Once on a time there lived a Mouse,

      Sole mistress of a spacious house,

      And rich as mouse need be:

      'Tis true her dwelling, underground,

      Was neither long, nor square, nor round,

      But suiting her degree.

      No lofty ceilings there were seen,

      No windows clear, or gardens green,

      Or rooms with neat division.

      But, in a corner, she could find

      Of viands, sorted to her mind,

      A notable provision.

      Her neighbours round esteemed her well,

      And often in her little cell,

      Would spend a social hour;

      Besides, she had a friendly heart,

      And to the poor she would impart

      Some of her little store.

      Now, Madam Mouse two sons had got,

      One named Streak,—the other, Spot;

      She gave them education,

      And also taught them to excel

      In all such arts as fitted well

      A Mouse's occupation.

      Two prettier Mice were never seen,

      So soft, so nimble, and so clean;

      Their teeth were sharp, their eyes were bright;

      And when through wood she saw them gnaw

      As neatly, almost, as a saw,

      The mother's eyes beamed with delight.

      And oft, she said, "My sons, beware

      The guileful Cat and baited snare,

      To Mice a sure perdition!"

      And showed how, caught within the trap

      They would bewail their dire mishap,

      With tears of sad condition.

      And, in plain terms, she would describe

      Those terrors of the mousing tribe,

      In every form and feature;

      And then she would pourtray the Cat

      Sworn enemy of Mouse or Rat,

      A most voracious creature.

      Now, being grown both stout and strong,

      They thought they had remained too long

      In idleness at home;

      And now their food they daily sought,

      And of their mother little thought

      While they abroad did roam.

      One fatal hour, with spirits gay,

      Far from their home they strolled away,

      And reached a lone farm-house;

      Abundance, there, was found to eat;

      It had been long a known retreat

      To many a wandering mouse.

      But now the housewife saw, dismayed,

      The waste so many mice had made,

      And did a trap procure.

      "And if I catch a mouse," said she,

      "No mercy shall it find from me;

      From mice my pantry I'll secure."

      Agreeing once to sup at home,

      A different way the brothers roam;

      Each finds a different fate.

      Soon nimble Spot the pantry found,

      And views the eatables around,

      With consequence elate.

      And in the midst a trap there stood,

      Made strong with wire and with wood,

      And baited with fresh-toasted cheese.

      "Dear me!" said the admiring mouse,

      "What do I see?—a pretty house,

      Constructed me to please.

      "What silly things these mothers are,"

      Said he, with a conceited air;

      "What cause is there for fear?

      This door is very high and wide,

      Myself and twenty more beside,

      Might safely enter here."

      Then in he rushed, and seized the bait,

      And soon the dainty morsel ate,

      Then turned to go away.

      But, ah! poor mouse, he finds the door,

      Which he so freely passed before,

      Compels him now to stay.

      Now his kind mother's warnings rise,

      And place before his weeping eyes,

      Grim death in every shape.

      Alas! poor prisoner Spot can see

      No prospect left of liberty,

      No chance of his escape.

      Now turn we to the kitchen side,

      And see what fortune can betide

      Poor Streak, who there is gone;

      Where by a blazing fire there sat

      A glossy, well-fed tabby cat,

      Half sleeping, and alone.

      With veneration mixed with awe,

      For the first time, a cat he saw

      And thus expressed his mind:—

      "Can this meek creature prove," said he,

      "The cat—so oft described to me,—

      Devourer of our kind."

      And now, to have a nearer view,

      Closer and closer still, he drew,

      And hears her softly purring;

      "Ah me!" he cries, "what dulcet note,

      What music from that downy throat;

      I'm sure she is not stirring."

      The cat now turned her amber eyes,

      And view'd poor Streak with glad surprise,

      Then caught him with her claw;

      Now o'er her head she whirls him round,

      Then dashes him against the ground,

      Or strikes him with her paw.

      Now lets him run a little way,

      Now claws him back in cruel play,

      Or bites through his soft ear;

      At