pridge und shattow, lies, A lemon of yellow light, Und das volk a-goin ober, So darklin onwarts pass, Dey look like Chinese shattows - shown Apofe a lookin-glass.

All shdiller grows, und shdiller, Sogar die efenin preeze, Ish only heardt far ober het In dese long lines of drees; A real oldt Holland feelin Cooms gadderin ober all, You'd nefer dink a sturm hat peen Oopon dis Grand Canawl.

De nople houses! - how dey'd mofe An old New Yorker's heart, Time vas - twix dese und dose at home You couldn't tell 'em part, Mit crate brass knockers on de toors, Und parlors town so low You see de crates a glowin prite O'er carbets ash you go.

Dere's comfort-full of avery dings, You veel it ash you look, You knows de volks ish opulend, Und keep a bully cook; Und oopon de high camine, Or here und dere on shelf, Dere's Japanesisch dings in rows, Pe mingled oop mit delf.

Dere's noding in dis Holland life, Vitch seems of present day, De fery shildren in de shdreeds Look quaintlich as dey blay; De liddle rosy housemaids, In bicdures vell I know, De dames und heers hafe all an air Of sixdy years ago.

They may dalk of anciendt hishdory Und for romantisch seek, De ding dat mofes most teeply ish Old-vashioned - not antique. O if you live in Leyden town You'll meet, if troot' pe told, De forms of all de freunds who tied Vhen du werst six years old.

SCHEVENINGEN, OR DE MAIDEN'S COORSE.

Oldt Flamisch.

HET vas Mijn Heer van Torenborg, Ride oud oopon de sand, Und vait to hear a paardeken; Coom tromplin from de land. He vaited vhen de boeren volk Vent oud oopon de plain, He vaited dill de veary crows Flew nestwarts home acain.

He vaited ash de wild fox vaits In long-some hoonger noth, He vaited dill de flitterin bats Vere plack on Abendroth. Id's woe to watch for taily bread Or bide forgotten call, Boot oh, to vait for heartsen lofe Ish veariest of dem all.

"O dat ish not mine laity's prooch Shoost now so star-like shined, O dat ish not mine laity's haar Soft floatin on de wind. Her goot crayhound mit soosh a step Vas nefer vont to go, Und dat is niet her paardeken Whose shtep so vell I know.

"Dat light ish speer light from a lanz Vitch'll part mine pody und soul, De floatin haar is a pennon gay Or wafin banderol. De crayhound ish a ploot-hound wild Vitch long has dracked me here, Und het paardeken ish a var-horse Vot has hoonted me like deer."

Well shpoke Mijn Heer van Torenborg All drue vas afery wordt, For dey bored him troo mit lanzen, Und dey hewed him mit de swordt. Dey killt him armloss, harmlos; De plooty reiver band; Und puried him so careloosly Dat his vace shtick out de sand.

Boot e'er night's plack hat toorned to red Or e'er de stars vere gone, Dere came de shtep of a paardeken Soft tromplin, tromplin on. A laity fair climped off on him Und trip mit dainty toes:- Boot oh, mijn Gott! - how she vas shkreem Ven she trot on her drue lofe's nose!

"Oh vot ish dis I trots opon? Id's shape fool well I know, Dere nefer yet vas flower like dis, Dat in de garten crow. Dere nefer yet vas fruit like dis Ash ripen on a dree; Het is Mijn Heer van Torenborg Dat kan ik blainly see.