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Title: Artful Anticks Author: Oliver Herford Release Date: June 14, 2018 [EBook #57325] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARTFUL ANTICKS *** Produced by David Edwards, Wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Artful Anticks [Illustration] Artful Anticks By Oliver Herford [Illustration] New York The Century Co. 1901 Copyright, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1893, 1894, BY THE CENTURY CO. Copyright, 1894, by OLIVER HERFORD. THE DE VINNE PRESS. Table of Contents. PAGE THE AUDACIOUS KITTEN 1 THE ARTFUL ANT 4 THE GIFTED ANT 10 SIR RAT. A Comedy 16 THE DECEITFUL DORMICE 22 NATURE AND ART 24 THE GEOMETRICAL GIRAFFE 25 THE EARLY OWL 32 A DARK CAREER 35 A PACKET OF LETTERS 37 THE NAUGHTY FAY 43 THE MILLER’S QUEST 46 NELL’S FAIRY TALE 50 THE UNFORTUNATE GIRAFFE 52 STOCKINGS OR SCALES 53 A RIDDLE 54 GOOD-BYE 56 THE PROFESSOR AND THE WHITE VIOLET 58 THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER 60 THE ELF AND THE DORMOUSE 62 THE CROCODILE 64 THE FORGETFUL FORGET-ME-NOT 69 THE BIRDS’ FAREWELL 72 THE SPIDER’S TALE 73 HIGHLY CONNECTED 78 THE MISER ELF 79 THE POINT OF VIEW 84 HEROES 88 A BELATED VIOLET 89 THE PARROT AND THE CUCKOO 92 THE ELF AND THE BEE 96 A FABLE 97 THE FAIRIES’ CONCERT 98 The pictures in “The Point of View” are used by permission of Messrs. Harper and Brothers. Artful Anticks The Audacious Kitten. [Illustration] “Hurray!” cried the kitten, “Hurray!” As he merrily set the sails; “I sail o’er the ocean to-day To look at the Prince of Wales!” “O kitten! O kitten!” I cried, “Why tempt the angry gales?” “I’m going,” the kitten replied, “To look at the Prince of Wales! “I know what it is to get wet, I’ve tumbled full oft into pails And nearly been drowned--and yet I _must_ look at the Prince of Wales!” “O kitten!” I cried, “the Deep Is deeper than many pails!” Said the kitten,“I shall not sleep Till I’ve looked at the Prince of Wales!” “O kitten! pause at the brink, And think of the sad sea tales.” “Ah, yes,” said the kitten, “but think, Oh, think of the Prince of Wales!” [Illustration] “But, kitten!” I cried, dismayed, “If you live through the angry gales You _know_ you will be afraid To look at the Prince of Wales!” Said the kitten, “No such thing! Why should he make me wince? If ‘_a Cat may look at a King_,’ A kitten may look at a Prince!” [Illustration] The Artful Ant. [Illustration] Once on a time an artful Ant Resolved to give a ball, For tho’ in stature she was scant, She was not what you’d call A shy or bashful little Ant. (She was not shy at all.) She sent her invitations through The forest far and wide, To all the Birds and Beasts she knew, And many more beside. (“You never know what you can do,” Said she, “until you’ve tried.”) Five score acceptances came in Faster than she could read. Said she: “Dear me! I’d best begin To stir myself indeed!” (A pretty pickle she was in, With five-score guests to feed!) [Illustration] The artful Ant sat up all night, A-thinking o’er and o’er, How she could make from nothing, quite Enough to feed five-score. (Between ourselves I think she might Have thought of that before.) She thought, and thought, and thought all night, And all the following day, Till suddenly she struck a bright Idea, which was--(but stay! Just what it was I am not quite At liberty to say.) [Illustration] Enough, that when the festal day Came round, the Ant was seen To smile in a peculiar way, As if--(but you may glean From seeing tragic actors play The kind of smile I mean.) From here and there and everywhere The happy creatures came, The Fish alone could not be there. (And they were not to blame. “They really could not stand the air, But thanked her just the same.”) [Illustration] [Illustration] The Lion, bowing very low, Said to the Ant: “I ne’er Since Noah’s Ark remember so Delightful an affair.” (A pretty compliment, although He really wasn’t there.) They danced, and danced, and danced, and danced; It was a jolly sight! They pranced, and pranced, and pranced, and pranced, Till it was nearly light! And then their thoughts to supper chanced To turn. (As well they might!) Then said the Ant: “It’s only right That supper should begin, And if you will be so polite, Pray _take each other in_.” (The emphasis was very slight, But rested on “_Take in_.”) They needed not a second call, They took the hint. Oh, yes, The largest guest “took in” the small, The small “took in” the less, The less “took in” the least of all. (It was a great success!) [Illustration] As for the rest--but why spin out This narrative of woe?-- The Lion took them in about As fast as they could go. (And went home looking very stout, And walking very slow.) And when the Ant, not long ago, Lost to all sense of shame, Tried it again, I chance to know That not one answer came. (Save from the Fish, who “could not go, But thanked her all the same.”) [Illustration] The GIFTED ANT. [Illustration] A gifted ant, who could no more Than keep starvation from her door, Once cast about that she might find An occupation to her mind. An ant with active hands and feet Can, as a rule, make both ends meet. Unhappily, this was not quite The case with her of whom I write. “Since I am gifted,” she’d explain, “I ought to exercise my brain. The only thing for me, it’s clear, Is a professional career!” [Illustration] [Illustration] But no profession could she find, Until one day there crossed her mind The proverb bidding sluggards gaze Upon the ant to learn her ways. “The very thing!” she cried. “Hurray! I’ll advertise without delay. Things are come to a pretty pass, If I can’t teach a sluggard class!” She set to work without delay, And wrote