Pale with excitement, Maysie accepted the hand held out to h_Cats and kittens

[Illustration:

TOOTSY WOOTSY WERNER (four months old),

In whose honor this book is published.]

[Illustration: PICTURE I.

“See, Tootsy Wootsy be’s m’ tat.”]

Werner’s

Readings and Recitations

No. 35

Cats and Kittens

[Illustration]

NEW YORK

EDGAR S. WERNER & COMPANY

[Illustration]

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Audacious Kitten.—Oliver Herford 184

Bad Peter, Bad Joe 119

Baron Grimalkin’s Death (Parody on Greene’s “Baron’s Last

Banquet”).—Will M. Carlton 126

Boy Blue and His Gun.—Nellie M. Garabraut 209

Boys’ Compositions on Cats 215

Cat and Fox (Fable) 137

Cat and Mouse 157

Cat and Painter.—Eleanor H. Porter 188

Cat and Tiger (Fable) 43

Cat Came Fiddling 42

Cat Convention.—Edna A. Foster 155

Cat Law-Suit 168

Cat-Life.—Lucy Larcom 185

Cat of Hindustan 228

Cat That Came to School (Action Poem) 32

Cat-egorical Courtship 115

Catching the Cat.—Margaret Vandegrift 254

Catkin 65

Cats (Parody on Southey’s “Cataract of Lodore”) 66

Cats.—Eve Lawless 34

Cats and Dogs.—Jerome K. Jerome 46

Cats’ and Kittens’ Opening Address 12

Cat’s Birthday Celebration.—Mrs. Gertrude Manly Jones 27

Cats’ Duet 146

Cats, Essay or Address on.—Stanley Schell 224

Cat’s Meat Man; or, Cupboard Love 267

Cats’ Merry, Merry Meeting (Action Song).—Stanley Schell 153

Cats Recognized by Cat Clubs of To-day 243

Cats’ Tea Party (Action Poem) 26

Cats’ Thanksgiving Day 38

Composite Cat.—Maria J. Hammond 241

Daisy’s Thanksgiving 212

Dame Trot and Her Cat 77

De Black Cat Crossed His Luck.—J.D. Corrothers 124

Dead Canary.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 230

Dead Kitten.—Sydney Dayre 199

Decoration of Honor.—L.E. Street 36

Dick Whittington (Song with Tableaux) 49

Dickens and His Kitten 195

Differences between Cat and Dog.—Elizabeth I. Cassin 24

Ding Dong Bell (Words only) 227

Ding Dong Bell (Song—Illustrated) 39

Dirty Kitty Cat.—Stanley Schell 194

Dishonest Cat.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 133

Doctor Tom Mew 98

Dog and Cat 218

Dogs and Cats.—Alexander Dumas 94

Down to St. Ives 207

Duel.—Eugene Field 143

Elder Johnson’s Lecture on Cats 69

Emblematic Signification of Cat 145

Every Mother’s Love the Best 150

False Kindness 79

Family Cat 97

Feline Fate.—Anna Robeson Brown 129

Five Kitty Cats 103

Girl, Cat and Custard 183

Good-for-nothing Cat 57

Gray’s Elegy on Horace Walpole’s Cat 232

Had to Eat It 219

Happy Family (Music) 165

Hodge, the Cat.—Susan Coolidge 117

Homeless Kitten (Music).—Jane Campbell 135

Homeliest Cat at the Show.—Rosalie M. Jones 20

How Pussy and Mousie Kept House.—A.C. Kish 68

How Pussy Bathes 187

How to Feed and Care for Cats.—Stanley Schell 240

In Liquor 260

In the Hay-Loft.—Helen Thayer Hutcheson 144

Intelligent Cat.—Grace Bacon Holway 35

Jet and Snowflake (Dialogue) 270

Jim Wolfe and the Cats.—Mark Twain 244

Just Plain Cat.—Jennie Pendleton Ewing 92

Kathie’s Story 100

Kind Boy.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 120

Kitten and the Falling Leaves (Action Poem).—William Wordsworth 122

Kitten and the Mouse 67

Kitten of the Regiment.—James Buckram 246

Kitten that Never Grew Old 178

Kittens’ Blind-Man’s Buff (Illustrated) 90

Kittens’ Dancing-Lesson.—Stanley Schell 179

Kittens’ Fright (Action Poem) 113

Kittens’ Promenade 74

Kitten’s View of Life.—Thomas Westwood 159

Kitty 242

Kitty at School.—Kate Ulmer 208

Kittycat and the Milkman 202

Kitty’s Lesson.—C. Grace Jerolamen 220

Lament of a Forsaken Cat.—Elizabeth Harcourt Mitchell 41

Land on Your Feet.—Sam Walter Foss 158

Language of Cats 186

Lincoln’s Motherless Kittens.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 196

