SONG OF THE TYPICAL DUTCHMAN.

They sailed from the shores of the Zuider Zee
Across the stormy ocean,

To build for the world a new country
According to their notion;

A land where thought should be free as air,
And speech be free as water;

Where man to man should be just and fair,
And Law be Liberty's daughter.

They were brave and kind,

And of simple mind,

And the world has need of such men;
So we say with pride,

(On the father's side),

That they were typical Dutchmen.

They bought their land in an honest way,
For the red man was their neighbor;
They farmed it well, and made it pay

By the increment of labor.

They ate their bread in the sweat o' their brow,
And smoked their pipes at leisure;

For they said then, as we say now,
That the fruit of toil is pleasure.
When their work was done,
They had their fun,

And the world has need of such men;
So we say with pride,

(On the father's side),

That they were typical Dutchmen.

They held their faith without offense,

And said their prayers on Sunday; But they never could see a bit of sense In burning a witch on Monday.

They loved their God with a love so true,

And with a head so level,

That they could afford to love men too,

And not be afraid of the devil.

They kept their creed

In word and deed,

And the world has need of such men;

So we say with pride,

(On the father's side),

That they were typical Dutchmen.

When the English fleet sailed up the bay,
The small Dutch town was taken;

But the Dutchmen there had come to stay,
Their hold was never shaken.

They could keep right on, and work and wait
For the freedom of the nation;

And we claim to-day that New York State
Is built on a Dutch foundation.

They were solid and strong,

They have lasted long,

And the world has need of such men;
So we say with pride,

(On the father's side),

That they were typical Dutchmen.

[Great applause.]

§ 56

A "LITTERY" EPISODE

By Samuel L. Clemens

(Speech at the "Whittier Birthday Dinner," at the Hotel Brunswick, Boston, Mass., December 17, 1877, given by the publishers of the Atlantic Monthly, in celebration of the seventieth anniversary of John Greenleaf Whittier's birthday, and the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the magazine. Emerson, Longfellow, and Holmes were present.)

MR. CHAIRMAN: This is an occasion peculiarly meet for the digging up of pleasant reminiscences concerning literary folk; therefore, I will drop lightly into history myself. Standing here on the shore of the "Atlantic," and contemplating certain of the biggest literary billows, I am reminded of a thing which happened to me fifteen years ago, when I had just succeeded in stirring up a little Nevadian literary oceanpuddle myself, whose spume-flakes were beginning to blow thinly California-wards. I started on an inspection tramp through the southern mines of California. I was callow and conceited, and I resolved to try the virtue of my nom de plume. I very soon had an opportunity. I knocked at a miner's lonely log-cabin in the foothills of the Sierras, just at nightfall. It was snowing at the time. A jaded, melancholy man of fifty, barefooted, opened to me. When he heard my nom de plume

SAMUEL L. CLEMENS (MARK TWAIN). Born in Florida, Mo., November 30, 1835; apprentice to a printer at the age of 13; later a pilot on the Mississippi River; worked as a journalist in many places; settled in Hartford in 1884 as an author and publisher; died April 21, 1910.

he looked more dejected than before. He let me in pretty reluctantly, I thought, and after the customary bacon and beans, black coffee, and a hot whiskey, I took a pipe. This sorrowful man had not said three words up to this time. Now he spoke up and said, in the voice of one who is secretly suffering. "You're the fourth-I'm a-going to move." "The fourth what?" said I. "The fourth littery man that's been here in twenty-four hours—I'm a-going to move." "You don't tell me!" I said. "Who were the others?" "Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes-dad fetch the lot!" [Laughter.] You can easily believe I was interested. I supplicated-three hot whiskeys did the rest-and finally the melancholy miner began. Said he: "They came here just at dark yesterday evening, and I let them in, of course. Said they were going to Yosemite. They were a rough lotbut that's nothing-everybody looks rough that travels afoot. Mr. Emerson was a seedy little bit of chap-red-headed. Mr. Holmes was as fat as a balloon-he weighed as much as three hundred, and had double chins all the way down to his stomach. Mr. Longfellow was built like a prize fighter. His head was cropped and bristly-like as if he had a wig made of hair-brushes. His nose lay straight down his face, like a finger with the end-joint tilted up. They had been drinking I could see that. And what queer talk they used! Mr. Holmes inspected this cabin, then he took me by the buttonhole, and says he:

"Through the deep caves of thought

I hear a voice that sings:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!'

