The Laughing Willow Verses and Pictures
Part 1
Produced by David Edwards, John Campbell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
THE LAUGHING WILLOW
OLIVER HERFORD
THE LAUGHING WILLOW
VERSES AND PICTURES
BY
OLIVER HERFORD
Author of “Artful Antics,” “The Child’s Primer of Natural History,” “Overheard in a Garden,” “Fairy Godmother-in-Law,” “Astonishing Tale of a Pen and Ink Puppet,” “The Confessions of a Caricaturist,” etc.
NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
_Copyright, 1918, By George H. Doran Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
TO PEG
_Oh, should some power the giftie gie her To see hersel’ as ithers see her, I’m thinking Peg would grow sae vain He’d take the giftie back again._
CONTENTS
THE LAUGHING WILLOW
PAGE EPITAPHS 9
THE TRUTH ABOUT RUSSIA 11
THE WEDDING FEAST 11
A MUJIK 12
THE COSSACK 13
THE THREE S’S 14
THE AIR RAID 15
VALE DIABOLE 18
THE WRONG FLOOR 21
MARCHING TO BERLIN 23
TARGET PRACTICE 26
THE SAUSAGE BALLOON 27
CONCERNING THE CROWN PRINCE 28
CAMOUFLAGE 31
THE TANK 32
THE BIRD-MAN 33
FRENZYLOGICAL CHART 34
BRITANNIA SALVATRIX 35
FATHER WILHELM 37
THE TOUCHING BALLAD OF GENERAL VON BEERS 40
AN IMPERIAL SNEEZE 45
THE RUBAIYAT OF BILLI KAISAM 52
WAR RELIEF 57
SUMMER MASS 58
ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET
J. M. BARRIE 61
THE HORSE 63
THE TOWN CAT 65
TOWSER 68
THE OYSTER 70
THE MOUSE 71
PEOPLE I HAVE NOT MET
THE TURTLE 77
MICHAEL O’LEARY 79
CLORINDA 82
ALCIBIADES J. SKINNER 85
EVE 90
THE HIGHBROW HEN 91
SIR IPPYKIN 92
THE PSYCHOLOGY COP 95
PHYLLIS LEE 97
MRS. SEYMOUR FENTOLIN 99
THE DEVIL AMONG THE LADIES 101
SPRING 105
THE CATFISH 108
THE PRODIGAL CENTIPEDE 109
A BALLADE OF BLACK SOCKS 111
OTHER PEOPLE INCLUDING MARK TWAIN
THE GENTLEMEN OF LETTERS 115
THE WOMEN OF THE BETTER CLASS 118
MARK TWAIN 121
PRINCE POMPOM 124
THE SERIAL 126
THE CLOUD 130
THE LAUGHING WILLOW
_To see the Kaiser’s epitaph Would make a weeping willow laugh._
THE LAUGHING WILLOW
EPITAPHS
Willy Nilly
Here lies Willy’s mortal clay In its Mother Earth’s caresses. Willy’s soul has flown away-- Where it is you have two guesses.
Here lies Bill
Here lies Bill, the son of Fred. He lied alive; he now lies dead.
Tears, Idle Tears
Oh, stranger, dry the starting tear! Kaiser Bill is buried here.
Pax
’Neath this stone lies Kaiser Bill. He sought for peace--he seeks it still.
Requiescat
Here Wilhelm sleeps. For Mercy’s sake, Tread softly, friend, lest he should wake!
Ashes to Ashes
Swallow him, O Earth, for he, Did his best to swallow thee.
THE TRUTH ABOUT RUSSIA
_THE WEDDING FEAST_
This is a Russian Wedding Feast; Counting the Groom, there are at least A hundred sitting down to dine, Or let us call it ninety-nine: For more than that there is no room, And no one ever counts the Groom!
_A MUJIK_
The Mujik wears a costume weird Consisting of a fuzzy beard, A sheep-skin blouse (the wool inside) And breeks astonishingly wide, Made from the fur of North sea Whales, And Yak-hide boots with big brass nails.