Little Cat Made Fur Fly 264

Little Kittens 71

Little Kitty (Action Poem) 128

Little Pussy.—Taylor 121

Little Turncoats.—Georgia A. Peck 205

Lost Kitty 28

Lost Mittens (Illustrated) 201

Matthew Arnold’s Cat, Atossa 182

Matilda Martha May.—Fannie Rogers White 106

Me an’ Bab.—Joy Vetrepont 151

Me an’ Methuselar.—Harriet Ford 161

Mirror Cat.—Oliver Herford 30

Mischievous Cat.—Mrs. E.T. Corbett 206

Miss Edith’s Modest Request.—Bret Harte 138

Miss Kitty Manx to Sir Thomas Angora.—Mary S. Boyd 140

Miss Tabbycat’s Reception.—Elizabeth L. Gould 102

Mistress Kitty 96

Model Cat.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 271

Modest Cat’s Soliloquy 29

Mother Gray and Her Children (Music) 172

Mother Tabbyskins 82

My Cat.—Charles Baudelaire 115

My Cat and Dog.—Marori 200

My Kittens.—Olive Stevens Brown 104

My Little Gray Kitty and I 86

My Ol’ Black Cat.—Flavia Rosser 198

My Old Gray Cat and I.—Joe Lincoln 136

My Pet Cat 253

My Pussy (Music—Illustrated) 214

Naughty Pussy 233

Newsboy’s Cat; or, the Fam’ly Man.—Mrs. E.T. Corbett 213

Nobody Did It 88

Nocturnal Shot 81

Object of Love.—Mary E. Wilkins 107

Old Nursery Rhyme 78

Out for a High Time.—E. Louise Liddell 59

Outing.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 176

Pace That Kills 75

Partnership.—Margaret Vandegrift 75

Pet and Her Cat 174

Pins in Pussy’s Toes.—Harriet Beecher Stowe 40

Poet’s Lamentation for Loss of His Cat.—Joseph Green 261

Polly Pry’s Kitten (Action Poem) 55

Prince of Newfoundland; or, Only a Dog and a Kitten.—Celia Thaxter 141

Puss and Her Three Kittens.—Tom Hood 87

Puss in Mischief (Action Poem) 76

Pussy and the Mice 118

Pussy at School.—Louis B. Tisdale 171

Pussy-Cat 164

Pussy-Cat and Mouse on Thanksgiving 269

Pussy Gray’s Dinner 160

Pussy Willows 219

Pussy’s Dream 93

Pussy’s Vocal Lesson 169

Quousque Tandem, O Catiline?—A.L. Frisbie 257

Rash Young Mouse (Action Poem) 56

Ready for Breakfast (Illustrated) 101

Retired Cat.—William Cowper 236

Revenge for Poisoning a Cat 234

Robin Redbreast and Pussy-Cat 74

Sad Case.—Clara D. Bates 45

Sandy Jenkins’s Remarks on the Black Cat.—J.D. Corrothers 72

Scarum Cat.—Mary Elizabeth Stone 221

Sea-Puss.—Kate Upson Clark 170

Secret Told Pussie 80

Social Tea.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 180

Some Cat Traits 156

Southey’s Cats Write Their Master.—Robert Southey 263

Strange Mouse 239

Sunday Episode (Illustrated).—Herbert Randall 70

Tatters, the Cat.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 91

That Cat.—Ben King 78

Three Maidens Fair.—Stanley Schell 89

Three Naughty Kittens.—Isabel Frances Bellows 166

Timid Kitten.—Carolyn Wells 58

Tom.—M.T. Hart 252

Tommie 116

Toodlekins and Flip 265

Tootsy Wootsy.—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 13

Topsy 85

Troll Cat 222

Turn About 79

Two Gray Kits and the Gray Kits’ Mother 71

Two Hearts and a Kitten.—Mabel Preece 203

Two Pussy-Cats.—Ella Wheeler Wilcox 105

“Two’s Company, Three’s None.”—Mrs. Frederick W. Pender 52

Ungrateful Cat 259

Walter Savage Landor’s Favorite Cat, Chinchinillo 134

Warning (Music) 114

Watch-Cat.—Elliot Walker 248

Way You Look at It 173

We Cats (Action Song) 60

We’ve Lost Our Job.—Stanley Schell 262

What Became of the Kitten? 175

What I Want.—David L. Proudfit 258

What Puss Thinks 33

“When the Cat’s Away the Mice Will Play”

(Tableau).—Mrs. Mary L. Gaddess 167

Where Are Those Sleepy Kittens? (Action Poem) 44

Where Have You Been? 73

Where Is My Kitty? (Action Poem) 99

Why Cats Wash After Eating.—Eva J. Beede 25

Why the Cat Always Falls upon Her Feet.—Louise Jamison 211

Wisdom 233

Wise Mouse.—Mary Raymond Garretson 31

* * * * *

Conundrums—25, 119, 123, 125, 142, 156, 157, 177, 179, 183, 193, 197,

198, 207, 210, 220, 227, 235, 251.

AUTHORS.

PAGE

Bates, Clara Doty 45

Baudelaire, Charles 115

Beede, Eva J. 25

Bellows, Isabel Frances 166

Boyd, Mary S. 140

Brown, Anna Robeson 129

Brown, Olive Stevens 104

Buckram, James 246

Campbell, Jane 135

Carlton, Will M. 126

Cassin, Elizabeth I. 24

Clark, Kate Upson 170

Coolidge, Susan 117

Corbett, Mrs. E.T. 206, 213

Corrothers, J.D. 72, 124

Cowper, William 236

Dayre, Sydney 199

Dumas, Alexander 94

Ewing, Jennie Pendleton 92

Field, Eugene 143

Ford, Harriet 161

Foss, Sam Walter 158

Foster, Edna A. 155

Frisbie, A.L. 257

Gaddess, Mrs. Mary L. 167

Garabraut, Nellie M. 209

Garretson, Mary Raymond 31

Gould, Elizabeth L. 102

Green, Joseph 261

Hammond, Maria J. 241

Hart, M.T. 252

Harte, Bret 138

Herford, Oliver 30, 184

Holway, Grace Bacon 35

Hood, Tom 87

Hutcheson, Helen Thayer 144

Jamison, Louise 211

Jerolamen, C. Grace 220

Jerome, Jerome K. 46

Jones, Mrs. Gertrude M. 27

Jones, Rosalie M. 20

King, Ben 78

Kish, A.C. 68

Larcom, Lucy 185

Lawless, Eve 34

Liddell, E. Louise 59

Lincoln, Joe 136

Marori 200

Mitchell, Elizabeth H. 41

Peck, Georgia A. 205

Pender, Mrs. Frederick W. 13, 52, 91, 120, 133, 176, 180, 196,

230, 271

Porter, Eleanor H. 188

Preece, Mabel 203

Proudfit, David L. 258

Randall, Herbert 70

Rosser, Flavia 198

Schell, Stanley 89, 153, 179, 194, 224, 240, 262

Southey, Robert 263

Stone, Mary Elizabeth 221

Stowe, Harriet Beecher 40

Street, L.E. 36

Taylor 121

Thaxter, Celia 141

Tisdale, Louis B. 171

Twain, Mark 244

Ulmer, Kate 208

Vandegrift, Margaret 75, 254

Vetrepont, Joy 151

Walker, Elliot 248

Wells, Carolyn 58

Westwood, Thomas 159

White, Fannie Rogers 106

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 105

Wilkins, Mary E. 107

Wordsworth, William 122

CATS’ AND KITTENS’ OPENING ADDRESS.

Kind audience, we wish to say right here,

We’re only play cats and kittens dear.

(’Twould be absurd for cats to play

This entertainment, their parts they could not say),

For cats, you know, can only “me-you,”

And that we know is Greek to you.

Then, if a rat should chance to drop

Upon us, why, off we’d pop!

