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 "To Stern Critics 
 
 Here's to stern Critics! 
 
 May they some day learn 
 The forward lookout's 
 
 Better than the stern! 
 
Here's to her shadow! 
 May it mark the hours 
 
 Upon the sundial of her life- 
 in flowers! 
 
,jrfC^i^^?=V, 
 
 %J^ 
 
 --%/: 
 
 c^i^i^^ 
 
 HAPPY DAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER HERFORD 
 
 AND 
 
 JOHN CECIL CLAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MITCHELL KENNERLEY 
 
^^""^K^ 
 
 6^/ y,^ x*^" 
 
 /^' V 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I917, BY 
 M I T C H E L I. K E N N E R L E Y 
 
 y^/> 
 
 NOV 21 1917 
 
 THE-PLIMPTON- PRESS 
 NORWOOD-MASS- U-S-A 
 
 0aA477666 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To Stern Critics 3 
 
 To Her Shadow 4 
 
 To Fashion 9 
 
 To THE Typewriter ii 
 
 The Floor 12 
 
 To Music 15 
 
 To THE Publisher 17 
 
 Here's Looking 19 
 
 The Dove of Peace 21 
 
 To THE Clock 23 
 
 To Hope 25 
 
 To Liberty 27 
 
 Stairs: A Toast 29 
 
 To Lady Nicotine 31 
 
 Oh, Editor, Editor! 33 
 
 To the Creditor 35 
 
 To Neptune 37 
 
 To THE Waiter ." 39 
 
 To Temptation 41 
 
 To the Maid with Fancy Free 43 
 
 To Our Sweethearts 45 
 
 To Our Readers 46 
 
^*^ 
 
 fr I 
 
 FASHION! Lovely Dame! 
 Pledge in sparkling wine ! 
 Let us add her name 
 To the Muses' nine I 
 
 THOUGH the lovely Nin 
 All should pass away 
 Why should IVoman pine^ 
 If but Fashion stay ? 
 
 TUO' the Muses lore 
 Molder on the shelf ^ 
 Still may She adore 
 
 In Fashion s glass — Herself 
 
 ' T i'r\^ 
 
 ■'i.-J^- 
 
 ■h. 
 
To 
 
 The Typewriter 
 
 Here's to the Typewriter! 
 
 Health to her type! 
 Whether hlond or brunette 
 
 Or budding or ripe. 
 If she be the right type 
 
 Be she buxom or sUght, 
 When she doesn't type wrong 
 
 She is sure to typewrite. 
 
^%;;,,,,-i««»-''''***^r 
 
 THE FLOOR 
 
 TTERE'S to the floor, 
 
 Our best friend of all, 
 Who sticks to us close 
 
 In the time of our fall. 
 When benches are fickle 
 
 And tables betray 
 And rugs are revolving, 
 
 He meets us half-way. 
 Our stay and support. 
 
 When we can't stand alone, 
 
With the floor for a backer, 
 
 We'll never be thrown. 
 Here's to our friend, 
 
 In life's every stage! 
 Dry nurse of infancy, 
 
 Wet nurse of age! 
 A health to our floor! 
 
 Supporter and stay; 
 Though he often be full, 
 
 May he never give way! 
 
 %=^ 
 
 
To 
 
 M u sic 
 
 Here's to Music, 
 
 Joy of joys! 
 One man's music's 
 
 Another man's noise. 
 
.-j^*-,/'?^. 
 
 
 V" 
 
 ^O THE Publisher!— Brink! 
 
 Let his virtue be shown 
 In the Good Works of others 
 If not in his own. 
 
 TO 
 THE PUBLISHER 
 
 v-2„»-X., 
 
 ^"■"viiSa^ 
 
^%J"==^ 
 
 0im^^ 
 
 Here's looking 
 ) at you^ dear ! 
 
 ' though I should pour 
 
 A sea of wine^ 
 ^ my eyes would 
 
 I . thirst for more. 
 
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TJERE'S to the Dove of Peace! 
 May she find a mate some dc 
 And may her tribe i?icrease 
 As fast as she can lay ! 
 
 \^/ ITH cooing doves galore 
 
 Then ?nay the sky he dark 
 Until the Dogs of War 
 Cant see each other bark I 
 
 l~^~^^'\y (^:r= 
 
HERE'S /^ the Clock! 
 Whose hands ^ we pray heaven^ 
 When we come home at three, 
 Have stopped at eleven! 
 
 I.,. 
 
 i^-^ 
 
 TO 
 THE CLOCK 
 
 i 
 
 c 
 
/ 
 
 // '/^"/C^'C 
 
Here's to Hope^ 
 
 the child of Care^ 
 And pretty sister 
 
 of Despair ! 
 Here s hoping that 
 
 Hope s children shan t 
 Take afer 
 
 their Grandma 
 or Aunt ! 
 
