"Walnuts," said he, "are good and sweet,
But must be opened ere you eat."
And thus in life you'll always find
Labor comes first,--reward behind.
[Illustration]
DON'T YOU LIKE MY CAT?
I like my cat, I like him well,
As all the house may see
I like him for himself, and not
Because the cat likes me.
He counts his only work in life,
To flourish and be fat;
And this he does with all his might;--
Of course, I like my cat.
His eyes shine out beneath his brows,
As eyes have rarely shone;
His beauty is the grandest thing
That ever cat put on.
He wears a paw of wondrous bulk,
With secret claws to match,
And puts a charm in all its play,
The pat, the box, the scratch.
I have not heard how cats are made
Within their furry veil,
But rather fancy Tippo's thoughts
Lie chiefly in his tail.
For while in every other part
His portly person sleeps,
That bushy tail, with steady wave,
A ceaseless vigil keeps.
[Illustration]
A LARK IN A CRICKET-GROUND.
A few days ago I was passing through
Sonning, an old English village on the
Thames, when I was attracted to a field near
the road by hearing the merry sounds of the
village school at a game of cricket.
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