All this I tell you for your sake,

For fear you’d make a grave mistake,

And think that we real catties were.

I therefore ask you to suppose

That we are dressed up in cats’ clothes.

[_All bow, then all together give the following calls as they back to

stage back and exit._]

[Music]

WERNER’S

READINGS AND RECITATIONS

No. 35.

TOOTSY WOOTSY.

POEM, LESSON-TALK AND PANTOMIME, BY MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

POSES BY BABY ELOCUTIONIST VIRGINIA BELL (2 YEARS OLD) AND KITTEN

TOOTSY WOOTSY (4 MONTHS OLD).

Photographs by Jacques Joel, New York.

_Written expressly for this book._

See, Tootsy Wootsy be’s m’ tat,

An’ her as tunnin’ as tan be;

She am ner bigger den m’ han’,

An’s dot der bites’ eyes oo’ see.

All fluffy wuffy be’s her toat,

An’ say, her face, it’s orsel wise;

I spec’s some day ’at she’ll dit

Der firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.

She puts her ’ittle velvet paws

Wite up ter me ser dem I’ll shake;

An’ ef she be’s des fas’ ersleep,

I nezzer ties fer her ter wake.

I ’dopt her fer m’ owners’ tat,

An’ dot fer her der nices’ house,

W’ere she do stay w’en nite am tum

Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.

She ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat,

She am Andora, yes, she be;

An’ w’en I smooth her back an’ tail,

Her winks, an’ purrs, an’ p’ays wiv me.

An’ nen I buy (now doan yo’ laff),

Er sing ner uzzer titten’s dot,

Er nussin’ bottle, wiv er mouf

F’um w’ich she dinks her milk w’en hot.

Oh! she do be ser very nice,

I hopes she nezzer wuns erway;

Fer ef she do, I tannot tell

W’at I ’oud do, or sink, or say.

Maybe, I mite dess tazy dit,

Ef f’um m’ titten I did part;

So, Tootsy, darlin’! oo’ stay here,

Fer ef yer don’ yo’ bwake m’ heart.

[Some people do not care to teach children dialect, so we print the

poem “Tootsy Wootsy” in ordinary English. The same lesson-talk applies

to both forms of the poem.]

TOOTSY WOOTSY.

See, Tootsy Wootsy is my cat,

And she’s as cunning as can be;

She is no bigger than my hand,

And has the brightest eyes you see.

All fluffy wuffy is her coat,

And see, her face, it’s very wise;

I expect some day that she’ll get

The first and only kind of prize.

She puts her little velvet paws

Right up to me so them I’ll shake;

And if she is just fast asleep,

I never cry for her to wake.

I take her for my very own

And have for her the nicest house,

Where she can stay when night is come

As still and quiet as a mouse.

She’s not a common kind of cat,

She is Angora, yes, she is;

And when I smooth her back and tail,

She winks, and purrs, and plays with me.

And then I buy (now don’t you laugh)

A thing no other kitten’s got,

A nursing-bottle, with a mouth

From which she drinks her milk when hot.

Oh! she is really very nice,

I hope she’ll never run away;

For if she does, I cannot tell

What I would do, or think, or say.

Maybe, I might just crazy get,

If from my kitten I did part;

So, Tootsy, darling! you stay here,

For if you don’t, you’ll break my heart.

FOREWORD.

As soon as a little tot in lisping accents can pronounce words

sufficiently well to form sentences, it often becomes a proud mother’s

ambition to teach her nursery rhymes; and baby is called on to surprise

her fond papa, or maybe her doting grandparents, with a display of her

wonderful elocutionary talent. But when the darling entertains a number

of her mama’s dearest friends in the drawing-room, or, better still,

when she makes her début at the Sunday-school social, and receives

plaudits for her little recitation delivered in bird-like tones, it is

then that the mother’s heart reaches its zenith of happiness. “Tootsy

Wootsy” has been arranged and posed especially for children from three

to six years of age.

POINTS.—Before the child recites, place a small stool or chair a little

to right of center of platform. On left side there should be a small

table or stand; a little way from this, lying on floor with cover off,

should be kitten’s basket with a tiny nursing-bottle filled with milk.

Care should be taken not to have these articles arranged in set manner,

but rather with play-room or nursery effect. The younger the kitten,

the easier handled by a child.

LESSON-TALK ON “TOOTSY WOOTSY.”

_“See, Tootsy Wootsy he’s m’ tat,

An’ her as tunnin’ as tan be.”_

PICTURE I.—Advance on platform carrying pet kitten in arms

in regular childish fashion; pause, throw weight of body

evenly upon both feet; face expressing joy and pride; and

in pleasing tones explain who “Tootsy Wootsy” is and how

“tunnin’.”

_“She am ner bigger den m’ han’,

An’s dot der bites’ eyes oo’ see.”_

[Illustration: PICTURE II.

“I spec’s some day ’at she’ll dit

Der firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.”]

[Illustration: PICTURE III.

“She puts her ’ittle velvet paws

Wite up ter me ser dem I’ll shake.”]

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Smile, hold kitten out in front of you

for admiration of audience; seat yourself on floor, wind

one arm and hand around kitten, while holding up other arm

with fingers of hand extended, as though to illustrate what

you think is correct size of her tail; facial expression

brightens as head is slightly bowed, when gazing at beauty

of kitten’s eyes.

_“All fluffy wuffy be’s her toat,

An’ say, her face, it’s orsel wise.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Still seated, run one hand over and

through kitten’s fur; hold kitten up a little and rub

your cheek against its soft body; glancing alternately at

kitten, then at her friends. Words requiring emphasis are

“fluffy,” “wuffy,” “toat” and “it’s orsel wise.”

_“I spec’s some day ’at she’ll dit

Der firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.”_

PICTURE II.—Still seated, hug kitten closely to breast, and

show by look that you have no doubt of kitten’s receiving

“firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.” Words that are emphatic

are “some day,” “she,” and the entire second line.

_“She puts her ’ittle velvet paws

Wite up ter me ser dem I’ll shake.”_

PICTURE III.—Put right arm around kitten; both hands clasp

kitten’s paws; while you glance up obliquely with earnest

tone and recite the lines. Special emphasis on “wite up ter

me” as though it were something unusual for a kitten to do

such a thing.

