Confessions of a Caricaturist

Excerpt

William Dean Howells

Not squirrels in the park alone
His love and winter-kindness own.
When Literary Fledglings try
Their wings, in first attempt to fly,
They flutter down to Franklin Square,
Where Howells in his "Easy Chair"
Like good Saint Francis scatters crumbs
Of Hope, to each small bird that comes.
And since Bread, cast upon the main,
Must to the giver come again,
I tender now, long overtime,
This humble Crumb of grateful rhyme.
(See )

I like to draw Napoleon best
Because one hand is in his vest,
The other hand behind his back.
(For drawing hands I have no knack.)

Dante

If you should ask me, whether Dante
Drank Benedictine or Chianti,
I should reply, "I cannot say,
But I can draw him either way."

The ways of Providence are odd.
IfTheodoremeans "The Gift of God,"
Let us give thanks, at any rate,
The Gift was not a duplicate.

Rudyard Kipling

I seem to see a Shining One,
With eyes that gleam, now fierce, now tender,
Through Goggles that reflect the Sun
"With more than Oriental Splendor";
I see him sitting on a chest
Heavy with padlocks, bolts, and cording,
Where Untold Treasures hidden rest,
Treasures of Untold Yarns he's hoarding.
Oh, Rudyard, please unlock that chest!
With hope deferred we're growing hoary;
Or was it all an empty jest
Your saying, "That's another story"?

When Paderewski is forgot,
Our children's children, like as not,
Will worship in the Hall of Fame,
Some great piano-maker's name.

Daniel Frohman

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

And now comes Dr. Eliot stating
That Hell won't bear investigating.
It looks like Charlie's out to bust
The Great Hell-Fire Insurance Trust.

J. Pierpont Morgan

In Rome, when Morgan came to town,
They nailed the Colosseum down.
A great Collector! Once his Fad
Was Coins, but when in time he had
Collected all the coin in sight,
To Europe's Art his thoughts took flight.
But let not Europe palpitate
For fear of an Art Syndicate.
There are more Rembrandts, strange to say,
Than ever were in Rembrandt's day;
And statues "planted" in the sand
Will always equal the demand.

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

Guglielmo Marconi

I like Marconi best to see
Beneath a Macaroni tree
Playing that Nocturne in F Sharp
By Chopin, on a Wireless Harp.

The very name of Bernard Shaw
Fills me with mingled Mirth and Awe.
Mixture of Mephistopheles,
Don Quixote, and Diogenes,
The Devil's wit, the Don's Romance
Joined to the Cynic's arrogance.
Framed on Pythagorean plan,
A Vegetable Souperman.
Here you may see him crown with bay
The Greatest Playwright of his day;
Observe the look of Self Distrust
And Diffidence—upon the bust....