UC-NRLF 
 
 1111 
 Hill III L III III 1 1 
 
 B 3 57^ SD3 
 
 f /nu&yl 
 
 I 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OK T11K L\J 
 
 University of California. | 
 
 GIFT OF ^ 
 
 GEORGE MOREY RICHARDSON. 
 
 Received, August, i8g8. 
 ^Accession No . X£ fJtKp Class No . ... 
 
CATONINETALES 
 
 EDITED AND ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 W. J. LINTON. 
 
Only three hundred and thirty copies printed. 
 
 No :... 
 
CATONINETALES 
 
 A DOMESTIC EPIC 
 
 BY HATTIE BROWN 
 
 A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 
 14 
 
 y^Aij^ 15 
 
 Xondon : 
 LAWRENCE AND BULLEN, 
 169 New Bond Street, W 
 1891 
 
Cat Island discovered by Columbus 
 1492 
 
 7 1 tf 4 
 
THE following brief Memoir, contributed over the 
 signature of F. G. H. to the columns of the Mobile 
 Record, at the date of Miss Brown's decease, gives 
 us all that has been brought to light concerning the 
 Author of Catoninetales. 
 
 J-JATTIE BROWN was born at Natches, Ga., where 
 her parents were field-hands on the plantation of Mr. Jo. 
 Fields. Little Hattie, named after one of the gentleman's 
 daughters, was treated as a pet. Miss Fields, a first-rate 
 musician, had also much taste for poetry, which she was 
 in habit of reciting ; and Hattie, with the African faculty 
 of imitation, so picked up the laws of measure as well as 
 an insatiate ambition for original production. After the 
 War the family came North, and earned a modest living 
 in Boston, where at the period we edited the Girls' Own. 
 Therein some of H. B.'s early verse had first appearance, 
 submitted to us with a few ingenuous words stating the 
 age of the writer, — u years. The lines were distinctly 
 too good for the age ; and we could not help instituting 
 an inquiry that led to acquaintance with the family, poor 
 but respectable, an acquaintance very soon ripening into 
 a warm affection only interrupted by her untimely death. 
 
The three dignities of poetry : the union of the true and 
 the wonderful, the union of the beautiful and the wise, 
 and the union of art and nature. 
 
 Triads of Cativg the Wise. 
 O for a quill from out a cat-bird's wing ! 
 
 Young's Night Thoughts. 
 Quoth he then to the Drummer — Lay it on ! Sterne. 
 
CATONINETALES 
 
 A DOMESTIC EPIC 
 
 COMPRISING A VERY TRUE AND DISMAL PATHETIC 
 NARRATION OF THE ENDS OF A MOST WORTHY CAT 
 
 KOK ROBYN 
 
 BEGINNING WITH HIS FIRST DEATH AND BURIAL 
 
 AND THE INQUEST THEREUPON 
 
 BY H. B. 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. As you like it. 
 
 Robyn, jolly Robyn ! Merry Wives, etc. 
 
 Robyn ! good fellow ! Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 I thank you, Sir ! I shall be bold, I warrant you. Have 
 you a stool there to be melancholy upon ? 
 
 Every man in his humour. 
 
 B 
 
What say you ? Simon Catlin ! Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 We have bespoke a CAT. 
 Anglo-Saxon Cat, Danish Kat, Swedish Katt, Old French, Irish, 
 and Prussian Cat, Low German Katt, High German Kater and 
 Katze, Welsh Cath, Cornish Kath, Biscayan Catua, Sclavonic 
 Kot, Amorican Kaz, Kach, Latin Catus, Die. Var. Catte, &c. 
 
 His titles were 
 The Most Noble The Archduke Rumpelstiltzchen, Marquis McBum, 
 Earl Tomlemagne, Baron Ratacide, Waowhler, and Skaratch. 
 There should be a court-mourning in Cat-Land ; and if the Dragon 
 wear a black ribbon round his neck, or a band of crape a la militaire 
 round one of his fore-paws, it will be a becoming mark of respect. 
 
 Pane at tatitr urns {Sotithey's Translation). 
 A Cat has nine lives and a woman nine cats' lives. Old Proverb. 
 And as the Katte hath nine lives, so also hath the Katte his taile nine 
 vertebrae, whereof upon echone a several life dependeth. 
 
 Browne's Vulgar Errours. 
 What a monstrous taile our Cat has got. Carey. 
 Your Cat a mountain looks. Shakspere. 
 Silence awhile ! Robin ! take off this. Id. Mere cat-lap. Anon. 
 
CATONINETALES 
 
 IN NINE FYTTES 
 
 The Funeral — The Fight — Love — Drowned — Margaret 
 — Hanged — Shot— Thanksgiving Day — Mystery. 
 
 And an end. 
 
 KOK ROBYN'S FUNERAL 
 
 His gite was golden gay with streakis blak. Chaucer. 
 
 \\THO kill'd KOK ROBYN? i 
 
 I did, said Fanny ; vi 
 
 I was set on by Danny: 3 
 
 It was I kill'd Kok Robyn. 
 
 P 2 
 
FIRST FYTTE 
 
 Who heard his groans? 
 
 I did, said Union ; 4 
 
 And growl'd in communion 
 
 While picking my bones. 
 
 Who saw him die ? 
 
 I did, said Jack, 5 
 
 As I lay on my back 
 Wide awake in one eye. 
 
 Who 's Funeral Boss ? 
 
 I am, said Nelly, 2 
 
 Though my heart 's all a jelly, 
 
 A-quake at his loss. 
 
 Who '11 dig his grave ? 
 I will, said Father, 
 Unless you would rather 
 
 Have some stranger knave. 
 
 Who'll bear the pall? 
 
 I will, said Timothy ; 7 
 
 I '11 mind a limb o' thee : 
 
 So the chickens said all. 
 
 Who '11 be chief mourner ? 
 
 I, said O'Donoghue ; 8 
 
 And no mother's son o' you' 
 
 '1.1 do it forlorner. 
 
 Who '11 sing the psalm ? 
 
 We will, said the Mice ; 
 
 It will be real nice, 
 We re so blessedly calm, 
 
FIRST FYTTE 
 
 And who '11 set the tune? 
 We will, chirp'd the Birds : 
 Don't ask us for words, 
 
 But we '11 manage a tune. 
 
 Who '11 preach the sermon ? 
 
 I will, prosed a Rat ; 
 
 I have it quite pat 
 From the text Cats are vermin. 
 
 Here ends our first story, 
 One taile of Kok Robyn : 
 Let us all stop our sobbin' ! 
 
 We hope he 's in glory. 
 
 And now take note : as here-under wrote. 
 
 NOTE — i Robin's name, Kok Robin, which same did 
 our chief he-cat claim ; and VI delicit Fan, a she-setter, 
 a tan. 3 our chore-boy was, Dan. Then Union and 
 Tack, 4 tabby, 5 black, were our kittens, both born on a 
 midsummer morn of one mother, loved well by 2 Sister 
 Nell. 7 's a name that was flung at our rooster most 
 young ; and by 8 sure I mean our great Rooster Dean, 
 of Irish descent. D, LEO, in went denoting a neighbour 
 as payment for labour in help of our plot. Other notes 
 we need not. 
 
 Sir Kok's epitaph 
 Will be utter'd by Leo, D 
 
 And his death-song. Laus Deo ! 
 Let no one laugh ! 
 
DIRGE 
 
 The Epitaph 
 Here rests, his head and chest due-lapp'd in earth, 
 A Katte to Fortune and to Fame unknown : 
 Much Science troubled not his kitly berth ; 
 Sad Poesy now makes his taile her own. 
 Now must we diverge to a right tuneful 
 Dirge. 
 Dark Melancholy ! mark ! 
 Let never dog bark, 
 But loving cats hark 
 
 And echo our moan ! 
 Though myself but a dog, 
 Yet I feel that no clog 
 To my sorrows, which jog 
 
 On in unison 
 With the mourners around, 
 Who me worthy found 
 With not too dogged sound 
 
 T' accompany them 
 In these first obsequies 
 Of the friend that here lies 
 And to me did devise 
 
 His fit requiem. 
 So I Leo, allow'd 
 A cat's name, here avow'd, 
 Of which Popes are proud 
 In their haught catalog', 
 Find currage to lay 
 On this noble Cat's clay 
 What an advocate may 
 Who is only a dog. 
 
DIRGE 
 
 He was supple and brave, 
 As was proved by that knave 
 That brought him to his grave : 
 
 I anticipate here : 
 But the words may remain, 
 For he has to be slain 
 Again, and again 
 
 Till nine lives disappear. 
 
 He was striped like a pumpkin, 
 Had shoulders and rump thin, 
 And well could a jump win 
 
 With any a-foot; 
 Sleek was he and dainty ; 
 Steals, so, and why mayn't he? 
 If not quite a saint, he 
 
 Ain't less of a brute. 
 
 So to speak of him present : 
 The thought is unpleasant 
 Of him all decessant 
 
 If not all deceased : 
 Though I 'd say to his face 
 That not one of his race 
 Has less call for the grace 
 
 Of dog poet or priest. 
 
 For his gifts, they were great ; 
 What he stole, that he ate ; 
 For his faults, who shall state 
 
 Any ill of the Dead? 
 O, might I be likewise ! 
 
PEDIGREE 
 
 Pour, tears ! from all eyes : 
 
 And the kind Destinies 
 
 Heave a stone at his head ! 
 
 Sic transit Catus Mundi, 
 Translated Sunday. 
 
 And exit Leo. 
 What recks it me ? 
 
 Oh! 
 Though this first fytte be ended, 
 Thereto is appended 
 Sir Kok's pedigree : 
 ( Sacrificium laudis ) 
 Which now sent abroad is 
 As written by me 
 
 H.B. 
 THE PEDIGREE 
 The cat-log of him. Shakspere. 
 
 His hatchment hangs " on the outer wall " 
 
 For every one to see ; 
 And fit is it the world should know 
 
 Kok Robyn's pedigree. 
 Listen, dear lords and ladies all ! 
 
 Lend willing ears to me ! 
 
 He was a Catte of lineage high, 
 Which well-writ scrolls remark : 
 
 Of very ancient ancestry, 
 
 The Two Cats in the Ark : 
 
 A fact that 's so remarkable, 
 I could not keep it dark. 
 
PEDIGREE 
 
 'Mong his forbears was Fiddler Kat, 
 When Kow o'erleap'd the Moon ; 
 And the Cat that Mother Hubbard's Dog 
 Was feeding with a spoon ; 
 
 And on maternal side that Puss 
 In Boots like a dragoon, 
 
 Carabbas hight. Even royal blood 
 He claim'd in line from him 
 
 Who, housed with a beloved witch, 
 One night went up the chim- 
 
 Ney, crying I am King o' the Cats ! 
 The taile is true, though Grimm. 
 
 In modern times one forerunner 
 Was well-sung Gilbert Katte 
 
 Who Philip Sparowe slew, rehearsed 
 By his own laureat. (Skelto)i) 
 
 Tho' Cornish cats such tailes deny, 
 Tailes may be long for that. 
 
 Still later, in the ways of trade, 
 'Mong his grandsires came down 
 
 The Patron of Dick Whittington, 
 Who brought him such renown 
 
 He purseveres at top o' 'Change 
 In Troynovant's great town. 
 
 What child but oftentimes has read 
 Of Goody Two-Shoes' friends? 
 
 The chief her Cat, a Cat of birth, 
 Though here she condescends : 
 
10 PEDIGREE 
 
 She knows that humble maiden's worth, 
 And so her countenance lends. 
 
 See in heraldic books how high 
 
 The House of CAT is placed ! 
 The English Lion without spot, C.A. i 
 
 The Scottish ne'er disgraced. C.A. 2 
 
 What knight could bear a prouder crest 
 
 Than Wild-Cat from the waist ? C.A. 3 
 
 Or look again to elder lore ! 
 
 When Thor in Giant-Land 
 Put forth his godship in its power, 
 
 Which nought else could withstand, 
 There was the Cat of Destiny 
 
 To make him weak of hand. C.A. 4 
 
 The greatest goddess Cybele, 
 
 By Cats her coach is led ; C.A. 5 
 
 And look where, following Bacchus' car, 
 
 The wild-limb'd Mcenads spread, 
 And Fawns with Tigers dance to the tune 
 
 In old Silenus' head. C.A. 6 
 
 C.A. (Caudal Appendage) 1 2 Whether the Shield of England first 
 contained Lions or Libbards (leopards) has been the subject of many 
 serious inquiries. In the year 1235 Ferdinand, Emperorof the West, 
 gave Henry III three leopards for his coat. Casson's Heraldry. 
 
 In the Roll of Caerlaverock the banner of Edward I has 3 leopards. 
 
 Lions in England's coat, says Shakspcre. 
 
 Leopards on thy shield, says Walter Scott. 
 C.A. 3 The Catesby crest : arms 3 cates or gingerbread cats. 
 C.A. 4 The Iceland Cat he could not thaw. Old Rune. 
 C.A. 5 The Scandinavian goddess Freya also has her cat-charioteers. 
 C. A. 6 Silenus swang this way and that. Wordsworth. 
 
PEDIGREE It 
 
 And when that loose Saturnian crew 
 
 The Titans did displace, {Ovid) 
 
 And scamper'd the jovial Gods like beasts, 
 Sol's Sister took Cat-grace 
 
 And swore she would die an old maid or 
 A Cat : so made her race. 
 
 An old sky-myth : when storms invade 
 
 The Moon-ruled realm of Night, 
 Diana, huntress chased and fair, (Jonsoti) 
 
 Appears to flee ; but light 
 Returns to chase the grey mouse clouds 
 
 With re-Olympian might. C.A. 7 
 
 Wise Egypt held Cats half divine, 
 
 Their place to guard the Soul C.A. 8 
 
 In royal tombs j no people yet 
 Have Cats consider'd foul, 
 
 Though rude art quite mistakingly 
 Made Pallas' Cat an owl. 
 