_“An’ ef she be’s fas’ ersleep,

I nezzer ties fer her ter wake.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Serious tone and expression of face and

eyes; prolong “des fas’ ersleep;” accompany “I nezzer ties”

with movement of head from right to left to make more

emphatic.

_“I ’dopt her fer m’ ownes’ tat,

An’ dot fer her der nices’ house.”_

PICTURE IV.—Rise, advance to where basket is lying; place

kitten in it; put basket with contents on stand; bow head,

resting it lightly on kitten; hands clasp sides of basket;

face expressing happiness.

_“Where she do stay w’en nite am tum

Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.”_

PICTURE V.—Place cover of basket over kitten, leaving head

exposed to view; then sit in chair, feet crossed, and hold

kitten in basket, for audience to gaze at. Show dignified

tone and manner when reciting; tone softens and voice grows

lighter on “still an’ twiet as er mouse.”

_“She ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat,

She am Andora, yes she be.”_

PICTURE VI.—Remove cover from basket, which still contains

kitten; place cover to one side. Clasp with left hand

kitten’s collar in the back. Cling with right hand to edge

of stand, feet in natural childish position; body slightly

inclined in sort of protecting manner over loved treasure,

and with look and tone of disdain and strongest emphasis

say that your kitten “ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat;” give

its breed, laying special stress on “Andora,” and “yes, she

be;” decided nod of head in affirmative on last three words.

_“An’ w’en I smooth her back an’ tail,

Her winks, an’ purrs, an’ p’ays wiv me.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Continue dignified tone through first

line; expression softens on second line; suggestion of

smile. Emphasize “winks,” “purrs,” “p’ays wiv me.”

_“An’ nen I buy (now doan yo’ laff)

Er sing ner uzzer titten’s dot.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Take kitten from basket; resume your seat

in chair; face should glow with pride and pleasure when

thinking what you have for your kitten; for a moment the

thought comes that when your friends learn what it is, they

will make sport of you. With pathetic face beg them not to

“laff.” Again assuming bright facial expression and giving

marked stress to the words, assure them that it is—“Er sing

ner uzzer titten’s dot,” and describe it as

_“Er nussin’-bottle, wiv er mouf

F’um w’ich she dinks her milk w’en hot.”_

PICTURE VII.—Bend forward, clasp kitten with left hand, and

proceed to give kitten milk from bottle that you take from

basket.

_“Oh! she do be ser very nice,

I hopes she nezzer wuns erway.”_

PICTURE VIII.—Rise, place cat in basket on stand, keep side

of your body toward audience; continue to offer kitten milk

as you recite the lines. Emphasize “very nice,” “nezzer,”

and “wuns erway.”

_“Fer ef she do, I tannot tell

W’at I ’oud do, or sink, or say.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Your fear of losing kitten should be

expressed very vividly. Place nursing-bottle in basket.

Lovingly take kitten out of basket. Put right hand to your

eye as if to check a tear; left arm and hand encircle

kitten; general appearance of childish sorrow.

_“May be, I mite dess tazy dit,

Ef f’um m’ titten I did part;”_

PICTURE IX.—In your great fondness for the kitten, you fear

that you may lose it after all. Sit in chair, place cat

on stand, holding its collar tightly with left hand. To

illustrate still more clearly how you would mourn, should

such a catastrophe befall you, when reciting how she “mite

tazy dit,” place right hand on your face and give deep sigh

and expression of intense suffering.

_“So, Tootsy, darlin’! Oo’ stay here,

Fer ef yer don’, yo’ bwake m’ heart.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Take kitten, hug it closely, and in above

lines beg it not to leave you. Strong emphasis on “yo’

bwake mi’ heart.” Then, carrying kitten under right arm,

and basket containing nursing-bottle in left hand, smile

sadly to audience and leave platform.

HOMELIEST CAT AT THE SHOW.

ROSALIE M. JONES.

“Hi! Hit her again! She’s ugly enough to stop a clock.”

“You let her ’lone,” screamed a small voice from the top story of a

towering rear tenement, but alas, it fell far short of the depths, way,

way, below where the cruel boys were tormenting the poor kitty.

Then the active little figure belonging to the voice hurriedly left

the window above and racing down stairs, three steps at a jump, burst

violently into their midst, caught their trembling little victim to

her breast, and with no weapons but a flushed face and two big tearful

eyes, turned defiantly to brave the cowards.

“Say, fellers, catch on ter de young defender.”

“Yer wanter send her ter de cat show, see. She’ll git a prize, I don’t

tink.”

With a look of contempt which stung even the most hardened of them,

Maysie turned away with her suffering burden and re-entered the house.

“For goodness sake! What’s that you’ve got now?” asked a tired looking

woman, as she saw her small daughter come panting into the kitchen,

clutching something by the legs.

“Jus’ a kitty.”

“Well, I never did! Why, Marg’ret Williams, are you crazy? I never saw

such a homely creature in all my born days: it’ll bring us bad luck,

sure, with that wicked green eye and that mean yeller one—ugh! You just

take it straight back to the gutter you fished it out of.”

At this Maysie began to cry; sobbing out the story of its ill treatment.

“Oh, well, I reckon we’ll keep her till she’s cured up, anyway.”

So Maysie kept her cat, and pity blossomed so quickly into love that

she was perfectly blind to its ugliness and fondly fancied it the

dearest, sweetest and loveliest kitty in all the world.

On the next Sunday, Mrs. Williams read out from her great big

newspaper: “A National Cat Show at Madison Square.”

“What’s a National Cat Show?” asked Maysie, who was sitting playing

with Rags, as she called her foundling.

“Why it’s—it’s a show of cats, I suppose, and it’s to be held next

Wednesday in Madison Square Garden.”

“Oh, yes, that must be where that bad boy in the street told me to send

Rags, but I thought, o’ course, he was just foolin’; he said, maybe I’d

get a prize for her. Do you—— do you think I might, mother?”

Mrs. Williams hid a smile behind her newspaper, as she read of the

gorgeous Angora, Maltese, Persian and other rare and beautiful cats

that were to be exhibited by the richest and most fashionable ladies in

New York, but she only answered: “I shouldn’t wonder.”

This was enough. In the course of ten seconds, Maysie had decided

in her own mind that she would take Rags to the show, and that there

was not the slightest use of worrying her poor, tired mother about it

beforehand and spoiling the delightful “s’prise.”

