Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
Mew... mew... mew.

A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten

To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken
in a snappy, matter-of-fact way.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Here lies a kitten good, who kept
A kitten's proper place.
He stole no pantry eatables,
Nor scratched the baby's face.
_He let the alley-cats alone_.
He had no yowling vice.
His shirt was always laundried well,
He freed the house of mice.
Until his death he had not caused
His little mistress tears,
He wore his ribbon prettily,
_He washed behind his ears_.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

Yankee Doodle

This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural
painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a
slower, more orotund fashion. It is presumably an exercise for an
entertainment on the evening of Washington's Birthday.

Dawn this morning burned all red
Watching them in wonder.
There I saw our spangled flag
Divide the clouds asunder.
Then there followed Washington.
Ah, he rode from glory,
Cold and mighty as his name
And stern as Freedom's story.
Unsubdued by burning dawn
Led his continentals.
Vast they were, and strange to see
In gray old regimentals:--
Marching still with bleeding feet,
Bleeding feet and jesting--
Marching from the judgment throne
With energy unresting.
How their merry quickstep played--
Silver, sharp, sonorous,
Piercing through with prophecy
The demons' rumbling chorus--
Behold the ancient powers of sin
And slavery before them!--
Sworn to stop the glorious dawn,
The pit-black clouds hung o'er them.
Plagues that rose to blast the day
Fiend and tiger faces,
Monsters plotting bloodshed for
The patient toiling races.
Round the dawn their cannon raged,
Hurling bolts of thunder,
Yet before our spangled flag
Their host was cut asunder.
Like a mist they fled away....
Ended wrath and roaring.
Still our restless soldier-host
From East to West went pouring.

High beside the sun of noon
They bore our banner splendid.
All its days of stain and shame
And heaviness were ended.
Men were swelling now the throng
From great and lowly station--
Valiant citizens to-day
Of every tribe and na