some cards that very day; And hung them in the grass--a plan To catch the sluggard’s eye. They ran As follows: [Illustration] SLUGGARDS who desire An education to acquire Will find it well to call to-day Upon Professor Ant, B. A. HER Sluggard Class, she begs to state, Reopens at an early date With several vacancies--a chance Exceptional-- _Terms--In Advance_. [Illustration: To The Ant] She placed at every turn that led To her abode, a sign which read, “Go to the Ant,” and hung beside Her picture, highly magnified. Said she, “At least that cannot fail To bring a Turtle, Sloth, or Snail, A Dormouse, or a Boy, to learn Their livelihood (and mine) to earn! “I’ll teach them, first of all, to see The joyousness of industry; And they, to grasp my meaning more, Shall gather in my winter store. “The Beauty of Abstemiousness I’ll next endeavor to impress Upon their minds at meals. (N. B. That is--if they should board with me.) [Illustration] “Then Architecture they shall try (My present house is far from dry)-- In short, all Honest Toil I’ll teach (And they shall practise what I preach).” [Illustration] Alas, for castles in the air!-- There’s no delusion anywhere Quite so delusive as, I fear, Is a professional career. So thought the ant last time we met. She only has _one_ sluggard yet, Who scantly fills her larder shelf-- It is, I grieve to say, _herself_! [Illustration] [Illustration: Sir Rat. A ·COMEDY· _Persons of the Drama._ MR. THOMAS CAT. MRS. THOMAS CAT. MASTER TOMMY CAT. MISS FLUFFY CAT. SIR RAT. SCENE: _The barn. A basket in one corner._ MASTER TOMMY (_looking out of the basket_). How very big the world is, after all! Compared to it our basket seems quite small, We never dreamed, dear Fluffy, till our eyes Were opened, that the world was such a size. I’d like at once to see it all. Let’s go And take a stroll around it. [Illustration] FLUFFY. No! No! No! Mama expressly told us not to stray Outside the basket while she was away. Something might happen if we disobeyed. TOMMY. Oh, you’re a girl--of course you are afraid! FLUFFY. Suppose--oh, dear!--suppose we meet a Rat! TOMMY. Suppose we do, dear Fluffy, what of that? _I_ will protect you with my strong right paw. The sight of me would fill a Rat with awe. FLUFFY. Would it? TOMMY. Of course it would. I’d like to see The Rat who’d dare to trifle once with me, I do not think he’d live to try it twice! FLUFFY. You are so brave! It really would be nice To see the world-- TOMMY. It will be grand. Here goes! There, take my paw, and jump. So, mind your toes! (_Fluffy jumps._) Now we are off. Tread softly, Sister dear, If we’re not careful all the world may hear. FLUFFY (_starting_). Oh, dear, what was that noise? I wish we’d stayed-- TOMMY (_trembling_). Be brave, dear Sister,--see, _I’m_ n’-n’-not a’-afraid. Whatever happens, do not make a row! [Illustration] [Illustration] (_Enter_ SIR RAT.) SIR RAT. Aha! what’s this? TOMMY. Help! Murder! Mi-ow-_ow_! FLUFFY. Tommy, be calm! _Dear_ Mr. Rat, good day. SIR RAT (_jumping up and down_). Enough! enough! I did not come to play! FLUFFY. _Dear_ Mr. Rat, how beautifully you dance. SIR RAT. You flatter me. FLUFFY (_aside_). It is my only chance. [Illustration] (_To_ TOMMY.) Run, Tommy! run! and bring dear Father-cat, While I remain and flatter Mr. Rat. (_Exit_ TOMMY, _in haste_.) (_To_ SIR RAT.) It’s very plain you learned that step in France. I wish, dear Rat, you’d teach _me_ how to dance. SIR RAT. I do not often dancing-lessons give; But since you haven’t very long to live, And you are _so_ polite, this once I’ll try. FLUFFY. Thanks! thanks, dear Rat,--one dance before I die. (_Polka music. Sir Rat dances and Fluffy applauds._) FLUFFY. Bravo! Sir Rat, I never saw before Such perfect dancing! Won’t you dance once more? SIR RAT. Be done with folly, Kitten! Now at last Your time has come. Reflect upon your past! FLUFFY. It won’t take long my past life to unfold! In sooth, Sir Rat, I’m only nine days old. SIR RAT. Peace, Kitten! Hold thy peace!--thy time is past. (_Springs upon her._) [Illustration] FLUFFY. Miow! Miow! [Illustration] (_Enter_ MR. _and_ MRS. CAT _and_ TOMMY.) MR. CAT. Aha! Sir Rat, at last I have thee; and this barn will soon, I trow, Be rid of such a Ruffian Rat as thou! (_They fight. Sir Rat falls._) MR. CAT (_sheathing his claws_). ’Tis well I hastened; had I not, I fear We soon had seen the last of Fluffy dear! [Illustration] TOMMY. Oh, dear, to think what might have been her fate! FLUFFY (_aside_). I learned that Polka step, at any rate. MRS. CAT. But luncheon’s waiting. Come into the house. Your father caught to-day a fine spring mouse. And, children, when I tell you not to stray From home, in future do not disobey! [Illustration] CURTAIN. [Illustration: ✙THE END OF SIR RAT✙] The Deceitful Dormice. [Illustration] A sleepy Dormouse who had passed The winter in her nest, Hearing that spring had come at last, Got up at once and dressed, And, hastening from her downy house To hail the new spring day, She ran against another mouse That lived across the way. The shock was such, at first the two Could scarcely speak for lack Of breath. Then each cried, “Oh, it’s _you!