THE DYING BOY.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume VI, Issue 957, 22 November 1879, Page 2

THE DYING BOY.

Carl Schmidt, of Division-street is a ' man whose boul is full of poetry from sunrise till mosquito-time, and he is most happy when he has a fiddle m his hands. A few days since he composed a song called " The Dying Boy," and if V nothing happens to his voice he will sing it until the boy either dies or gets well. It has been his custom to take his fiddle and song each evening and go to some.. grocery or saloon, and play and sing it over and over until everybody wa«u driven out. Friday evening he struck^ a new saloon, spread out his notes, and began : "Der night vhas dark and lonely, No moon whas ny der sky, Z2 When Henry Hammerdeimer's boy, Dei 1 doctor said must die." There was a general uprising to do^ the poet honour aa he finished the first verse, and before the enthusiasm had subsided he was out on the street with .. a broken head. He was the only one disturbing the peace as the officer came along, and was therefore the only one brought m. "Carl Schmidt," said His Honour, ' after hearing all the particulars, " let poetry alone. It is the road to the poor Louse. While we all love to read„ poetry, none. of us want to pay for it.'-'Z-. First dey proke my fiddle, 'and den dey proke my head," replied Oarl, as he felt of his scalp. And if you continue m the poetry trade you'll find ten men itching to break your head where one will be ; I willing to say a word of praise. Gohome and resolve to pay more attention to cube root and less to poetry." Vhell, I haf to see about dot," said? Carl, as he turned away and left the court-room, humming : Z " ' •• Dot Henry Hammerdeimer's boy, ,-» Vhas lame m both his legs } - * But.vhen der angels take him home, He'll haf some golden pegs."

"Oh Solitude, where are the charms that sages have seen m thy face ." Alex., why didn't you aak at the shops where they don't advertise I—Exchange.1 — Exchange. Arguments oftener prove that one man kan talk faster than another, then they prove every partikuiar truth — they pherhaps hay hid more truth than they revealed.