Early Wednesday morning Mrs. Williams started for her day’s work.

Maysie, when left alone, fairly raced the breakfast dishes around her

dishpan, over the towel and up again on the shelf. Then she slipped

into a nice little fresh calico dress, tied a new red ribbon around

Rags’s neck in a fantastic bow, which, however, would slide around

under her chewed-off ear, then cramming her into the market-basket, she

set off with a light heart.

She was too early to be admitted, and so had to stand and wait near the

side door marked “Entrance for Cats.”

At last a carriage drove up to the great front door of the building and

a lady descended from it, followed by a maid in a white cap, carrying

a basket. She was such a pretty lady and so beautifully dressed, that

Maysie liked her on the spot, and thought that it would only be kind

to inform her that she was not at the right entrance for cats and must

wait at the side door with her.

The lady smiled when she told her, and she said: “Oh, thank you, you’re

very good; I see you have a cat, too! Is it to be in the show?”

“Oh, yes, don’t you think she’ll get a prize?”

“Pro—probably,” said the lady, turning away for an instant and shaking

so strangely that Maysie thought she was cold.

“Had’nt I better ask the other lady to bring you a shawl or sumpin’ out

of your carriage?”

“No, thank you, I’m quite well. Suppose we go into the show together?”

“Why, we can’t, can we. It ain’t open yet, is it?”

“Not to every one, but I am one of the patronesses, and I fancy they

will let us in.” And sure enough they did.

“Here is a little girl who has a cat she would like to exhibit,” said

the lady to a gentle-looking man inside, who seemed to be managing

everything. “I know it’s rather late to enter it, but—” and she

whispered something which made him smile and look almost as queerly at

Maysie as the lady had done.

However, he gave Rags a nice cage, with soft straw in it, and a little

medal with a number on it to hang around her neck by a scarlet ribbon.

“Now, you had better go up stairs and wait,” he said; “they won’t be on

for an hour yet, and the judges cannot award the prizes until then.”

Maysie did not understand very clearly what he meant, but she was a

trustful little soul, and so left Rags with him and climbed the stairs

to a little waiting-room above.

After awhile the lady joined her saying, “Come, we can go in now.”

Pale with excitement, Maysie accepted the hand held out to her, and

grasping it tightly, entered the great exhibition. Oh, wasn’t it

beautiful! All lit up with ’lectric light! Row after row of cages

crossed the floor, in each one of which blinked and stretched and

softly purred a lovely, lovely kitty.

They kept getting more and more wonderful and beautiful as Maysie and

the lady went on and on, but in her royal little soul, Rags’s mistress

would not admit that any one of them was prettier or sweeter, or half

as clever as Rags.

No, not even that grandest, showiest Angora, lying upon a rose-colored

velvet cushion with exquisite pink roses in cut-glass bowls around her,

and a tiny canary bird singing away blissfully in the same cage.

“You know, Rags ain’t never seen a bird, lessen it’s a sparrer, and

she ain’t never smelt a flower in all her life, so wouldn’t you think

they’d give her a prize jus’ to keep her from feelin’ bad?”

“Yes, I would indeed. There are the judges and they are coming from the

other side of the room. Now, we will go over there and look for Rags,

and if they have given her a prize, it will be written upon a card and

hung on her cage, where we can see it in an instant.”

“Oh, my, do you suppose everybody what’s got a cat here feels like I do

now?”

“I hardly think so much so, dear.”

At last they stood before Rags’s cage. Maysie put both hands over her

eyes and peeped fearfully through her fingers.

“Oh! Oh! I believe I see a card.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What’s on it? Oh! What is on it?”

“P-r-i-z-e, prize!” read the lady.

“Ten dollars prize for the ug—for Rags.”

“My,” said Maysie, and she burst into tears of pure joy.

The lady kissed her warmly, dried her eyes and placed the bowl of roses

right under Rags’s funny little nose.

Then the great, severe looking judges came up and congratulated her,

and counted out into her two little hands all the heap of money that

was the prize.

“And now,” said the lady, “I will drive you home.”

So she did, and didn’t all the children in the neighborhood run off to

see who was getting out of the fine carriage that stopped before the

tenement, and weren’t they surprised to find it was just Maysie? And

didn’t Mrs. Williams laugh and cry and scold and pet her all at once

when she heard the great news?

“Dear, dear, what a jewel Rags is.”

“Yes,” said her mother, “who’d have thought she’d have brought us such

good luck by her very homeliness?”

“Homely? Why, mother, you forget, she’s got a prize.”

“So I did,” said Mrs. Williams, “so I did, of course.”

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN CAT AND DOG.

ELIZABETH I. CASSIN.

Cats see their prey, and catch it by creeping slyly up to it. Dogs

smell their prey, and catch it by running it down. Cats must therefore

have good eyes and be able to move very softly, while dogs must have

strong scent and be able to go fast and far.

WHY CATS WASH AFTER EATING.

EVA J. BEEDE.

You may have noticed, little friends,

That cats don’t wash their faces

Before they eat, as children do,

In all good Christian places.

Well, years ago, a famous cat,

The pangs of hunger feeling,

Had chanced to catch a fine young mouse

Who said, as he ceased squealing,

“All genteel folks their faces wash

Before they think of eating!”

And, wishing to be thought well-bred,

Puss heeded his entreating.

But when she raised her paw to wash

Chance for escape affording,

The sly young mouse said his good-bye,

Without respect to wording.

A feline council met that day,

And passed, in solemn meeting,

A law forbidding any cat

To wash till _after_ eating.

* * * * *

A kitten looked up with a sanctified grin,

Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.”

When the robin descended she gobbled him in,

Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.”

THE CATS’ TEA PARTY.

_Action Poem._

[1]Four little pussy-cats, invited out to tea,

Cried: “Mother, let us go. Oh, do! [2]for good we’ll surely be,

[3]We’ll wear our bibs and hold [4]our things as you have shown us how—

Spoons in right paws, cups as well, and [5]make a pretty bow;

We’ll always say ‘Yes, if you please,’ and ‘Only half of that.’”

“Then go, my darling children,” said the happy Mother Cat.

[6]The four little pussy-cats went out that night to tea,

[7]Their heads were smooth and glossy, their tails were swinging free;

They held their things as they had learned, and tried to be polite;—

[8]With snowy bibs beneath their chins they were a pretty sight.

