The Weber Literary Journal to find that the Royal Order of Cats had assembled at its accustomed place for a renewal of activities. Our cat was there; and regardless of home ties a resolution passed between my firmly set jaws, which promised no good for our beloved mouser. Fortifying myself with some three or four cans, I sallied forth as quietly as possible, around the corner of the shed where the non-parliamentary cats were arguing some undebatable question. I showered my volley of cans upon them. A spitting and jumping away of all members followed. Rejoicing I went back to the tent, slipped into bed, and was soon blissfully dreaming. But it was not to last; for once again the cats with the unconquerable determination which only cats possess, came back reinforced by some new members. I grew frantic, and mad with anger, ran out of my tent and rained another volley of cans upon the shed. They rolled off with a crash. All was silent. I gathered another charge of cans and lined them along the fence rail, waiting for another assembling of the Order. An hour passed; but no furry cats disturbed the stillness. It was evident that they had gone to their places of abode and that I could at last go to bed and slumber in peace. I stumbled into my tent and laid my head on the pillow. Some few minutes elapsed before my indignation had subsided enough to permit of sleep. But it came at last. A third attempt proved fatal, however, for before long the shrill yowl of our gentle loving Tom rang clearly in my ears. Instantly there arose a tenor blending of the neighbors' pets, and I pulled the cover over my aching head and gave up defeated. I can accept most any form of pests; but the cat may it soon become extinct! 38 The Weber Literary Journal To a Portrait By Blanche Kendall McKey O little Puritan Mother, with your neat little, prim little cap! O little Puritan Mother, with your exiled babe in your lap! Down through the years you are dreaming, A-tune with your bleak stretch of sea: Down through the years, tides recurring, E'en till you look upon me. All that you gave, God revering, Has somehow been saved through the years, For cities have sprung where you struggled, And roses have bloomed from your tears; All that you gave, God revering, garnered somehow from Life's sea-And your eyes, vision-lit in the dawning, must have looked on the glad heart of me. (Child of another Religion, Child of an Inland Rock, Heir to the fire-cleansed courage created through struggle and shock; Heir to an opulence regal, child whom Pleasure beguiles, Heir to the courage of martyrs, and blessed with a hundred smiles.) What shall I give in the dawning, when a rose-leaf hand clasps mine? How can I give in the dawning, a gift that shall equal thine? Puritan, Pioneer, Patriot! Revered is our ancestral line. Yet how shall I give, God-revering, a gift that can equal thine? God grant that somehow the courage saved from the waste of years, God grant that somehow the roses, which sprang from your still lake of tears, Shall live till the Dawning eternal, unblemished by Fortune's wiles And give us the strength to bequeath to our young, more than an heirloom of smiles! 39