Part 188 (1/2)

But love of change it seems has place Not only in our wiser race; Cats also feel, as well as we, That pa.s.sion's force, and so did she.

Her climbing, she began to find, Exposed her too much to the wind, And the old utensil of tin Was cold and comfortless within: She therefore wished, instead of those, Some place of more serene repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air Too rudely wanton in her hair, And sought it in the likeliest mode Within her master's snug abode.

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind, With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies' use; A drawer, impending o'er the rest, Half open, in the topmost chest, Of depth enough, and none to spare, Invited her to slumber there; Puss with delight beyond expression, Surveyed the scene and took possession.

Rec.u.mbent at her ease, ere long, And lulled by her own humdrum song, She left the cares of life behind, And slept as she would sleep her last, When in came, housewifely inclined, The chambermaid, and shut it fast, By no malignity impelled, But all unconscious whom it held.

Awakened by the shock (cried puss) ”Was ever cat attended thus!

The open drawer was left, I see, Merely to prove a nest for me, For soon as I was well composed, Then came the maid, and it was closed.

How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet Oh what a delicate retreat!

I will resign myself to rest Till Sol declining in the west, Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, Susan will come, and let me out.”

The evening came, the sun descended, And puss remained still unattended.

The night rolled tardily away (With her indeed 'twas never day), The sprightly morn her course renewed, The evening gray again ensued, And puss came into mind no more Than if entombed the day before; With hunger pinched, and pinched for room, She now presaged approaching doom.

Nor slept a single wink, nor purred, Conscious of jeopardy incurred.

That night, by chance, the poet, watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching; His n.o.ble heart went pit-a-pat, And to himself he said--”What's that?”

He drew the curtain at his side, And forth he peeped, but nothing spied.

Yet, by his ear directed, guessed Something imprisoned in the chest; And, doubtful what, with prudent care Resolved it should continue there.

At length a voice which well he knew, A long and melancholy mew, Saluting his poetic ears, Consoled him, and dispelled his fears; He left his bed, he trod the floor, He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, The lowest first, and without stop The next in order to the top.

For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right.

Forth skipped the cat, not now replete As erst with airy self-conceit, Nor in her own fond comprehension, A theme for all the world's attention, But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical, And wis.h.i.+ng for a place of rest, Any thing rather than a chest.

Then stepped the poet into bed With this reflection in his head:

MORAL

Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence.

The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, That all around in all that's done Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation The folly of his expectation.

_William Cowper._

A DARWINIAN BALLAD

Oh, many have told of the monkeys of old, What a pleasant race they were, And it seems most true that I and you Are derived from an apish pair.

They all had nails, and some had tails, And some--no ”accounts in arrear”; They climbed up the trees, and they scratched out the--these Of course I will not mention here.

They slept in a wood, or wherever they could, For they didn't know how to make beds; They hadn't got huts; they dined upon nuts, Which they cracked upon each other's heads.

They hadn't much scope, for a comb, brush or soap, Or towels, or kettle or fire.

They had no coats nor capes, for ne'er did these apes Invent what they didn't require.

The sharpest baboon never used fork or spoon, Nor made any boots for his toes, Nor could any thief steal a silk handker-chief, For no ape thought much of his nose; They had cold collations; they ate poor relations: Provided for thus, by-the-bye.

No Ou-rang-ou-tang a song ever sang-- He couldn't, and so didn't try.

From these though descended our manners are mended, Though still we can grin and backbite!

We cut up each other, be he friend or brother, And tales are the fas.h.i.+on--at night.