I
have read them in the German and very good they are--very, very
good--but not like Father Cats. Cats sees no daggers in the air;
he has no white women falling in love with dusky Moors; no young
fools sighing to be a lady's glove; no crazy princes mistaking
respectable old gentlemen for rats. No, no. He writes only
sense. It is great wisdom in little bundles, a bundle for every
day of your life. You can guide a state with Cats's poems, and
you can put a little baby to sleep with his pretty songs. He was
one of the greatest men of Holland. When I take you to The
Hague, I will show you the Kloosterkerk where he lies buried.
THERE was a man for you to study, my sons! He was good through
and through. What did he say?
"O Lord, let me obtain this from Thee
To live with patience, and to die with pleasure!
*{O Heere! laat my daat van uwen hand verwerven,
Te leven met gedult, en met vermaak te sterven.}
"Did patience mean folding his hands? No, he was a lawyer,
statesman, ambassador, farmer, philosopher, historian, and poet.
He was keeper of the Great Seal of Holland! He was a--Bah! there
is too much noise here, I cannot talk.
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