 
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 To Liberty 
 
 Here's ^o our Goddess^ Liberty, 
 Idol of bronze and stone! 
 
 May she awake to life some day 
 And let her char??is be known. 
 
 
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^ Stairs 
 
 A TOAST 
 
 Here's to the man who 
 invented stairs 
 And taught our feet 
 to soar! 
 He was the first who 
 ever hurst 
 Into a second fioor. 
 
 The world would he 
 downstairs to-day 
 Had he not found 
 the key ; 
 So let his name go 
 down to famey 
 \^ Whatever it may be. 
 
 V 
 
 r^c 
 
£ 
 
 ,r' 
 
 ■%, 
 
 ■^ 
 
^.r^ 
 
 M^ 
 
 To 
 
 Our Lady Nicotine 
 
 Here's to Lady Nicotine! 
 Saint and Sorceress 
 
 and ^een ! 
 Saint ^ whose purple 
 
 halo riyigs 
 Lift our eyes from 
 
 earthly things; 
 JVitch, whose wand of 
 
 scented briar 
 Transmutes dead weeds 
 
 to fragrant fire ; 
 ^een, whose rod her slaves adore ! 
 What can freedom ojfer 7nore? 
 
 ^__^ 
 

OH, EDITOR, EDITOR, 
 Awful and grand, 
 Who holdest our fate 
 
 In the palm of thy hand. 
 Dost ever reflect 
 
 How one day thy ghost 
 To an Editor awfler 
 
 And grander will post ? 
 Before him a great 
 
 Golden scroll is spread wide, 
 And a bottomless waste-basket 
 
 Tawns at his side. 
 With a sivift searching glance 
 
 He reads through thy soul. 
 Then he looks at the basket , 
 
 Then looks at the scroll; 
 He purses his lips 
 
 And nibbles his pen. 
 And frowns for one long 
 
 Awful moment — and then — 
 Oh, Editor ! — think I if thy 
 
 Poor crumpled soul 
 Fall into the basket 
 
 And not in the scroll! 
 
 'V 
 
 € 
 
 Na^Woi^ 
 
( 
 
 / 
 
 '^y 
 
T" h e Creditor 
 
 Here's to the Creditor, 
 
 Long may he reign! 
 May his Faith never waver, 
 
 His Trust never wane. 
 May the Lord make him gentle 
 
 And gracious and gay, 
 Yet quick to resent 
 
 The least offer of pay : 
 May he soften his heart 
 
 As he softened, we're told. 
 To the Israelite's * touch,' 
 
 The Egyptian of old; 
 And when on his last 
 
 Long account he shall look, 
 The angel will say 
 
 As he closes the book: 
 "The Lord gives you Credit 
 
 For Credit you gave 
 
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 3^S 
 
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A HEALTH to King Neptune, 
 
 The boss of the wave! 
 Who sits on the Ocean 
 
 And makes it behave. 
 Come Jill up your bu?npers 
 
 And take a long pull! 
 When he's calm he's not dry — 
 
 When he rolls, he s not full. 
 
 r Whether sober or rough. 
 He's always a sport. 
 And we'll never stop toasting hi?n 
 
 Till we're in port. 
 A jolly old salt. 
 
 Though he smile or he frown. 
 So here's to King Neptune! 
 Fill up! Drink her down! 
 
 L 
 
 /Z 
 
 ZP 
 
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 ^4. 
 
 
 VITE Y^^V^Y. your health, O Waiter! 
 
 ' ^ And may you be preserved 
 From old age, gout , or sudden death! — 
 At least till supper s served. 
 
 TO 
 THE WAITER 
 
 
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Here's to 
 
 temptation ! 
 Give us strength 
 
 and grace 
 Against her 
 
 witching smiley 
 To set our face! 
 
 ^, 
 
Here's to the maid 
 with Fancy Free; 
 If Cupid' s 
 necromancy 
 Imprison not 
 her hearty maybe^ 
 It will arrest 
 her Fancy. 
 
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To our Sweethearts 
 
 and Wives^ 
 The joy of our 
 
 lives ! 
 May our Wives be 
 
 our Sweethearts— 
 Our Sweethearts^ 
 our Wives. 
 
r'^S?5t<5^^ife^ 
 
 'To Our Readers 
 
 m 
 
 Here's to our Readers, Health! 
 good Looks! 
 And Joy ^id infinitum 
 And may they live to read 
 our Books 
 As long as we may write *em. 
 
 

 
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 ^ DEC 88 
 
 N. MANCHESTER, 
 INDIANA 46962