 The goddess hight of Liberty, 
 
 In her most high attaint {Livy) 
 
 In haughty Rome, held at her feet % 
 
 A Cat without complaint, 
 Imaging order'd liberty, 
 
 True freedom, with restraint. 
 
 C.A. 7 " The Cat-Moon eats the grey mice of the Night." PanCat- 
 tantrums, Book 1, chap. 13. Pan-criti (cretur), the Hindu Goddess 
 of Nature, drives a car drawn by countless myriads of Cats. 
 C.A. 8 ^-Elurus was a Cat-headed God. 
 
1 2 PEDIGREE 
 
 I pass, lest some deem me profane, 
 
 The Cat of Judah's Tribe, 
 Saint Mark's too ; but the Nemsean mark, 
 
 To whom we must ascribe 
 This fame, Alcides claim'd his skin 
 
 The gods themselves to bribe. 
 
 Sage ^Esop fables to us how 
 
 A Cat, which loved a man, 
 Became a woman for his sake 
 
 And but (the story ran) 
 
 A mouse disturb'd their wedded bliss, 
 
 Before the bliss began. 
 
 Or take the story t'other way, 
 
 Of the woman Cattish turn'd, 
 Saved only when her head was off, 
 
 Her taile extremely burn'd ! 
 There really is a power of things 
 
 That might from Cats be learn'd. 
 
 Of Una and her faithful friend 
 
 I may not dare to speak : 
 The maiden Truth so pure and bold, 
 
 And Strength so maiden meek : 
 To retail Spenser, seems to me, 
 
 Should task the soul of Cheke. 
 
 And other poems leonine, 
 
 Too many much to quote, 
 Traverse the Nubia of my thought, — 
 
 And most are known by rote : 
 
PEDIGREE 13 
 
 My chiefest care has been to show 
 There have been Cats of note. 
 
 Yet memories, meandering home, 
 
 One saintlike Cat behold. 
 Whom Gregory (Nazianzen styled) 
 
 To his great heart did fold, 
 A nimble Cat upon his knees 
 
 To see the nimb of gold. 
 
 What families of history, 
 
 Vouch'd histoiy, not myth, 
 And men of might in arts, and arms 
 
 Of most heroic pith, 
 The name of Cat made honourable, 
 
 If not so common as Smith ; 
 
 The Catos, Catius, Catiline, 
 
 Catullus, widely famed 
 For song ; also Leonidas ; (S. Catuldus too) 
 
 For race of Cat are claim'd : 
 Beside some dozen Popes, — of some 
 
 Cats need not be ashamed. 
 
 That subtil Cat of Medici ; 
 
 And Russia's lustiest dame ; 
 And Shakspere's Queen, may be divorced 
 
 But not divorced from Fame ; 
 With Kate, the wild Kate of his love 
 
 Petruchio cared to tame. 
 
 And Caterina Camoens, 
 
 The Portingals' sweet flower, 
 
14 PEDIGREE 
 
 Ay ! sweet as Arqua's laurel bloom 
 
 That Petrarch had for dower ; 
 St. Catherine of the Wheel, pourtray'd 
 
 By Raffaele's gracious power. 
 
 So Catherine-wheels, or cat-on-wheels, 
 
 As pyrotechnics know : 
 July, or say November nights, 
 
 They make a pretty show, 
 With boys and belles and squibs and shells 
 
 And rockets all of a row. 
 
 Fireworks, flowers also named from Cats ! 
 
 The radiant Lion's-Teeth, 
 French Dents-de-Lio?i ; Lion's-Foot, 
 
 Growing moist woods beneath, 
 Curing the snake's bite; Lion's Tail 
 
 With many purpled wreath ; 
 
 Cat-Tail (chair-bottoming) ; and mint 
 
 (Cat-nep) by Cats esteem'd ; 
 The garden darling, Lion's-Heart ; 
 
 The Lily, Leopard-schemed; 
 The particolour'd Tiger-Flower, 
 
 The flower that Juno dream'd. 
 
 How numerous the Cat- Family ! 
 
 What names of ancient note ! 
 How long the list when Noah discharged 
 
 His Mesopotamian boat ! 
 I wonder if the little Noahs 
 
 Had all their names by rote. 
 
PEDIGREE 15 
 
 The tawny monarch, golden-man ed ; 
 
 Tiger with tabbied skin 
 (Whence tabard) ; Panther, Eyra, Ounce ; 
 
 Leopard, so lithe and thin ; 
 Rimau-dahan, and Catamount : C.A. 9 
 
 These but the list begin. 
 
 The Serval ; and the Chati, else 
 
 The Chetah, fleet in chase ; 
 The Javan Marquay ; Caracal 
 
 ( Imperial Rome's disgrace ) ; 
 The gaiter'd Lynx ; the Western world 
 
 Has links of the same race. C.A. 10 
 
 The real American Wild Cat ; 
 
 The long-tail'd Ocelot; 
 The Puma, Lion of the West ; 
 
 The Jaguar, — for no spot 
 He 'd change with any pard alive, 
 
 However streak'd his lot ; 
 
 The Chilian Colocolo ; — Back 
 
 At the old East once more, — 
 The sandy Chaus o' Nile; and look 
 
 To Thebes, where dwelt of yore 
 Our Rob's immediate ancestors,. 
 
 Now ceremented o'er. C.A. 1 1 
 
 C.A. 9 Rimau-dahan is the Sumatran tree-tiger. C.A. ioCaligatais 
 gaiterecl. The American wild cat according to Audubon is a lynx. 
 
 C.A. 11 Felis maniculata, the progenitor of our domestic cats, their 
 mummies still remaining. See also their monuments at Thebes. 
 
1 6 PEDIGREE 
 
 For pole "cats," skunks, and such small deer, 
 
 Though, own we must, allied 
 And Aristotle-class'd as Cats, 
 
 But on the sinister side, — 
 Feline Fitzclarensioux,— in such 
 
 No Family Cat takes pride. 
 
 Rank, — yes ! but not as CATS : the Greek 
 
 Might be a martinet ; 
 Mustepha Weasel, not a Cat, {Mustela ?) 
 
 He on his ottoman set. 
 Faugh ! fie ! foumarts ! what sense in that ? 
 
 I smell that gaily yet. C.A. 12 
 
 Of al! this tribe, this family, 
 
 This gens, this powerful clan. 
 Their blood from many so noble source 
 
 Through our Kok Robyn ran, 
 As run the rivers to the sea ; 
 
 No proudest Catalan C.A. 13 
 
 Had bluer blood ; and in his shell 
 
 Of tortoise, one to vaunt, 
 He show'd grand as that Tortoise is 
 
 That bears the Elephant 
 That bears the World. Hyperbolic ? 
 
 Be more exact I can't. 
 
 C.A. 12. The MS. here was doubtful. She might have written gale 
 (Greek for weasel) ; but very possibly used gaily (N. C. English) like 
 the French jolimcnt, as just a strong expression. 
 
 C,A, 13 The Tortoise-shell Cat is Spanish. 
 
PEDIGREE I 7 
 
 The tortoise hides (think not I mean 
 
 The Hindu) I prefer 
 To black or white, or black and white, 
 
 Or even the tabby fur : 
 A tortoise-shell Tom-Cat, they say, 
 
 Is rare. Or say it were. 
 
 And such a tortoise-shell ! No comb 
 No coxcomb brought his bride 
 
 In variegated vanity 
 
 Our well-comb'd Kok outvied : 
 
 No limner hand might paint that skin. 
 And yet Kok Robyn dyed. 
 
 R.I. P. 
 
 Requiescat in pace ! 
 
 English'd, Let him lie still ! 
 
 Or, His cat-bones be aisy ! 
 
 That 's pat, 
 
 By Catequil. 
 
 NOTE. Reader! don't wonder at the oath I use: 
 Catequil is Peru's God of Thunder. 
 What could be more appropriate ? 
 Kok Robyn is consecrate to Thor. 
 
 Cat-god, Purrsepolis. 
 
1 8 FIRST FYTTE 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 The pedigreeable portion of the fore-going fytte appears 
 to have been borrowed from or at least suggested by an 
 old poem of the sixteenth century, by Lydius Cattus, put 
 afterwards into Dutch by one Jacob Cat, Cats, Catts, or 
 Catz, for the spelling cat-like is various. The Fight to 
 come follows the account of an affair with the Catti, after 
 the Commentaries of Caesar, as translated by the French 
 historian, Catrow ; and is in some measure an imitation 
 of the Galeomnomachia of Theo. Prodonius. 
 
 From an ancient monument in 
 Pusse Church, Gironde. 
 
SECOND FYTTE 
 
 19 
 
 THE FIGHT WITH THE DOG 
 
 By biting and scratching dogs and cats come together. Proverb. 
 
 yyHEN we got home from his funeral 
 Kok Robyn came from the door : 
 
 Quoth he — I know I have lost a life, 
 But my quoter says 8 lives more ; 
 
 So, rubbing his ears against our legs, 
 Went purring our steps before. 
 
 And now would you learn how Kok Robyn 
 
 Again hath lost his life, 
 It was all along of his hob-nobbin' 
 
 With a lady not his wife. 
 Love like Atropos' scissors can shear : 
 
 Though my verse requires a knife. 
 
 This Lady Katte was a nigh neighbour, 
 
 A Bywater by name ; 
 Wherefore it happen'd that by water 
 
 Our Kat his end became. 
 As well this end did him become : 
 
 May my taile prove the same ! 
 
 c 2 
 
20 SECOND FVTTE 
 
 Kok Robyn, I '11 own, had a character 
 
 For wandering out o' nights, 
 Whereat no doubt, if some were glad, 
 
 Some might not like such flights. 
 But who can stand in the window way 
 
 Of an honest Kat's delights ? 
 
 That ugliest Dog of Smith's you know, 
 Half bloodhound and half bull : 
 
 He'd watch'd to see sweet Robyn go, 
 And he promised him to pull. 
 
 O the ways of this unkinder dog 
 Are verily sorrowfull. 
 
 Kok Robyn climbs to the top of the fence, 
 In the smile of the honey moon ; 
 
 Amuses his love with his mews and miaouls, 
 Nor thinks to be maul'd so soon. 
 'Twas sweet to listen, his pleasant voice 
 Discoursing to such a tune. 
 
 Very lightly down he alighted thence, 
 But ere he could touch the ground, 
 
 Between a brace of wide-gaping jaws 
 He met with a toothsome wound. 
 
 Never he dream'd that a dog of choice 
 Would be prowling there around. 
 
 Yet brave as a lion our darling turn'd 
 
 A spirit inform'd his paws, 
 His catly heart within him burn'd, 
 
 In the foe he flung his claws ; 
 
SECOND FYTTE 21 
 
 A spit between the bark and the would, 
 And then terrific pause. 
 
 And away and away over fence and wall 
 He flew, and the blacksmith after, 
 
 With many a stumble and many a fall, 
 And a roar that was not of laughter. 
 
 Night heard the howl and the caterwaul 
 And the sky-roof shook, each rafter. 
 
 And over the fields to the river-side 
 The Dog and the dogg'd Cat sped, 
 
 All hidden in wounds too wide to hide, 
 
 As each hied o'er the other's head. 
 
 And the smith the death of a dog has died. 
 
 Then Kok Robyn fell down dead. 
 
 We found them so on the morrow morn, 
 
 A sorrowful sight to see ; 
 And our feelings all were quite forlorn 
 
 Through feline sympathy. 
 For the dog we cared not so much as Adam, 
 
 Had he died by the Apple Tree. 
 
 Our will was wild to bury our Dead 
 
 Under an apple tree ; 
 But among the " greenings " we 'd a fear 
 
 A " cats-head " sort to see ; 
 And what if every apple s'talk 
 
 Kok Robyn's taile should be ! 
 
 By certain of us it had been well held 
 Where the streaked punkins grow 
 
22 SECOND FYTTE 
 
 To bury his bones, and Nelly implored 
 
 Indeed that it should be so : 
 But then to see punkins tortoise-shell'd 
 
 And fiddle-strings inside. No ! 
 
 So we back'd him out across the road 
 O'er the marshes with never a halt, 
 
 Not minding the trouble of such a load, 
 For we loved him to a fault ; 
 
 Shyly and sadly we laid him out 
 With an elegant sum o' salt. 
 
 And very much like a wail it was 
 That rent the mouth o' the sack, 
 
 As Rob pass'd down to his ocean doom 
 And the sea-nymphs stroked his back. 
 
 Seem'd that the heaven was only glass, 
 And the world had gone to wrack. 
 
 My rhymes are wanting poetic guile : 
 Could I rhyme like my master Poe, 
 
 It mightn't you rile to place your pile 
 On the tears I would bid to flow. 
 
 A dead taile, hardly worth wagging-while 
 I sprinkle damp words on now. 
 
 Moral : — Would Cat and Dog agree, 
 
 As Watts his name once tried, 
 As it is their nature too, — says he. 
 
 Our Cat and Dog first died. 
 Yet the lion lies down with the lamb, 
 
 When the lamb-chops are inside. 
 
THIRD FYTTE 2J 
 
 Kok Robyn's name is on the wind, 
 
 His body has gone to sea : 
 He has yet seven other lives of a mind 
 
 To lengthen his memory, 
 Beyond this taile just left behind 
 
 For the Mews of History. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 With cat-like watch. As yon like it. 
 Care will kill a cat. Wither. 
 
 J)AN CUPID, 'tis well known, 
 Both men and cats doth own : 
 No creature left alone 
 By him. Here make I moan 
 Of wrong that he hath done 
 My Catte, my Robyn dear, 
 My favourite, my fere, 
 My Catte withouten peer. 
 Would Cerberus he were here ! 
 
 My Robyn ! — Every dame 
 Who cattish blood could claim 
 Held Robyn well in mind ; 
 As favourably inclined 
 
24 THIRD FYTTE 
 
 Cat damoscls were also. 
 