But, alas for manners beautiful, [9]and coats as soft as silk!

The moment that the little kits were asked to take some milk,

[10]They dropped their spoons, forgot to bow, and—oh,

what do you think?

They put their noses in the cups and all began to drink!

Yes, every naughty little kit set up a _miou_ for more,

Then knocked the tea-cups over, [11]and scampered through the door.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Stand erect, hands by side.]

[Footnote 2: Fold arms and look very imploringly.]

[Footnote 3: Place pinafores to imitate bibs by raising the bottom and

placing it around neck.]

[Footnote 4: Place fingers as if to lift a cup to mouth.]

[Footnote 5: Make a bow.]

[Footnote 6: Let children take hold of hands as if to go out.]

[Footnote 7: Smooth hair.]

[Footnote 8: Point to chins.]

[Footnote 9: Point to coats or pinafores.]

[Footnote 10: Look very sorrowful.]

[Footnote 11: Raise hands and throw them both forward toward door.]

A CAT’S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.

MRS. GERTRUDE MANLY JONES.

A kitty named Pollie—just over the way—

Gave a party last week on her second birthday.

It was—so I’ve heard—quite a stylish affair,

For the cat elite of the village was there.

For a week the party was meowed about,

After the neat invitations were out;

“What shall I wear?” was a question oft asked,

And for some little time the kitties harassed;

At last they decided, without a demur,

That because of cool weather, they’d all dress in fur.

In the meanwhile, Pollie was burdened with care

To get up a fine supper, and nice bill of fare.

There were grasshopper croquets and truffles to make;

A lot of fat lizards to stuff and to bake;

There were mice, to be fricasseed, parboiled and stewed,

And strong catnip bouillon, and punch to be brewed—

Oh, my! Was there ever before a gray cat

Who had such a weight on her shoulders as that?

But at last the eventful evening came ’round,

And everything was quite in readiness found.

In the old kitchen garden the table was set,

And a funnier table you never saw yet;

The tea cups were egg shells; and turnip green plates

Were loaded with savory messes and baits;

A large rutabaga was hollowed out clean,

And made quite an excellent bouillon tureen;

The table was trimmed up with beet leaves and mint,

And festoons of parsley were used without stint.

As the clock struck midnight, the guests all poured in,

And you never did hear such a horrible din!

The old cornstalk fiddles set up a full blast,

And partners for quadrilles were taken up fast.

How the feet and the tails did fly in the air!

How the sparks glinted off from the soft glossy hair!

Some cats promenaded; others, played the coquette,

While a pair on the fencetop struck up a duet;

The ball had now reached its dizziest height,

When from a near cottage, there flashed a bright light;

A window was hastily raised with a bang,

And a pistol-shot out through the old garden rang.

I tell you the sound of that ringing report

Put an end to the dancing, the singing and sport.

The beaux—why, they went just tearing off home,

And left the young kitties to come on alone.

Kittie Pollie was very much chagrined about

The way her grand entertainment turned out,

And although she certainly was not to blame,

She declares she will never give parties again.

THE LOST KITTY.

Have any of you seen my kitty? I have hunted all over the house for

her and I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not under the stove nor up in

my bed, and I don’t know what to do. Won’t you help me look for her?

She is a gray kitty, with a white spot between her eyes. You will know

her by that. Her name is Spot, and she knows it just as well as I know

my name. When I have a saucer of milk for her, and call, “Here, Spot,

Spot, Spot!” she runs as fast as her little feet can trot. Oh, dear,

where are you, kitty? I wish I could find you. I hope no big, bad boy,

or naughty little girl has carried you away. Hark! What is that? “Meow,

meow, meow.” Why, there she is, now, on the window-sill. Just wait, my

precious, darling old kitty, until I get you in my arms!

A MODEST CAT’S SOLILOQUY.

Oh, what a grand and glorious thing it is to be a cat!

Yes, every day I live, I grow more positive of that.

For all the great, big busy world, as is quite right and meet!

Comes humbly every day to lay its tribute at my feet;

Far down within the damp, dark earth the grimy miner goes,

That I on chilly nights may have a fire for my toes;

Brave sailors plow the wintry main, through peril and mishap,

That I, on Oriental rugs, may take my morning nap.

Out in the distant meadow meekly graze the lowing kine,

That milk, in endless saucerfuls, all foaming, may be mine;

The fish that swim the ocean, and, the birds that fill the air—

Did I not like their bones to pick, pray, think you they’d be there?

But first, of all who wait on me, preeminent is man;

For me he toils through all the day, and through the night doth plan;

Especially the gentleman who keeps this house for me,

And takes such thoughtful, anxious care, that I should suited be.

He’s stocked his rare old attic with the finest breed of mice,

A little hunting, now and then, comes in so very nice.

And furthermore, the thoughtful man, a wife has married him,

To tidy up the house for me, and keep it neat and trim;

And both of them with deference my slightest fancy treat,

And as I’m quite fastidious about the things I eat,

They never offer me a dish, to please my appetite,

Until they’ve tasted it themselves, to see if all is right;

And to entice my palate, when it’s cloyed with other things,

All fattening in a gilded cage, a choice canary swings.

But, best of all they’re training up, with pains that can’t be told,

Their children, just to wait on me, when they have grown too old.

Oh, truly I am monarchess of all that I survey;

No rules or laws I recognize, no bells or calls obey.

I eat and sleep, and sleep and eat, nor ever have I toiled;

No kind of base, degrading work my paws has ever soiled.

Oh, truly ’tis a gladsome thing to be a pussy-cat!

I’m truly glad, when I was born, I stopped to think of that.

A MIRROR CAT.

OLIVER HERFORD.

I really wish you’d all sit still,

And try to hear a curious tale

That happened just the other day.

There is another yellow cat

Who sits behind a golden frame,

And looks so very much like me

You’d think that we were just the same.

Yet, when I mew aloud or call,

She moves her mouth again to me,

But makes no sound at all.

And to the dullest kitten

It’s plain enough to see

That either I am mocking her,

Or she is mocking me.

It makes no difference what I play,

She seems to know the game;

For every time I look around

I see her do the same.

And yet no matter though I creep

On tiptoe lest she hear,

Or quickly dash behind the frame,

She’s sure to disappear.

[Illustration]

A Wise Mouse.

Mary·Raymond·Garretson.

