Oliver Herford

A USE-FUL les-son you may con, My Child, from the Cha-me-le-on: He has the gift, ex-treme-ly rare

The Kitten mews outside the Door, The Cat-bird in the Tree, The Sea-mew mews upon the Shore,

SEE, chil-dren, the mis-guid-ed Mole. He lives down in a deep, dark hole; Sweet-ness, and Light, and good Fresh Air

THE Pen-guin sits up-on the shore And loves the lit-tle fish to bore; He has one en-er-vat-ing joke

SEE, chil-dren, the Fur-bear-ing Seal; Ob-serve his mis-di-rect-ed zeal: He dines with most ab-ste-mi-ous care

It's very nice to think of how In every country lives a Cow To furnish milk with all her might

THE con-sci-en-tious art-ist tries On-ly to draw what meets his eyes. This is the Whale; he seems to be

A's Albert Edward, well meaning but flighty, Who invited King Arthur, the blameless and mighty, To meet Alcibiades and Aphrodite.

AN Arc-tic Hare we now be-hold. The hair, you will ob-serve, is white; But if you think the Hare is old,

A Birdie cocked his little head, Winked his eye at me and said, "Say, are you a Pussy Willer,

THIS is an Os-trich. See him stand: His head is bur-ied in the sand. It is not that he seeks for food,

When I grow up I mean to be A Lion large and fierce to see. I'll mew so loud that Cook in fright

'Tis very comforting to know That every other day or so A Book by Bennett will appear

I'd best beware how I make free With Brander Matthews L. L. D. Since Prexy Wilson's paved the way

Dear Reader, should you chance to go To Hades, do not fail to throw A "Sop to Cerberus" at the gate,

And now comes Dr. Eliot stating That Hell won't bear investigating. It looks like Charlie's out to bust

Columbus is an easy one To draw, for when the picture's done, Where is the captious critic who

I |Scene|: A wayside shrine in France. |Persons|: Celeste, Pierre, a Cloud.

I love to picture Daniel Frohman In costume of a noble Roman. For Dan has just the style of hair,

If you should ask me, whether Dante Drank Benedictine or Chianti, I should reply, "I cannot say,

Behold Belasco in his den, Wielding the scissors, paste and pen, And writing with consummate skill

When People think that Kittens play, It's really quite the other way. For when they chase the Ball or Bobbin

In things like this I've always tried To look upon the Brighter Side; And when I see the Prince, I say

Up into the Cherry Tree, Who should climb but little me, With both my Paws I hold on tight,

Kittens large and Kittens small, Prowling on the Back Yard Wall, Though your fur be rough and few,

When Plain Folk, such as you or I, See the Sun sinking in the sky, We think it is the Setting Sun,

Somehow I always like to think Of GEORGEADE as a Summer Drink, Sparkling and cool, with just a Tang

George Bernard Shaw--Oh, yes, I know I did him not so long ago. But then, you see, I like to do

The very name of Bernard Shaw Fills me with mingled Mirth and Awe. Mixture of Mephistopheles,

Unless I'm very much misled, Chesterton's easier done than said. I have not seen him, but his looks

Kittens, you are very little, And your kitten bones are brittle, If you'd grow to Cats respected,

I like Marconi best to see Beneath a Macaroni tree Playing that Nocturne in F Sharp

When Hafiz saw the portrait free, By Monty Flagg, of him and me, He made remarks one can't repeat

The world is so full of a number of Mice I'm sure that we all should be happy and nice.

I once drew Ibsen, looking bored Across a deep Norwegian Fjord, And very nearly every one

Here's looking at you, dear! though I should pour

From Hiram Maxim's hair you'd think His specialty was spilling ink-- You'd never dream he'd spilt more blood

When Paderewski is forgot, Our children's children, like as not, Will worship in the Hall of Fame,

At evening when the lamp is lit, The tired Human People sit And doze, or turn with solemn looks

This picture though it is not much Like Zangwill, is not void of worth It has one true Zangwillian touch

I'm told the Artist who aspires To draw Forbes-Robertson requires A Sargent's brush. Dear me! how sad!

