THE CAT OF HINDUSTAN.

WHERE mighty Ganges rolls in foam Down-sweeping to the Indian Sea, Grimalkin Long-Ears made her home; Lover of birds (to eat) was she, Wise and astute as cat can be. There was a hill named Vulture-Fort, Great vulture nests filled all the space; There did the little birdlings sport, And chirp and hop with birdling grace; To puss a most attractive place. She crept along paw after paw, Like velvet dropping soft and light; She munched the small birds with no awe Of Justice;—sudden—what a sight! Her fur stood upright with affright. The mightiest vulture of them all— Jaradgabah—his shadow cast Upon her! see him, black and tall! Well might Grimalkin’s heart beat fast. She thought, “My hour is come at last! “Swiftness and strength avail not me, I cannot fly, nor fight this bird; I’ll try my wits with flattery.” She smoothed her fur and gently purred— The vulture understood each word. “Hearken to me, the wisest cat That in all Hindustan you’ll meet; Temperate and good; no lean nor fat, Nor fish, nor flesh, I ever eat; Grass only is my diet sweet. “All men the stranger’s rights revere, And hospitality afford; Even foes may come, and with no fear Sit unmolested at our board; To all, food, shelter, we accord. “Straw, water, earth, and pleasant words The good man’s house will aye contain; Shall I seek from you, king of birds, Kind hospitality in vain? Then would all Hindustan complain.” The end was this: her whisking tail And specious purr were not withstood; The vulture’s wrath began to fail; Surely this pleasing creature should Be wise, be pious, be most good. He asked her in;—O with good cause The happiest cat by Ganges’ foam! She winked her eyes and licked her paws; Soon he went forth awhile to roam; She ate the small birds and went home. The mothers came at eve; no sound Of joyous chirping filled the air, But claws and feathers strewed the ground, And in the midst, in blank despair, Jaradgabah sat brooding there. “Jaradgabah!” shrieked every one— “’Tis he who has in frenzy slain Our darling broods! Be justice done!” The poor bird had no time to explain; They seized him, rent his neck in twain. When you your bosom’s love would mate With strangers, be not prudence mute; Think of Jaradgabah’s hard fate; His trusting nature bore sad fruit. Grimalkin Long-Ears was astute.