_THE COSSACK_
The Cossack is so much at home Upon his horse, that though he roam From Vladivostok to Odessa, His wife has only to address a Letter to Ivan “care his Horse” To catch her Spouse, unless of course, As sometimes happens, Ivan may Have swapped addresses on the way.
_THE THREE S’S_
Without a doubt the _Samovar_ The _Steppes_ and _Russian Sables_ are Of all things Russian the best known; So in this picture I have shown
A Sable sitting on a flight Of Russian Steppes, before a bright New Samovar, calm as can be, Brewing a cup of Russian Tea.
THE AIR RAID
I
Come into the cellar, Maud. Get a move on! Goodness gracious, There is nothing to applaud In bravado ostentatious! Still Maud lingered, all unheeding, As the Siren sounded twice; Above the din her voice came pleading, “Are you _sure_ there’s no mice?”
II
Above the pandemonium Of Siren shrill and warning Drum And Aircraft Gun is heard the roar Of little Freddy, ætat four; The cellar dark and dank and dim No fascination has for him, The little darling wants to be Upstairs upon the roof and see The “fireworks!” “If you ask me--” Aunt Kate was overheard to say, “I’d let the dear child have his way!”
III
A hidden Crime, however slight, Is sure some day to see the light; Oh, why did Auntie come to stay With us upon an Air-raid day! Why did we never think to tell her That there were Lizards in the cellar Or Spiders or an Open Drain! How shall we ever now explain That “Antique Vase” we said was lost, That Nile green horror, gold embossed, Her Wedding Present--there it lay Before her eyes, as plain as day! We _almost_ wished a bomb would fall Upon the house and end it all!
IV
Who is that cowardly Jack Horner Crouching there in the darkest corner, Behind the furnace? Look again, That is no cringing coward, when Your eyes become accustomed to The darkness of the cellar, you Will see it is no other than Philander Jones and Marian; Make no mistake, Philander’s dread Is not a Zeppelin overhead, But that rude moment when he’ll hear The beastly Siren sound “All’s clear!”
V
“Where is Molly?” Like a Shell, Short and sharp, the question fell, Scattering every one pell mell From the cellar’s safe retreat Through the house on panic feet, Basement, Attic--everywhere They sought, one hope remained and there On the Drying-roof they found her, Shrapnel flashing all around her, Calm and cool ’mid war’s alarms, Hugging something in her arms. “I’s all right--don’t cwy!” said Molly, “I tame back to det my dolly!”
VALE DIABOLE
At a recent church conference it was decided to drop the Devil from the ritual.
Well! Well! so you’ve been fired, You’ve lost your job at last. It’s high time you retired, Old Boy, you’re failing fast.
You’re getting old, you know it, You are not in the race. Admit you cannot go it, The killing, modern pace.
Your methods are too dull for The modern school of Hate, Your lake of burning sulphur Is sadly out of date.
The Hohenzollern’s Kultur Mocks at your fiery pits, His double-headed vulture Has put yours on the fritz.
Beside the fierce, blaspheming, Mail-fisted Kaiser Bill, You are a seraph beaming, An angel of good-will.
But tho’ we can’t deny, sir, You’re hopelessly outclassed, You’ve one thing on the Kaiser, Which is, tho’ first and last
A failure as a devil, Yet boast of this you can: You were always on the level-- And--you are a gentleman!
THE WRONG FLOOR
A certain Emperor (This is a censored tale) Once pounded on the door Of heaven with fist of mail.
Cried Peter from within, Awakened by the row, “Stop that infernal din! Who are you, anyhow?”
“Don’t bandy words with me!” Thundered the visitor. “All doors to me are free. I am the Emperor.”
“If you’re an Emperor,” Said Peter, “then I fear You’ve come to the wrong floor. We take no Emperors here.
“Our waiting list is filled With martyrs brave and true Whose blood an Emperor spilled. There is no room for you.”
Cowed by Saint Peter’s look, The Emperor, with a frown, Cried, “Well, I’m damned!” and took The elevator--down.
