as goot, berhaps ve
might do somedings togedder.

Veil, I vas behind mine gounter yesterday, ven a shentle-man gomes in
and dakes me py der hant and says, "Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve." I says,
"Yaw," und den I tinks to mine-self, dis vas der man vot has doze
goots to sell, und I must dry to make some goot imbressions mit him,
so ve gould do some peesnis.

"Dis vas goot schtore," he says, looking roundt, "bud you don't got a
pooty big shtock already." I vas avraid to let him know dot I only
hat 'bout a tousand tollars vort of goots in der blace, so I says,
"You ton't tink I hat more as dree tousand tollars in dis leedle
schtore, vould you?" He says, "You ton't tole me! Vos dot bossible!"
I says, "Yaw."

I meant dot id vas bossible, dough id vasn't so, vor I vas like
'Shorge Vashingtons ven he cut town der "olt elm" on Poston Gommons
mit his leedle hadchet, and gouldn't dell some lies aboud id.

"Veil," says der shentleman, "I dinks you ought to know petter as
anypody else vot you haf got in der schtore." Und den he takes a pig
book vrom unter his arm and say, "Veil, I poots you town vor dree
tousand tollars."

I ask him vot he means py "Poots me town," und den he says he vas von
off der tax-men, or assessors off broperty, und he tank me so kintly
as nefer vas, pecause he say I vas sooch an honest Deutscher, und
tidn't dry und sheat der gofermants.

I dells you vot it vos, I tidn't veel any more petter as a hundert
ber cent, ven dot man valks oudt of mine schtore, und der nexd dime I
makes free mit strangers I vinds first deir peesnis oudt.

THE OWL CRITIC.

JAMES T. FIELDS, IN "HARPER'S MAGAZINE."

"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop!
The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop!
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
The _Daily_, the _Herald_, the _Post_, little heeding
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;
Not one raised a head or even made a suggestion;
And the barber kept on shaving.

"Don't you see, Mister Brown,"
Cried the youth with a frown,
"How wrong the whole thing is,
How preposterous each wing is,
How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is--
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis!
I make no apology, I've learned owl-eology.
I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And cannot be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
To