_! Why, when did you get back?” “I’ve only just return’d, my dear,” The sleepy Dormouse said, “From Florida--the winters here, You know, affect my head.” “Have you, indeed?” exclaimed her friend. “I’m glad to see you home. I, too, have just returned--I spend _My_ winters down in Rome.” With many pawshakes then, at last They parted--each to say, “I wonder where that creature passed The winter--anyway!” [Illustration] Nature and Art. [Illustration] Said a lady who wore a swell cape, As she viewed a Rhinoceros, agape, “To think in this age A Beast in a cage Is permitted our fashions to ape!” Thought the Beast in the cage, “I declare, One would think that these Ladies so fair Who come to the Zoo Have nothing to do But copy the things that I wear!” [Illustration: The Geometrical Giraffe.] Professor Pikestaffe, Ph. D., While wandering over land and sea, Once on the plains of Timbuctoo Met a giraffe. “Why, how d’ ye do!” Exclaimed the amiable Pikestaffe. “I’m really charmed, my dear Giraffe! I’ve thought so much of you of late, Our meeting seems a stroke of Fate Particularly fortunate. I long have had upon my mind Something concerning you; be kind Enough to seat yourself, and pray Excuse, if what I have to say Seems personal!” [Illustration] “My dear Pikestaffe, I shall be charmed,” said the Giraffe, “To hear whatever you may say. You are too kind; go on, I pray.” “Well, then,” said Pikestaffe, “to resume, You are aware, sir, I presume, That though with your long neck at ease You crop the leaves upon the trees, Your legs are quite _too_ long, and make It difficult for you to slake Your thirst--in other words, you’ve found Your neck too short to reach the ground. Indeed, I’ve often wept to think How hard it is for you to drink. [Illustration] “To right a wrong we must, of course, First try to ascertain the source; And in this case we find the cause In certain geometric laws, Which I will quickly demonstrate (How lucky that I brought my slate!). “Well, to begin, let line A B Be your front legs; then line A C (A shorter line) your neck shall be. Measured, ’twill only reach so far, When bent down toward the ground, as R. [Illustration] Then R’s your head stretched down, and shows How far the ground lies from your nose-- Though if the ground lay not at B, But R, you’d reach it easily. Suppose it then at R to lie, And draw for ground line D R I. Your head then touches ground at R-- But now your feet go down too far! My compasses then I will lay On A and B, and make round A A circle crossing line D I At two points. Mark them X and Y; [Illustration] Then draw from X and Y to A Two lines; then it is safe to say That line A X and line A Y Equal A B, _being radii Of the same circle_, as you see (According to geometry). But since at first we did agree A B your length of leg should be, These, being equal to A B, Are just the same as legs, you see. So now on legs A X, A Y. You stand upon the ground D I, And drink your fill; for, as I said, D I is touched by R, your head. [Illustration] [Illustration] Thus we have proved--” * * * * * What happened here Professor Pikestaffe has no clear Impression, but the little row Of stars above will serve to show What madly reeled before his eyes, As he went whirling to the skies. Below he heard a mocking laugh, That seemed to come from the Giraffe: “Go up! go up! You’ve proved enough; You’ve proved geometry is stuff! You’ve proved, till I am well nigh dead, And feel a thumping in my head, That I must spread my feet apart To take a drink--why, bless your heart! I knew that long ere you were born. I laugh geometry to scorn.” * * * * * Professor Pikestaffe, Ph. D., They say, has dropped geometry-- It seems he dropped his slate as well, Which lies exactly where it fell (Also the diagram he drew) Upon the plains of Timbuctoo. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Early Owl] An Owl once lived in a hollow tree, And he was as wise as wise could be. The branch of Learning _he_ didn’t know Could scarce on the tree of knowledge grow. He knew the tree from branch to root, And an Owl like that can afford to hoot. And he hooted--until, alas! one day He chanced to hear, in a casual way, An insignificant little bird Make use of a term he had never heard. He was flying to bed in the dawning light When he heard her singing with all her might, “Hurray! hurray for the early worm!” “Dear me!” said the Owl, “what a singular term! I would look it up if it weren’t so late; I must rise at _dusk_ to investigate. Early to bed and early to rise Makes an Owl healthy and stealthy and wise!” So he slept like an honest Owl all day, And rose in the early twilight gray, And went to work in the dusky light To look for the early worm all night. He searched the country for miles around, But the early worm was not to be found. So he went to bed in the dawning light, And looked for the “worm” again next night. [Illustration] [Illustration] And again and again, and again and again He sought and he sought, but all in vain, Till he must have looked for a year and a day For the early worm, in the twilight gray. At last in despair he gave up the search, And was heard to remark, as he sat on his perch By the side of his nest in the hollow tree, “The thing is as plain as night to me-- Nothing can shake my conviction firm, _There’s no such thing as the early worm_.” [Illustration] [Illustration: _A Dark Career_] Call it misfortune, crime, or what You will--his presence was a blot Where all was bright and fair-- A blot that told its darksome tale And left its mark a blighting trail Behind him everywhere. * * * * * He stood by the Atlantic’s shore, And crossed the azure main, And even the sea, so blue before, About his wake grew dark and bore The semblance of a stain. On English soil he scarcely more Than paused his breath to gain; But on that fair historic shore There seemed to gather, as before, A darkness in his train. Through sunny France, across the line To Germany, and up the Rhine To Switzerland he came; Then o’er the snowy Alpine height, To leave a stain as black as night On Italy’s fair name. From Italy he crossed the blue, And hurried on as if he knew His journey’s end he neared. On Darkest Africa he threw A shade of even darker hue, Till in the sands of