Of course you all think I am a pussy cat. No wonder, when folks call me Pussy. But you must know that one cold day in March I was hatched. Did you ever hear that a pussy was hatched, I'd like to know?
Laugh away, Sue and Ned, Joe and Tom, Mattie and Artie, Polly and Fanny! It is all true.
One day my master went out to the barn, and there were a whole dozen of us, shivering with cold. He brought us into the kitchen and put us right down by the stove. Everybody came to see us, and they all said: "Oh, the cunning little chicks! Where has the naughty mother hen gone?"
Then my mistress ran and brought a box, and lined it with soft wool and warmed it, and then all of us little brothers and sisters were crowded into it.
The others slept like good chicks all night, but I just cried and cried. Even the grandma was kept awake, and said, "That chicken will not live."
The next morning we were taken out to be fed, but my mistress said, when she saw me, "Oh, here is one poor little fellow dead.
"No," said grandma; "I think there is a little life in him still."
I tried hard, and made a faint motion of my eyes, and so I was put back under the stove. As I grew warm I kicked my little feet about, and then the children screamed, "The chick is alive; it was in a trance."
So for two days they called me Cat-a-lep-sy. When I began to run around and eat crumbs, they called me Puss-a-lep. By-and-by they named me Pussy-willow, when the pussy-willows pushed out their funny little fuzzy buds.
Do you know I have been a traveller? Yes, indeed. When I was two weeks old I was carried in a tiny basket over a hundred miles. Two children had me, and we went in the cars.
When we got to the new home, I was lifted out and set—where do you suppose? Why, right in the middle of the tea table. I tell you, things looked nice, I was so hungry.
It is June now, and I have grown so big that my old friends would not know me. I like the folks here. I eat out of their hands, I perch on their heads, and hop about after them all day long, and my name being Pussy, I try to behave as much like a kitten as possible.
That's all. Good-by.
Pussy-Chick ——.
C. Y. P. R. U.
You could not possibly find a prettier bit of verse than this to learn by heart or to copy in your book of choice quotations, even though you hunted through great volumes. It is by Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes), and we are sure he had some dear child in his mind's eye when he wrote it:
A fair little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work, and folded it right,
And said, "Dear work, good-night, good-night."
Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying, "Caw, caw," on their way to bed;
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
"Little black things, good-night, good-night."
The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
The sheep's "Bleat, bleat," came over the road,
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
"Good little girl, good-night, good-night."
She did not say to the sun, "Good-night,"
Though she saw him there, like a ball of light;
For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.
The tall pink fox-glove bowed his head,
The violet courtesied, and went to bed,
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
And while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day—
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
"Good-morning, good-morning; our work is begun."
Did you ever wonder where the word etiquette came from? In former times it was the custom in France on occasions of ceremony, or at fêtes and festivals, to give each guest a little slip of paper, on which was written the order of the proceedings, and some rules for the conduct of the company. Then, if things were properly done, they were said to be done by ticket. After a while the word etiquette, being a convenient one, was brought into use in English. It is a short word for describing how to do things in the right way.
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