MARCHING TO BERLIN
We come from God’s own country in the ships of Uncle Sam; We’re going to get the william-goat of Kaiser Will--i--am; We know it is _verboten_, but we do not give a damn, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! As we go marching to Berlin!
_Refrain_
Hurray! Hurray! We’ll wave the Stripes and Stars! Away, away with Emperors and Czars! And when we get the Kaiser we’ll put him behind the bars, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! etc.
We’re from the dear old U. S. A., the Land of Liberty; We’ve crossed a hundred rivers and three thousand miles of sea To teach the Huns a thing or two about Democracy, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! etc.
_Refrain_
Hurray! Hurray! We’ll show the Prussian swine That Freedom is the only Right Divine, And when we catch old Kaiser Bill we’ll pitch him in the Rhine, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! etc.
We’ve left our happy homes that we may help to win the war. We’re a million strong already, and there’ll soon be millions more; And when the job is done with Kaiser Bill we’ll mop the floor, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! etc.
_Refrain_
Hurray! Hurray! We’re going to make it hot For all the bloody Hohenzollern lot, And when we get the Kaiser we’ll present him to his Gott, As we go marching to Berlin! (_Drums_) Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! Berlin! As we go marching to Berlin!
TARGET PRACTICE
At the Imperial Schützenfest Fritz Pickelheim led all the rest;
At target practice Pickelheim Could hit the Red Cross every time;
At the clay-baby contest Fritz Scored nineteen out of twenty hits;
And once he won the Kaiser’s purse With nine live babies and a nurse.
THE SAUSAGE BALLOON
I often wonder, when we fry A Sausage, if its thoughts can fly
Across the billowy ocean wave To where its namesake stern and brave Floats like a Guardian Angel, high Above our armies, in the sky, Serene and stately as a cloud. No wonder Sausages are proud! No wonder Sausages when fried Oft-times swell up and burst with pride!
CONCERNING THE CROWN PRINCE
I
When Crown Prince Willy goes to bed It is his wont to lay his head Upon the pillow and extend His feet towards the other end. “But does he really wear his hat In bed?” you ask--well, as to that I cannot say, I never saw him, But that’s the way _I_ always draw him.
II
The thing that Germans most admire Is Crownie’s coolness under fire. He loves to watch it gleam and glow ’Mid fragrant smoke, an inch or so Above his nose as he reclines In some Château behind the lines; If the Crown Prince had his desire He would be _always_ under fire!
III
When you or I get up at eight We do not have to cogitate And rack our brains concerning just Which suit to wear, as Princes must; The Crown Prince has a hundred suits, Including hats and belts and boots, Yet such his master-mind, he knows Which he must wear and just what goes With what, which chevron, sash or sword, Each in his Royal Head is stored, Down to the detail of a spur, All in a Nut-shell, as it were!
IV
Here is a most uncensored sight! The Prince, in garb Pre-Adamite Taking (but tell it not in Gath) A good old English shower-bath!
V
The Prince’s shy and shrinking habit Has earned for him the nickname “Rabbit.” This irritates His Highness more Than all his country’s grief and gore, It hurts his _amour propre_, for it’s A clear case of the “Cap that fits.” But don’t you think, however funny, It’s rather rough upon the Bunny?
CAMOUFLAGE
If you can stand upon one spot And look like something you are not And wouldn’t if you could be--say A Bean-bag or a Bale of Hay-- You’ll find it quite a useful stunt To practise on the Western Front; This picture shows how Private Dunne, Disguised as snow, deceived the Hun, Who could not possibly see through The Camouflage: no more can you!
THE TANK
The Tank’s a kind of cross between An Agricultural Machine And something fierce and Pliocene; Over embankments, trees, and walls, Trenches, barbed-wire, and forts it crawls; Nothing can stay its course--the Tank Has not the least respect for Rank Or File; with equal joy it squashes All things alike, men, beasts, and--Boches.
THE BIRD-MAN
The Bird-man does not chirp and sing As Larks and Robins do in Spring, He does not moult nor does he feed On Earthworms or Canary-seed,
Nor does the Bird-man build a nest In which his weary wings to rest; At night, instead, when he goes home To roost, he seeks an Aërodrome.