 Many a pleasant throe 
 
 He flung in Misses' hearts, 
 
 So perfect were his parts, 
 
 So lovely eke his looks, 
 
 Like cats in gospel books ; {Roy don) 
 
 And his demeanour staid, 
 
 That never properest maid 
 
 Need be of him affray'd, 
 
 So debonair and meek. 
 
 He had too little cheek. 
 
 And his best coat so sleek ! 
 
 He never miss'd a week, 
 
 Nay ! never miss'd a day, 
 
 To brush the dust away. 
 
 His sleekness took no hurt, 
 
 For the least speck of dirt 
 
 He wiped off with his tongue. 
 
 His whiskers too were long, 
 
 Becoming one so young ; 
 
 His eyen were so clear ; 
 
 And on each pretty ear 
 
 There was a tip of black, 
 
 The same along his back ; 
 
 And his fine mottled sides 
 
 Were beauteous as hides 
 
 Of tortoises, or shells 
 
 Which whosoever dwells 
 
 By the sea-shore is apt 
 
 To value. When he lapp'd 
 
 His cream you did perceive 
 
 'Twixt jaws a foe could reive 
 
THIRD FYTTE 25 
 
 His tongue's rich coral red, 
 Fit tongue of so rare head ! 
 And when he flung his taile 
 As thresher throws his flail, 
 You felt he could not fail 
 In fight with other male. 
 O Catte delightful ! hail 
 Even to that form so pale, 
 Dim and untortoiseshell'd, 
 In visions oft beheld ! 
 My grief is partly quell'd 
 By history of his fate, 
 The taile I here relate. 
 
 Be sure that highest dames 
 At Robyn took their aims : 
 A hope no mother shames. 
 Each sought to fix for life 
 Her daughter as a wife ; 
 And all the neighbourhood 
 And to a distance would 
 Echone have wed her child 
 To him, the Unbeguiled. 
 The girls, they all were wild 
 To win the love of him. 
 Many bright eyes grew dim 
 Weeping for him away ; 
 Many a maid would stray 
 From the parental home, 
 And anywhither roam 
 In vain hope to surprize 
 One glance of his dear eyes. 
 
26 THIRD FYTTE 
 
 And if by chance they met 
 The welcome he would get 
 From virgin looks abash'd 
 All daring hope had dash'd 
 Of other loving swains. 
 I tell not of the pains 
 Mothers and daughters took 
 That he might only look 
 With favour on love-chains : 
 Labour that had no gains, 
 For no chains did he brook. 
 
 A lusty bachelor 
 
 Was he that time ; and for 
 
 The love of cats most fair 
 
 And tender had no care, 
 
 No more than a cold frog. 
 
 His heart was yet a Log, (.-Esop) 
 
 Nor apt his neck to crane 
 
 After sly Beauties fain 
 
 To love him and complain 
 
 Not being loved again. 
 
 He better liked a sweet 
 
 Nice juicy bit of meat, 
 
 Of mutton, beef, or pork, 
 
 Which he took on a fork 
 
 Full seemely, nor raught. (Chaucer) 
 
 Delicate mice he caught 
 
 Were daintier, he thought, 
 
 Than school-girl cats, howe'er 
 
 Fine-eyed or fine of hair ; 
 
 And many such there were. 
 
THIRD FYTTK 27 
 
 No Chartreuse pious grey, 
 No lop-ear of Malay, * 
 Or Madagascar Miss 
 With twisted taile, to bliss 
 Of Hymen could twist him ; 
 
 White Persian hope grew dim, 
 Silky Angora's slim, 
 As certain both to fail 
 
 As Manx Maid scant of taile. 
 No wooing might avail 
 With this unfeeling male, 
 He wanted no sweethearts : 
 The gizzards and tit-parts 
 Of chickens he prefer'd, 
 Or a plump youngling bird, 
 Or toothsome tender rabbit, 
 Had he the luck to grab it. 
 Even tailes of rats or mice 
 Were to his taste more nice 
 And held of more account 
 Than all that love-amount. 
 Love-tailes were so absurd : 
 For he if young had heard 
 
 * NOTE by the Editor. The Chinese Cat has long pendant 
 ears, rabbit-like. The Malayan Cats and those also of the Isle 
 of Madagascar are distinguished by their tails being curiously 
 twisted or knotted. Miss Brown's natural history is generally 
 most remarkably correct ; in the present instance however she 
 has, it would appear, confounded the peculiar characteristics of 
 the Chinese with those of the Malayan variety. She will not 
 often be caught tripping, even in her liveliest moods. 
 
28 
 
 THIRD FYTTE 
 
 A scrape of wisdom's saw 
 From his old grandam ; Law ! 
 She used to say : my dear ! 
 You keep from misses clear ! 
 Quite time enough to wed 
 When I am gravely dead. 
 Certes she did not care 
 To have her easy chair 
 Invaded by a wife ; 
 And she misliked strife, 
 And would not be too free 
 With Mrs. R. — not she, 
 For worlds. I lose my taile. 
 
 One night they did prevail 
 On Rob. It was a time 
 Of early frosts. The rime 
 Just whiten'd like a cake 
 The very first day-break, 
 But had not strength to hold. 
 The evenings were that cold 
 That schemers young or old 
 Might find excuse to sleep 
 Before the fire, or keep 
 Alive with moving tailes. 
 Well, one of these females, 
 An old cat-dame, prevails 
 On Robyn to attend, 
 And Bob White too, a friend, 
 Their dozings to partake. 
 Or join them in a wake, 
 A soire'e musicale, 
 
THIRD FYTTE 2 9 
 
 Anglice Cattes' night squall. 
 Venit, vidit, vicit ! 
 The English, Ma'am ! of it 
 Is first — he came and sat ; 
 Second — he saw his Catte ; 
 And third — what hap'd of that. 
 Such poor Csesarean wit ! 
 
 The Catte he sat beside 
 
 Was comely and her hide 
 
 A pleasant kind of black. (C.A. 15) 
 
 Well could she arch her back, 
 
 And ripply as a river 
 
 Her slender taile would quiver 
 
 When sadder tailes oppress'd 
 
 Her gentleness of breast. 
 
 But if she were but pleased, 
 
 She musically eased 
 
 Her bosom with a purr, 
 
 Persistent as a burr 
 
 Upon a length of fur. 
 
 Black was she, as I said, 
 
 But when the sunshine play'd 
 
 Upon her velvet skin, 
 
 Outsiders, taken in, 
 
 Took her for tabby, lo ! 
 
 Gold stripes appear'd in row 
 
 C.A. 15 "Black but comely "is, I am told, the true rendering of 
 the text of Solomon ; but in our American Bible (published in 1842 
 by the Messrs. Lippincott of Philadelphia) which my dear Miss 
 Fields gave me when we came North, I find it corrected to "dark 
 but beautiful." 
 
3° THIRD FYTTF. 
 
 Along her sides ; taile, head, 
 
 Were fairly zebraed, 
 
 And radiant grew each hair. 
 
 For grace she might compare 
 
 With best She in a year 
 
 You 'd find. Her eyen clear. 
 
 Right proper she, I ween, 
 
 To be our Katt-King's Queen, 
 
 Majestic although slim, 
 
 A consort worthy him. 
 
 So leaping at her side 
 
 His heart chose her for bride. 
 
 And she mew'd up, unwoo'd 
 
 Before, would what she could, 
 
 A virgin young and raw : 
 
 She lifted up his paw 
 
 And lick'd it, as to say 
 
 " I 'm yours, to love, to obey, 
 
 And honour, — or of that 
 
 All may become a Catte." 
 
 I am not rude to tell 
 
 Young lovers' transports. Well ! 
 
 She loved and troth did plight. 
 
 And he loved her. Next night 
 He for his Lady's sake, 
 His love-thirst too to slake. 
 Bethought him he would take 
 His presents to her bower : 
 No matter what. The hour 
 Was right for a cat-call. 
 
THIRD FYTTE 3 I 
 
 He nears the house A squall, 
 
 A spit, and over the wall 
 A skurry ! "What is she 
 Those revels leads ? Ah me ! 
 What is it that he sees ? 
 That Most Adored of Shes 
 Coquetting : on his knees 
 A male Catt, his friend White. 
 Dark Fate ! how fell thy spite. 
 Home went he back that night, 
 Thought of his yester-kiss, 
 Thought of his now lost bliss, 
 Thought all the world a miss, 
 Saw all her falsehood through, 
 Foresaw young piebalds too, 
 Forgave her, knew his part 
 Was play'd. 
 
 Then broke his heart. 
 
32 FOURTH FVTTE 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 AND TABLE OF EXPLANATIONS 
 
 for the occasions of the unlearned and undictionaried : 
 {authorities varied^ 
 
 CATALEPSY — When the cat-ropes are over tight in the fit. 
 
 Heart-action however may continue. 
 CATAPASM — v.a. To dust : e.g. a boy's jacket. Found 
 
 efficacious in cases of feint. 
 Cataplasm — Mustard or other provocative or preventive 
 
 according to the mode of application. An epithem. 
 Catsup — Favourite drink of Cats ; made of mushrooms. 
 CATONIC — The old Roman hari-kari. 
 Catapult — An engine of peculiar cataballative quality. 
 
 P. Cox Headlong Haul. 
 Catadupe — When a Cat is fooled by being flung into the 
 
 river, as in our second fytte. 
 Catamaran — A flat-bottom'd Cat's boat for fishing. 
 Catandromous — Going seaward, returning salmon-like. 
 Catabasioned — v.p. To be preserved, in sea-catacombs 
 
 pickled, as a relic. 
 Catalysed — Thawed, resolved into adieu. Shakspere. 
 CATAGMATIC — With a view to bone-mending. 
 
FOURTH FYTTJC 
 
 33 
 
 DROWNED 
 
 Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Shak pere. 
 Never was cat drowned that could .see the shore. Proverb. 
 
 pHE CUCKOO-CLOCK proclaims our supper-time 
 Not often at this hour doth Robyn leave. 
 Surely he must have heard that cheery chime ! 
 Where is he wandering this wintry eve? 
 
 Stare not at me apostrophizing so 
 
 Our dear dead Robyn of whom late I spoke 
 As broken-hearted ! He is dead, I know ; 
 
 But hearts are patchwork, to be mended broke. 
 
 Yes ! he was dead. The morrow of that day, 
 More truly of that sad eventful night, 
 
 Found was he, stark and stiff; my sister May 
 Ran to me horrent-hair'd in tremulous fright. 
 
 'Twas catalepsy, said they, — a mistake ! 
 
 The cataleptic is devoid of sense : 
 Dead or alive his sensitive heart would ache. 
 
 And some brute said, may be it 's all pretence. 
 
34 FOURTH FYTTK 
 
 We catapasm'd him, — tried sorts of salts, — 
 Hot irons, — brimstone baths, — of no avail : 
 
 We might as well have taught the Cat to waltz 
 Steeping in catechu his stiffen'd taile. 
 
 We wrapp'd him in a potent cataplasm : 
 It took the skin clean off his stomach fair, 
 
 But gave him no relief. One wrinkling spasm, 
 And he was off again, like a singed hair. 
 
 At length he oped his melancholy eyes, 
 One little crack in the iris of our hope ; 
 Sigh'd, wink'd and sneezed, so wink'd again and sigh'd 
 As taking side with life : as one the rope 
 
 Has fail'd to finish on the gallows tree. 
 
 Such similes be hang'd ! We brought him to ; 
 But knew three lives were gone, yes ! surely three, 
 
 A third of his nine tailes, if tailes be true. 
 
 And since that death he was an alter'd Cat : 
 Took much to drink, catsup ; stay'd out o' nights, 
 In spirit haunting her. Blame not for that ! 
 He only did according to his lights. 
 
 Heart-broken quite, his little bark a wreck, 
 Grown cynical, he reck'd not where he sail'd : 
 
 Some times his fancy paced hope's frailest deck, 
 Others his fancy's tether was curtail'd. 
 
 Who, who shall medicine a mind diseased? 
 Throw physic to the dogs ! Why catechise ? 
 
FOURTH FYTTE 35 
 
 We gave him sedatives, — he only sneezed ; 
 
 Gave morphia, — and we slept not for his cries. 
 
 For in his dreams he saw* that heartless thing 
 That slew him ; then did he unsheathe his claws, 
 
 His taile stood up on end, and he would fling 
 His wild legs out without a thought of pause. 
 
 And day and night he 'd wander, sighing sore 
 For that so beauteous and most faithless sake. 
 
 Dead was he, could we but have said no more : 
 Alive, a set of bare bones with an ache. 
 
 And he perhaps had slain himself again : 
 
 Once, twice, upon the sharp sword of his woe 
 
 Had harikaried, but for this refrain — 
 
 He might miscarry throwing six, you know. 
 
 No laws of honour or the best Japan 
 
 Prescribe continuous Catonics, so he 
 Dead might survive, to endure for yet a span 
 
 The hopeless lover's love-lorn agony. 
 
 From the poetic vision nought is hid : 
 
 This asking why he comes not is a sham ; 
 
 I knew while looking at the tea-pot lid 
 
 He could not come, no more than a dead clam. 
 
 The eyes of sense were on the coffee-grounds ; 
 
 My spirit track'd him as he slowly pass'd 
 Along a field-side, then with sudden bounds 
 
 Beheld him over the fences, till at last 
 
 u 2 
 
36 FOURTH FYTTE 
 
 I watch'd him by the river, glancing down 
 Sadly upon the tide, high tied with frost; 
 
 I knew the ice was thin, to him unknown ; 
 I knew if he should try it he 'd be lost. 
 
 I saw him gaze (O that disconsolate gaze ! ) 
 Upon the desolate waste ; then in a trice 
 
 On his four legs his heavy body raise 
 And catapult-like heave it on the ice. 
 
 A cataract supervened. I thought his eyes 
 Must suffer from the cataract or the scratch ; 
 
 I thought of his weak health, — 'twas so unwise 
 To marshal strength a mere catarrh to catch. 
 
