Part 1

Chapter 13,486 wordsPublic domain

Transcriber's Note:

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_

MOTHER GOOSE FOR GROWN-UPS

By GUY WETMORE CARRYL

With Illustrations by PETER NEWELL and GUSTAVE VERBEEK

NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS 1900

TO CONSTANCE

In memory of other days, Dear critic, when your whispered praise Cheered on the limping pen. How short, how sweet those younger hours, How bright our suns, how few our showers, Alas, we knew not then!

If but, long leagues across the seas, The trivial charm of rhymes like these Shall serve to link us twain An instant in the olden spell That once we knew and loved so well, I have not worked in vain!

NOTE

I have pleasure in acknowledging the courteous permission of the editors to reprint in this form such of the following verses as were originally published in _Harper's Magazine_, the _Saturday Evening Post_, and the _London Sketch_.

G. W. C.

CONTENTS

PAGE THE ADMIRABLE ASSERTIVENESS OF JILTED JACK 3 THE BLATANT BRUTALITY OF LITTLE BOW PEEP 9 THE COMMENDABLE CASTIGATION OF OLD MOTHER HUBBARD 15 THE DISCOURAGING DISCOVERY OF LITTLE JACK HORNER 21 THE EMBARRASSING EPISODE OF LITTLE MISS MUFFET 27 THE FEARFUL FINALE OF THE IRASCIBLE MOUSE 33 THE GASTRONOMIC GUILE OF SIMPLE SIMON 39 THE HARMONIOUS HEEDLESSNESS OF LITTLE BOY BLUE 47 THE INEXCUSABLE IMPROBITY OF TOM, THE PIPER'S SON 53 THE JUDICIOUS JUDGMENT OF QUITE CONTRARY MARY 59 THE LINGUISTIC LANGUOR OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS SPRAGUE 65 THE MYSTERIOUS MISAPPREHENSION CONCERNING A MAN IN OUR TOWN 71 THE OPPORTUNE OVERTHROW OF HUMPTY DUMPTY 77 THE PREPOSTEROUS PERFORMANCE OF AN OLD LADY OF BANBURY 83 THE QUIXOTIC QUEST OF THREE BLIND MICE 89 THE REMARKABLE REGIMEN OF THE SPRAT FAMILY 95 THE SINGULAR SANGFROID OF BABY BUNTING 101 THE TOUCHING TENDERNESS OF KING KARL THE FIRST 107 THE UNUSUAL UBIQUITY OF THE INQUISITIVE GANDER 113

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE "'WILL YOU TELL ME IF IT'S STRAIGHT?'" Frontispiece "SHE WAS SO CHARMINGLY WATTEAU-LIKE" Facing p. 10 "NOW SIMON'S TASTES WERE MOST PROFUSE" " 40 "WHILE BY KICKS HE LOOSENED BRICKS" " 78 "SHE PLUCKED HIM WITH RELENTLESS FROWN" " 114

THE ADMIRABLE ASSERTIVENESS

JILTED JACK

A noble and a generous mind Was Jack's; Folks knew he would not talk behind Their backs: But when some maiden fresh and young, At Jack a bit of banter flung, She soon discovered that his tongue Was sharp as any ax.

A flirt of most engaging wiles Was Jill; On Jack she lavished all her smiles, Until Her slave (and he was not the first) Of lovesick swains became the worst, His glance a strong box might have burst, His sighs were fit to kill.

One April morning, clear and fair, When both Of staying home and idling there In sloth Were weary, Jack remarked to Jill: "Oh, what's the sense in sitting still? Let's mount the slope of yonder hill." And she was nothing loth.

But as she answered: "What's the use?" The gruff Young swain replied: "Oh, there's excuse Enough. Your doting parents water lack; We'll fill a pail and bring it back." (The reader will perceive that Jack Was putting up a bluff.)

Thus hand in hand the tempting hill They scaled, And Jack proposed a kiss to Jill, And failed! One backward start, one step too bold, And down the hill the couple rolled, Resembling, if the truth were told, A luggage train derailed.

With eyes ablaze with anger, she Exclaimed: "Well, who'd have thought! You'd ought to be Ashamed! You quite forget yourself, it's plain, So I'll forget you, too. Insane Young man, I'll say _oafweederzane_." (Her German might be blamed.)

But Jack, whose linguist's pride was pricked, To shine, Asked: "_Meine Königin will nicht_ Be mine?" And when she answered: "Nein" in spleen, He cried: "Then in the soup tureen You'll stay. You're not the only queen Discarded for a nein!"

THE MORAL'S made for maidens young And small: If you would in a foreign tongue Enthrall, Lead off undaunted in a Swede Or Spanish speech, and you'll succeed, But they who in a German lead No favor win at all.