Timbuctoo His record disappeared. * * * * * [Illustration] Only an inkstand’s overflow, O Bumblebee! remains to show The source of your mishap; But though you’ve flown my ken beyond, The foot-notes of your _tour du monde_ Still decorate my map. [Illustration] [Illustration: _A Packet of Letters_] I. FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO MISS BLANCHE GOOSE. [Illustration] THE FERNWOODS, Friday. Dear Miss Goose: Accept apologies profuse, For the abrupt and hasty way, In which I left you yesterday. I don’t know how I came to be So very rude, but then you see, I _was_ just offering my arm, When stupid Rover from the farm, Appeared so suddenly, and so-- Well, two is company, you know, While three--! Besides, ’twas getting late, So I decided not to wait. Yet, after all, another day Will do as well. What do you say? Can you contrive to dine with me To-morrow afternoon at three? Pray do, and by the hollyhocks Meet yours, sincerely, RUFUS FOX. [Illustration] II. FROM MISS BLANCHE GOOSE TO MR. FOX. THE FARMYARD, Friday afternoon. Dear Mr. Fox, it seems so _soon_, You almost take my breath away! To-morrow? Three?--what _shall_ I say? Nothing could charm me more--but, no-- Alas! I fear I cannot go. Don’t think that I _resent_, I pray, Your hastiness of yesterday. [Illustration] It is not that. But if I went, Without my dear Mama’s consent, And she should somehow chance to hear, She would be _dreadfully_ severe; And so, oh, dear! it is no use! Believe me, _Sadly_ yours, BLANCHE GOOSE. P. S.--On second thoughts, dear Fox, I’ll meet you by the hollyhocks, For if Mama but knew how _kind_ You are, I’m sure she would not mind, To-morrow, then--we’ll meet at _three_; Don’t fail to be there. Yours, B. G. III. FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO HIS COUSIN REYNARD. [Illustration] FRIDAY. Dear Cousin, just a line To ask if you will come to dine (Informally, you know) with me To-morrow afternoon at three. Now don’t refuse, whate’er you do, I have a treat in store for you: A charming goose (and geese, you know, Do not on all the bushes grow!) A dream of tenderness in white, A case of “hunger at first sight.” I know, old boy, you’ll not be deaf To _this_ inducement. Yours, R. F. P. S.--Miss Goose agrees to be Beside the hollyhocks at three! [Illustration] IV. EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF ROVER, THE DOG. SATURDAY NIGHT. Well, I must say, I quite renewed my youth to-day! How lucky that I chanced to go, Just when I did, beside that row Of hollyhocks beyond the gate! Lucky for _her_ at any rate; For suddenly I heard Miss Goose Struggling and crying, “Let me loose!” And, from behind the hollyhocks, Who should jump out but Mr. Fox! (The very same one, by the way, I _almost_ caught the other day.) Soon as I nabbed him, in his fright, He dropped Miss Goose and took to flight. Then after him like mad I flew, But--what could poor old Rover do? I am not what I used to be, So I let go, and ran to see At once how poor Miss Goose had fared, And found her much less hurt than scared From having come so near the noose:-- A sadder and a wiser goose. [Illustration] V. NOTE FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO HIS COUSIN REYNARD. DEAR COUSIN: This is just to say Why dinner was postponed to-day,-- The goose had failed us, that was all; Excuse, I beg, this hurried scrawl. Will write to-morrow to explain-- Just now my paw is in such pain That when I try to write it shocks My nerves. Yours truly, RUFUS FOX. P. S.--I’d thank you if you sent A bottle of that liniment You spoke of several days ago-- The kind for “dog-bites,” don’t you know. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Naughty Fay] Once a naughty fay Chanced to sprain her wing; “At her tricks,” they say-- “Naughty little thing!” Said the little fay As she lay in pain, “No more tricks I’ll play When I’m well again.” [Illustration] Time heals everything. Can this be our fay, She who sprained her wing Just the other day? Can she be this fair Thrifty little thing, Sewing up a tear In a beetle’s wing? Yes,--alas! but oh, _Not_ a thrifty elf; Of course she has to sew What she tore herself! [Illustration] [Illustration: The Miller’s Quest (_A Floury Tale._)] The Princess’ hair hath golden sheen, And her cheek is lily-pale; But none may look in her eyes, I ween And live to tell the tale. From out the south, and eke the north, And from the east and west, Full many a gallant knight rides forth Upon the fatal quest. For a cruel spell on the Princess lies No mortal can undo Till one shall look into her eyes And tell their color true. And some of them swear her eyes are green, And some that they are black, And many a knight rides forth, I ween, But never a one rides back. [Illustration] For a cruel spell on the Princess lies, And whoso will may try His fate, and look into her eyes; But whoso quails must die. * * * * * The miller’s son is a dusty youth, And dusty curls hath he. Quoth he, “I’ll go myself, forsooth, And set this Princess free.” The miller’s son he hath no spear Nor sword nor coat-of-mail, But an honest heart that knows not fear-- Heaven grant he may not fail! The miller’s son at the portal knocks, At the Princess’ feet he bends, And he tosses aside his floury locks And a floury cloud ascends. The Princess’ face in a mist of white Is veiled as with a veil, Her eyes are dimmed of their deadly light, And the miller doth not quail. [Illustration] The Princess’ hair hath golden sheen, Her cheek is red, red rose, And her eyes? * * * * * Go ask the Prince-- I mean The miller’s son--he knows. [Illustration] Nell’s Fairy-tale. [Illustration] The fairy tale was ended, the wicked Queen had fled; The Prince had