LINCOLN’S MOTHERLESS KITTENS.
Reading edition
Mrs. Frederick W. Pender.
Written expressly for this book.
[During one of President Lincoln’s visits to the Army of the Potomac three tiny kittens were crawling about the tent. The mother had died, and the little wanderers were expressing their grief by mewing piteously. Mr. Lincoln took them on his lap, stroked their soft fur, and murmured, “Poor little creatures! Don’t cry; you’ll be taken good care of;” and, turning to an officer, said: “Colonel, I hope you will see that these poor, little, motherless waifs are given plenty of milk and treated kindly.” The Colonel replied: “I will see, Mr. President, that they are taken in charge by the cook of our mess, and are well cared for.” Several times during his stay, Mr. Lincoln was found fondling these kittens. He would wipe their eyes tenderly with his handkerchief, stroke them, and listen to them purring their gratitude to him. It was a curious sight at an army headquarters, upon the eve of a great military crisis in the nation’s history, to see the hand that had signed the Emancipation Proclamation tenderly caressing these stray kittens.]
A MOTHER cat with kittens three, Was such a pretty sight to see; All curled around her, soft and warm, Those babies knew no fear or harm. Their noses were a rosy pink; Their tiny eyes, they tried to blink; While pussy sang, as mothers do, And babies tried to join her, too. And, then, they were so happy there All in a tent, without a care; And oft the mother purred with pride, When those wee mites were by her side. She washed their faces and their feet, With velvet paw, for she was neat; And taught them how to run and play, And they grew cunning ev’ry day. But, oh! this good old pussy died, And those wee babies cried and cried! They did not know that she was dead, And sorely begged they to be fed. They crawled around both day and night, No mother there, how sad their plight, And how their little hearts did beat At ev’ry sound of coming feet. A man was passing by the tent, He paused, then quickly in he went. He saw those waifs, he picked them up And called for milk for them to sup. Then softly murmured “not to cry,” A friend you have now I am nigh. He stroked their fur, and soothed their fears, And even wiped away their tears. Those grateful babies purred and purred, At kindly touch and gentle word; For Lincoln was their friend in need, And love shown in his ev’ry deed. And he whose pen had freed a race, Thought petting kittens no disgrace, Nor stooping to a thing so small, For God had made them, one and all. His great heart beat for them, indeed, As much as for the race he freed; And in the years that faster come, All love to think of this deed done.
Ques.—Why is the world like a cat’s tail?
Ans.—Because it is fur to the end of it.