Purred the Cat, “Pretty Mouse, come out of the wall,

And make me this evening, a neighborly call:

Then into the cupboard, we’ll quietly creep,

To steal bread and cheese, while the family sleep.”

“No thanks, Tabby dear,” squealed old Mrs Mouse,

“I’ll remain in my hole, while you’re in the house:

On your good behavior I dare not depend,

For last night, you swallowed my intimate friend.”

THE CAT THAT CAME TO SCHOOL.

_Action Poem._

Why here’s a pussy come to school!

What do [1]_you_ want, my dear?

You [2]prick your ears and [3]gaze about,

And seem to feel no fear.

Ah! next I see you [4]wash yourself,

That’s right! Miss Pussy Cat;

We scholars here must all be clean—

I’m glad you think of that.

Now pussy [5]looks all around again,

Then gives a little “mew,”

And [6]shakes the bell tied [7]round her neck,

With bit of ribbon blue.

[8]Upon the table pussy jumps,

[9]Then to the Maypole goes;

Oh! kitty, would you like to dance,

As we do, on our [10]toes?

[11]Next to the class-room door she goes,

I’m sure she wants to learn.

[12]Come in, come in, then, pussy cat,

And [13]read when it’s your turn.

But pussy only says [14]“Mew, mew,”

And [15]looks in teacher’s face:

[16]Oh, puss, I fear you’ll be a dunce,

And leave in sad disgrace!

[Illustration: PICTURE IV.

“I ’dopt her fer m’ ownes’ tat,

An’ dot fer her der nices’ house.”]

[Illustration: PICTURE V.

“W’ere she do stay w’en nite am tum

Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.”]

How prettily you sit and [17]curl

Your long tail round your feet!

And look so cozy and content,

You must think school a treat.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Point out.]

[Footnote 2: Raise forefinger of each hand, and put one on each side of

head.]

[Footnote 3: Look around.]

[Footnote 4: Pretend to wash face.]

[Footnote 5: Same as 3.]

[Footnote 6: Hold hands loosely and shake.]

[Footnote 7: Point to neck.]

[Footnote 8: Raise both hands.]

[Footnote 9: Point outward.]

[Footnote 10: Tap toes lightly.]

[Footnote 11: Point to door.]

[Footnote 12: Beckon.]

[Footnote 13: Hold hands together, palms upward.]

[Footnote 14: Let a few children imitate mewing.]

[Footnote 15: Look intently at teacher.]

[Footnote 16: Move forefinger.]

[Footnote 17: Curve right arm around to left side.]

WHAT PUSS THINKS.

Pray tell me why a heartless pup

Should care to worry _me_—

A gentle, peaceful pussy cat—

And chase me up a tree?

The pup cannot be angry; why,

His eyes are bright with fun;

And yet, ah me! with all my heart

I wish I had a gun!

Then I would bang his wagging tail,

And laugh to hear him howl,

Just as he barks with glee at me,

While I can only growl.

“But how about the mouse?” you ask.

Oh, well, of course I do

Catch mice, and tease them, too, a bit;

But, really, wouldn’t you?

CATS.

EVE LAWLESS.

There are women in this world, and men, too, who, I think, were

intended for cats instead of human beings. Notice their soft velvety

paws as they beg some favor of you; and then offend them, I’ll be bound

you’ll see the claws, and feel them, too.

That person, who creeps around your house with stealthy tread and

catlike caution, take my word for it, means mischief, and if you don’t

hear some rumors regarding yourself, then I am no prophet.

A cat will kill a bird, eat it, wash her paws, and look up in your

face, as though she said, “I don’t see who could have eaten that

canary.” Can’t you think of some individual who bears a resemblance to

that cat?

Hasn’t some one been casting aspersions upon your character, and said

foul things about you, and then licked her paws—I mean washed her

hands—and put on a grave-yard look, saying, at the same time, “How can

people talk so about their neighbors?”

I hate these cats. I want to have a person candid, upright and

outspoken, not palaver before your face, and backbite you when you

haven’t the ghost of a chance to defend yourself. It always makes me

shiver to hear a catlike tread.

Hallo! Here comes another cat. This time it comes in the shape of an

anonymous correspondent, who wishes Eve to write to him on Love! I

beg your pardon; I don’t write to promiscuous people, and especially

to those who are ashamed to write more than their initials. When a

man is not willing to sign his name fair and square to a letter, it

doesn’t strike me that he can be any too proud of it. This anonymous

letter-writing is of too catlike a nature to suit me.

Have I any more cats handy? I think so. Imagine you have written

a poem; some friend praises it, stroking your fur the right way,

figuratively speaking. Let another friend tell you of its faults,

rubbing the fur contrariwise, won’t you spit, and scratch, and mew

something about somebody’s having no taste? Why _are_ we plagued with

so many catlike attitudes?

INTELLIGENT CAT.

GRACE BACON HOLWAY.

A rush and a dash and a scamper,

A warm, nestling armful of fur;

Our brief game of tag—being over—

Gave place to the tenderest purr.

He measures a yard in the morning

When stretched in a sweet, dreamless sleep,

The rich, tawny fur, soft as velvet,

Showing broad, even stripes, dark and deep.

He lies on my lap in the sunshine,

I rock him to sleep on my arm,

I feel all the pleasure of loving,

And striving to shield him from harm.

He runs up the tree to my window

To tap with his paw on the pane

And plead, in his sweet coaxing language,

For comfort and shelter again.

Each movement of gentle contentment,

Replete with luxurious grace,

Proclaims him at once and forever

The king of the feline race.

DECORATION OF HONOR.

L.E. STREET.

“You—ow—w!” said Blitzen. “What are you doing on my premises?”

The other cat looked up from the plate before him. He was enjoying the

good breakfast which had been placed upon it.

“I’m visiting here with my mistress.”

“What is your name?” further inquired Blitzen, still waving his tail,

though in a somewhat less warlike manner; “and why is that blue ribbon

tied on your collar?”

“My mistress calls me Herculo. I’m a pure-blooded Angora, and that blue

ribbon is for a prize I took in a cat show. I’ve taken four.”

“Humph! Well, my name is Blitzen, which means lightning. I’m called

that because I can scratch with my claws just as quick and sharp as

lightning can strike. I’m just a plain cat, and never took a prize in

my life; but I can catch mice and sparrows and climb a tree like a

squirrel.”

