Fables for the Frivolous | Page 3

the target, bathed in blood,

Lurched, and lunged, and fell to _terra
Firma_, landing with a thud.
"Bird of freedom," quoth the urchin,
With an unrelenting frown,

"You shall decorate a perch in
The menagerie in town;
But of
feathers quite a cluster
I shall first remove for Ma:
Thanks to you,
she'll have a duster
For her precious objets d'art."
And THE MORAL is that pride is
The precursor of a fall.
Those
beneath you to deride is
Not expedient at all.
Howsoever meek and
humble
Your inferiors may be,
They perchance may make you
tumble,
So respect them. Q. E. D.
THE ICONOCLASTIC RUSTIC
AND
THE APROPOS ACORN

Reposing 'neath some spreading trees,
A populistic bumpkin

Amused himself by offering these
Reflections on a pumpkin:
"I
would not, if the choice were mine,
Grow things like that upon a vine,

For how imposing it would be
If pumpkins grew upon a tree."
Like other populists, you'll note,
Of views enthusiastic,
He'd
learned by heart, and said by rote
A creed iconoclastic;
And in his
dim, uncertain sight
Whatever wasn't must be right,
From which it
follows he had strong
Convictions that what was, was wrong.
As thus he sat beneath an oak
An acorn fell abruptly
And smote his
nose: whereat he spoke
Of acorns most corruptly.
"Great Scott!" he
cried. "The Dickens!" too,
And other authors whom he knew,
And
having duly mentioned those,
He expeditiously arose.
Then, though with pain he nearly swooned,
He bathed his organ nasal

With arnica, and soothed the wound
With extract of witch hazel;

And surely we may well excuse
The victim if he changed his views:

"If pumpkins fell from trees like that,"
He murmured, "Where
would I be at?"
Of course it's wholly clear to you
That when these words he uttered

He proved conclusively he knew
Which side his bread was buttered;

And, if this point you have not missed,
You'll learn to love this
populist,
The only one of all his kind
With sense enough to change
his mind.
THE MORAL: In the early spring
A pumpkin-tree would be a thing

Most gratifying to us all,
But how about the early fall?
THE UNUSUAL GOOSE
AND
THE IMBECILIC WOODCUTTER

A woodcutter bought him a gander,
Or at least that was what he
supposed,
As a matter of fact, 'twas a slander
As a later occurrence
disclosed;
For they locked the bird up in the garret
To fatten, the
while it grew old,
And it laid there a twenty-two carat
Fine egg of
the purest of gold!
There was much unaffected rejoicing
In the home of the woodcutter
then,
And his wife, her exuberance voicing,
Proclaimed him most
lucky of men.
"'Tis an omen of fortune, this gold egg,"
She said,
"and of practical use,
For this fowl doesn't lay any old egg,
She's a
highly superior goose."
Twas this creature's habitual custom,
This laying of superfine eggs,

And they made it their practice to dust 'em
And pack them by dozens
in kegs:
But the woodcutter's mind being vapid
And his foolishness
more than profuse,
In order to get them more rapid
He slaughtered
the innocent goose.
He made her a gruel of acid
Which she very obligingly ate,
And at
once with a touchingly placid
Demeanor succumbed to her fate.

With affection that passed the platonic
They buried her under the
moss,
And her epitaph wasn't ironic
In stating, "We mourn for our
loss."
And THE MORAL: It isn't much use,
As the woodcutter found to be
true,
To lay for an innocent goose
Just because she is laying for
you.
THE RUDE RAT
AND
THE UNOSTENTATIOUS OYSTER
Upon the shore, a mile or more
From traffic and confusion,
An
oyster dwelt, because he felt
A longing for seclusion;
Said he: "I

love the stillness of
This spot. It's like a cloister."
(These words I
quote because, you note,
They rhyme so well with oyster.)
A prying rat, believing that
She needed change of diet,
In search of
such disturbed this muchTo
-be-desired quiet.
To say the least, this
tactless beast
Was apt to rudely roister:
She tapped his shell, and
called him--well,
A name that hurt the oyster.
"I see," she cried, "you're open wide,
And, searching for a reason,

September's here, and so it's clear
That oysters are in season."
She
smiled a smile that showed this style
Of badinage rejoiced her,

Advanced a pace with easy grace,
And sniffed the silent oyster.
The latter's pride was sorely tried,
He thought of what he could say,

Reflected what the common lot
Of vulgar molluscs would say;

Then caught his breath, grew pale as death,
And, as his brow turned
moister,
Began to close, and nipped her nose!
Superb, dramatic
oyster!
We note with joy that oi polloi,
Whom maidens bite the thumb at,

Are apt to try some weak reply
To things they should be dumb at.

THE MORAL, then, for crafty men
Is: When a maid has voiced her

Contemptuous heart, don't think you're smart,
But shut up--like the
oyster.
THE URBAN RAT
AND
THE SUBURBAN RAT
A metropolitan rat invited
His country cousin in town to dine:
The
country cousin replied, "Delighted."
And signed himself, "Sincerely
thine."
The town rat treated the country cousin
To half a dozen

Kinds of wine.
He served him terrapin, kidneys devilled,
And roasted partridge, and
candied fruit;
In