gayety in their dancing measures, and the simplest narratives have a touch of picturesqueness, never lost on infancy. Even an A, B, C verse, which we try to make as imbecile as words will allow, can assume a pleasing form in the nurseries of France. What, for example, could be more hopelessly uninteresting or irrelevant than the English
"Great A, little a, Bouncing B,
Cat's in the cupboard, and can't see me."
Such a vapid statement insults the intelligence of a baby. The Germans do better. They have several rhymes, the shortest and simplest of which was the first word picture ever grasped by my own dawning intelligence.
"A, B, C,
Die Katze liegt im Schnee,
Der Schnee ging hinweg,
Die Katze liegt im Dreck."
Prettier than this is the version sung in Saxony and Austria.
"A, B, C, Die Katze liegt im Schnee;
Als sie wieder 'raus kam,
Hatt' sie weisse Stiefeln an;
Weisse Stiefeln muss sie haben,
Dass sie kann nach Dresden traben."
Little Parisians, as well as little Teutons, delight in Pussy's snowy socks.
