least, he never, if he could help it, walked on the floor, but traversed a room in a series of flying leaps from chair to table, from table to lounge, from lounge to desk, with an occasional dash at the mantelpiece, just to show what he could do. It was curious to watch Agrippina during the performance of these acrobatic feats. Pride, pleasure, the anxiety of a mother, and the faint resentment of conscious inferiority struggled for mastership in her little breast. Sometimes, when Nero had been prancing and paddling about with absurd and irresistible glee, attracting and compelling the attention of everybody in the room, Agrippina would jump up on my lap, and look in my face with an expression I thought I understood. She had never before valued my affection in all her little petted, pampered life. She had been sufficient for herself and had merely tolerated me as a devoted and useful companion. But now that another had usurped so many of her privileges, I fancied there were moments when it pleased her to know that one subject, at least, was not to be beguiled from allegiance; that to one friend, at least, she always was and always would be, the dearest cat in the world. I am glad to remember that love triumphed over jealousy, and that Agrippina's devotion to Nero increased with every day of his short life. At din ner times she always yielded precedence to Nero, and it became one of our daily tasks to compel the little lad to respect his mother's privileges. He scorned his saucer of milk, and from tenderest infancy aspired to adult food, making predatory incursions upon Agrippina's plate, and obliging us finally to feed them in separate apartments. I have seen him, when a very young kitten, rear himself upon his baby legs, and with his soft and wicked little paw strike his mother in the face until she dropped the piece of meat she had been eating, when he tranquilly devoured it. Yet he was so loving and so lovable, poor little Claudius Nero! Day after day, in the narrow city garden, the two cats played together, happy in each other's society, and never a yard apart. Night after night they retired at the same time, and slept upon the same cushion, curled up inextricably into one soft, furry ball. It is a rude world, even for little cats, and evil chances lie in wait for the petted creatures we strive to shield from harm. Remembering the pangs of separation, the possibilities of unkindness or neglect, I am sometimes glad that the same cruel and selfish blow struck both mother and son, and that they lie together, safe from hurt or hazard, sleeping tranquilly and always, under the shadow of the friendly pines. MOTHER AND SON 105 Agrippina: Julia Agrippina, the mother of the Roman Emperor Nero; in history she was a very bad woman. author has given this name to her cat in a spirit of fun. The Claudius Nero: the Roman emperor who is known as the greatest of tyrants; he is supposed to have ordered the burning of Rome. futility: uselessness. Gracchi: Tiberius Sempronius and Caius Sempronius Gracchus, two brothers, who were Roman tribunes of upright character and labored for the good of the Roman people. Their mother was extremely proud of them, as instanced in the well-known story. supercilious: disdainful, contemptuous. of parts of abilities. Miss Austen: Jane Austen, an English authoress who lived in the early part of the nineteenth century. Infanta: the title given to Spanish princesses. debonair: gay, light-hearted. amphitheater: a building in ancient Rome devoted to combats among wild beasts and to the fights between gladiators, or paid fighters. predatory: like a robber. HE E prayeth well who loveth well, S. T. COLERIDGE: The Ancient Mariner. 106 FOURTH READER 14. ROBERT OF LINCOLN By William Cullen Bryant was spent almost entirely in literary work, with the exception of some ten years which he devoted to the practice of law. In 1826 he became the editor of the "Evening Post," a New York newspaper, and held this position for fifty years. He made his paper a model of good English and in that way exerted great influence upon the public taste. He was a keen lover of nature, and knew all the features of each season of the year; he noted the birds, the trees, the wayside flowers around his country home, and then told all he saw in delightful poems. His great merit as a writer consists in his nice use of language; his words are so well chosen that his meaning is clear and his verse is full of melody. The selections given are two of his simpler poems and show him in a twofold light. In the present poem, he is the poet of nature singing sweetly the life of a bird; in The Song of Marion's Men" 66 M ROBERT OF LINCOLN ERRILY swinging on brier and weed, Over the mountain side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, White are his shoulders and white his crest. Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, Spink, spank, spink; Look what a nice new coat is mine, Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, 107 Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee chee chee |