



Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)









    PLISH AND PLUM

    _By the Author of_

    MAX AND MAURICE




    Plish and Plum.


    From the German

    OF

    WILHELM BUSCH,

    AUTHOR OF "MAX AND MAURICE."

    BY

    CHARLES T. BROOKS.

    BOSTON:
    ROBERTS BROTHERS.

    1895.


    _Copyright, 1882_,
    BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.

    UNIVERSITY PRESS:
    JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.




PLISH AND PLUM.




CHAPTER I.


    With a pipe between his lips,
    Two young dogs upon his hips,
    Jogs along old Caspar Sly;
    How that man can smoke,--oh, my!
    But although the pipe-bowl glows
    Red and hot beneath his nose;
    Yet his heart is icy-cold;
    How can earth such wretches hold!
    "Of what earthly use to me
    Can such brutes," he mutters, "be?
    Do they earn their vittles? No!
    'Tis high time I let 'em go.
    What you don't want, fling away!
    Them's my sentiments, I say!"
    O'er the pond he silent bends,
    For to drown them he intends.
    With their legs the quadrupeds
    Kick and squirm,--can't move their heads
    And the inner voice speaks out:
    How 't will end we gravely doubt.
    _Hubs!_--an airy curve one makes;
    _Plish!_--a headlong dive he takes.
    Hubs!--the second follows suit;
    _Plum!_--the wave engulfs the brute.
    "That's well ended," Caspar cries,
    Puffs away and homeward hies.
    But, as often happens, here too
    Things don't go as they appear to.
    Paul and Peter,--so 'twas fated,--
    Naked in the bushes waited
    For a swim; and they descry
    What was done by wicked Sly.
    And like frogs they dove, _kechunk_,
    Where the poor young dogs had sunk.
    Quickly each one with his hand
    Drags a little dog to land.
    "Plish, I'll call my dog," cried Paul;
    "Plum," said Peter, "mine I'll call."
    Paul and Peter then with pleasure,
    Tenderly took each his treasure,
    And, with speed and joy past telling,
    Steered for the parental dwelling.




CHAPTER II.


    Papa Fittig, calm and cosy,
    Mamma Fittig, round and rosy,
    Arm in arm sit peaceful there--
    Troubled by no speck of care--
    On the bench before the door;
    For the summer day is o'er,
    And the supper hour is near,
    And the lads will soon be here.
    Soon they burst upon the view,
    Plish and Plum are with them too.
    Fittig thinks a dog a plague:
    "Nah!" he cries,--"excuse, I beg!"
    But mamma with soft looks pleaded:
    "Let them, Fittig!"--and succeeded.
    Evening milk, fresh and delicious,
    On the table stood in dishes.
    Joyfully they haste indoors;
    Plish and Plum ahead, of course.
    Mercy! look! right in the sweet
    Cream each wretch has set his feet;
    And the noise their lapping makes
    Shows what comfort each one takes.
    At the window peeps old Sly,
    Chuckles loud and says: "My eye!
    This is very bad, he! he!
    Very bad, but not for me!!"




CHAPTER III.


    When night came, all worn and tired,
    As if nothing had transpired,
    Paul and Peter in their chamber
    Lay there, wrapt in peaceful slumber,
    A soft snoring through their noses
    Shows how tranquilly each dozes.
    But not so with Plish and Plum!
    They sit ill-at-ease and glum,
    Not being lodged to suit their mind,
    To turn in they too inclined.
    Plish, the dog's old rule to follow,
    Turns round thrice, his bed to hollow;
    Plum, however, shows a mind
    More affectionately inclined.
    When we dream of perfect rest
    Comes full many a troublous guest.
    "March!" With this harsh word the pets.
    Turn their outward summersets
    Coolness wakes activity;
    Time well-filled glides pleasantly.
    Means of sport are handy too,
    Here a stocking--there a shoe.
    These, before the morning glow,
    Curious changes undergo.
    When he comes the boys to wake,
    And beholds the frightful wreck,
    Pale the father cries: "This will
    Be a monstrous heavy bill!"
    Vengeful claws are in the air;
    Feigning sleep, the rogues lie there;
    But the mother begs