saved the Princess and cut off the monster’s head; The people all were joyful, and the Princess and the Prince Were married and--so ran the tale--“lived happy ever since.” Nell closed the book of fairy tales and mused: “I wonder why There are no fairies nowadays? I only wish that I Could be a fairy princess like the Princess Goldenhair.” Here Nell dropped off to sleep, and then she started in her chair, When, of its own accord, the book popped open, and behold! Out crept a wee elf-princess all arrayed in cloth of gold; She sighed a little tired sigh and then Nell heard her say, In a tiny tired little voice, that sounded far away: “Oh, dear! how very nice it is for once to get outside. You’ve no idea how flat it is, my dear, until you’ve tried, To be shut up in a story-book with Dragons, Queens, and Kings, And always have to do and say the same old, senseless things; You think it would be very fine, but really it’s no joke! _I’d_ rather be a girl, like _you_!--” Then little Nell awoke, “Poor Princess Goldenhair,” said she,--“unhappy little elf, I’m rather glad, upon the whole, that I am just myself!” [Illustration] The Unfortunate Giraffe. [Illustration] There was once a Giraffe who said, “What Do I want with my tea strong or hot? For my throat’s such a length, The tea loses its strength, And is cold ere it reaches the spot.” [Illustration] Stockings or Scales. If I were asked of all things what I most would like to be, I’d choose to be a mermaid and live below the sea. How nice, instead of walking, to swim around like little whales, And to wear, instead of stockings, many shiny pairs of scales, Which don’t need changing every time that nurse says they are wet. And then to have no shoes that always come untied!--and yet-- And yet, although it must be nice to swim around in scales, To attend a school of porpoises and play at tag with whales, To be on friendly speaking terms with jellyfish and eels, And never to be sent to bed or told I’m late for meals; Still, when I think of Christmas Eve my resolution fails, _How could I hang my stockings up if I had only scales?_ [Illustration] [Illustration: A Riddle.] They were three robbers; aye, And they robbed a red, red rose; And they came from out the sky, And they went where no man knows. One came when the day was young, And rent the curtain gray Of mist that round her hung, And he stole her pearls away; One came when the day was old, And a sable coat he wore, And a belt of dusty gold, And he robbed her treasure-store. One came when the day was dead, And no man saw him pass; And he caught her petals red And threw them upon the grass. Three robbers bold were they, And they robbed a red, red rose; And they came and went away, And whither-- no man knows. [Illustration] [Illustration: Good-bye. A Woodland Episode.] PERSONS OF THE DRAMA: MISS BIRD, and MRS. CHIPMUNK. _Scene_: The woods. _Time_: Last November. MISS BIRD.--Why, Mrs. Chipmunk! how do you do? MRS. CHIPMUNK.-- I’m quite well, thanks, Miss Bird; and you? MISS B.--I’m sorry to say my health is poor, So my doctor has ordered a southern tour. _Couldn’t_ you manage to come along? It would do you good-- MRS. C.-- Yes, I’m far from strong, And it’s just what I’d most like to do If I’d only a pair of wings-- MISS B.-- Pooh! Pooh! There are trains for people who cannot fly. MRS. C.--Yes, but the fares are so dreadfully high! So really I mustn’t think of that-- MISS B.--If only you’d wings like your cousin Bat. MRS. C.--_If only!_ but then I haven’t, you see. Besides, I’ve rented a hole in a tree, On the first-floor branch just four trees west Of the oak where you built your last year’s nest. [Illustration] MISS B.--A charming neighborhood! just the thing For a winter home-- MRS. C.-- Well, I hope, next spring, When you’re here again, you will try to call. MISS B.--You are very kind-- MRS. C.-- Oh, not at all! MISS B.--Good-by, Mrs. Chipmunk. MRS. C.-- Oh, _must_ you fly? Then, a pleasant journey! MISS B.-- Good-by! MRS. C.-- _Good_-by! [Illustration] [Illustration: The Professor and the White Violet] THE PROFESSOR. Tell me, little violet white, If you will be so polite, Tell me how it came that you Lost your pretty purple hue? Were you blanched with sudden fears? Were you bleached with fairies’ tears? Or was Dame Nature out of blue, Violet, when she came to you? [Illustration] THE VIOLET. Tell me, silly mortal, first, Ere I satisfy your thirst For the truth concerning me-- Why you are not like a tree? Tell me why you move around, Trying different kinds of ground, With your funny legs and boots In the place of proper roots? Tell me, mortal, why your head, Where green branches ought to spread, Is as shiny smooth as glass, With just a fringe of frosty grass? Tell me--Why, he’s gone away! Wonder why he wouldn’t stay? Can he be--well, I declare!-- Sensitive about his hair? [Illustration] [Illustration: ·The·First·Rose·of·Summer·] [Illustration] “Oh, dear! is summer over?” I heard a rosebud moan, When first her eyes she opened, And found she was alone. “Oh, why did summer leave me, Little me, belated? Where are the other roses? I think they _might_ have waited!” Soon the little rosebud Saw to her surprise Other roses opening, So she dried her eyes. Then I heard her laughing Gaily in the sun, “I thought the summer over; Why, it’s only just begun!” [Illustration] [Illustration: The Elf & the Dormouse] [Illustration] Under a toadstool Crept a wee Elf, Out of the rain To shelter himself. Under the toadstool, Sound asleep, Sat a big Dormouse All in a heap. Trembled the wee Elf, Frightened, and yet Fearing to fly away Lest he get wet. To the next shelter-- Maybe a mile! Sudden the wee Elf Smiled a wee smile, Tugged till the toadstool Toppled in two. Holding it over him Gaily he flew. Soon he was safe home Dry as could be. Soon woke the Dormouse-- “Good gracious me! Where is my toadstool?” Loud he lamented. --And that’s how umbrellas, First were invented. