Nursery Rhyme. XLV. Tales. The Story Of Catskin.

The Story Of Catskin.

    There once was a gentleman grand,
        Who lived at his country seat;
    He wanted an heir to his land,
        For he'd nothing but daughters yet.

    His lady's again in the way,
        So she said to her husband with joy,
    "I hope some or other fine day,
        To present you, my dear, with a boy."

    The gentleman answered gruff,
        "If 't should turn out a maid or a mouse,
    For of both we have more than enough,
        She shan't stay to live in my house."

    The lady, at this declaration,
        Almost fainted away with pain;
    But what was her sad consternation,
        When a sweet little girl came again.

    She sent her away to be nurs'd,
        Without seeing her gruff papa;
    And when she was old enough,
        To a school she was packed away.

    Fifteen summers are fled,
        Now she left good Mrs. Jervis;
    To see home she was forbid, -
        She determined to go and seek service.

    Her dresses so grand and so gay,
        She carefully rolled in a knob;
    Which she hid in a forest away,
        And put on a Catskin robe.

    She knock'd at a castle gate,
        And pray'd for charity;
    They sent her some meat on a plate,
        And kept her a scullion to be.

    My lady look'd long in her face,
        And prais'd her great beauty;
    I'm sorry I've no better place,
        And you must our scullion be.

    So Catskin was under the cook,
        A very sad life she led,
    For often a ladle she took,
        And broke poor Catskin's head.

    There is now a grand ball to be,
        When ladies their beauties show;
    "Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me,
        How much I should like to go!"

    "You go with your Catskin robe,
        You dirty impudent slut!
    Among the fine ladies and lords,
        A very fine figure you'd cut."

    A basin of water she took,
        And dash'd in poor Catskin's face;
    But briskly her ears she shook,
        And went to her hiding-place.

    She washed every stain from her skin,
        In some crystal waterfall;
    Then put on a beautiful dress,
        And hasted away to the ball.

    When she entered, the ladies were mute,
        Overcome by her figure and face;
    But the lord, her young master, at once
        Fell in love with her beauty and grace;

    He pray'd her his partner to be,
        She said, "Yes!" with a sweet smiling glance;
    All night with no other lady
        But Catskin, our young lord would dance.

    "Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live?"
        For now was the sad parting time;
    But she no other answer would give,
        Than this distich of mystical rhyme, -

    [Old English Script:
    Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell,
    At the sign of the Basin of Water I Dwell.]

    Then she flew from the ball-room, and put
        On her Catskin robe again;
    And slipt in unseen by the cook,
        Who little thought where she had been.

    The young lord, the very next day,
        To his mother his passion betrayed;
    He declared he never would rest,
        Till he'd found out this beautiful maid.

    There's another grand ball to be,
        Where ladies their beauties show;
    "Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me,
        How much I should like to go!"

    "You go with your Catskin robe,
        You dirty impudent slut!
    Among the fine ladies and lords,
        A very fine figure you'd cut."

    In a rage the ladle she took,
        And broke poor Catskin's head;
    But off she went shaking her ears,
        And swift to her forest she fled.

    She washed every blood-stain off
        In some crystal waterfall;
    Put on a more beautiful dress,
        And hasted away to the ball.

    My lord, at the ball-room door,
        Was waiting with pleasure and pain;
    He longed to see nothing so much
        As the beautiful Catskin again.

    When he asked her to dance, she again
        Said "Yes!" with her first smiling glance;
    And again, all the night, my young lord
        With none but fair Catskin did dance.

    "Pray tell me," said he, "where you live?"
        For now 'twas the parting-time;
    But she no other answer would give,
        Than this distich of mystical rhyme, -

    [Old English Script:
    Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell,
    At the sign of the Broken-Ladle I dwell.]

    Then she flew from the ball, and put on
        Her Catskin robe again;
    And slipt in unseen by the cook,
        Who little thought where she had been.

    My lord did again, the next day,
        Declare to his mother his mind,
    That he never more happy should be,
        Unless he his charmer should find.

    Now another grand ball is to be,
        Where ladies their beauties show;
    "Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me,
        How much I should like to go!"

    "You go with your Catskin robe,
        You impudent, dirty slut!
    Among the fine ladies and lords,
        A very fine figure you'd cut."

    In a fury she took the skimmer,
        And broke poor Catskin's head;
    But heart-whole and lively as ever,
        Away to her forest she fled.

    She washed the stains of blood
        In some crystal waterfall;
    Then put on her most beautiful dress,
        And hasted away to the ball.

    My lord, at the ball-room door,
        Was waiting with pleasure and pain;
    He longed to see nothing so much
        As the beautiful Catskin again.

    When he asked her to dance, she again
        Said "Yes!" with her first smiling glance;
    And all the night long, my young lord
        With none but fair Catskin would dance.

    "Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live?"
        For now was the parting-time;
    But she no other answer would give,
        Than this distich of mystical rhyme, -

    [Old English Script:
    Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell,
    At the sign of the Broken-Skimmer I dwell.]

    Then she flew from the ball, and threw on
        Her Catskin cloak again;
    And slipt in unseen by the cook,
        Who little thought where she had been.

    But not by my lord unseen,
        For this time he followed too fast;
    And, hid in the forest green,
        Saw the strange things that past.

    Next day he took to his bed,
        And sent for the doctor to come;
    And begg'd him no other than Catskin,
        Might come into his room.

    He told him how dearly he lov'd her,
        Not to have her his heart would break:
    Then the doctor kindly promised
        To the proud old lady to speak.

    There's a struggle of pride and love,
        For she fear'd her son would die;
    But pride at the last did yield,
        And love had the mastery.

    Then my lord got quickly well,
        When he was his charmer to wed;
    And Catskin, before a twelvemonth,
        Of a young lord was brought to bed.

    To a wayfaring woman and child,
        Lady Catskin one day sent an alms;
    The nurse did the errand, and carried
        The sweet little lord in her arms.

    The child gave the alms to the child,
        This was seen by the old lady-mother;
    "Only see," said that wicked old woman,
        "How the beggars' brats take to each other!"

    This throw went to Catskin's heart,
        She flung herself down on her knees,
    And pray'd her young master and lord
        To seek out her parents would please.

    They set out in my lord's own coach;
        They travelled, but nought befel
    Till they reach'd the town hard by,
        Where Catskin's father did dwell.

    They put up at the head inn,
        Where Catskin was left alone;
    But my lord went to try if her father
        His natural child would own.

    When folks are away, in short time
        What great alterations appear;
    For the cold touch of death had all chill'd
        The hearts of her sisters dear.

    Her father repented too late,
        And the loss of his youngest bemoan'd;
    In his old and childless state,
        He his pride and cruelty own'd.

    The old gentleman sat by the fire,
        And hardly looked up at my lord;
    He had no hopes of comfort
        A stranger could afford.

    But my lord drew a chair close by,
        And said, in a feeling tone,
    "Have you not, sir, a daughter, I pray,
        You never would see or own?"

    The old man alarm'd, cried aloud,
        "A hardened sinner am I!
    I would give all my worldly goods,
        To see her before I die."

    Then my lord brought his wife and child
        To their home and parent's face,
    Who fell down and thanks returned
        To God, for his mercy and grace.

    The bells, ringing up in the tower,
        Are sending a sound to the heart;
    There's a charm in the old church-bells,
        Which nothing in life can impart!