 When last we cataduped him he came back ! 
 
 Is he catandromous now? To let him through 
 The ice was thin enough, but not to crack 
 
 From underneath. What will poor Robyn do ? 
 
 O my, Kok Robyn ! why is Death thy foe ? 
 
 Where art thou now ? my Cat, my gracious ! 
 Under the grim flood of Cocytus slow [Spenser) 
 
 Thy dwelling is in Erebus' black house. 
 
 There the young imps of Night, first wife of Death, 
 Play " cat " with thee, and find their fell delight 
 
 Striking thee up, seeing thee out of breath 
 And falling headlong like a tail-less kite. 
 
 Reflection brings thee to thy briny grave, 
 Dump'd on a heap of grimy oyster-shells, 
 
FOURTH FVTTE 37 
 
 Where o'er thy corse funereal sea-weeds wave, 
 And nasty sea-nymphs hourly ring thy knells. 
 
 A damp ghost in a catamaran he roams 
 A-fishing through the forests of the sea, 
 
 His catabasion'd bones in the catacombs 
 With piscid skeletons of high degree. 
 
 Or if not yet quite thoroughly catalysed, 
 Can he get flesh on clams ? O Cat alive ! 
 
 Albeit some squalid cat-fish {squalus) so apprised 
 May hospitably for thy health contrive. 
 
 Mayhap some blue-hair'd Nereid pick'd him up, 
 Catagmatic : on her cold knees he stays, 
 
 Learning on sailor sausage how to sup, 
 
 And sea-cow's milk. I hate their fishy ways. 
 
 Perchance some whale like Jonah gobbled him : 
 Will he return like Jonah ? Who shall say ? 
 
 Five-lived he roves in those recesses dim, 
 Praying for him who took him for a prey. 
 
 If the same whale as Jonah's, may it please 
 The Prophet, might such be his horrorscope ! 
 
 That whale, so is it writ in Portuguese, (Southey) 
 Doubled as Jonah's bark the Cape Good-Hope. 
 
 I can not think him lost to me : perhaps 
 Some cataclysm may lend a helping hand, 
 
 Picking our darling's bones from marine laps, 
 Throwing him up upon his native land. 
 
3« 
 
 FOURTH FYTTE 
 
 Time has to show. But, Hattie ! while your gaze 
 Intreats the Future for his welcome ghost, 
 
 The tea is cooling. And her father says — 
 
 The Cat be d d (that's drown' d) — 
 
 Pass me the toast ! 
 
 For hard words turn back to Glossary at page 32. 
 
FIFTH FYTTE 39 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 In Sanscrit Margaras or Margery, Cat-liking. 
 
 XHE NEXT TIME our Kok Robyn died, 
 It fell upon this wise, — ■ 
 A foolish thing, but children's deeds, 
 
 They need not much surprize : 
 The biggest baby may not know 
 The reason of its sighs. 
 Men are but children of a larger growth, 
 And groaning an accomplishment of both. 
 
 A gentle girl was Margaret, (Ne/Ps sister) 
 
 Yet sturdy therewithal : 
 No lass was nimbler on her pegs, 
 
 And, good in Spring or Fall, 
 She liked fair weather courtesies 
 And didn't mind a squall. 
 Upon our back-door step this happy child 
 Sat with a lunch in hand and eating smiled. 
 
 Our rare red Margaret ! her cheeks 
 Like tips o' the daisy-flower, 
 
40 FIFTH FYTTE 
 
 Our Pearl of girls, with divers gifts 
 
 Of loveliness and power : 
 Her smiles were like a morn of May, 
 Her tears an April shower, — 
 Of May and April in those steady climes 
 Where months return at their expected times. 
 
 It was the pleasant time of Spring, 
 
 With Summer coming fast ; 
 The frogs were all a-caroling, 
 
 Old Winter gone aghast : 
 Though frogs sing well he better likes 
 The song of a Nor-east blast. 
 
 De gustibus non est 1 'd rather hark 
 
 To a full bull-frog chorus, after dark. 
 
 A chunk of thickly-butter'd bread 
 
 She held in either hand, 
 The butter under, — 'tis a thing 
 
 That children understand ; 
 And our Kok Robyn went and came 
 At the dear child's command, 
 Well pleased to share his lady's humble fare. 
 'Twas partly with that purpose he was there. 
 
 Now Meg, though not a miller's gir 
 
 Nor Trulliber at all, 
 Did like her bread and butter and, 
 
 When chanced so to befall, 
 A puff of jam. Her appetite 
 
 Was certainly — not small. 
 She gave a solid magnum to the Cat ; 
 
FIFTH FYTTE 41 
 
 But he Tom-like was not content with that. 
 
 And as he ate she would him chide, 
 
 With "Daddy! why is this? C.A. 16 
 You 've been away so long of late 
 
 From me, a woeful miss. 
 For I did miss you, Robyn dear !" 
 Here she gave Rob a kiss. 
 " How wet you are, my love ! and, dear ! your skin 
 Tastes very salt: my sweet! where have you been?" 
 
 She spoke but truth : much had she grieved 
 For Robyn, lost of late, — ■ 
 For she had loved him from his birth, 
 
 In his most kittenish state. 
 The fourth abduction of her dear 
 / Had left her desolate. 
 
 She spoke as mothers do when their lost heirs 
 Come home escaped from drowning unawares, 
 
 Scolding to hide her pride of heart, 
 
 For she on him had spread 
 Love butter-like ; he calmly lick'd 
 
 The butter from her bread. 
 " O Robyn ! you are naughty, Sir ! 
 Get off my lap ? " she said, 
 And push'd him off; he coming to the ground 
 Chevied his barr'd tail for a moment round, 
 
 C.A. 16 In Sanscrit Dadhi-karnas, or Butter-ears, is the Cat witli 
 the white or butter (cream) coloured ears which my Robyn had. 
 See the Pane att ant rums again. The jackal is Dadhi-pucchas, or 
 Butter-tail. 
 
42 FIFTH FYTTE 
 
 Then stroll'd away, displeased, in scorn 
 
 Of bread and mistress' wrath. 
 Near by the ash-barrel stood, in which 
 
 He jump'd, and quickly hath 
 Pick'd out a fish-bone. Will he take 
 Again a fishward path ? 
 I can not tell you what kind 'twas of bone : 
 Perhaps the name to him was not unknown. 
 
 I said that he was Margaret's pet : 
 
 In youth, even now not old, 
 She 'd bear him in her pinafore, 
 
 Or wrap him from the cold 
 In her warm cloak : but little chance 
 Of straying from that fold. 
 Yet he would stray, the Irish Scripture says — 
 Skedaddle, scattering on many ways. C.A. 17 
 
 So pretty was it in that time 
 
 To see the child-like Puss 
 Chasing his shadow and racing like 
 
 Some little human cuss, 
 Frisking about so frolicsome. 
 
 It was great fun to us, 
 The elder children, but to Margery 
 It was a play she never tired to see. 
 
 For him she 'd drag the ball of thread — 
 'Twas mostly worsted, drew 
 
 C.A . 17 This in an old Irish Bible : I will smite the shepherd and 
 the sheep shall be "squdadol." Mark, chap. 14, ver, 27, and 
 elsewhere. 
 
FIFTH FYTTE 43 
 
 For him an imitation mouse, 
 Or made the kit leap through 
 
 Her guardian hands ; and many a trick 
 The merry playmates knew. 
 
 He was her brother, lover, and her child ; 
 
 And he then young was also love-beguiled. 
 
 It was her wont to watch the birds : 
 
 The thrush's scarlet throat 
 Pleased her, and of his namesake she 
 
 Had learn'd the fate by rote, 
 Indeed by heart, and of Jane Wren 
 To Robyn so devote : 
 So she unto her favourite gave the name 
 Of Kok Robyn, and this one is the same. 
 
 What ails him now ? thinks Margaret. 
 Upon the grass he lies. 
 What strange reflections doth he make ? 
 How opalesque his eyes ! 
 And from his mouth projects a bone 
 Which with forepaws he tries 
 To wrench away. Alas ! the bone is stuck 
 Too fast. O woe for her poor Robyn's luck. 
 
 Her end of bread and butter dropt, 
 
 One rush into the house, 
 A scream, a real Spring burst of tears, 
 
 And then her head falls souse 
 Into her marveling mother's lap. 
 
 No little cat-scared mouse 
 E'er faster ran than she from fear of Rob, 
 
44 FIFTH FYTTE 
 
 And scarce could speak for interpose of sob 
 
 That shook her. But at last between 
 Her sobs came out one word : 
 " Rob," sob, then " Rob," then sob : in this 
 Same order they occurr'd. 
 'Twas quite a while ere any one 
 The true adventure heard. 
 Then we went out and found him lying there, 
 Dead, choked, with all his legs like telegraph 
 
 poles in the air. 
 
 Nothing is gain'd by sighs, my dear ! 
 
 Musing to Meg I said. 
 Though you were twice as big, I fear, 
 
 The Cat were no less dead. 
 These things remain among the queer; 
 And now it 's time for bed. 
 So I choked off the choked one's little mourner, 
 And happily swung my taile to Finis Corner. 
 
SIXTH FYTTE 
 
 45 
 
 HANGED 
 
 Hang me in a pudding-bag like a cat ! Shaksperc. 
 As a cat likes mustard. Proverb. 
 
 Q HANG THE CAT ! said Martin : 
 
 But before it went that rough 
 
 We had suffer'd no end of trouble 
 
 And given him rope enough. 
 
 We had spring chickens that summer, 
 A very promising brood ; 
 And Robyn he went a-poaching 
 Like any Robin would. (Hood?) 
 
 Poach'd eggs we never had minded, 
 But chickens black and tan, 
 
 Poach'd in the cook's own manor, 
 And not in a frying-pan. 
 
 Three black, and two of a lovely brown, 
 One speckled, and one all white : 
 
 And the nasty thief, he ate them raw; 
 And the last was a favourite. 
 
46 SIXTH FYTTE 
 
 I have implored him, almost with tears, 
 
 In a most intreating tone, 
 Assuring him when the chicks grew up 
 
 He never should lose a bone. 
 
 I 've even been on my knees to him, 
 
 Many a time and oft, 
 Proving how wise it would be to wait : 
 
 But he never was that soft. 
 
 I pray'd him for love of his mistress dear 
 
 To let those nurslings alone ; 
 But ever he turn'd a deafer ear, — - 
 
 He " liked them not full-grown." 
 
 Then we muster'd two or three deceased 
 (Mustard, they said, would check 
 
 His appetite), and we tied the least 
 Tight round the caitiff's neck. 
 
 We laugh'd at the grim grimace he made, 
 
 O we all did laugh amain 
 As he tasted it first, but he muster'd hope 
 
 And went for a lick again. 
 
 Why, the chick was just as yellow all o'er 
 
 As if it wore down of gold ; 
 I felt how his poor mouth would be sore, 
 
 And I hadn't the heart to scold. 
 
 He tugg'd at the string, it didn't break ; 
 Then he lick'd the mustard off 
 
SIXTH FYTTE 
 
 47 
 
 And ate up his necklace all but the string 
 With never a sneeze or cough. 
 
 Nothing he cared : he the mustard lick'd 
 And he neither purr'd nor swore ; 
 
 But, the second drumstick nicely pick'd, 
 Went off and drumm'd for more. 
 
 And every season following that, 
 
 With seasoning or without, 
 He seem'd to savour his poultry more : 
 
 Our broods so came to nought. 
 
 So Cook and Martin a plot they laid 
 
 To bring Kok Rob to grief. 
 They borrow'd of Pa a ball of twine 
 
 To cure the chicken thief, 
 
 They gave him hinder quarters in 
 
 An elegant pudding-bag, 
 And tied his fore-paws up with tape, 
 
 And stopp'd his jaw with rag. 
 
 They drew the cord of the bag quite fair 
 
 One end of it held by each, 
 Not close, — with just enough of room 
 
 For a penitent's dying speech. 
 
 Draw tight ! said Martin, and the twine 
 He pull'd. The Cat was dumb. 
 
 'Twas Cook that yell'd : inside the cord 
 The Cook had poked her thumb, 
 
4& SIXTH FYTTE 
 
 And Robyn, he dropp'd into the bag, — 
 
 They dared not view his corse. 
 
 And if he sharam'd, or if the Cook 
 
 Was smitten with remorse. 
 
 Or of mere tender-heartedness, 
 As cook'd hearts may be so, 
 She thus had kindly thrust her thumb, 
 Intent to let him go, 
 
 Or if a miracle (who knows?) 
 Had spared his sixthly breath, 
 
 Or if one of his four-left lives 
 Was forfeited to Death, 
 
 Shall not be known until the end, 
 When all nine lives are gone 
 And he arises to reclaim 
 His last vertebral bone. 
 
 The pudding-bag, Kok Robyn's shroud, 
 Was missing from that day. 
 Was Robyn buried in it? or did 
 He carry it away ? 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 49 
 
 SHOT 
 
 Thrice to thine and thrice to mine and thrice again to make up nine. 
 
 Shakspere. 
 
 Q WIFTLY our Indian Summer came and went ; 
 
 The crimson maple leaves were trampled down, 
 The yellow chestnuts in one storm had spent 
 
 Their gold ; and now the woodside all was brown, 
 
 Save for some hemlock standing in its gown 
 Of green perennial. Then there came a snap 
 
 Of biting cold. That too had come and gone ; 
 And warmer days return'd, with pleasant hap 
 For the sun-loving things on kindly Nature's lap. 
 
 The birds, collecting for their southern flight, 
 
 Drifted around our homestead. Fine times these 
 
 For Master Robyn, — who ere morning's light 
 Clomb to the roosts upon the leafless trees 
 And caught the helpless sleepers at his ease ; 
 
 Then to his larder, the top cellar-stair, 
 
 Took them, a sight that might his mistress please 
 
 Thought he. She waken'd, he would make repair 
 
 To show her of his prey and providential care. 
 