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Crocodile] [Illustration] A crocodile once dropped a line To a Fox to invite him to dine; But the Fox wrote to say _He was dining, that day,_ _With a Bird friend_, and begged to decline. [Illustration] [Illustration] She sent off at once to a Goat. “Pray don’t disappoint me,” she wrote; But he answered too late, _He’d forgotten the date,_ _Having thoughtlessly eaten her note_. [Illustration] The Crocodile thought him ill-bred, And invited two Rabbits instead; But the Rabbits replied, _They were hopelessly tied_ _By a previous engagement_, and fled. Then she wrote in despair to some Eels, And begged them to “drop in” to meals; But the Eels left their cards _With their coldest regards_, And took to what went for their heels. [Illustration] Cried the Crocodile then, in disgust, “My motives they seem to mistrust. Their suspicions are base, Since they don’t know their place,-- I suppose if I _must_ starve, I _must_!” [Illustration] [Illustration: The Forgetful Forgetmenot.] THE PROFESSOR. Pray tell me, sweet Forget-me-not, Oh, kindly tell me where you got Your curious name? I’m most desirous to be told The legend or romance of old From whence it came. FORGET-ME-NOT. Indeed, good sir, it seems to me, If you have books on Botany Upon your shelf, You’d better far consult those books-- He learns a thing the best who looks It up himself. THE PROFESSOR. I’ve works on Botany a few, But though I’ve searched them through and through, Never a word Can I discover in the same About your interesting name. FORGET-ME-NOT. Why, how absurd! THE PROFESSOR. Quite so! And now what can I do? I shall be most obliged if you Will make it plain. FORGET-ME-NOT. Another time. One moment more, And you’ll be drenched! It’s going to pour: I felt just now no less than four Big drops of rain. [Illustration] [_Exit_ PROFESSOR.] FORGET-ME-NOT. (_Aside_) Indeed, I’d tell him if I knew; But it would never, never do If I explained That, long ago, I quite forgot Why I was called Forget-me-not (It’s well it rained)! [Illustration] [Illustration] The Birds’ Farewell. MY DEAR LITTLE MAID: We must bid you good-by, For November is here, and it’s time we should fly To the South, where we have an engagement to sing, But, remember this, dear, we’ll return in the spring. And if, while abroad, we hear anything new, We’ll learn it, and sing it next summer to you In the same little tree on the lawn, if you’ll let us. So, good-by, little maiden! Please do not forget us. We’re sorry to leave you--too sorry for words, And we’ll always remain, Yours sincerely, “THE BIRDS.” P. S.--Please don’t mind if this letter sounds flat, And present our respectful regards to your cat. [Illustration: The Spider’s Tale.] [Sidenote: The Poet offereth to deliver a Fly from the Spider’s web.] “Really, Fly, you ought to know Better, surely, than to go Into Mr. Spider’s net. Luckily _I’m_ here to set You free”; but ere I could have stirred, Mr. Spider’s voice I heard Crying in an angry tone: “Better let my lunch alone! [Sidenote: Even Spiders’ rights must be respected.] “One would think, for all _you_ care, Spiders could subsist on air. Listen to this tale and see If you don’t agree with me!” * * * * * I sat down without a word, Following is the tale I heard: [Illustration] THE TALE. [Sidenote: The Spider spinneth a yarn to instruct the Poet and divert him that he may forget about the Fly.] A Prince who sought His lost Bride, caught In the toils of a witch,--woe betide her!-- When riding one night Through a forest, caught sight Of a Spi in the web of a Flyder. (As perhaps you surmise, I have tried to disguise, The names, with the best of intention: For I make it my plan, Whenever I can, To avoid any personal mention.) Said the Prince to the Spi, “Supposing that I Should deliver you out of this hatefulness, Will you pay me in kind, And help me to find My Bride?--Can I count on your gratefulness?” Said the Spi, “Without doubt, If you _will_ let me out From the web of the terrible Flyder, By all means--oh, yes! You shall find your Princess, For I will myself be your guider!” [Illustration] [Sidenote: The Flyder does not see it in the same light as the Prince.] One jerk! He was free, And his buzzing and glee Drove the Prince to the verge of distraction. The Flyder, meanwhile, Wore a cynical smile, And a look of--well--_not_ satisfaction. The Prince paid no heed, But mounted his steed, And started the Princess to find. The Spi led the way, But little dreamed they _That the Flyder had mounted behind_! He found her, it’s true, And the wicked witch, too, Who fled when he up and defied her; But while being wed, Hanging over her head, The Princess caught sight of the Flyder! [Sidenote: Showing the terrible consequences of meddling with the domestic affairs of a Flyder.] At the terrible sight, Her reason took flight, Till she was completely bereft of it, When she drained a tureen Full of cold Paris green, And the Prince swallowed all that was left of it! [Sidenote: Setting forth how a Poet and a Fly were both taken in by a Spider’s yarn, and how that a diverting tale may speed a good dinner.] Listening to the Spider, I Quite forgot poor Mr. Fly And his pitiable plight Till the tale was finished quite, Then, alas! too late I knew, _Mr. Fly was finished, too_. [Illustration] [Illustration] Highly Connected. “I’m a very little cat, I know, and thin at that; But cast your eye upon this poster fine-- The big chap on