To correctly interpret the words of a sentence, the important fact must be borne in mind that the order of speech is not the same in the feline tongue as in almost any other language. I claim to be master of forty-nine different and distinct languages, and none but the Latin and the French—my native tongue—approach in regularity the order of speech of the feline language. In the latter the order of speech is as it was with Adam. Primitively, in the construction of sentences, the most important word of the subject matter was given first. I claim that all languages would be bettered, to a great extent, if this order were observed, and I cannot withhold my condemnation of the inconsistent and reckless men who falsely asserted themselves to be learned, who carelessly contrived many of the languages of communities of people. I believe the language of signs to be God's language, and that it cannot be improved upon. I never have found a grammar of any language, not even the French grammar, all sufficient and adequate to the purposes for which it is supposed to have been intended. In fact, you may say that grammars are beyond my comprehension, if you like, and I will not deny the allegation, for I know that they are beyond the understanding of the grand majority of human beings of all tongues.

Neither have I ever found a dictionary, in any language, which gives correct definitions of a majority of the words in common use. The reader has been informed of my estimation of the great American dictionary compiled by Noah Webster, who was, I have no doubt, a very good and erudite man, but one subject to strong temptations, such, for instance, as those of publishers, whose blandishments are irresistible to many writers and apt to mislead the honest author.

In the feline language the rule is to place the noun or the verb first in the sentence, thus preparing the mind of the hearer for what is to follow. To my thinking, this is the proper form of speech and the only arrangement of words for any language. I never could admire the speaker who launches out in a mystifying rhapsody on some human being or some subject near his heart, by saying something after this manner: "Mr. Chairman, I am about to name a gentleman who," et cetera, and "a man well known to all the world as a," et cetera. In this strain long continued, until the hearers tire of the mystification and call loudly, in their justifiable impatience, for the inconsistent orator to give the name of the individual, as he should have done at first, so that the hearers might compare notes while the eulogy was proceeding. When I read, or listen to the reading of a letter, I want to know, first of all, the name of the writer, for in him centres all the interest I may have in the information contained in the communication. By the measure of my interest in the writer, I measure the interest in his letter.

According to the primal order of speech and the manner of the construction of sentences in the Cat language, you will hear such utterances as these: "Milk give me," "Meat I want," "Mary I love," "Going out, my mistress?" "Sick I am," "Happy are my babies."

In the translation of words of the feline language the inflection of the voice must constantly be kept in mind, for this, as well as the sound, denotes the meaning intended to be conveyed. For instance, "meouw," spoken in the ordinary tone of voice, means "how," and is a salutation of good-will, expressed in English by "Good morning," "Good evening," or "How d'ye do?" When the same word is uttered in a high tone of voice the first syllable "me," strongly emphasized, as indicated in "meouw," hatred, or something akin to it, is expressed by the feline. Similarly, the word "purrieu," when spoken with a long roll of the letter "r" and a rising inflection to the last syllable, is a call of the mother to her kittens; when spoken with a shrill inflection to the last syllable, the word is a note of warning to her loved ones, and when the word is uttered in an ordinary tone of voice, while the Cat rubs her side against the dress of her mistress, it denotes satisfaction, affection, or it may be a part of the feline's system of cajolery. The word "yew," also, when uttered as an explosive, is the Cat's strongest expression of hatred, and a declaration of war, but it is, also, her word for expressing a feeling of pain, or giving notice that she is ill, when uttered in an ordinary, or perhaps, in a low tone of voice. In short, there is scarcely a word in the feline language whose meaning is not subject to four or more directly opposite interpretations, according to the inflections given in its expression. "Poopoo" means tired—"poopoo" with a slight emphasis upon the first syllable means sleep—"poopoo" with a strong emphasis upon the last syllable means work, and this drives the paterfamilias out after food for the infants and mother, but when the last syllable is spoken in an explosive tone, such as poor Mr. Caudle might have uttered when henpecked by his tantalizing wife during her curtain lectures. The same word "poopoo" when uttered with a falling tone on the last syllable, is an expression of sorrow and grief.

I do not know of any sounds more soothing to the nerves of man as musical, or as musically correct in rhythm, intonation or melody, as the song of the Cat when at peace with all the world. I have listened to it many times, and many times endeavored to translate the words of the song, but, owing to the fact that she sings with closed mouth, no word has been distinct enough to separate from other words of the song. Perhaps at no distant day science, through the medium of electricity, may furnish a means of discovering not only the words of the singer, but also many words of the feline language which, through ignorance, are now mouthed by the Cat for lack of knowledge of the importance of emphasis and clearness of expression.