But asked in its turn if the robin could crow.
So the bird sought a tree and the chicken a wall,
And each thought the other knew nothing at all.
—_St. Nicholas._
Harriette W. Lothrop, wife of the popular publisher—better known by her pen name of “Margaret Sidney”—has done much in a humorous way to amuse and instruct little folks. She has much quiet humor.
WHY POLLY DOESN’T LOVE CAKE!
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
They all said “No!”
As they stood in a row,
The poodle, and the parrot, and the little yellow cat,
And they looked very solemn,
This straight, indignant column,
And rolled their eyes, and shook their heads, a-standing on the mat.
Then I took a goodly stick,
Very short and very thick,
And I said, “Dear friends, you really now shall rue it,
For one of you did take
That bit of wedding-cake,
And so I’m going to whip you all. I honestly will do it.”
Then Polly raised her claw!
“I never, never saw
That stuff. I’d rather have a cracker,
And so it would be folly,”
Said this naughty, naughty Polly,
“To punish me; but Pussy, you can whack her.”
The cat rolled up her eyes
In innocent surprise,
And waved each trembling whisker end.
“A crumb I have not taken,
But Bose ought to be shaken.
And then, perhaps, his thieving, awful ways he’ll mend.”
“I’ll begin right here
With you, Polly, dear,”
And my stick I raised with righteous good intent.
“Oh, dear!” and “Oh, dear!”
The groans that filled my ear.
As over head and heels the frightened column went!
The cat flew out of window,
The dog flew under bed,
And Polly flapped and beat the air,
Then settled on my head;
When underneath her wing,
From feathered corner deep,
A bit of wedding-cake fell down,
That made poor Polly weep.
The cat raced off to cat-land, and was never seen again,
And the dog sneaked out beneath the bed to scud with might and main;
While Polly sits upon her roost, and rolls her eyes in fear,
And when she sees a bit of cake, she always says, “Oh, dear!”
KITTEN TACTICS.
BY ADELAIDE CILLEY WALDRON.
Four little kittens in a heap,
One wide awake and three asleep.
Open-eyes crowded, pushed the rest over,
While the gray mother-cat went playing rover.
Three little kittens stretched and mewed;
Cried out, “Open-eyes, you’re too rude!”
Open-eyes, winking, purred so demurely,
All the rest stared at him, thinking “surely
We were the ones that were so rude,
We were the ones that cried and mewed;
Let us lie here like good little kittens;
We cannot sleep, so we’ll wash our mittens.”
Four little kittens, very sleek,
Purred so demurely, looked so meek,
When the gray mother came home from roving—
“What good kittens!” said she; “and how loving!”
BOTH SIDES.
BY GAIL HAMILTON.
“Kitty, Kitty, you mischievous elf,
What have you, pray, to say for yourself?”
But Kitty was now
Asleep on the mow,
And only drawled dreamily, “Ma-e-ow!”
“Kitty, Kitty, come here to me,—
The naughtiest Kitty I ever did see!
I know very well what you’ve been about;
Don’t try to conceal it, murder will out.
Why do you lie so lazily there?”
“Oh, I have had a breakfast rare!”
“Why don’t you go and hunt for a mouse?”
“Oh, there’s nothing fit to eat in the house.”
“Dear me! Miss Kitty,
This is a pity;
But I guess the cause of your change of ditty.
What has become of the beautiful thrush
That built her nest in the heap of brush?
A brace of young robins as good as the best;
A round little, brown little, snug little nest;
Four little eggs all green and gay,
Four little birds all bare and gray,
And Papa Robin went foraging round,
Aloft on the trees, and alight on the ground.
North wind or south wind, he cared not a groat,
So he popped a fat worm down each wide-open throat;
And Mamma Robin through sun and storm
Hugged them up close, and kept them all warm;
And me, I watched the dear little things
Till the feathers pricked out on their pretty wings,
And their eyes peeped up o’er the rim of the nest.
Kitty, Kitty, you know the rest.
The nest is empty, and silent and lone;
Where are the four little robins gone?
Oh, puss, you have done a cruel deed!
Your eyes, do they weep? your heart, does it bleed?
Do you not feel your bold cheeks turning pale?
Not you! you are chasing your wicked tail.
Or you just cuddle down in the hay and purr,
Curl up in a ball, and refuse to stir,
But you need not try to look good and wise:
I see little robins, old puss, in your eyes.
And this morning, just as the clock struck four,
There was some one opening the kitchen door,
And caught you creeping the wood-pile over,—
Make a clean breast of it, Kitty Clover!”
Then Kitty arose,
Rubbed up her nose,
And looked very much as if coming to blows;
Rounded her back,
Leaped from the stack,
On her feet, at my feet, came down with a whack,
Then, fairly awake, she stretched out her paws,
Smoothed down her whiskers, and unsheathed her claws,
Winked her green eyes
With an air of surprise,
And spoke rather plainly for one of her size.
“Killed a few robins; well, what of that?
What’s virtue in man can’t be vice in a cat.
There’s a thing or two I should like to know,—
Who killed the chicken a week ago,
For nothing at all that I could spy,
But to make an overgrown chicken-pie?
‘Twixt you and me,
‘Tis plain to see,
The odds is, you like fricassee,
While my brave maw
Owns no such law,
Content with viands a la raw.
“Who killed the robins? Oh, yes! oh, yes!
I would get the cat now into a mess!
Who was it put
An old stocking-foot,
Tied up with strings
And such shabby things,
On to the end of a sharp, slender pole,
Dipped it in oil and set fire to the whole,
And burnt all the way from here to the miller’s
The nests of the sweet young caterpillars?
Grilled fowl, indeed!
Why, as I read,
You had not even the plea of need;
For all you boast
Such wholesome roast,
I saw no sign at tea or roast,
Of even a caterpillar’s ghost.
“Who killed the robins? Well, I should think!
Hadn’t somebody better wink
At my peccadillos, if houses of glass
Won’t do to throw stones from at those who pass?
I had four little kittens a month ago—
Black, and Malta, and white as snow;
And not a very long while before
I could have shown you three kittens more.
And so in batches of fours and threes,
Looking back as long as you please,
You would find, if you read my story all,
There were kittens from time immemorial.
“But what am I now? A cat bereft,
Of all my kittens, but one is left.