"WE'LL HAVE A WEDDING AT OUR HOUSE."

"A cat came fiddling out of a barn With a pair of bagpipes under her arm; She could pipe nothing but fiddle-c.u.m-fee, The mouse hath married the b.u.mble-bee.

Pipe, cat; dance, mouse; We'll have a wedding at our house."

CHAPTER V.

CAT RHYMES.

The old saying of "A cat may look at the queen" is thus expressed in a dialogue between a ward nurse of Elizabeth's time and a truant tom on its return to the nursery.

"_Ward Nurse_: p.u.s.s.y-cat, p.u.s.s.y-cat, where have you been?

"_Cat_: I've been to London to see the queen.

"_Ward Nurse_: p.u.s.s.y-cat, p.u.s.s.y-cat, what did you there?

"_Cat_: I frightened a little mouse from under her chair."

No doubt the incident giving rise to this verse had to do with the terrible fright Queen Bess is supposed to have had on discovering a mouse in the folds of her dress--for it was she of virgin fame to whom p.u.s.s.y-cat paid the visit. It has been asked again and again, "Why are old maids so fond of cats?" and "Why are their lives so linked together?" Maybe it is to scare, as did the cat in the rhyme, "a little mouse from under her chair."

"Ten little mice sat down to spin, p.u.s.s.y looked down, and she looked in.

What are you doing, my little men?

We're making some clothes for gentlemen.

Shall I come in to cut your threads?

No, kind sir, you'll bite off our heads."

One more rhyme of Queen Elizabeth's time begins--

"The rose is red, the gra.s.s is green, Serve Queen Bess, our n.o.ble queen."

"Kitty, the spinner, Will sit down to dinner, And eat the leg of a frog.

All the good people Will look o'er the steeple And see a cat play with a dog."

"I love little p.u.s.s.y, her coat is so warm, And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm; I won't pull her tail, nor drive her away, But p.u.s.s.y and I together will play."

"Three cats sat by the fireside, In a basket full of coal-dust; One cat said to the other, 'Su pu, pell mell--Queen Anne's dead!'

'Is she?' quoth Grimalkin, 'then I'll reign in her stead.'

Then up, up, up, they flew, up the chimney."

"Great A, little b, The cat's in the cupboard And she can't C."

"There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile; He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.

He bought a crooked cat, she caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together in a little crooked house."

"Ding dong bell, p.u.s.s.y's in the well.

Who put her in? Little Tommy Thin.

Who pulled her out? Little Johnny Stout.

What a naughty boy was that To drown poor p.u.s.s.y cat!"

Or--

"What a naughty trick was that to drown my granny's p.u.s.s.y cat, Who never did any harm, but caught the mice in father's barn."

CAT TALE OF d.i.c.k WHITTINGTON.

This legend of d.i.c.k Whittington is of Eastern origin. The story of the poor boy whose ill-fortune was so strangely reversed by the performances of his cat and its kittens finds a parallel in a cat tale found in "Arlott's Italian Novels," published 1485. The Lord Mayor of London bearing the name of Richard Whittington was a knight's son, a citizen of London, and never poor. The possible explanation of the cat in the career of Whittington of London had reference to a coal-boat known as a "cat," and far more likely to make a fortune for the future Lord Mayor than a good mouser would be.

CHAPTER VI.

A CRADLE SONG OF THE FIRST CENTURY.

Many authorities p.r.o.nounce this lullaby to be of the earliest Christian era. Some believe that in times of yore the Virgin herself sang it to the infant Jesus.

"Sleep, O son, sleep, Thy mother sings to her firstborn; Sleep, O boy, sleep, Thy father cries out to his little child.

Thousands of praises we sing to thee, A thousand thousand thousands.

"Sleep, my heart and my throne, Sleep, thou joy of thy mother; Let a soothing, hushed lullaby Come murmuring to thy heavenly ears.

Thousands of praises we sing to thee, A thousand thousand thousands.

"May nothing be wanting to thee, With roses I will cover thee, With violet garlands I will entwine thee.

Thy bed shall be among the hyacinthus, Thy cradle built up with the petals of white lilies.

Thousands of praises we sing to thee, A thousand thousand thousands.