THE BLATANT BRUTALITY

LITTLE BOW PEEP

Though she was only a shepherdess, Tending the meekest of sheep, Never was African leopardess Crosser than Little Bow Peep: Quite apathetic, impassible People described her as: "That Wayward, contentious, irascible, Testy, cantankerous brat!"

Yet, as she dozed in a grotto-like Sort of a kind of a nook, She was so charmingly Watteau-like, What with her sheep and her crook; "She is a dryad or nymph," any Casual passer would think. Poets pronounced her a symphony, All in the palest of pink.

Thus it was not enigmatical, That the young shepherd who first Found her asleep, in ecstatical Sighs of felicity burst: Such was his sudden beatitude That, as he gazed at her so, Daphnis gave vent to this platitude: "My! Ain't she elegant though!"

Roused from some dream of Arcadia, Little Bow Peep with a start Answered him: "I ain't afraid o' yer! P'raps you imagine you're smart!" Daphnis protested impulsively, Blushing as red as a rose; All was in vain. She convulsively Punched the young man in the nose!

All of it's true, every word of it! I was not present to peep, But if you ask how I heard of it, Please to remember the sheep. There is no need of excuse. You will See how such scandals occur: If you recall Mother Goose, you will Know what tail-bearers they were!

MORAL: This pair irreclaimable Might have made Seraphim weep, But who can pick the most blamable? _Both saw a little beau peep!_

THE COMMENDABLE CASTIGATION

OLD MOTHER HUBBARD

She was one of those creatures Whose features Are hard beyond any reclaim; And she loved in a hovel To grovel, And she hadn't a cent to her name. She owned neither gallants Nor talents; She borrowed extensively, too, From all of her dozens Of cousins, And never refunded a _sou_: Yet all they said in abuse of her Was: "She is prouder than Lucifer!" (That, I must say, without meaning to blame, Is always the way with that kind of a dame!)

There never was jolli- Er colley Than Old Mother Hubbard had found, Though cheaply she bought him, She'd taught him To follow her meekly around: But though she would lick him And kick him, It never had any effect; He always was howling And growling, But goodness! What could you expect? Colleys were never to flourish meant 'Less they had plenty of nourishment, All that he had were the feathers she'd pluck Off an occasional chicken or duck.

The colley was barred in The garden, He howled and he wailed and he whined. The neighbors indignant, Malignant Petitions unanimous signed. "The nuisance grows nightly," Politely They wrote. "It's an odious hound, And either you'll fill him, Or kill him, Or else he must go to the pound. For if this howling infernally Is to continue nocturnally-- Pardon us, ma'am, if we seem to be curt-- Somebody's apt to get horribly hurt!"

Mother Hubbard cried loudly And proudly: "Lands sakes! but you give yourselves airs! I'll take the law to you And sue you." The neighbors responded: "Who cares? We none of us care if The sheriff Lock every man jack of us up; We won't be repining At fining So long as we're rid of the pup!" They then proceeded to mount a sign, Bearing this ominous countersign: "FREEMEN! THE MOMENT HAS COME TO PROTEST AND OLD MOTHER HUBBARD DELENDUM EST!"

They marched to her gateway, And straightway They trampled all over her lawn; Most rudely they harried And carried Her round on a rail until dawn. They marred her, and jarred her, And tarred her And feathered her, just as they should, Of speech they bereft her, And left her With: "_Now_ do you think you'll be good!"

THE MORAL'S a charmingly pleasing one. While we would deprecate teasing one, Still, when a dame has politeness rebuffed, She certainly ought to be collared and cuffed.

THE DISCOURAGING DISCOVERY

LITTLE JACK HORNER

A knack almost incredible for dealing with an edible Jack Horner's elder sister was acknowledged to display; She labored hard and zealously, but always guarded jealously The secrets of the dishes she invented every day. She'd take some indigestible, unpopular comestible, And to its better nature would so tenderly appeal That Jack invoked a benison upon a haunch of venison, When really she was serving him a little leg of veal!

Jack said she was a miracle. The word was not satirical, For daily climbing upward, she excelled herself at last: The acme of facility, the zenith of ability Was what she gave her brother for his Christmas Day repast. He dined that evening eagerly and anything but meagerly, And when he'd had his salad and his quart of Extra Dry, With sisterly benignity, and just a touch of dignity, She placed upon the table an unutterable pie!

Unflagging pertinacity, and technical sagacity, Long nights of sleepless vigil, and long days of constant care Had been involved in making it, improving it, and baking it, Until of other pies it was the wonder and despair: So princely and so prominent, so solemn, so predominant It looked upon the table, that, with fascinated eye, The youth, with sudden wonder struck, electrified, and thunder struck, Could only stammer stupidly: "Oh Golly! What a pie!"