 E 
 
JO SEVENTH FYTTE 
 
 But not content with plentiful supply, 
 
 Brought daily to his board, of choicest food, 
 
 His greed, or wantonest fancy, would set by 
 Home-sureties for chance forage in the wood, — 
 In sooth a too inviting neighbourhood. 
 
 Here would he roam, still seeking newer game ; 
 And of his prowess proud as Robin Hood 
 
 Rejoiced him in the wild, — he scorn'd the tame. 
 
 Meseems that beasts and men are verily the same. 
 
 For also through this woodland often pass'd 
 
 The idle fowler out for holiday. 
 Well, Robyn, fowling too, his quick eyes cast 
 
 Upon a tree whereup a squirrel grey 
 
 Was running, like a lightning run wrong way. 
 Good cheer ! said Robyn, following up the tree. 
 
 The fowler saw but Skug ; ere one could say 
 Back, Robyn ! he had fired ; and Robyn he 
 Received the leaden fare sent as the squirrel's fee. 
 
 And like a lump of lead, so Robyn fell. 
 
 A Cat-bird, close at hand, beheld his fall 
 And caught the accents of his passing yell, 
 
 Forthwith repeating it with sudden call, 
 
 So like unto a four-legg'd caterwaul 
 That all the birds were frighten'd at the sound ; 
 
 Till he, the many-voiced, address'd them all 
 In their own music, hastening them around 
 To note the Cat as trophy lying on the ground. 
 
 Bidding them to the great Cat's funeral games, 
 And calling on them, each and every one, 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 5 I 
 
 With summons to them by their several names 
 To attend. But willing answer he gat none, 
 Perch'd on his bough, the dead Cat o'er, alone. 
 
 Only the hawk high hovering, skied and free, 
 
 Shriek'd from his poise "the game is all my own.'' 
 
 And the half-vvaken'd owl, hid in his tree, 
 
 Repeated "all my own" and hooted out his glee. 
 
 The other birds, — the bobolink, the thrush. 
 The oriole, the wren, the chickadee, 
 
 And every bird that singeth from a bush, 
 
 Or skyward soars, or through the grass goes free, 
 Gave answer, one and all, " What fools were we 
 
 To honour him with mourning who hath slain 
 So many of us. Our worst foe was he. 
 
 Wherefore instead of sorrow let us strain 
 
 Our tuneful throats in thanks to the Caticidc again." 
 
 Thus they exultingly. Meanwhile the Dead, 
 Only cat-dead, crawl'd painfully away. 
 
 He could not die in peace so canopied 
 
 With just reproach. All through that weary day 
 He dragg'd him step by step ; oft had to stay, 
 
 For pain : but reach'd at last our garden fence, 
 Powerless to clamber o'er. There let him lay ! 
 
 False grammar? Byron wrote so. What pretence 
 
 Have I to better him ? You understand the sense. 
 
 Next morn was bright and sunny ; he lay there 
 (Lay there is right) all motionless, quite dead. 
 
 What wandering voice, or wind, or bird in the air, 
 To the other side his hapless story said ? 
 
 e 2 
 
5 2 SEVENTH FVTTE 
 
 Said, sang, or scream'd in strophes doleful, dread : 
 Scarce heard when lo ! upturning all the mould 
 Of the garden plot, and resonant in the red 
 Glare of the morning, rose a hubbub bold, 
 A full funereal catch, madriggled, manifold. 
 
 For all the creatures which had cause to fear 
 
 The lives of birds redeem'd by Robyn's death 
 Came swarming forth, with lamentations drear 
 
 For him to whom they owed their lease of breath ; 
 
 All things above the earth or underneath 
 Whom birds feed on came out to proffer grief, 
 
 With ceremonial dues of dirge or wreath, 
 For the great Bird-Devourer. Forth from leaf 
 And bark and root they came, a number past belief. 
 
 The Caterpillars first, as next of kin, 
 
 The sad procession headed. First of these 
 
 The Arctian Tiger fleet of foot and thin, i 
 
 Though seeming bulky in his coat of frieze, 
 Bristly and tufted. Next, in their degrees, 
 
 The Leopards, Yellow Bears, and Ermines paced ; 
 
 2 3 4 
 
 And Salt-marsh Caterpillars who from seas 5 
 
 Unable to escape, by the tide out-raced, 
 Roll themselves up in balls, so are in safety placed. 
 
 These more or less were kinfolk. 'Mong the rest 
 In the front rank with mighty Polypheme, 6 
 
 Was seen Ceratocampa's royal crest 7 
 
 Of orange black-tipp'd horns that almost seem 
 To hurl you high defiance, — one mi^ht deem 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 53 
 
 Some warrior donn'd such head-gear, natheless he 
 
 Foe-ward is harmless as an infant's dream. 
 With them green-clad Cecropia. All the three S 
 Were giants. Follow'd them a lowlier company. 
 
 The warted and scant-robed Liparians ; 9 
 
 The crested Sycamore with orange hood; 10 
 
 The thornless, downy, soft Egerians; n 
 
 The pale blue Communist, misunderstood ; 1 2 
 
 The Zebra, leameder than I who could 13 
 
 Those runes decipher written on his back ; 
 
 The Veiled scarce distinguishable from wood; 14 
 
 The Loop-worm, archly bent upon his track, 15 
 
 As fear'd to march too fast, in dread of some attack. 
 
 The Skipper, noted for his cleanly house; 16 
 
 The tufted, particolour'd Harlequin; 17 
 
 The tufted Owls, that on the maple browze ; iS 
 The slender Spindle-worms with hairless skin, 19 
 Corn-witherers they ; Tent-Habiters who spin 20 
 
 Their path from twig to twig, from leaf to leaf, 
 Holding a clue for safe returning in 
 
 From foraging ; the Cut-worm, greasy thief ! 
 
 Whose greed to the gardener is so daily ground of 
 
 grief. 
 
 The naked Hunchback with his sixteen legs, 22 
 
 If legs which sometimes barely pass for feet ; 
 
 The Apple- Attila, whose hundred eggs 23 
 
 Lie in one patch till hatch'd by summer heat ; 
 
 The Wood-Nymph and the Ruiner of Wheat, 24 25 
 Venomous Maia, and Ephestion brown; 26 27 
 The Borer of the Peach, who hath his seat 28 
 
54 SEVENTH FYTTE 
 
 Within the bark; the Tussock, hickory-known; 29 
 And Dryocampa who sets stoutest oaks to groan. 30 
 
 The Parsley-worm in robe of apple-green 31 
 
 Spotted with black and yellow alternate, 
 
 With orange-colour'd horns, — he came between 
 The pale green Cabbage-Eater and the great 32 
 Thorn-tail'd Potato-worm ; the elm-tree's hate, 33 
 
 Horn-shoulder Sphynx and poplar Porcupine; 34 35 
 The grape-destroying Hog, in native state ; 36 
 
 The dog-tail'd Devastator of the Vine: — 37 
 
 Slowly they crept along, a long funereal line. 
 
 The bristly Hedgehog, brush-like closely shorn; 38 
 The Fall Web-worm, of greenish yellow hue, 39 
 
 Black-dotted and black striped, who leaves forlorn 
 Our autumn trees ; the Luna, greenish blue ; 40 
 The Forest-Pest, black yellow lined, that thro' 41 
 
 Great woods devouring passes ; Io spined ; 42 
 
 The Locust Cossus, the Sack-Bearer too ; 43 44 
 
 Slowly, with lingering steps, came on behind 45 
 
 The Shrivel'd Hag, or Slug, so sluggish is her mind. 
 
 After these march'd a multitudinous crew : 
 
 All shapes, all colours, — greyish white and red 
 And tawny yellow, black and green and blue, 
 
 Orange, ash-grey and purple, striped, or spread 
 With various spots, some horned, some with head 
 Crested and body many legg'd and long : 
 
 Fruit-spoilers, borers, spinners of the thread, 
 Six-eyed, and claw'd, with jaws and nippers strong : 
 A motley many-visaged life-destroying throng ! 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 55 
 
 This monstrous swarm of Lepidopterous birth, 
 Too numerous to recount, such hosts are here, 
 
 Came honouring the virtue and great worth 
 Of Him the Bird-Slayer who year by year 
 Had charter'd them to live unvex'd by fear, 
 
 To increase and multiply. Protector now 
 
 Was none save men or boys who nought revere, 
 
 Who shoot poor birds at rest on some near bough, 
 
 Or rob their nests : such thefts O why does Law 
 
 allow ? 
 
 The Lepidoptera past (all silent they, 
 
 Too fresh their grief for intermit of word), 
 
 Above the trampling of' the funeral way 
 
 A sound of mournful music might be heard, 
 As if remorse for silence just then stirr'd 
 
 The monotone of sorrow. So it is : 
 
 Even too long sorrowful silence seems absurd ; 
 
 The heart must speak. And better suffer this 
 
 Than the melodious moan of melancholy miss, 
 
 And also lose the pure heart-moving tale, 
 
 The poet's minor song, that plaint most sweet 
 
 Which from the full jug of the nightingale 
 
 But such reflections vainly now intreat, 
 Albeit for our sad subject not unmeet. 
 
 Speaking of music, — as I speak there comes 
 A clearer sound ; and now my sense complete, 
 
 As one at feasts discriminates the crumbs, 
 
 Mine ear distinguishes the bray of kettledrums. 
 
 Broad-headed, prominent-eyed, and shortly limb'd, 
 Straight wings diaphonous now undisplay'd 
 
56 SEVENTH FY1TE 
 
 The Kettledrummers pacing slowly hymn'd, 46 
 In kettledrummish language be it said, C.A. 18 
 
 The laud of that great Cat so grandly laid 
 Beneath his catafalque, for whom they sang 
 
 (Or instrumented — are not throats too made ? ) 
 Their high Magnificat, with mile-heard bang. 
 Deafen'd I was as near arrived the tuneful gang. 
 
 When these had pass'd, ere yet the hymn" was hid 
 In the dim distance, came the Grylli by, 47 
 
 Crying capriciously " This Cat, he did, 
 He did, he did," with iterative cry, 
 As at an Irish wake — why did he die ? 
 
 And following their untuned, unvarying din 
 
 Cymbals and Tabors echoed swift reply, 4S 
 
 The while the Players on the Violins 49 
 
 Their bow-legs plied, — one tired, the other leg 
 
 begins. C.A. 19 
 
 All leaping as they went ; and in their train 
 The Meadow-Dancers, dancing as in Ind 50 
 
 C.A. 18 " These drums are formed of convex pieces of parchment, 
 gathered into numerous fine plaits, lodged in cavities on the side 
 of the body, behind the thorax. They are not play'd upon with 
 sticks ; but by muscles and cords fastened to the insides of the 
 drums . . . which enables them to emit an excessively loud sound, 
 which may be heard at the distance of a mile." Harris, on 
 Insects £rV. page 204. 
 
 C.A. 19 "The males have not the cymbals and tabors of the 
 crickets and grasshoppers ; their instiuments may rather be likened 
 to violins, their hind legs being the bows. . . . When one be- 
 gins to play he bends the shank of one hind leg beneath the thigh, 
 where it is lodged in a furrow designed to receive it, and then 
 draws the leg briskly up and down. . . . He does not play both 
 fiddles together, but plays them alternately."' Harris, on 
 Insects &*c. page 165. 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 57 
 
 Those dervishes whom fraud or pious pain 
 Compels ; and then a sound of rushing wind 
 
 Fill'd all the space, and hearers' ears were dinn'd 
 
 As swept the locusts by in hot desire, 
 
 Like noise of chariots yet by war unthinn'd 
 
 With many horses charging in their ire, 
 
 Or crackling of the prairie overrun with fire. 
 
 These broke the long procession's equal line : 
 Soon link'd up by the Scarabaeian guards, — 
 
 Each one with vizor closed, as sorrowing sign 
 Respectful for the Dead. All eyes towards 
 Their glorious panoplies with keen regards 
 
 Were cast, some bright with cataphracted gold, 
 Some fairly striped and beautiful as pards, 
 
 Others in splendid colours manifold, 
 
 Catadioptrical, most lovely to behold. 
 
 Muse ! name a few before they quit thy sight ! 
 
 Proclaim their blazons so the world may know 
 How Robyn honour'd was for all the spite 
 
 Of Fate, too frequent worker of his woe ! — 
 
 The shining Areods led in the show, 51 
 
 With golden helmet, lemon-colour'd cloak, 
 
 And breeches brown but with a brassy glow, 
 Shaded with green. No Morning ever woke 
 More radiantly attired ; each bore a sprig of oak. 
 
 The spotted Pelidnotae, plainer dress'd, 52 
 
 Be noted next ! with mantle dully red 
 
 Spotted with black, and darker bronzed vest, 
 Their nether limbs in bronze green garmented. 
 
58 SEVENTH FYTTE 
 
 With a broad vine-leaf shadow'd each his head. 
 The Omalophians mark ! in chestnut gown. 53 
 
 But look again ! The chestnut-colour fled, 
 'Tis red, 'tis green that overcomes the brown ; 
 And now it takes all hues to Iris' self beknown. 
 
 In creamy white, with train of blue, array'd, 
 The Melolonthans carry each a rose, 54 
 
 A damask rose-bud on a vine-leaf laid. 
 
 Lo where behind them black Atrata goes! 55 
 Indian Cetonia follows : as he throws 56 
 
 His overcoat of brownish yellow back 
 
 (Sprent with black spots irregular) it glows 
 
 With pearly tints. His undercoat is black; 
 
 His pantaloons are red. No glory doth he lack. 
 
 Humming a tune, he nibbles at a peach, 
 Which scarcely tasted he will fling aside : 
 
 A reckless rout of ruffians, all and each, 
 
 Cetonia leads. W r ith him his brother, wide 57 
 
 Across the chest, and strong, with martial stride ; 
 
 His armour coppery-lustrous, purplish black : 
 One knows him better by his scented hide, 
 
 Like Russian leather. Well-betray'd his track ! 
 
