A Burlesque German Stump Speech.

BY LARRY TOOLEY.

Mine Frendts:—At the earnest solicidation of several frendts of mine, now in states brison, I have succeeded in getting permission to afflict you mid dis lecdure. Dis lecdure vos written while I was demporarily insane, and consequently everyding indo it vos displeasing.

The subject which I haf chosen is Lofe. As the poet says, “Lofe—lofe! oh, vot vos lofe?” Id is a conundrum. My exberience of lofe—my brudder vos engaged seventeen dimes—deaches me dat it vos someding in dis style.

Before you vos spliced your girl throws pop-corn balls at you, and calls you “Daisy.” After you vos spliced she does the same ding; except dat she uses stones und flad-irons instead of pop-corn balls, und calls you “Devil.”

But lofe vos nice.

Oh, yes, vot can be nicer than to dake your girl oud for a ride in a piano truck and visper tales of agony amongst her back hair. Und den you dell her dat she lofes some other feller better than she does yourself, and haf her tell you dat yot vos a liar. Oh, dat vos bully.

Courting, dough, dat is the best dime of a young man’s life.

Dot vos de period ven he puts herosene oil mit his hair, gets his collar vhite-vashed, ties his father’s suspender around his neck for a gravat, und polishes up his rubber boots mit stove-placking.

Den he goes out to mash his girl.

She has been leaning out of the garret vinder vatching for him for most of the afternoon, but as soon as she sees him come around the corner she goes down to the door, is much surprised to see him, und gifs him liquorice to de effect dat she didn’t expect him for the next six weeks, und vos shust coming oud to see dat somebody didn’t sdeal the sdoop.

Then you go into the parlor und dake a seat on the mantel piece, und you ax her vos her fader sick, vhether her mother had the group yet, how long before her brudder vould come off the island, und so forth.

Den you carelessly insert your hand into your pocked und ask her does she like rock candy.

She smiles und says yes.

Den you dell her you know vhere there vos a store vhere dey keep pully rock candy, und den you pull avay your hand from oud of your pockeds mit a cigar in it, und light it.

She don’t see the joke und gets mad und goes avay to the other end of the beer saloon, vhile you dink vot a funny cuss you vos.

By-und-by she says dat she expegts other company; dat dere vos a young man who vos rich und owned two chicken-houses in Hobogen vos coming to see her, und dat if dere vos anybody dat vanted to see you, you had petter not keep dem waiting.

Den you get mad.

You dell her dat dere vos sixdeen young ladies dat vos dying because you von’t speak mit dem, und dat you von’t come into her old house again if it vos to be struck mit thunder. After dat you get up und valk like a funeral towards the door.

Dat fetches her.

She casts a glance at you und asks vhere you vos going, und you rebly dat you vos going to drown yourself, or else go ’round und pick up anodder mash.

She looks sad und remarks oud of the vinder dat you don’t lofe her, but vos only playing her for a flat.

You say it vos a lie, und say dat you lofe her so much dat you could pawn her vooden sleeves-buttons to buy yourself a Christmas present mit.

Den she gets up und flies to your arms, und by-und-by you take her around the corner and hang up the Italian for one plate of cream mit two spoons. Ah, dat vos de panorama of lofe.

Let me say, my fellow drunkard, dat a veller who marries a girl for her money is a scoundhrel, I vould villingly be a scoundhrel mineself, did opportunity permit.

A man should lofe a girl for herself not for her relations, und if she was born an orphan or her parents vos avay at her birth, so much the better.

Den when summer time comes he von’t haf to cart his vife, und her sister, und her mother, und her bruther dat vos out of vork, to the country, und haf the pleasure of paying all the bills.

Lofe it vos a funny ting.

Lofe vas vot makes a young man of America git six dollars a veek und spend seven of it in buying collars. Lofe is vot makes him feel dat his face vos never clean, dat his pants vas busted behind und dat his feet are the size of tea chests.

Lofe is vot makes him clean his teeth mit the shoe-brush twelve dimes a day, und wear a coffe-rose mit his button-hole every dime dat he passes his sweedheart’s door.

But de vorst of lofe is ven id turns oud der best. Dat ish to say, ven you ged married.

It vas nice to be a fader, some grazyman remarked, but I don’d see id. Maybe it vos peyewtiful to dake de smallest kid up mit your arms, und haf him tickle you under de chin as innocent as a fall sheep, und den, five minutes lader, draw picters all over your new glean shird mit de gravy-spoon. Some folks may like dat, but as for me, I pass id every dime.

But ven de children ingrease, two or dree at a dime, den de picnic begins. How nice id vos to ged up in de nighd mit de dwins, und valk aroundt de plock mit dem, in your nighd shird, to keeb dem from keebing avake. Dat is vot makes murderers oud of men.

But I dink dat I must conglude. I am a married man, und—vell, my vife keebs de nighd-key, I might lose id, und—vell, however, those of you who are married men, know how id vos yourselves, don’d id?

Thanking you all for the very kind vay in vich you haf been baying attention to someding else during my remarks, I conglude, hoping to come before you mit a new lecture before long.