In Rome, when Morgan came to town, They nailed the Colosseum down. A great Collector! Once his Fad

Few faces interest me less Than Rockefeller's, I confess. 'Twould vastly better suit my whim

For Perfect Form there are but few That can compare with Mr. Drew; A Form most fittingly displayed

Here's Sargent doing the Duchess X In pink velours and pea-green checks. "It helps," says he, "to lift your Grace

When Human Folk put out the light, And think they've made it dark as night, A Pussy Cat sees every bit

Well I recall how first I met Mark Twain - an infant barely three Rolling a tiny cigarette

How did Medusa do her hair? The question fills me with despair. It must have caused her sore distress

I like to draw Napoleon best Because one hand is in his vest, The other hand behind his back.

Oh, Editor, Editor, Awful and grand, Who holdest our fate

The ancients made no end of fuss About a horse named Pegasus, A famous flyer of his time,

By the Harp "Shpeaking of Harps, sure me frind Pete Has got the Harp of Tara beat,"

Beside a Primrose 'broider'd Rill Sat Phyllis Lee in Silken Dress Whilst Lucius limn'd with loving skill

The rain is raining everywhere, Kittens to shelter fly - But Human Folk wear overshoes,

I seem to see a Shining One, With eyes that gleam, now fierce, now tender, Through Goggles that reflect the Sun

It saddens me to think Saint Paul Such lengthy letters had to scrawl. And so to make his labor lighter

Will Shakespeare, the Baconians say, Was the Belasco of his day-- Others more plausibly maintain

EV-ER-Y child who has the use Of his sen-ses knows a goose. See them un-der-neath the tree

Here's to the man who invented stairs And taught our feet to soar! He was the first who ever burst

MY child, ob-serve the use-ful Ant, How hard she works each day. She works as hard as ad-a-mant

OB-SERVE the Cat up-on this page. Phil-os-o-phers in ev-er-y age, The ver-y wis-est of the wise,

The Centaur led a double life: Two natures in perpetual strife He had, that never could agree

You'd think a lion or a snake Were quite enough one's nerves to shake; But in this classic beast we find

CHIL-DREN, be-hold the Chim-pan-zee: He sits on the an-ces-tral tree From which we sprang in ag-es gone.

If you will listen to advice You will avoid the Cockatrice-- A caution I need hardly say

The Dog is black or white or brown And sometimes spotted like a clown. He loves to make a foolish noise

HERE is the Dog.    Since time be-gan, The Dog has been the friend of MAN, The Dog loves MAN be-cause he shears

The Dolphin was, if you should wish To call him so,--the King of Fish. Though having neither gills nor scales,

Here's to the Dove of Peace! May she find a mate some day, And may her tribe increase

This is the El-e-phant, who lives With but one aim - to please. His i-vo-ry tusk he free-ly gives

Here's to the floor, Our best friend of all, Who sticks to us close

OB-SERVE, my child, the House-hold Fly, With his ex-traor-di-na-ry eye: What-ev-er thing he may be-hold

Watching a ball on the end of a string, Watching it swing back and to, Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

The Gargoyle often makes its perch On a cathedral or a church, Where, mid ecclesiastic style,

SEE the Gi-raffe; he is so tall There is not room to get him all U-pon the page. His head is high-er -

Great is the Golden Cat who treads The Blue Roof Garden o'er our heads, The never tired smiling One

It chanced that Allah, looking round, When he had made his creatures, found Half of an Eagle and a pair

They certainly contrived to raise Queer ladies in the olden days. Either the type had not been fixed,

"OH, say, what is this fearful, wild In-cor-ri-gible cuss?" "This crea-ture (don't say 'cuss,' my child;

The Hydra Hercules defied, Its nine diminished heads must hide Before the baneful modern beast

Biologists are prone to sniff At hybrids like the Hyppogriff. In evolution's plan, they say,

To call a Jinn the only thing One needed was a magic ring. You rubbed the ring and forth there came

When Mistress Peggy moves around, Her dresses make a mocking sound. "You can't catch me!" they seem to say--

THIS is the Le-o-pard, my child; His tem-per's any-thing but mild. The Le-o-pard can't change his spots,

The Lion does not move at all, Winter or Summer, Spring or Fall, He does not even stretch or yawn,

