Puss shook like a leaf, in her boots, But said, “It is very droll! Now, please, if you can, change into a mouse!” He did. And she swallowed him whole! Then, as the king and his suite appeared, She stood on the palace porch and cheered.
’Twas a grand old palace indeed, Builded of stone and brass. “Welcome, most noble ladies and lords, To the Castle of Carabas!” Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy; And they entered, and feasted royally. And the Marquis lost his heart At the beautiful princess’ smile; And the very next day the two were wed, In wonderful state and style. And Puss in Boots was their favorite page, And lived with them to a good old age.

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[ GOLD-LOCKS’ DREAM OF PUSSIE WILLOW.]

BY CLARA DOTY BATES.

Onesunny day, in the early spring,

Before a bluebird dared to sing,

Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,—

Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,—

Forth with a piping song,

Went Gold-Locks “after flowers.”

“Tired of waiting so long,”

Said this little girl of ours.

She searched the bare brown meadow over,

And found not even a leaf of clover;

Nor where the sod was chill and wet

Could she spy one tint of violet;

But where the brooklet ran

A noisy swollen billow,

She picked in her little hand

A branch of pussie-willow.

She shouted out, in a happy way,

At the catkins’ fur, so soft and gray;

She smoothed them down with loving pats,

And called them her little pussie-cats.

She played at scratch and bite;

She played at feeding cream;

And when she went to bed that night,

Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.

Curled in a little cosy heap,

Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,

She heard, although she scarce knew how,

A score of voices “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”

And right before her bed,

Upon a branching tree,

Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,

As thick as they could be.

Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;

White, with both ears lined with pink;

Striped, like a royal tiger’s skin;

Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;

And each one wailed aloud,

Once, and twice, and thrice:

“We are the willow-pussies;

O, where are the willow-mice!”

Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,

The March wind wailed, “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”

’Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,

And softly to her mother spoke:

“If they were fed, mamma,

It would be very nice;

But I hope the willow-pussies

Won’t find the willow-mice!”

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[ TONY.]

TONY.