Artful Anticks

Artful Anticks
By
Oliver Herford

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.

The pictures in “The Point of View” are used by permission of Messrs. Harper and Brothers.

Artful Anticks

The Audacious Kitten.

“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!”

“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!”

The Artful Ant.

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!)

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.)

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.”)

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!)

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.”)

The Gifted Ant.

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!”

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:

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.

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.)

“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).”

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!

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.

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!

(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.

(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.)

Fluffy. Miow! Miow!

(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!

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!

Curtain.

✙The end of Sir Rat✙

The Deceitful Dormice.

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!”

Nature and Art.

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!”

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!”

“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.

“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.

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;

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.
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.

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.

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.”

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.
* * *

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.

A Packet of Letters

I.

FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO MISS BLANCHE GOOSE.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.”

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!

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.

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.

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.

Nell’s Fairy-tale.

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!”

The Unfortunate Giraffe.

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.”

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?

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.