 He hopes not for escape unless pursuit be slack. 
 
 See where the giant-born Lucanians stalk ! 58 
 
 The after dwarfs will the Snout-bearers be; 59 
 
 These Pea-Devourers, stealthy in their walk ; 60 
 Red tails foretell the Attelabidse; 61 
 
 Corn weevils these Curculionidae, — 62 
 
 Garb of deep brown cream-spotted they affect. 
 
SEVENTH FYTTE 59 
 
 In violet tinged with green Cerambix see ! 63 
 With velvet black and gold is Clytus deck'd : 64 
 The golden zigzag bands adown his sides deflect. 
 
 As at some noble's funeral may come 
 
 After patrician carriages the shay 
 Or commoner waggon, so behind this scum 
 
 Of pride in its magnificent array 
 
 The dregs of mourning follow'd : not that they 
 By me are deem'd unfitted to a Muse ; 
 
 But that time fails me at this turn to say 
 All their distinctions. Yet a few I choose : 
 The true historian knows no insignificant news. 
 
 The whole tribe of Aphididae was there, — 
 
 Saltatory Psylla? and the Aphides : 
 The last a crowd innumerable, —no pair 
 
 Of eyes could separate such swarms as these, 
 
 Nor quickest thought their differences seize. 
 The Coccidse apart were from the rest. 
 
 Little in any was the eye to please : 
 Some in some kind of tawdry finery dress'd. 
 Some shabby, taken in mass a lousy lot at best. 
 
 Hopp'd next the Tettigonians ; and then came 65 
 The sad Corei : well might all be sad, 60 
 
 These and the hosts forerunning, for the same 
 Knew of the potent enemies they had 
 In honest birds, in humane service glad 
 
 To rid the earth of predatory kind, — 
 
 White-wing'd Lygseons and such robbers bad, 67 
 Who with the Phytocorians came behind. 68 
 
60 SEVENTH FYTTE 
 
 Many are there the like, who throng into my mind. 
 
 I would go on, and tell you yet of more 
 
 Who interest took in that dear Cat deceased, 
 Dreading bird-enmity : ay ! count the score 
 
 Of trespass, nor omit the very least, — 
 
 Since Curiosity, insatiate beast ! 
 Asks nothing less of me : but I am tired, 
 
 And Pegasus demands to be released. 
 He '11 budge no farther for cat's sake, tho' hired, 
 Well-fed and ridden well and never more admired. 
 
 I could go on. Do not I hear the wings? 
 They crowd upon my gaze ! my poor brains whirl ! 
 The Urocerids, with spear-headed stings, 69 
 
 Harpies that at our feasts their canvas furl, 70 
 
 And Tortrices — My note-book's leaves upcurl 
 
 As they 
 
 At this the wondrous vision fled. 
 
 I heard Ma talking with a neighbour's girl. 
 " It is that insect Harris book," Ma said, 
 "The nasty insect book put maggots in her head." 
 
 A Harpy 
 
HARRIS 6 1 
 
 FUNEREAL CATALOGUE 
 
 THE PERSONAGES OF THE PAST PROCESSION. 
 
 LEPIDOPTERA 
 
 i Arctia Virgo, 2 Arctia Scribonia, 3 Arctia Virginica, 
 4 Arctia Urticae or Erminia, 5 Arctia Acraea, 6 Attacus 
 Polyphemus, 7 Ceratocampa regalis, 8 Attacus Cecropia, 
 9 Liparidae, 10 Lophocampa tesselaris, 11 Aegeriadae, 
 12 Clisiocampa silvatica, 13 Mamestra picta, 14 Velleda, 
 15 Geometra, 16 Eudamus Tityrus, 17 Asclepias Syriaca 
 18 Noctuae, 19 Gortyna Zeae, 20 Clisiocampa Americana 
 21 Agrotis Devastator, 22 Notodontadae, 23 Pygaera 
 ministra, 24 Eudryas or Bombyx grata, 25 Noctua cubi- 
 cularis, 26 Saturnia Maia, 27 Nymphalis Ephestion, 28 
 Trochilium exitiosum, 29 Lophocampa Caryae, 30 Dryo- 
 campa senatoria, 31 Papilio Asterias, 32 Pontia oleracea, 
 33 Sphynx quinquemaculatus, 34 Ceratomia quadricornis 
 35 Vanessa Antiopa, 36 Choerocampa Pampinatrix, 37 
 Philampelus Achemon, 38 Arctia Isabella, 39 Hyphantria 
 textor, 40 Attacus Luna, 41 Anisopterix, 42 Saturnia Io, 
 43 Xyleutes Robiniae, 44 Perophera Melsheimerii, 45 
 Limacodes pithecium. 
 
 HEMIPTERA 
 
 46 Cicadae (Harvest-Flies, misnamed Locusts). 
 
 Orthoptera 
 47 Platyphillum concavum, 48 Achetadae (Crickets) and 
 Gryllidae (Grasshoppers), 50 Orchelimum vulgare. 
 
62 
 
 HARRIS 
 
 COLEOPTERA 
 51 Areodalanigera, 52 Pelidnota punctata, 53 Omalophia 
 sericea, 54 Melolontha subspinosa, 55 Melolonthaatrata, 
 56 Cetonia Inda, 57 Osmoderma scaber, 58 Lucanidae, 
 59 Rhyncophoridae, 60 Bruchidae, 61 Atelabus analis, 
 62 Curculio Pales, 63 Callidium violaceum, 64 Clytus 
 spcciosus or Hayii. 
 
 HEMIPTERA 
 
 65 Tettigoniae, 66 Coreus tristis, 67 Lygaeus leucopterus 
 68 Phytocoris lineolaris. 
 
 HYMENOPTERA 
 
 69 Uroceris albicornis. 
 
 DIPTERA 
 70 Musca Harpyia or domestica. 
 
 If this tale miscarries, 
 
 The fault 's in that Harris ! 
 
 The more curious 
 
 May look 
 In his book 
 For private circulation 
 " Of the Insects injurious, 
 To vegetation? 
 Boston U.S.A., li 
 
 King Ceratocampa 
 
EIGHTH FYTTE 
 
 63 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY. 
 
 Every day 's no Yule : cast the cat a castock. Proverb. 
 To go like a cat on a hot bake-stone. Id. 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY is once a year: 
 Thanksgiving cheer Ah, well-away ! 
 
 Forgive a rhyme like broken sherds ! 
 For length of words grief hath not time. 
 
 Sad, sad my tale ; my tears drop hot : 
 Vain tears, God wot ! they nought avail. 
 
 Yet, when I think of happier days, 
 And all the ways that did so link 
 
 My life to his, the tears must fall. 
 Bliss to recall is bale, I wis. 
 
 I see him still, his eyes on mine, 
 Through woeful brine my eyes full fill. 
 
64 EIGHTH FYTTE 
 
 Again he stands and curls beside, 
 
 To have his hide smooth'd by my hands. 
 
 That sleek soft fur, — I see it now, 
 And hear his low contented purr. 
 
 I see his stripes of gold and black, 
 The well-arch'd back, the nose he wipes 
 
 With cleanly paw, and that spry taile 
 (Might bear a flaile — upright as Law), 
 
 His shapely legs, stretch'd tow'rd the fire 
 When hot desire for solace begs, 
 
 His comely head hid 'neath his thighs 
 When coil'd he lies upgathered 
 
 A blessed heap snug on my lap — 
 Asleep mayhap or feigning sleep, 
 
 His eyes that blink in light of day 
 And seem to say " I think I think," 
 
 His gentle claws which hurt not much, 
 The tender touch of his sheathed paws, 
 
 His pretty ways, his clever tricks : 
 Here, Memory ! fix thy foolish gaze ! 
 
 Again he climbs my shoulder's height — 
 His old delight O happy times ! 
 
EIGHTH FYTTE 65 
 
 No more, no more can ye return 
 
 Fire ! wherefore burn ? O oven door ! 
 
 O sad cook wench ! Her fingers ply 
 The dough, for pie, while on a bench 
 
 Beside her lies Kok Robyn, who 
 Hath nought to do but wink his eyes 
 
 And watch her work. Alas ! who knows 
 What direful woes in the future lurk ? 
 
 Now in the dish plump chickens laid, 
 The white paste made quite to her wish, 
 
 She places it on the oven shelf 
 And turns herself for another fit. 
 
 Dear Robyn owns one weak defeat : 
 He loves the meat on chicken bones. 
 
 Her head is turn'd ; he enters, sly, — 
 Behind the pie lies undiscern'd. 
 
 Now punkin pies in turn are made, 
 And, unaffray'd by prophecies, 
 
 The making o'er, the pies are slid 
 Where Robyn 's hid, she slams the door, 
 
 Heaps on the coal, the oven heats ; 
 Kok Robyn sweats : Saints save his soul ! 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 EIGHTH FYTTE 
 
 Muse, draw thy veil ; no mews we heard, 
 Deaf as a Kurd, she miss'd his taile. 
 
 But when the oven yawn'd to yield its freight 
 Of culinary gifts, what squall was that 
 
 Scaring the guests whose hunger had to wait? 
 
 The astonied Cook drew out in scatter'd state 
 Some piecrusts, chicken bones, and one 
 
 DEAD CAT. 
 
 * * Our dear Hattie in her fond appeal for the soul of Robyn 
 had no thought, we are sure, of speaking in any way profanely. 
 Allowance may be made for the unpreparedness of the sudden 
 horrific catastrophe. And she had probably read the writings 
 of that eminent divine and scholar, Mr. Jno. Skelton, rector of 
 Dis and poet-laureat to his late excellent Majesty Henry VIII, 
 in whose erudite poem of "Phyllip Sparowe " we may read— 
 
 "Good Lord, have mercy upon my Sparowe's soul ! " 
 Also the Rev. Mr. Sterne appears of the same thought, as — 
 
 " A Cat has a soul, an 't please your Honour." 
 Which is more to the purpose. Absolute originality we do not 
 claim for Miss Brown, and she should be judged accordingly. 
 
 EDITOR. 
 
NINTH FYTTE 67 
 
 MYSTERY 
 
 What a caterwauling you do keep. Shakspere. 
 
 \yE KNEW on what a thread hung Robyn's life, 
 And pray'd him to be careful ; but as rife 
 As ever were his wanderings in and out. 
 We seldom learn'd ought of his whereabout. 
 Still, when a week had gone without a sight 
 Of his fool's tabard, anxious love grew white 
 With apprehension, troublesome for news. 
 I did not mention that all kinds of stews 
 And broils and pies and funeral baked meats, 
 Even cold, he hated now ; and made retreats 
 From coals and cinders out into the snow, 
 Which was quite deep, and never let us know 
 How to provide for him, so had to fast 
 For days and days, his mind his sole repast. 
 
 The bitter winter had begun at last, 
 With fitful gusts of wind and stinging snow ; 
 Then clearer weather, and the earth below 
 Ice-bound ; and then a poor essay at glow 
 And possibly a chance of some o' rain ; 
 Then the white feathers flutter'd down again ; 
 
 f 2 
 
68 NINTH FYTTE 
 
 Then lace and sparkling jewels hung on the trees, 
 Next morning booted to their very knees 
 In white, the delicate slim birches bow'd 
 Before the majesty of frost, or cow'd 
 By the mere weight of ice, like milkmaid's yoke ; 
 And under eaves of snow brown walls of oak ; 
 White copings on the hemlocks, and, still seen, 
 Some slurs of yellow ice beneath the green ; 
 And then again a heavier fall o'erspreads 
 The landscape, only here and there the heads 
 Of greyish hedgehog spines above the white, 
 Those dimly visible. 
 
 On such a night 
 Robyn, who since Thanksgiving Day had shirk'd 
 The warm fire-side, and but too often lurk'd 
 Where ovens were not, took it in his head, 
 Or it might suit my taile (he had been fed 
 On milk scarce thaw'd, within it parboil'd bread) 
 To wander woodward in this snowy depth o' 
 Winter, where his wilful vow like Jephtha 
 Brought him to trouble. Several mornings kiss'd 
 The eaves' long icicles ; and still we miss'd 
 Our household Robyn. Why should I persist 
 As if I hoped the rime would raise a ghost? 
 Our Robyn came not : Robyn must be lost. 
 
 My uncle Slate (some people call him Slade), 
 His name was Ebenezer, was by trade 
 A spirit-dealer. I don't mean he sold 
 Spirituous liquors, either hot or cold, 
 But he call'd spirits from the vasty deep 
 Glendower-like wholesale, retailing cheap 
 
NINTH FYTTE 69 
 
 To whoso would. He was what the poor Injme 
 
 Would call a most almighty Medicine, 
 
 No medium man. He 'd taken his degree 
 
 At Philadelphia or in Germany, 
 
 And studied much among the Chippewas, 
 
 Where Catlin found him, balancing of straws 
 
 And swallowing knives, or acting other sleights 
 
 To keep poor ignorant squaws awake o' nights 
 
 With admiration of the marvelous man. 
 
 By birth he was a full-blood African, 
 
 Born at Congo ; had join'd a caravan 
 
 In youth and visited Egypt, where he learn'd 
 
 Mosaic work ; had been in the Bush, and burn'd 
 
 His skin in Australasian lands; in Ind 
 
 Had sometime raised the Devil if not the wind ; 
 
 Could beat Aladdin's Uncle at his tricks 
 
 Of lamps and air-castles ; knew how to fix 
 
 A ghost by simple twirling of his thumbs ; 
 
 Had been down Babylonish catacombs 
 
 And read on Solomon's Seal the mystic words 
 
 That taught him languages of beasts and birds 
 
 And fishes, which the same at his command, 
 
 A nod, obey'd him ; he could understand 
 
 Signs of the times, and of the Zodiac ; 
 
 He had stood with the Devil, back to back, 
 
 And faced the whirlwind ; he one night had hid 
 
 Himself in the middle of the Pyramid 
 
 Of Djizeh and conversed with Pharaoh's ghost ; 
 
 And he had been in Lapland, where they boast 
 
 Their Wizards. Even there he ruled the roast. 
 