[Laughter.]

Says I, 'I can't afford it, Mr. Holmes, and, moreover, I don't want to Blamed if I liked it pretty well, either, coming from a stranger, that way. However, I started to git out my bacon and beans, when Mr. Emerson came and looked on awhile, and then he takes me aside by the buttonhole and says:

'Give me agates for my meat;

Give me cantharids to eat;

From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.'

[Laughter.]

Says I, 'Mr. Emerson, if you'll excuse me, this ain't no hotel.' [Renewed laughter.] You see it sort of riled me,-I wasn't used to the ways of littery swells. But I went on a-sweating over my work, and next

comes Mr. Longfellow and buttonholes me, and interrupts me. he:

Says

'Honor be to Mudjikeewis!

You shall hear how Paw-Puk-Keewis'

But I broke in, and says I, 'Begging your pardon, Mr. Longfellow, if you'll be so kind as to hold your yawp for about five minutes and let me get this grub ready, you'll do me proud.' [Continued laughter.] Well, sir, after they'd filled up I set out the jug. Mr. Holmes looks at it, and then fires up all of a sudden, and yells:

[Great merriment.]

'Flash out a stream of blood-red wine!
For I would drink to other days.'

By George, I was getting kind o' worked up. I don't deny it, I was getting kind o' worked up. I turns to Mr. Holmes, and, says I, 'Looky here, my fat friend, I'm a-running this shanty, and if the court knows herself, you'll take whiskey-straight, or you'll go dry.' [Laughter.] Them's the very words I said to him. Now I didn't want to sass such famous littery people, but you see they kind o' forced me. There ain't nothing onreasonable 'bout me; I don't mind a passel of guests a-tread'n on my tail three or four times, but when it comes to standin' on it, it's different, and if the court knows herself, you'll take whiskey-straight, or you'll go dry.' Well, between drinks, they'd swell around the cabin and strike attitudes and spout. [Laughter.] Says Mr. Longfellow:"This is the forest primeval.'

Says Mr. Emerson:

'Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.'

Says I: 'Oh, blackguard the premises as much as you want to-it don't cost you a cent.' [Laughter.] Well, they went on drinking, and pretty soon they got out a greasy old deck and went to playing cutthroat euchre at ten cents a corner-on trust. I begun to notice some pretty suspicious things. Mr. Emerson dealt, looked at his hand, shook his head, says:—

'I am the doubter and the doubt'

--and calmly bunched the hands and went to shuffling for a new lay out. Says he:

[Laughter.]

"They reckon ill who leave me out;
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, I pass, and deal again!'

Hang'd if he didn't go ahead, and do it, too! O, he was a cool one! Well, in about a minute, things were running pretty tight, but of a sudden I see by Mr. Emerson's eye that he judged he had 'em. He had already corralled two tricks, and each of the others one. So now he kind o' lifts a little in his chair, and says:

'I tire of globes and aces!

Too long the game is played!'

-and down he fetched a right bower. Mr. Longfellow smiles as sweet as pie, and says:—

'Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

For the lesson thou hast taught.'

-and dog my cats if he didn't down with another right bower! Well, sir, up jumps Holmes, a-war-whooping as usual, and says:—

'God help them if the tempest swings

The pine against the palm!'

—and I wish I may go to grass if he didn't swoop down with another right bower! [Great laughter.] Emerson claps his hand on his bowie, Longfellow claps his on his revolver, and I went under a bunk. There was going to be trouble; but that monstrous Holmes rose up, wobbling his double chins, and says he: 'Order, gentlemen! The first man that draws, I'll lay down on him and smother him!' [Laughter.] All quiet on the Potomac, you bet you!

"They were pretty how-come-you-so now, and they begun to blow. Emerson says, 'The bulliest thing I ever wrote was "Barbara Frietchie."' Says Longfellow, 'It don't begin with my "Biglow Papers."' Says Holmes, 'My "Thanatopsis" lays over 'em both.' [Laughter.] They mighty near ended in a fight. Then they wished they had some more company, and Mr. Emerson pointed at me and says:—

[Laughter.]

'Is yonder squalid peasant all

That this proud nursery could breed?'

He was a-whetting his bowie on his boot-so I let it pass. [Laughter.] Well, sir, next they took it into their heads that they would like some