We listen to the eloquence of Jay or Livingston, but with an ear open to catch the crooning of a cradle-song, somewhere within a gableended dwelling, over whose sanded floor some Schuyler, or Beekman, or Van Dyke has taken his first tottering steps in infancy. How many a small morsel of Dutch humanity, nestling his flaxen poll on his mother's arm, has closed his blue eyes to the music of Trip a trop a troontjes, De varkens in de boontjes, De koetjes in de klaver, De paarden in de haver, De eenjes in de waterplas, De kalf in de lang gras, So groot mijn kleine poppet je was.

Varkens are pigs; boontjes, as every one must know, is the Dutch equivalent for bean vines; and koetjes for cow^s. Klaver needs translation no more than lang gras, or kalf. Paarden are horses, eenjes, ducks; a haver is an oat-field; and, of course, a waterplas is a pond -- and then, " So great my little poppet was," a conclusion illogical but dear. What a lullaby that was commencing : Sleep, baby, sleep, In the fields runs a sheep, A sheep with four white feet.

An Old Dutch Town 535

Only the baby of Satigerties or Kingston or Allxmy would have ruminated over the broader vowels of Slaap, kindje, slaap, Daar buiten loopt een schaap; Een schaap met vier witte voetjes.

To this day the English-speaking mother talks to her little one about his "footies." Is it possibly an echo of " voetjes"? But listen to the stamp and swagger and hustle that is compressed into four lines here : Daar komt liij ! lien snoeshaan geweldig gestampen ! Een beest hij gebruUen! Een mansheeld gezwollen; Een openlijk bloodard! Het maakt neen vershil; Het ware Jan van Spanje zonder zijn bril.