 This was my Uncle, on my Mother's side : 
 
70 NINTH FY1TE 
 
 My Father's name was Brown, but fair his hide. 
 
 No ebon he, Sir ! he was baptised James, 
 
 And set no store upon those magic games. 
 
 But Mother had of sorcery a spice. 
 
 So, when Rob was not found, we sought advice 
 
 Of Uncle Eben. Did I say before 
 
 He was likewise a joiner, therefore more 
 
 Knowing than most folk to put this and that 
 
 Together. We would tell him of the Cat 
 
 Miss'd so mysteriously, and claim his help 
 
 For Rob's recovery. Why, many a whelp 
 
 Straying from doting mistress Uncle had 
 
 Restored, and oft housewifely hearts made glad 
 
 With home-returning spoons or other such : 
 
 Wherefore we thought it not presuming much 
 
 To use his office for inquiry now, 
 
 Difficulty unseen, or I avow 
 
 I had not put the old man to such cost. 
 
 He welcomed Ma and me, ask'd what we 'd lost, 
 Knowing, it seem'd, even before we spoke 
 The purport of our coming; made a joke 
 Of our anxiety; said all was right, 
 And he would turn informer that same night ; 
 Kept us to dinner ; made us stay to tea ; 
 No one was present there except us three ; 
 And after lights brought in began his mystery. 
 
 And first he took a thread that from the shears 
 Of Atropos was stolen, and round his ears 
 Bound it 'gainst hearing more than for his good; 
 And then of the True Cross a splint of wood 
 
NINTH FYTTE 7 ] 
 
 He screw'd upon the handle of a flail 
 
 From Boaz' threshing-floor, — he said a nail 
 
 Would loosen all the charm ; three equal hairs 
 
 Of a blue hippopotamus, with cares 
 
 Abundant got what time conjunctive Mars 
 
 Kiss'd Venus (there 's an influence in stars 
 
 Rightly discern'd, and at lunatic full 
 
 A luminousness unseen when days are dull), 
 
 These tied he ; and a caterpillar's cocoon 
 
 Unwound in water'd whiskey with a spoon 
 
 And built of it with care and cunning sleight 
 
 The form by children a cat's-cradle hight. 
 
 All these on a turn-table he display'd 
 
 In fitting order; then in the dark convey'd 
 
 A short stump of slate pencil, which he laid 
 
 Reverently in the cradle. Right below 
 
 There was a drawer, a slate in it, you know. 
 
 Then he began to conjure. I relate 
 
 Only the truth. Upon the drawer-hid slate 
 
 (We all examined it) no sort of sign 
 
 Of drawing or of lettering, not a line 
 
 Or scratch appear'd as Uncle placed it there. 
 
 He bow'd his head as if in earnest prayer 
 
 The while we two held hands and shut our eyes. 
 
 Then the drawer open'd to our great surprize 
 
 All of itself and, as on its own feat, rose 
 
 The slate and walk'd upon the table ; There 
 
 Who look'd at it might see a line, all red, — 
 
 SEEK THE THREE CATS !— No more! 
 
 Slate scratch'd his head, 
 And said — "The Three Cats, who the deuce 
 
 are they?" 
 
7 2 NINTH FYTTK 
 
 But the deuce help'd not : be must have a trey. 
 He rang the bell ; a tray was brought ; he laid 
 Tbe slate upon it ; then, as much afraid, 
 Stood trembling, knee and elbow, he did shake, 
 And rose his hair. Ma said — For deary sake, 
 Don't go no further, Eben dear ! He look'd : 
 " I raise my Ebenezer here or cook'd C.A. 20 
 Shall be my goose." Stiff silence follow'd that. 
 Methought I heard the mewing of a Cat. 
 Then categorically voices came : — 
 " Who are you ? Not to you ! By nether flame ! 
 " I shan't mind you. Your flames be d— d ! — 
 
 " You shall 
 " Answer me ! No, we shan't." — An interval, 
 And on the tray my Uncle sat him down 
 Mewing cat-like, and swore, and with a frown 
 Tore handfuls of his beard, it was quite grey. 
 " By gosh and Cukys wounds I '11 have my way." 
 Loudly he raged, and stamp'd ; and then I saw 
 Come from the dimness a great grey cat's paw, 
 A claw, and tear my Uncle's bared arm. 
 I saw the blood run down and trickle warm ; 
 It fell into and fill'd the tray. Then he — 
 " Only a maid can in this mirror see, 
 One made of mixed blood. Mule Hattie ! you 
 
 are She." 
 Obedient, I look'd down : but looking so, 
 All whirl'd around, upside downside did go. 
 
 C.A. 20 Ebenezer : no pun upon my Uncle's name : the name, 
 from the Hebrew, signifying Stone of Help, a conjuring place. 
 1 Samuel, 7, 12. See likewise Smith's Dictionary. 
 
NINTH FYTTE 73 
 
 The level floor on which the tray was put 
 Stood wall-like. Then in fear my eyes I shut. 
 " Look forth and see and hear and understand ! " 
 Such is my Uncle's brief and stern command. 
 I tear mine eyes from blindness, from my ears 
 Drive out their deafness, cast away my fears, 
 And with my understanding firmly based 
 Look in the magic glass before me placed. 
 
 What see I there ? Three forms of mighty make. 
 One with her tail twined round her like a snake, 
 And crouching with her nose upon the fender, 
 I knew at once, the Cat o' the Witch of Endor : 
 Grey, awful, with the shadow of a crown 
 Across her snow-white whiskers dimly thrown. 
 The second was a swift-limb'd delicate thing 
 The poet, Shelley, might have loved to sing, 
 A pard-like spirit, soft, ethereal, slim : 
 Methought at first that Cat belong'd to him, 
 But poet intuition may not err, — 
 I knew the Witch of Atlas honour'd her. 
 The third, more homely, with a travel'd air, 
 And black and white, or particolour'd hair, 
 I had not noticed but for Uncle, cried he — 
 "You'll need that one for all she learnt o' Friday." 
 He said no more ; it was enough, I knew so 
 I had to do with the Cat of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 While pass'd such thoughts and introduction gave, 
 I saw the Three preluding for a stave, 
 And pacing with a flourish of broomsticks round 
 A cauldron by three legs held off the ground. 
 
74 NINTH FYTTE 
 
 I saw, and listen'd for their voices' sound. 
 
 But first from each issued a gentle mew, 
 As saying — To our old misses and our new 
 We are sure servants, catechumens true, 
 Awaiting but the question. 
 
 That they knew. 
 And Uncle told me not a word to speak : 
 'Twould break the charm or leave it all too weak 
 To answer. Then again a mew, a squeal 
 In concert, and forthwith on toe and heel 
 The Cats spun round and round the magic pot 
 (A fire was underneath to keep it hot), 
 Each in her offering flinging 
 And, so obliging, singing 
 
 Of what was what. 
 
 Cat of En dor 
 
 Neck of slain sheep, chop by chop 
 In the steaming cauldron flop ; 
 Sprinkle well with fresh spring peas ; 
 Drop in then by twos and threes 
 Delicatest sorts of beans ; 
 Add the smallest hearts of greens, 
 Cauliflowers, and turnips two, — 
 Not too big of each will do ; 
 New potatoes without stint ; 
 Early carrots ; just a hint 
 Of lettuce : let us bury these 
 In fresh lots of tender peas ! — 
 All — Double, double, don't spare trouble ! 
 Let the gravy boil and bubble ! 
 
NINTH FYTTE 75 
 
 Stir it as a stirrer would ! 
 
 Serve the mixture hot and good ! 
 
 Cat of Atlas 
 Throw in raisins by the pound ; 
 Wheat-flour, very finely ground ; 
 Citron-slices, candied o'er ; 
 Currants an abundant store ; 
 Add of brandy just a gill ; 
 Almonds, nutmeg, as you will ! 
 All — Hubble, bubble, boil and bubble ! 
 
 Don't spare toil, but make it double ! 
 Stir, keep stirring as you would 
 If the stirring did you good ! 
 
 Cat of Crusoe 
 
 Drop in sugar, sugar — mind ! 
 Rubb'd on juicy lemon-rind ; 
 Melt it with a little rum ; 
 Pour in tea to overcome 
 Spirit influence; then add 
 Brandy enough to make you glad ; 
 Next of lemon slices slim,— 
 They are just right if they swim ; 
 Fill with rum up to the brim ! 
 All — Let it not quite boil or bubble ; 
 
 Spare not care, and double trouble ; 
 
 Stir it as a stirrer should : 
 
 Have it hot, and strong as good ! 
 
 Cat of Atlas 
 
 And now our He-Cat call ! 
 
 Grand Master of our rites, approach ! 
 
76 NINTH FYTTE 
 
 I hear the wheels of his old rumbling coach, 
 And the steps fall. 
 
 He-Cat appears 
 H.C — How now, my dears! 
 My little kittenish frisky frolicsome Cats ! 
 What is 't ye do ? 
 
 All — A deed without a name 
 
 I do ; and I ; and I the same. 
 H.C— And that's? 
 C of E. — I make a stew. 
 C of A.— I broth. 
 H.C. — And you? 
 
 C of C — I brew. 
 
 H.C. — The name! the name! 
 C of E. — Hotch-Potch my stew. 
 C of A. — Plum-Broth I do. 
 C of C — Rum-Punch. 
 H.C— Well, through 
 
 With the incantation though it nought avails ! 
 But let me think, first looking at my nails : — 
 It must, it must be so. — Tie your three tails 
 Together ; part knot suddenly ; and sing, 
 Dancing about the great Pan in a ring, 
 To the Egyptian Sphynx, 
 True Cat, if ever one ! — 
 My task is done. 
 Kiss me and let me go ! 
 Good ! good ! good ! — so 
 Each minx, 
 Good-b'ye ! farewell, fair Three ! 
 My spirit Pussy see 
 Sits on a cat-tail leaf, and mews for me ! 
 
NINTH FYTTE 77 
 
 And now the trinal links 
 Are join'd and sunder'd ; nimbly, toe and heel, 
 The Cats spin round the charmed pot. 
 And the fire never sinks, 
 But ever grows more hot 
 As thus they make appeal 
 
 To the Great Sphynx. 
 
 O Cat most fair ! 
 Listen where thou art squatting 
 
 Amid the yellow hot Egyptian sands 
 On twisted braids of palm-leaf matting, 
 The wet ends of thy Nile-steep'd dropping hair 
 
 Licking for mere coolness' sake ! 
 Goddess and no mistake ! 
 
 Hear our demand ! 
 Listen and reply to us ! 
 
 In the name of gouty Gidipus, 
 Whom thou wouldst have gobbled down 
 Had he not thy secret known ; 
 By all thy conundrum'd ghosts, 
 Thy unguessts, the riddle-lost ; 
 By great Memnon's morning song 
 Murmuring thy ears among, 
 And Isis' yet remember'd hymn ; 
 By the desert lion grim, 
 In safe covert of thy breasts 
 Seeking shelter when the crests 
 Of the Simoom him affright ; 
 By thy shadow in moonlight 
 Reaching o'er uncounted miles; 
 
7$ NINTH FYTTE 
 
 By those Cleopatric smiles ; 
 
 By thy necromantic wiles ; 
 
 By thy lips oracular; 
 
 By all subtleties, which are 
 
 Cat-like ; by thy woman face, 
 
 And bosom full of goddess grace ; 
 
 By thy never uncoil' d tail ;— 
 Let our prayers with thee prevail ; 
 
 Lift, lift thy enigmatic head, 
 
 With hoar centuries' dust bespread ; 
 
 Listen and give quick reply ! 
 
 Lay thy ruinous kisses by ; 
 And thy most headlong rebuss waive 
 Till thou our question answer' d have 
 Of this Cat's grave ! 
 
 Singing the Cats spun with swift wheel 
 Around the pot, more swift than winks 
 Or looks of lynx, 
 Repeating their appeal. 
 I listen'd, most afear'd. 
 What next ? methinks. 
 What wonder next appear'd ? 
 
 Uprose the Sphynx 
 On her hind legs tremendous ; laid one paw 
 Upon her stony lips, as in deep thought, 
 
 Then hollowly brought 
 This answer forth, from that capacious maw 
 Which ne'er before 
 Since Lord Osiris built her in the sand 
 Obey'd command. 
 
NINTH FYTTE 79 
 
 Where o'er 
 
 A cat-like fruit white purple flowerets wave 
 Look for his grave ! 
 
 I heard, I saw no more, 
 Nor knew till Uncle bow'd us to the door. 
 Not wiser, but some sadder for our trip, 
 We went our ways ; still hidden in my brain 
 
 Those Sphynx words did remain, 
 And to my recollection slowly came again. 
 I waited the event. 
 
 Months pass'd. The icy grip 
 
 Of winter was relax'd ; and icier grief 
 
 Sprang also to relief. 
 Spring came and went; 
 And punkin vines 'gan run 
 Across our lot, and also, one by one, 
 Increase of punkin self to bask it in the sun. 
 I was a-reading Darwin's Loves of Plants, 
 Mother beside me, in my Father's pants 
 Setting a patch. Our punkin patch is green. 
 I thought of the later D, what did he mean 
 By his developments. Am I a dunce? 
 Were cats and serpents vegetables once? 
 I know some plants are climbers, others crawl. 
 Does that the animal destiny forestall? 
 A sort of archetypal hint of what 
 May be this Punkin's or that Squash's lot : 
 Good-sized developing their legs become 
 Real Cats ; the smaller, or the stay-at-home 
 Can not be more than Serpents or at most 
 Go Caterpillar-like. And so I lost,_ 
 
So NINTH FYTTE 
 
 As older thinkers do, myself in dreams 
 
 Of supermundane cosmocomical schemes, 
 
 Till looking off, by what but pure good luck ? 
 