In view of his satiety, it almost seemed impiety To carve this crowning triumph of a culinary life, But, braced by his avidity, with sudden intrepidity He broke its dome imposing with a common kitchen knife. Ah, hideous fatality! for when with eager palate he Commenced to eat, he happened on an accident uncouth, And cried with stifled moan: "Of it one plum I tried. The stone of it Had never been extracted, and I've broke a wisdom tooth!"

Jack's sister wept effusively, but loudly and abusively His unreserved opinion of her talents he proclaimed; He called her names like "driveller" and "simpleton" and "sniveller," And others, which to mention I am really too ashamed. THE MORAL: It is saddening, embarrassing, and maddening A stone to strike in what you thought was paste. One thing alone Than this mischance is crueller, and that is for a jeweller To strike but paste in what he fondly thought to be a stone.

THE EMBARRASSING EPISODE

LITTLE MISS MUFFET

Little Miss Muffet discovered a tuffet, (Which never occurred to the rest of us) And, as 'twas a June day, and just about noonday, She wanted to eat--like the best of us: Her diet was whey, and I hasten to say It is wholesome and people grow fat on it. The spot being lonely, the lady not only Discovered the tuffet, but sat on it.

A rivulet gabbled beside her and babbled, As rivulets always are thought to do, And dragon-flies sported around and cavorted, As poets say dragon-flies ought to do; When, glancing aside for a moment, she spied A horrible sight that brought fear to her, A hideous spider was sitting beside her And most unavoidably near to her!

Albeit unsightly, this creature politely Said: "Madam, I earnestly vow to you, I'm penitent that I did not bring my hat. I Should otherwise certainly bow to you." Though anxious to please, he was so ill at ease That he lost all his sense of propriety, And grew so inept that he clumsily stept In her plate--which is barred in Society.

This curious error completed her terror; She shuddered, and growing much paler, not Only left tuffet, but dealt him a buffet Which doubled him up in a sailor-knot. It should be explained that at this he was pained: He cried: "I have vexed you, no doubt of it! Your fist's like a truncheon." "You're still in my luncheon," Was all that she answered. "Get out of it!"

And THE MORAL is this: Be it madam or miss To whom you have something to say, You are only absurd when you get in the curd But you're rude when you get in the whey.

THE FEARFUL FINALE

OF THE

IRASCIBLE MOUSE

Upon a stairway built of brick A pleasant-featured clock From time to time would murmur "Tick" And vary it with "Tock": Although no great intelligence There lay in either word, They were not meant to give offence To anyone who heard.

Within the pantry of the house, Among some piles of cheese, There dwelt an irritable mouse, Extremely hard to please: His appetite was most immense. Each day he ate a wedge Of Stilton cheese. In consequence His nerves were all on edge.

With ill-concealed impatience he, Upon his morning walk, Had heard the clock unceasingly, Monotonously talk, Until his rage burst every bound. He gave a fretful shout: "Well, sakes alive! It's time I found What all this talk's about."

With all the admirable skill That marks the rodent race The mouse ran up the clock, until He'd crept behind the face, And then, with words that no one ought To use, and scornful squeals, He cried aloud: "Just what I thought! Great oaf, you're full of wheels!"

The timepiece sternly said: "Have done!" And through the silent house It struck emphatically one. (But that one was the mouse!) To earth the prowling rodent fell, In terror for his life, And turned to flee, but, sad to tell, There stood the farmer's wife.

She did not faint, she did not quail, She did not cry out: "Scat!" She simply took him by the tail And gave him to the cat, And, with a stern, triumphant look, She watched him clawed and cleft, And with some blotting paper took Up all that there was left.

THE MORAL: In a farmer's home Run down his herds, his flocks, Run down his crops, run down his loam, But when it comes to clocks, Pray leave them ticking every one In peace upon their shelves: When running down is to be done The clocks run down themselves.

THE GASTRONOMIC GUILE

SIMPLE SIMON

Conveniently near to where Young Simple Simon dwelt There was to be a county fair, And Simple Simon felt That to the fair he ought to go In all his Sunday clothes, and so, Determined to behold the show, He put them on and went. (One-half his clothes was borrowed and the other half was lent.)

He heard afar the cheerful sound Of horns that people blew, Saw wooden horses swing around A circle, two and two, Beheld balloons arise, and if He scented with a gentle sniff The smells of pies, what is the dif- Ference to me or you? (You cannot say my verse is false, because I know it's true.)

As Simple Simon nearer came To these attractive smells, Avoiding every little game Men played with walnut shells, He felt a sudden longing rise. The sparkle in his eager eyes Betrayed the fact he yearned for pies: The eye the secret tells. ('Tis known the pie of county fairs all other pies excels.)

So when he saw upon the road, Some fifty feet away, A pieman, Simple Simon strode Toward him, shouting: "Hey! What kinds?" as lordly as a prince. The pieman said: "I've pumpkin, quince, Blueberry, lemon, peach, and mince:" And, showing his array, He added: "Won't you try one, sir? They're very nice to-day."