that ball, He’s just a King, that’s all-- And, by the way, a relative of mine!” [Illustration: The Miser Elf.] There was a little miser elf who had a precious store Of silver motes from moonbeams and priceless grains of ore, And shiny dust of marigold, and glittering jeweled eyes Of burnished stars and spangles from the wings of butterflies, And bales of wondrous gossamer and green-gold beetles’ wings, And many other marvelous and rare and costly things. But, alas! with all his golden dust and jewels rich and rare, This little elf was never free from misery and care. [Illustration] The wealth that might have conjured up all good things at his beck Was just a golden millstone that hung around his neck. He never had one moment’s peace, his treasure out of sight, Though he buried it for safety in a different place each night; Each night the thought of robbers made him close his eyes in vain, And just as soon as it was light he’d dig it up again. One night (it was a woodland place in which he chanced to bide)-- As usual he sought a place in which his gold to hide. He had not long been seeking before he chanced to see A thing he’d never seen before--a curious kind of tree: [Illustration] The stem was smooth and straight, and on the top there grew a sort Of dome or hat--let’s call it an umbrella-tree, for short. “The very place!” exclaimed the elf. “So strange a tree, ’tis clear, Is just the thing to mark the spot. I’ll hide my treasure here.” [Illustration] No sooner said than done; and then, his treasure buried deep, Upon a bed of moss near by he laid him down to sleep. For once the elf enjoyed a night from dreams and terrors free; And, waking, sought with bounding step his tall umbrella-tree. “Ah, here it is!” he cried; and sure enough, before his sight It stood. “But what is this?” Another like it to the right! “Which can it be?” He rubbed his chin. “What underneath the sun Has happened? Why, I could have sworn last night there was but one. Which can it be that marks the spot in which my treasure lies?” And looking round, another tree of the same shape and size, Another and another still met his astonished eyes. Then the dreadful truth burst on him, and he stood transfixed with fright In a forest of umbrella-trees all grown up in a night. * * * * * [Illustration] When walking in the autumn woods, dear reader, and you pass A toadstool lying on its side among the leaves and grass, Think of the little miser elf, for ’tis a sign that he Still digs for his lost treasure underneath the umbrella-tree. [Illustration] The Point of View. On the top of the world, where there’s lots of snow, As all the geographies say, A small Eskimo, just to make the time go, Was building a Snow Man one day. Now it happened by chance that two Polar Bears Came strolling along that way: “Perhaps it is none of our affairs, But what are you making?” said they. “A Snow Man, of course,” said the Eskimo; The Bears gave a comical stare; Said they, “If you _must_ make a person of snow, Why on earth don’t you make a Snow Bear?” He sat himself down for a moment to think Of some suitable sort of reply, When a Penguin, two Foxes, a Seal, and a Mink, And a Walrus came wandering by. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] They stopped just a casual look to take, A casual word to say, And each had a trifling suggestion to make In a patronizing way. The Walrus said, “Really, it isn’t half bad, And shows lots of promise, you know; Yet I think, for my part, though perhaps it’s a fad, A Snow Walrus were more apropos.” The Foxes, the Seal, and the Mink were afraid They knew little of art, so they said, But they thought he would show better taste if he made A Fox, Seal, or Mink in its stead. The Penguin said nothing, nor listened, but when They’d finished, he ventured to say, “It doesn’t look _much_ like a Penguin, but then Perhaps when completed, it may.” They turned then to go; but the Eskimo-- Alas! he was seen no more; The heat of his anger and shame and chagrin Had melted the snow where the crust was thin, And he’d sunk, so to speak, through the floor. [Illustration] [Illustration] Heroes. I built a castle on the shore, And left to guard it three or four Lead soldiers of the bravest sort, And ordered them to hold the fort Till I should come once more. But when I came again next day, I found the sea had washed away My castle built upon the sand. Alas! the gallant little band Of soldiers, where were they? Buried in sand, erect, and square, They held the fort with martial air; And when I’d said a little speech, I dug them out and made them each A general then and there. [Illustration: A Belated Violet] Very dark the autumn sky, Dark the clouds that hurried by; Very rough the autumn breeze Shouting rudely to the trees. Listening, frightened, pale, and cold, Through the withered leaves and mold Peer’d a violet all in dread-- “Where, oh, where is spring?” she said. Sighed the trees, “Poor little thing! She may call in vain for spring.” And the grasses whispered low, “We must never let her know.” [Illustration] “What’s this whispering?” roared the breeze, “Hush! a violet!” sobbed the trees, “Thinks it’s spring--poor child, we fear She will die if she should hear!” Softly stole the wind away, Tenderly he murmured, “Stay!” To a late thrush on the wing, “Stay with her one day and sing!” Sang the thrush so sweet and clear That the sun came out to hear, And, in answer to her song, Beamed on violet all day long. And the last leaves here and there Fluttered with a spring-like air, Then the violet raised her head-- “Spring has come at last!” she said. Happy dreams had violet All that night--but happier yet, When the dawn came dark with snow, Violet never woke to know. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Parrot and the Cuckoo. A TRAGEDY.] SCENE: _The vicinity of the Cuckoo Clock. Cuckoo discovered in the act of telling three o’clock. Parrot watching from a perch near by._ [Illustration] [Illustration] CUCKOO: Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! PARROT: Hark, there she goes! To hear her any parrot would suppose She owned the earth, conceited little thing, She really seems to fancy she can sing, Yet, though you’ll scarce believe, that little bird Rules the whole blessed household with a word. She only has to call “Cuckoo!” and lo! The family at once to luncheon go. When she screams “Cuckoo!” twice it is the rule For all the kids to hurry back to school-- And when _six_ times they know it is a sign That Cuckoo thinks it’s time for them to dine. And so it goes through all the livelong day, She tells them what to do and they obey. But as for me, they treat me like a doll And mimic me and call me “Pretty Poll,” And ask me several million times a day, “Does Polly want a cracker?”--by the way, I’ve yet to see that cracker--oh, sometimes I gnash my beak, or mutter nursery rhymes Or anything! for fear I should let slip The wicked words they taught me on the ship, Those naughty sailors, when long, long ago They brought me from the land where spices grow And palm-trees wave, and Cuckoos do not rule And tell folks when to bed and when to school And when to go to dinner. Never mind! _My_ time will come. As that vain bird will find Unto her sorrow. Yes, the die is cast! Next time the Cuckoo squawks will be her last. [Illustration] Next time she tries-- CUCKOO (_striking four o’clock_): Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! PARROT: Come, now, have done! we’ve heard enough from you! Prepare to die! your little reign is o’er, Over this house you’ll tyrannize no more! What! won’t you come? then I’ll soon show you how! There! stop that racket; heavens, what a row! [Illustration] (_Smashes the Cuckoo to bits, causing the machinery to run down._) Help, stop it, some one! (_It stops._) Well, upon my word, You’re tough for such a very little bird, I thought you’d never die! and now, my dear, The family will very soon be here, And when they see how little’s left of you They’ll be so glad they won’t know what to do-- To think the Cuckoo’s killed and they are free To work or play or sleep or take their tea Just when they please--and, best of all, how jolly To feel they owe it all to “Pretty Polly”! (_Curtain._) [Illustration] The Elf and the Bee. [Illustration] “Oh, Bumblebee! Bumblebee! _Don’t_ fly so near! Or you will tumble me Over, I fear!” “Oh, funny Elf! Funny Elf! Don’t be alarmed! I’m looking for honey, Elf. You sha’n’t be harmed.” “Then tarry, Oh, tarry, Bee! Fill up your sack; And carry, oh, carry me Home on your back!” [Illustration] A Fable. It was a hungry pussy cat Upon Thanksgiving morn, And she watched a thankful little mouse That ate an ear of corn. “If I ate that thankful little mouse, How thankful he should be, When he has made a meal himself, To make a meal for me! “Then, with his thanks for having fed And his thanks for feeding me-- With all _his_ thankfulness inside-- How thankful _I_ shall be!” Thus mused the hungry pussy cat Upon Thanksgiving Day. But the little mouse had overheard, And declined (with thanks) to stay. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Fairies’ Concert.] In a fairy forest known To the fairy-folk alone, Where the grasses meet and spread Like a green roof overhead, Where the dandelion-tree Towers tall as tall can be, And the ferns lift up their high Fairy ladders to the sky, For the elves to climb upon-- Here are merry goings-on. From the forest far and near All the fairy-folk are here, For to-day there is to be Music ’neath the daisy-tree. [Illustration] [Illustration] And the creatures of the wood, One and all, have been so good And obliging as to say, They will gladly come and play For the elves a serenade, In the fairy forest glade. All the little birds have come; And the bumblebees that hum; And the gnats that twang the lute; And the frogs that play the flute; And the kind of frog whose toots Seem to come from out his boots; And the great big green and yellow Frog that plays upon the ’cello; And the katydid, in green, Who is oftener heard than seen; With the little ladybird Who is oftener seen than heard; And the cricket, never still With his lively legs and trill. And, in short, each forest thing That can hum, or buzz, or sing, Each and all have come to play For the little elves to-day. Now the crawfish takes the stand To conduct the fairy band. First there is a moment’s pause, Then the leader lifts his claws, Waves his wand, and--one, two, three! All at once, from gnat and bee, Frog, and katydid, and bird [Illustration] [Illustration] Such a melody is heard That the elves and fairies wee, Clapping little hands with glee, Make their mushroom seat to sway In a very risky way. And the creatures in delight Play away with all their might, Feeling very justly proud That the elves applaud so loud. Now the sun is getting low, And the elves to bed must go Ere the sleepy flowers close In whose petals they repose; For if they were late they might Have to stay outside all night. So the last good-byes are said; Every one goes home to bed; And the creatures as they fly Play a fairy lullaby, Growing faint and fainter still, Fainter and more faint, until All is silent--and the shade Creeps upon the fairy glade. Transcriber’s Note: Obvious printer errors corrected silently. Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original. 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