The Laughing Willow - Oliver Herford - ebook
Opis

Oliver Herford, a writer, artist, and illustrator, was born in Sheffield, England on December 2, 1860 (not 1863, as is widely stated) to Rev. Brooke Herford and Hannah Hankinson Herford. Oliver's father, Brooke, was a Unitarian minister who moved the family to Chicago in 1876 and to Boston in 1882. Oliver attended Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio from 1877 to 1879. Later he studied art at the Slade School in London and the Académie Julien in Paris. Afterward, he moved to New York, where he lived until his death. He has been called "The American Oscar Wilde".[citation needed][1] As a frequent contributor to The Mentor, Life, and Ladies' Home Journal, he sometimes signed his artwork as "O Herford". In 1906 he wrote and illustrated the Little Book of Bores. He also wrote short poems like "The Chimpanzee" and "The Hen", as well as writing and illustrating "The Rubaiyat of a Persian Kitten" (1904) and "Excuse It Please" (1930). His sister Beatrice Herford was also a humorist (font: Wikipedia)

Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:

Androidzie
iOS
czytnikach certyfikowanych
przez Legimi
Windows
10
Windows
Phone

Liczba stron: 49

Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostepny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacjach Legimi na:

Androidzie
iOS

UUID: 5fffe5a6-0a66-11e8-91db-17532927e555
Questo libro è stato realizzato con StreetLib Writehttp://write.streetlib.com

Indice dei contenuti

EPITAPHS

THE TRUTH ABOUT RUSSIA

THE AIR RAID

VALE DIABOLE

THE WRONG FLOOR

MARCHING TO BERLIN

TARGET PRACTICE

THE SAUSAGE BALLOON

CONCERNING THE CROWN PRINCE

CAMOUFLAGE

THE TANK

THE BIRD-MAN

FRENZYLOGICAL CHART

BRITANNIA SALVATRIX

FATHER WILHELM

THE TOUCHING BALLAD OF GENERAL VON BEERS

AN IMPERIAL SNEEZE

THE RUBAIYAT OF BILLI KAISAM

WAR RELIEF

SUMMER MASS

ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET

ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET

J. M. BARRIE

THE HORSE

THE TOWN CAT

TOWSER

THE OYSTER

THE MOUSE

CURTAIN

PEOPLE I HAVE NOT MET

PEOPLE I HAVE NOT MET

THE TURTLE

MICHAEL O’LEARY

CLORINDA

ALCIBIADES J. SKINNER

EVE

THE HIGHBROW HEN

SIR IPPYKIN

THE PSYCHOLOGY COP

PHYLLIS LEE

MRS. SEYMOUR FENTOLIN

THE DEVIL AMONG THE LADIES

SPRING

THE CATFISH

THE PRODIGAL CENTIPEDE

A BALLADE OF BLACK SOCKS

OTHER PEOPLE INCLUDING MARK TWAIN

OTHER PEOPLE INCLUDING MARK TWAIN

THE GENTLEMAN OF LETTERS

THE WOMEN OF THE BETTER CLASS

MARK TWAIN

PRINCE POMPOM

THE SERIAL

THE CLOUD

To see the Kaiser’s epitaph

Would make a weeping willow laugh.

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.