Now Simon's taste was most profuse, And so, by way of start, He ate two cakes, a Charlotte Russe, Six buns, the better part Of one big gingerbread, a pair Of lady-fingers, an eclair, And ten assorted pies, and there, His hand upon his heart, He paused to choose between an apple dumpling and a tart.

Observing that upon his tray His goods were growing few, The pieman cried: "I beg to say That patrons such as you One does not meet in many a moon. Pray, won't you try this macaroon?" But soon suspicious, changed his tune, Continuing: "What is due I beg respectfully to add's a dollar twenty-two."

Then Simple Simon put a curb Upon his appetite, And turning with an air superb He suddenly took flight, While o'er his shoulder this absurd And really most offensive word The trusting pieman shortly heard To soothe his bitter plight: "Perhaps I should have said before your wares are out of sight."

THE MORAL is a simple one, But still of consequence. We've seen that Simon's sense of fun Was almost too intense: Though blaming his deceitful guise, We with the pieman sympathize, The latter we must criticize Because he was so dense: He might have known from what he ate that Simon had no cents.

THE HARMONIOUS HEEDLESSNESS

LITTLE BOY BLUE

Composing scales beside the rails That flanked a field of corn, A farmer's boy with vicious joy Performed upon a horn: The vagrant airs, the fragrant airs Around that field that strayed, Took flight before the flagrant airs That noisome urchin played.

He played with care "The Maiden's Prayer;" He played "God Save the Queen," "Die Wacht am Rhein," and "Auld Lang Syne," And "Wearing of the Green:" With futile toots, and brutal toots, And shrill chromatic scales, And utterly inutile toots, And agonizing wails.

The while he played, around him strayed, And calmly chewed the cud, Some thirty-nine assorted kine, All ankle-deep in mud: They stamped about and tramped about That mud, till all the troupe Made noises, as they ramped about, Like school-boys eating soup.

Till, growing bored, with one accord They broke the fence forlorn: The field was doomed. The cows consumed Two-thirds of all the corn, And viciously, maliciously, Went prancing o'er the loam. That landscape expeditiously Resembled harvest-home.

"Most idle ass of all your class," The farmer said with scorn: "Just see my son, what you have done! The cows are in the corn!" "Oh drat," he said, "the brat!" he said. The cowherd seemed to rouse. "My friend, it's worse than that," he said. "The corn is in the cows."

THE MORAL lies before our eyes. When tending kine and corn, Don't spend your noons in tooting tunes Upon a blatant horn: Or scaling, and assailing, and With energy immense, Your cows will take a railing, and The farmer take offense.

THE INEXCUSABLE IMPROBITY

TOM, THE PIPER'S SON

A Paris butcher kept a shop Upon the river's bank Where you could buy a mutton chop Or two for half a franc. The little shop was spruce and neat, In view of all who trod the street The decorated joints of meat Were hung up in a rank.

This Gallic butcher led a life Of highly moral tone; He never raised his voice in strife, He never drank alone: He simply sat outside his door And slept from eight o'clock till four; The more he slept, so much the more To slumber he was prone.

One day outside his shop he put A pig he meant to stuff, And carefully around each foot He pinned a paper ruff, But, while a watch he should have kept, His habit conquered, and he slept, And for a thief who was adept That surely was enough.

A Scottish piper dwelt near by, Whose one ungracious son Beheld that pig and murmured: "Why, No sooner said than done! It seems to me that this I need." And grasping it, with all his speed Across the Pont des Invalides He started on a run.

Then, turning sharply to the right, Without a thought of risk, He fled. 'Tis fair to call his flight Inordinately brisk. But now the town was all astir, In vain his feet he strove to spur, They caught him, shouting: "Au voleur!" Beside the Obelisk.

The breathless butcher cried: "A mort!" The crowd said: "Conspuez!" And some: "A bas!" and half a score Responded: "Vive l'armée!" While grim gendarmes with piercing eye, And stern remarks about: "Canaille!" The pig abstracted on the sly. Such is the Gallic way!

The piper's offspring, his defeat Deep-rooted in his heart, A revolutionary sheet Proceeded then to start. Thenceforward every evening he In leaders scathed the Ministry, And wished he could accomplish the Return of Bonaparte.

THE MORAL is that when the press Begins to rave and shout It's often difficult to guess What it is all about. The editor we strive to pin, But we can never find him in. What startling knowledge we should win If we could find him out!

THE JUDICIOUS JUDGMENT

QUITE CONTRARY MARY

Though Mary had the kind of face The rudest wind would softly blow on; Though she was full of simple grace, Sweet, amiable, and kind, and so on; I would not have you understand That she was meek. You'd be mistaken. She worked out logarithms, and Her favorite essayist was Bacon.