FRENZYLOGICAL CHART
1. Humanity. 2. Veneration. 3. Love of Nature. 4. Modesty. 5. Imagination. 6. Generosity. 7. Compassion. 8. Sympathy. 9. Chivalry. 10. Integrity. 11. Love of Children.
BRITANNIA SALVATRIX
Mistress of the Trident dread, With the brow of Artemis, Like Minerva, helmeted, Seven Seas her sandals kiss.
Throbs a mighty heart withal Beneath her armour of Disdain. Not for naught did Belgium call, Servia has not cried in vain.
When the gauge of Hate was hurled, Seven seas at her behest, From the corners of the world Brought the bravest and the best.
From the utmost ends of earth, On their tireless waves they bore, To the Europe of their birth, Legions of the land and air,
Spurning Peace, till Peace has brought Hohenzollern to his fall, And with the blood of Freemen bought A Place in Freedom’s Sun for all.
FATHER WILHELM
_To the Tune of Lewis Carroll_
“You are old, Father Wilhelm,” the Crown Prince said, “And the hair’s growing thin on your pate; Do you think you are perfectly right in your head-- The way you’ve been acting of late?”
“In my youth,” Father Wilhelm replied to his son, “I hated my honour to stain But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old,” said the Prince, “and you’re getting quite bent, And rheumatic, yet only just now, You turned a back somersault into your tent-- Pray why did you do it, and how?”
“In my youth,” Kaiser Wilhelm replied to the Prince, “I kept all my muscles in training; And I’ve practised one thing that I learned, ever since-- And that’s to go in when it’s raining.”
“You are old,” said the Prince, “and your head is too light For anything stronger than water; Yet you talk without ceasing from morning till night; Do you think, at your age, that you oughter?”
“In my youth,” said the Kaiser, “I lived upon raw Spanish onions, I ate with my knife; And the strength that those onions gave to my jaw Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the Kronprins, “and one would suppose, You would be just a little more humble; Yet you balance your crown on the end of your nose. Aren’t you frightened some day it will tumble?”
“Your questions, my boy, are getting too free,” The Kaiser with anger protested-- “Your impudence borders on _Lésé Majesté_; Be off, or I’ll have you arrested.”
THE TOUCHING BALLAD OF GENERAL VON BEERS
_To the Tune of W. S. Gilbert_
Major Fritz-Schinkenwurst Hofbrau Von Beers Was the pride and the joy of the Pruss Grenadiers. You’ve guessed him a Prussian, shrewd reader, at sight, And a glance at his manners will prove you are right.
In his fervour for “Frightfulness” Major Von Beers Acknowledged no betters and precious few peers. And every one envied his well-earned repute For arson and pillage and rapine and loot.
No symphony held such delectable tones For the ears of Von Beers as the shrieks and the groans Of women and children bombarded with shell, Or the crash of a hospital tumbling pell-mell.
One day from Berlin came the order “Refrain For the present from Frightfulness. Start Press Campaign. Von Bernstorff has wired we’re getting in wrong With the Yankees, so play up HUMANITY strong.”
Loud, loud were the wailings of Hofbrau Von Beers. But duty is duty, so drying his tears, He purchased a volume by Peter F. Dunne On “How to be Civilised, though you’re a Hun.”
He swatted up Honour, and Peace and Good-will For a year seven months and a fortnight until, You’ll scarcely believe it, that Hun I declare Acquired a sort of a civilised air.
It was balky, spasmodic and apt to take flight When a press correspondent was nowhere in sight. It was clumsy, uncertain and crude, I’m aware, Yet distinctly suggested a civilised air.
He started at once a colossal campaign And filled correspondents with fibs and champagne, And the press correspondents all voted Von Beers A prince of good fellows, ’mid deafening cheers.
Thenceforth when a soldier forgot to salute, Von Beers would use kindness instead of his boot. And he lectured a laggard he’d rather have shot, If a newspaper man chanced to be on the spot.
