But Pussy-cat Mew was so awfully scared
    By the shouting and screaming, no longer she dared
    To stay in the room; so without more delay
    She rushed from the palace and scampered away!

    So bristling her fur, and with heart beating fast,
    She came to the road leading homeward at last. 
    “What business,” she thought, “has a poor country cat
    To visit a city of madmen like that?

    “Straight homeward I ’ll go, where I am well fed,
    Where mistress is kind, and soft is my bed;
    Let other cats travel, if they wish to roam,
    But as for myself, I shall now stay at home.”

    And now over hills and valleys she ran,
    And journeyed as fast as a Pussy-cat can;
    Till just as the dawn of the day did begin
    She, safely at home, stole quietly in.

    And there was the fire, with the pot boiling on it,
    And there was the maid, in the blue checkered bonnet
    And there was the corner where Pussy oft basked,
    And there was the mistress, who eagerly asked: 

    “Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?”
    “I ’ve been to London, to visit the Queen.” 
    “Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, what did you there?”
    “I frightened a little mouse under her chair!”

How the Beggars Came to Town

How the Beggars Came to Town

    Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,
    The beggars are coming to town: 
    Some in rags, and some in tags,
    And some in velvet gown.

Very fair and sweet was little Prince Lilimond, and few could resist his soft, pleading voice and gentle blue eyes.  And as he stood in the presence of the King, his father, and bent his knee gracefully before His Majesty, the act was so courteous and dignified it would have honored the oldest noble man of the court.

The King was delighted, and for a time sat silently regarding his son and noting every detail of his appearance, from the dark velvet suit with its dainty ruffles and collar to the diamond buckles on the little shoes, and back again to the flowing curls that clustered thick about the bright, childish face.

Well might any father be proud of so manly and beautiful a child, and the King’s heart swelled within him as he gazed upon his heir.

“Borland,” he said to the tutor, who stood modestly behind the Prince, “you may retire.  I wish to sneak privately with his royal highness.”

The tutor bowed low and disappeared within the ante-room, and the King continued, kindly,

“Come here, Lilimond, and sit beside me.  Methinks you seem over-grave this morning.”

“It is my birthday, Your Majesty,” replied the Prince, as he slowly obeyed his father and sat beside him upon the rich broidered cushions of the throne.  “I am twelve years of age.”

“So old!” said the King, smiling into the little face that was raised to his.  “And is it the weight of years that makes you sad?”