Grimm Tales Made Gay Part 7

I could fill up half the page With descriptions of her rage-- (I _might_ say that she went a bit _too fur_!) When he smiled and murmured: "Shoo!"

"There is one thing I can do!"

She answered with a wrathful kind of purr.

"You may shoo me, and it suit you, But I feel my conscience bid Me, as t.i.t for tat, to boot you!"

(Which she did.)

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_The Moral_ of the plot (Though I say it, as should not!) Is: An editor is difficult to suit.

But again there're other times When the man who fashions rhymes Is a rascal, and a bully one to boot!

_How Much Fortunatus Could Do with a Cap_

Fortunatus, a fisherman Dane, Set out on a sudden for Spain, Because, runs the story, He'd met with a h.o.a.ry Mysterious sorcerer chap, Who, trouble to save him, Most thoughtfully gave him A magical traveling cap.

I barely believe that the story is true, But here's what that cap was reported to do.

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Suppose you were sitting at home, And you wished to see Paris or Rome, You'd pick up that bonnet, You'd carefully don it, The name of the city you'd call, And the very next minute By Jove, you were in it, Without having started at all!

One moment you sauntered on upper Broadway, And the next on the Corso or rue de la Paix!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _This shows Fortunatus, a restlessness feeling, Forsaking his fishing, and leaving his ceiling._]

Why, it beat every journey of Cook's, Knocked spots out of Baedeker's books!

He stepped from his doorway Direct into Norway, He hopped in a trice to Ceylon, He saw Madagascar, Went round by Alaska, And called on a girl in Luzon: If they said she'd be down in a moment or two, He took, while he waited, a peek at Peru!

He could wake up at eight in Siam, Take his tub, if he wanted, in Guam.

Eat breakfast in Kansas, And lunch in Matanzas, Go out for a walk in Brazil, Take tea in Madeira, Dine on the Riviera, And smoke his cigar in Seville, Go out to the theatre in Vladivostok, And retire in New York at eleven o'clock!

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Every tongue he could readily speak: French, German, Italian, Greek, Norwegian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Bavarian, j.a.panese, Hindustanee, Russian and Mexican!

He was a lexicon, Such as you seldom will see.

His knowledge linguistic gave Ollendorff fits, And brought a hot flush to the face of Berlitz!

He would bow in an intimate way To Menelik and to Loubet, He was frequently beckoned, By William the Second, A word of advice to receive, He talked with bravado About the Mikado, King Oscar, Oom Paul, the Khedive, King Victor Emmanuel Second, the Shah, King Edward the Seventh, Kw.a.n.g Su, and the Czar!

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But what did he get from it all?

His wife used to wait in the hall!

When this wandering mortal Set foot on the portal, She always appeared on the scene, And, far from ideally, Remarked: "Well, I _really_ Would like to know where you have been!"

Now what is the good of a wandering life, If you have to tell all that you do to your wife?

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She'd indulge in a copious cry, She'd remark she'd undoubtedly die, Or, like many another, Go back to her mother, And what would the world think of _that_?

She only grew pleasant, When offered a present Of gloves or a gown or a hat: And more than his talisman saved him in fare Fortunatus expended in putting things square!

And _The Moral_ is easily said: Like our hero, you're certain to find, When such a cap goes on a head, Retribution will follow behind!

_How a Princess Was Wooed from Habitual Sadness_

In days of old the King of Saxe Had singular opinions, For with a weighty battle-axe He brutalized his minions, And, when he'd nothing to employ His mind, he chose a village, And with an air of savage joy Delivered it to pillage.

But what aroused within his breast A rage well-nigh primeval Was, most of all, his daughter, dressed In fashion mediaeval: The gowns that pleased this maiden's eye Were simple as Utopia, And for a hat she had a high Inverted cornucopia.

In all her life she'd never smiled, Her sadness was abysmal: The boisterous monarch found his child Unutterably dismal.

He therefore said the prince who made Her laughter from its sh.e.l.l come, Besides in ducats being paid, Might wed the girl, and welcome!

I ought to say, ere I forget, She was uncommon comely-- (Who ever read a Grimm tale yet, In which the girl was homely?) And so the King's announcement drew Nine princes in a column.

But all in vain. The princess grew, If anything, more solemn.

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One read her "Innocents Abroad,"

The next wore clothes eccentric, The third one swallowed half his sword, As in the circus-tent trick.

Thus eight of them into her cool Reserve but deeper shoved her: There was but one authentic fool-- The prince who really loved her!

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He'd alternate between the height Of hope and deep abas.e.m.e.nt, He caught distressing colds at night, By watching 'neath her cas.e.m.e.nt: He did what I have done, I know, And you, I do not doubt it,-- Instead of bottling up his woe, He bored his friends about it!

In brooding on the ways of Fate Long hours he daily wasted, His food remained upon his plate, 'Twas scarcely touched or tasted: He said the bitter things of love, All lovers, save a few, say, And learned by heart the verses of Swinburne, and A. de Musset!

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This att.i.tude his wished-for bride To silent laughter goaded, Until he talked of suicide, And then the girl exploded!

"You make me laugh, and so," she said, "I'll marry you next season."

(Not half the people who are wed Have half so good a reason!)

_The Moral_: The deliberate clown Can never beat love's barriers down: 'Tis better to be like the owl, Comic because so grave a fowl.

From him we well may take our cue-- By him be taught, to wit, to woo!

_How a Girl was too Reckless of Grammar by Far_