If a sentinel, smoking, he happened to catch, Instead of a hiding he gave him a match. A caress took the place of a clout on the ear, That is, when a war correspondent was near.
He distributed photos of Godfearing Huns Feeding babies with Beef Broth, Bananas and Buns, And snapshots of Willie that caught his gay glance And others depicting him weeping for France.
The fame of Von Hofbrau spread over the land, And rich Lady nurses proposed for his hand,
And the Kaiser, All Highest, ’mid deafening tears Pinned a cast-iron Halo on Major Von Beers.
AN IMPERIAL SNEEZE
_A Sniffle in One Act_
CHARACTERS
The GERMAN EMPEROR ...
_Others not to be mentioned in the same cast._
SCENE
A luxurious dressing room adjoining the Emperor’s Bedroom.
TIME
_This morning. The Emperor is discovered standing before a Cheval Glass. He is dressed in what is known as “Athletic Underwear,” with plain black socks, upheld by Boston Garters._
EMPEROR: It is not often that one sees An Emperor in B. V. D.’s.
_A knock is heard on the door._
EMPEROR: Herein!
_A high officer enters with a telegram._ A wire?
OFFICER: Yes, Sire, a wire!
EMPEROR: _Tears open envelope._ You may retire.
_Reads_
Von Hindenburg has wired to say Our noble troops have won the day Captured a Russian Samovar And several tons of caviar Vodka a fabulous amount And Droskys more than we can count The greatest battle of the war, Won by the Fourteenth Army Corps All honour to the Lord therefore, Likewise the Fourteenth Army Corps.
CHORUS OF OFFICERS: All honour to the Lord therefore, Not to speak of the Fourteenth Army Corps.
EMPEROR: The Lord Be Praised! This cheering news Will cure my cold and banish my blues. I haven’t felt anything like so well Since my gallant Navy with shot and shell Bombarded the Scarborough Infant School And the Orphan Asylum at Hartlepool.
CHORUS OF OFFICERS: He hasn’t felt anything like so well Since the Babes were bombarded with shot and shell.
EMPEROR: Enough! Enough! Less cheering please With my nervous system it disagrees. Alas! My joy Is not without alloy.
_Looks at telegram sadly._ Oh wretched me! On this glorious day When I should have been in the thick of the fray I lay in bed With a cold in my head: Hot water bottles, Quinine and Squills Mustard Plasters, and Camphor Pills. And when they tell of this victory They do not so much as mention ME! While peans of praise and plaudits pour On the Lord--and the Fourteenth Army Corps!
_Weeps._
_Enter chorus of Highborn Lady Nurses bearing clinical thermometers._
FIRST NURSE: Oh Sire we entreat!
SECOND NURSE: This is most indiscreet!
THIRD NURSE: A temperature we dread--
FOURTH NURSE: Oh _please_ go back to bed--
FIRST NURSE: Please do as you are told, You have an awful cold.
EMPEROR: _Furious._ A cold!!
NURSE: I meant to say Broncho-Pneumonia.
EMPEROR: Mine was no common plebeian ill, ’Twas a Pneumo-Psycho-Bronchial chill According to my medical adviser I caught it when I walked upon the Yser.
NURSE: You walked!
EMPEROR: I should have said I tried-- You see it was high tide And I was much annoyed To find the bridge destroyed. But never at a loss I tried to walk across.
_Angrily_
But by the Eternal One I swear it can’t be done And never was----
_Stops suddenly and makes as if about to sneeze. Nurses regard him apprehensively._
_Emperor sneezes._
FIRST NURSE: Ach! Himmel! what a sneeze!
SECOND NURSE: Oh Sire! Please!----
THIRD NURSE: Oh _please_!
FOURTH NURSE: Your cold’s gone to your head!
ALL TOGETHER: You MUST go back to bed!
_They seize the Emperor and pull him, struggling, through the door leading to the bedroom._
EMPEROR: Nein! Nein! Unhand me, wenches! My place is in the trenches.
_Enter High Officer._