Again the tail waved. Herculo looked duly impressed.

“Gr-r-r!” continued Blitzen, beginning to eat the breakfast which lay

on another plate close by. “Don’t you dare touch any of my breakfast.

Keep to your own plate.”

This was the way the two cats began their friendship. It did not

take Blitzen long to grow quite amiable, especially when he saw how

respectfully Herculo watch his exploits.

One morning Blitzen started off before daylight on an expedition, which

kept him longer than he meant it should.

“Plates empty, eh?” he mused as he reached the kitchen door. “Now, what

a good thing it was that I caught that mouse. Where can Herculo be, I

wonder.”

“Meow-ow! Meow-ow!”

Blitzen pricked up his ears.

“That sounds familiar!”

“Me-ow-ow!”

“Herculo, as sure as I’m a cat! He must be in some scrape. Now, which

direction—ah, front lawn, I guess.” And Blitzen ambled away thither.

“Meow-ow!”

Blitzen looked up in the larch tree, high up in the branches of which

clung Herculo. Just beyond his reach sat a dozen sparrows twittering

with bird laughter at the terror and discomfort of their would-be enemy.

“Hullo!” said Blitzen calmly. “Why don’t you come down?”

“Ca-an’t—it’s so hi-igh! I’ll fall.”

“What made you climb up there, anyhow, if you were too scared to come

down again?”

“To hunt the sparrows. Meow!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the sparrows. “Chee, chee!”

“Well, you just swing your hind feet off to the next branch below,

can’t you?” said Blitzen.

Herculo tried, but was too frightened to succeed.

“I can’t,” he wailed again. “Yow-w-w!”

Blitzen walked around the tree and viewed him critically from all

sides. Then he started for the barn. Herculo felt himself deserted, and

yowed despairingly.

Blitzen trotted on. At the barn he found John, the man, and rubbing

persuasively against his legs, said, “Meow!”

John stooped and petted him. Acknowledging the stroke of the friendly

hand, Blitzen repeated firmly, “Meow!” Then he went a few steps toward

the door and turned to see if John understood.

“What’s up, Blitzen, ye sinner?” asked John.

“Meow!” replied Blitzen, trotting ahead.

“Sure, he’s a knowin’ animal. He do be wantin’ somethin’. I’ll go with

him,” was John’s conclusion.

And then Blitzen triumphantly led him to the tree where Herculo still

clung, and still howled dolefully.

“Av coorse, I’ll get him down fer ye, Blitzen,” said John, taking in

the situation. “Ye’re a clever feller entirely!”

By help of a ladder and John’s strong arms, Herculo was landed on the

ground very much tumbled-up-and-down in his mind.

“Blitzen,” said his mistress, “you shall have a blue ribbon, too. You

may not have any blue blood, but you’ve common sense; and that’s a

trait worth having in man or beast!”

CAT’S THANKSGIVING DAY.

“Give me turkey for my dinner,”

Said a tabby cat.

“Before you get it, you’ll be thinner,

Go and catch a rat,”

Said the cook, her pastry making,

Looking fierce and red,

And a heavy roller shaking

Over pussy’s head.

Hark! her kittens’ shriller mewing;

“Give us pie,” said they,

To the cook, amid her stewing,

On Thanksgiving day.

“Pie, indeed! You idle creatures!

Who’d have thought of that?

Wash your paws and faces neater,

And go hunt! Scat! Scat!”

So they went and did their duty,

Diligent and still;

Exercise improved their beauty,

As it always will.

Useful work and early rising

Brought a merry mood;

And they found the cook’s advising,

Though severe, was good.

[Music: DING DONG BELL.

DING DONG BELL, PUSSY’S IN THE WELL

WHO PUT HER IN LITTLE JOHNNY GREEN

WHO PULLED HER OUT BIG TOMMY STOUT

WHAT A NAUGHTY BOY WAS THAT TO DROWN POOR PUSSY CAT]

[Illustration]

PINS IN PUSSY’S TOES.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

Little Fred is now in the third summer of his life. He has been moved

into the country, and his round blue eyes are growing rounder and

bigger every hour with new and wonderful experiences.

Most striking among them and most puzzling to Fred is Pussy. Not a big

cat, but a kitten, of those tender years corresponding to Fred’s own.

What a wonder she is, seen now for the first time, serenely walking on

all fours! A Maltese kit, of pure blood and glossy mouse color, with a

white breast-pin in her bosom!

Eagerly Freddy seizes her; he hugs her very tight, and Pussy squirms

in vain; he examines the wonder; he pokes his fat little fingers into

Pussy’s bright eyes; he opens her mouth and looks at her little pink

tongue. He sends her a little while with her head up, and then, for

vanity’s sake, he sends her with her heels up, and her head hanging

down. Then it occurs to him that Pussy’s tail is a nice handle to carry

her by, and he tries that experiment. At last Pussy’s patience gives

out, and out from her pretty velvet paws fly the ten little sharp,

pearly points that have been given her for her defence, and Fred feels

a new sensation. He throws Pussy on the floor and runs screaming to

mamma.

“Oh, mamma, mamma, Pussy got pins in her toes!”

Then mamma explains to Freddy why the pins were put in Pussy’s velvet

toes. Poor, soft, furry, helpless little Pussy! what could she do if

she had not pins in her toes? Does Freddy like to have people poke

their fingers in his eyes, or open his mouth, or feel of his tongue? No

more does Pussy. Would Freddy like to be carried around, squeezed up

under somebody’s arm, with his head hanging down? No more does Pussy.

But Pussy cannot speak; she cannot complain—all she can do is to use

the pins in her toes.

“When Freddy holds Pussy right end up, strokes her gently, and speaks

lovingly to her, the little sharp pins in her paws go away—clear

in—where nobody can see them, and Pussy begins to sing a low, little

purring song to show how happy she is! So, Freddy dear,” says mamma,

“there is a right way and a wrong way to handle everything. If you hold

Pussy gently, stroke her softly, and treat her kindly, you never will

be troubled by the ten little pins in her ten toes; but if you trouble,

and worry, and tease Pussy, she will scratch.”

LAMENT OF A FORSAKEN CAT.

ELIZABETH HARCOURT MITCHELL.

The family went out of town,

Refreshing themselves by the sea;

I thought they’d have taken me down,

But no one had pity on me.

What of that?