Although a Fishwife in a sense, She does not barter Fish for Pence. Fisher of Men, her Golden Nets

The Gentle Milk Jug blue and white I love with all my soul, She pours herself with all her might

No book of monsters is complete Without the Minotaur of Crete. Yet should I draw him you would quail,

THIS, Chil-dren, is the famed Mon-goos. He has an ap-pe-tite ab-struse; Strange to re-late, this crea-ture takes

The Moon is like a big round cheese That shines above the garden trees, And like a cheese grows less each night,

My Bed is like a little Bark, The hatch is battened down, And in the basket cabin dark

The Ph[oe]nix was, as you might say, The burning question of his day: The more he burned, the more he grew

OH, turn not from the hum-ble Pig, My child, or think him in-fra dig. We oft hear lit-er-a-ry men

MY child, the Duck-billed Plat-y-pus A sad ex-am-ple sets for us: From him we learn how In-de-ci-sion

When I was just a Kitten small, They gave to me a Rubber Ball To roll upon the floor.

The Puppy cannot mew or talk, He has a funny kind of walk, His tail is difficult to wag

SO this is the Rhi-no-ce-ros! I won-der why he looks so cross. Per-haps he is an-noyed a bit

Wake! for the Golden Cat has put to flight The Mouse of Darkness with his Paw of Light: Which means, in Plain and simple every-day

The Salamander made his bed Among the glowing embers red. A Fiery Furnace, to his mind,

The Satyr lived in times remote, A shape half-human and half-goat, Who, having all Man's faults combined

O wondrous worm that won the Height Of Fame by keeping out of sight! Never was known on Land or Sea

There's a funny little kitten that tries to look like me, But though I'm round and fluffy, he's as flat as flat can be; And when I try to mew to him he never makes a sound,

The Siren may be said to be The Chorus-Lady of the Sea; Tho' Mermaids claim her as their kin,

The Sloth en-joys a life of Ease; He hangs in-vert-ed from the trees, And views life up-side down.

JANUARY Now Time the harvester surveys His sorry crops of yesterdays;

She was half Lady and half cat-- What is so wonderful in that? Half of our lady friends (so say

The Unicorn 's a first-rate sort. He helps the Lion to support The royal arms of England's King

When Human Folk at Table eat, A Kitten must not mew for meat, Or jump to grab it from the Dish,

OH, yes, the Wolf is bad, it's true; But how with-out him could we do? If there were not a wolf, what good

THIS is the Yak, so neg-li-g'e: His coif-fure's like a stack of hay; He lives so far from Any-where,

The ways of Providence are odd. If THEODORE means "The Gift of God," Let us give thanks, at any rate,

Fashion! Lovely Dame! Pledge in sparkling wine! Let us add her name

Here's to her shadow! May it mark the hours Upon the sundial of her life--in flowers!

Here's to Hope, the child of Care, And pretty sister

Here's to our Goddess, Liberty, Idol of bronze and stone! May she awake to life some day

Here's to Music, Joy of joys! One man's music's

A health to King Neptune, The boss of the wave! Who sits on the Ocean

Here's to Lady Nicotine! Saint and Sorceress and Queen! Saint, whose purple halo rings

Here's to our Readers, Health! good Looks! And Joy ad infinitum And may they live to read our Books

To our Sweethearts and Wives, The joy of our lives! May our Wives be our Sweethearts--

Here's to stern Critics! May they some day learn The forward lookout's

Here's to temptation! Give us strength and grace Against her witching smile,

Here's to the Clock! Whose hands, we pray heaven, When we come home at three,

Here's to the Creditor, Long may he reign! May his Faith never waver,

Here's to the maid with Fancy Free; If Cupid's necromancy Imprison not her heart, maybe,

To The Publisher! - Drink! Let his virtue be shown In the Good Works of others

Here's to the Typewriter! Health to her type! Whether blond or brunette

We drink your health, O Waiter! And may you be preserved From old age, gout, or sudden death!--

Not squirrels in the park alone His love and winter-kindness own. When Literary Fledglings try

I'm sorry William Taft is out Of Politics; without a doubt Of all the Presidential crew

In Winter when the air is chill, And winds are blowing loud and shrill, All snug and warm I sit and purr,