 One of our punkins my attention struck. 
 
 It was so like a couchant cat, — indeed 
 
 Like Robyn, just of the same motley breed, 
 
 With a long stalky tail, but wanting legs. 
 
 Headless and round as beer or whiskey kegs. 
 
 Alas, his bier 1 his spirit ! Could it be 
 
 He had gone back to punkinninity, 
 
 Reverse development ? If forward flies 
 
 The grower to accord with novelties, 
 
 Might he not also, ceasing thus to yearn 
 
 Far forward, take an undeveloping turn ? 
 
 Why not ? My Robyn, underneath the snow, 
 
 Used not his legs, and therefore let them go ; 
 
 Could not keep head against the weight of ice, 
 
 So the head waited not. It was not nice 
 
 To find him lost so : but I knew he thought 
 
 Some punkins of himself. That solace raught ; 
 
 And I examined further, as recurr'd 
 
 The oracle, the Sphynx' mysterious word — ■ 
 
 " Look for his grave . . white . . purple " 
 
 so they were ! 
 A plant — arcanic powers ! the plant is there 
 And waving over that same punkin's growth. 
 Graceful and tall — I '11 take my Bible oath, , 
 Hairy — if I have two eyes in my head, 
 Ash-colour'd — sure in memory of the Dead, 
 Long tapering leaves, a very wealth of bloom 
 Purple and white ! It is my Robyn's tomb ! 
 O'er his dear dust doth the white banner wave. 
 
NINTH FYTTE 8 I 
 
 " Keels rosy and wings red " my Botany gave, 
 And " T Virginiana." It is he, 
 My virgin love, my Robyn, F.F.V. C.A. 21 
 
 T is Tephrosia — -Truly winter froze— C.A. 22 
 
 Froze your hot heart, my dear ! My taile must 
 
 have its close. 
 Look, Ma ! She look'd ; then with her fingers groped 
 
 About the punkin's root and, as I hoped, 
 
 One little bone she uply rummaged. C.A. 23 
 
 "The last joint of his pretty taile!" she said. 
 I saw — the rest was there. Then knew I he was 
 
 dead. 
 
 C.A. 21 Feline, i.e. First Families of Virginia. Myself am 
 
 Georgian. 
 
 C.A. 22 Tephrosia Virginiana, Gr. tepkros, ash-coloured, 
 
 vulgarly Goat's Rue or Cat-gut : the reason why Robyn's bowels 
 
 yearned for it as his place of burial. Obnoxious to serpents, says 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 C.A. 23 The bone Luz, Os Coccygis Robiiiii, which according 
 
 to the Rabbins is the only bone to withstand dissolution. On this 
 
 comes the body at its final resurrection. 
 
CLIMAX 
 
 CATASTASIS 
 
 At Catalani's song the angels glode 
 
 Earthward to listen : so at Robyn's Feast 
 My Muse, that somewhat catadoxly rode, 
 Had power lent back to effort had increased 
 The high cat-asterism. Rob's abode 
 Were now Catabibazon, at the least. 
 
 * * Catastasis is the climax preceding the conclusion. 
 Catalan i, in religion S. Cecilia. Catadoxly, passing 
 the experiences of other poets or those of my own youth. 
 Cat-asterism, the Catalogue of Stars. Catabibazon, 
 the place of most starry honour in the south node of the 
 Great Dragon his taile. 
 
THE SQUASH 83 
 
 THE SQUASH 
 
 HOW THE SQUASH BECAME A CAT 
 
 \\fE HAVE a beautiful cat in our possession, so far 
 as one can be said to possess a cat (since the days of 
 witchcraft the title to possession is not quite so clear), 
 a he-cat of the striped or striated kind, striped like a 
 very squash. We were lying the other day on our back 
 in our orchard, staring up into a streaked-apple tree, 
 and thinking, as the apples fell, of little Isaac Newton 
 and the curious upcomes after falls. From Newton's 
 apple tree our thoughts fell off to Darwin, meanwhile 
 Rob lying on our lap, purring out his heart's content, 
 and probably thinking in his feline fashion. Near us 
 was a fence dividing our lot from neighbour Smith's, 
 and, even as we looked, over this fence a wild squash 
 was climbing. How often we had tried to keep it on 
 our own side. Noticing it again, we were puzzled by 
 the strange likeness between the squash (striped too) 
 and Rob, particularly as regarded Rob. It struck me 
 then that both were climbers. Often we had watched 
 them in sunshine and in moonlight, and day or night 
 Rob was just as difficult as the squash to keep on the 
 home side of the fence. Darwin in our thoughts, the 
 question arose — Why this? What is the cause of the 
 
 g 2 
 
8 I THE SQUASH 
 
 common instinct ? Dogs do not climb fences to their 
 neighbours' lots ; cats and squashes do. What is the 
 special relationship ? There did not seem much to be 
 made of it ; so we returned to the book which before 
 our mind wandered had been our study, our favourite 
 Horace Greeley's What I know about farming. There 
 at page 1273 (but not in all the editions) look at this 
 i:i a foot-note : — 
 
 ON THE INFLUENCE OF SOIL. 
 
 " I recommend that the squash be planted in a light, sandy 
 soil. A streak of green marl is an advantage if you have it. 
 I have found by repeated sowings that the colour of the fruit 
 is much handsomer, resembling the beautiful streakiness of 
 a ripe apple, only that the hues are not so vivid, the flavour 
 also sometimes not unlike apple-sass. I have been told, but 
 I do not know this of my own observation, that the peculiar 
 streakiness of English bacon, so much prized by Cincinnati 
 importers, is obtained in a similar manner (which is likely), 
 the pigs from their tenderest infancy being fed in turn upon 
 red and white potatoes, raised on differently coloured soil. * 
 It is said too that the alternate layers of fat and lean are got 
 by feeding one day and starving the next ; but this does not 
 run with my argument, which is only racy of the soil." 
 
 Elsewhere he observes : — 
 '•' It is known that the striped flag (Iris Americana) common 
 on this Continent thrives best in mixed clays. And the use 
 of stripes in cultivation has ever been asserted at the South." 
 
 These be practical remarks ! The squash's colour is 
 then, as Mr. Greeley's experience shows, mainly owing 
 to the soil. Now to look at it Darwinningly. In early 
 
 * ' ' The same is seen in clovers, the colour depending on the soil, not 
 without effect on the cattle : after the manner of Jacob with Laban." 
 
THE SQUASH 85 
 
 youth the squash is green, in old age yellow, in middle 
 life neither but with an inclination either way. There 
 must of course be a moment when neither the yellow 
 nor the green inclination predominates, accident, time, 
 something or other, gives the predominance. Suppose 
 opposite accidents, and these frequent and alternating. 
 Is it too much to perceive that the outer appearance 
 must express some sign of the inward struggle, and so 
 a stripe, of course very faint at first, is produced ? No 
 question then as to the influence of soil ! Other cases 
 also occur to us in its support. The political stripe in 
 the District of Columbia is often due altogether to the 
 soil : green first, and then distinctly marked as yellow, 
 even statesmen who think themselves " some punkins." 
 It may be the same with squashes. Mr. Greeley ought 
 to know. He tells us the mixed day fixes the tendency. 
 Granting, we say, the influence of soil, then in time — 
 it may be ages, time is a relative, — in time the stripes 
 fixed regularly will be permanent. We have the first 
 step cat-ward. The next step is for climbing. That 
 squash on the fence seems opening its cat-like eyes in 
 amazement. It may look far-fetched to talk of eyes, 
 
 but if potatoes have eyes and corn ears, why not 
 
 We are rambling, like the squashes. One thing is sure. 
 In old Indian days, — early, if not the earliest squash 
 days, — the boundaries of their hunting-grounds and 
 plantations were not stable ; beside which the squash 
 could hardly be said to be converted from aboriginal 
 wildness. Even the Mississippi does not heed bounds- 
 Say that a native chief pulled stakes and took in a bit 
 of a neighbour's patch, took it in too against the sun ; 
 your squash, having a habit of growing that way, also 
 
86 THE SQUASH 
 
 preferring the soil on the old side of the paling, what 
 does he, no doubt after many vain attempts to wriggle 
 between the bars, but climb over? Once done is done 
 for ever. Not even a squash can go back on destiny. 
 The next generation repeats the climb. In the course 
 of centuries it becomes habit, helped all through, you 
 mind, by the temptation sun-ward. Still the squash is 
 but a squash. Wait awhile ! From the great English 
 naturalist, Hood (the elder Thomas, not Jesse), may- 
 be learned how he once furtively buried a male cat of 
 a sandy-reddish colour under a gooseberry-bush. Up 
 to that date the berries had been smooth-skinned and 
 green : next year they ivere all hairy and of a red colour. 
 They were hairy ever after.* Now only consider this. 
 If a tiger got buried beneath a wide-spreading squash 
 tree (die size is no obstacle, for we know that Jonah 
 sat under a gourd of the same species, and there were 
 tigers in those parts), the squash next year would be 
 hairy too, and as much hairier than the gooseberry as 
 the tiger is larger than the ordinary cat. It is equally 
 reasonable to believe that if the hair had long influence 
 
 * We can say something ourselves, even from our own very limited 
 experience, in confirmation of these freaks of Nature, as they may be 
 ignorantly called. We ourselves grew a pumpkin over a buried horse. 
 One pumpkin born on this plant increased to such a bulk that a horse 
 could go in at one end not stooping and come out with his head down 
 at the other. And, which was more curious, the seed of this identical 
 pumpkin was found to be an infallible cure for hoarseness. This was 
 a Connecticut pumpkin, growth and pedigree both, and on exhibition 
 in New Haven, when the daily journals made weeks' income in praise 
 of the occasion. The bearing one thing has upon another, say through 
 various grafting, is truly marvelous, and should make us pause before 
 daring to discredit the deeper things of science. 
 
THE SQUASH 87 
 
 the tiger's claws would not be without. After certain 
 time may be found on the squash a roughness, which 
 on microscopic examination is perceived to be only a 
 rudimentary claw. In climbing, that confirmed habit 
 continued, such claws, being useful, become more and 
 more developed. Then as the pendulous squash drops, 
 the heavy body straining from the claws projects some 
 lengthening semblance of limbs ; now the winds drag 
 them, the claws hold firm, the heavy body swings, and 
 so the limbs become jointed. Beginning of flexibility 
 only, then, perhaps from sudden wrenches, are breaks, 
 which in mild weather partially recohere and become 
 articulated joints. Of course all this is not supposed to 
 be the development of one individual squash. These 
 changes are gradual, the work of centuries, of it may 
 well be eons. We can not observe them now, but we 
 can see suggestive and like indications. It may have 
 taken ages for the development of a claw ; how much 
 more for production of a whole limb, joints, the entire 
 and perfect animal. We have nearly reached that in 
 our progressive stages. It may be objected that there 
 is no reason why there should be exactly and only four 
 legs. It must not however be forgotten (Mr. Darwin 
 indeed lays great stress on this) that something is due 
 to original inheritance. There is always the tendency 
 to recur to the primitive type. The primitive type is 
 here tigrine, as regards the animal development of what 
 we may still call the Cat-squash. And aiso many legs 
 might be found to hinder climbing. Notice that it is 
 the cultivated squash to which we have come, that has 
 to climb, not forest trees, but fences. Between rail and 
 rail some of many legs would hang useless. Of disuse 
 
88 
 
 THE SQUASH 
 
 comes atrophy ; the superabundant legs drop off, and 
 the Squash-Cat retains only four as fitting to its latest 
 life. Then only, in the wonderful economy of Nature^ 
 as the polliwog becomes the perfect frog by throwing 
 off his tail, the squash perfects the cat with that hereto 
 useless appendage, the old-squash stalk pulled from the 
 parent plant as the new animal departs on adventures, 
 over and off the fence this time, to meet its neighbour 
 and begin the family of house and garden tigers — our 
 familiar Tabby-Cats. 
 
 There ! our Rob is among the squashes. You may 
 think that he is only a well-developed squash himself, 
 and that still squash basking yonder in the sun really a 
 yet-unanimalised Tom-Cat. " Can such things be and 
 overcome us ? " etc. 
 
 NOTE by the Editor. This Squash Story is the only prose work 
 of Hattie's which has been preserved ; and this in some measure 
 might be esteemed poetry, here only the rough draft ( we find the 
 same in Chaucer ) designed for future versification. 
 
 Since it was written the likelihood of such transformations has 
 been enforced by Professor Newbury, who tells of a Caterpillar, 
 I believe in New Zealand, the larva of which when buried about 
 three inches below the surface, becomes a Vegetable, "retaining 
 the outlines and markings of the parent caterpillar," and growing 
 to a considerable height, having a curious furry ornamental head, 
 caterpillarish. The plant is of a fungoid type, excellent eating, 
 containing much hydroxaethylidentrimethylammonium hydrate, 
 said to be not poisonous, resembling cabbage. 
 
 This appears also to favour the retrogressive theory suggested 
 by Miss Brown in her ninth fytte. 
 
THE MEANING OF IT 
 
 How many cats' tails to reach the sky ? Old Proverb. 
 
 J^IKE to a kettle at a dog's tail, making music as he 
 goes, or may be only musical echoes, so before I close 
 my catalectual budget I propose to say a few words on 
 the Myth. Which may stand as pith of my wandering 
 in Cat-Land, not to be dispensed with. I would have 
 you to understand my writing hath some direction and 
 is not without choice of path. I rejoice also to make 
 correction here and there, as where I spoke of Fiddler 
 Catte as but among my Rob's forbears. In that I did 
 him wrong. Of all forbearing folk he was indeed the 
 head. For there's an ancient rich ante-Arian perhaps 
 myth, with which we have to deal, and ought not any 
 how to miss. The peel of this, no weed, we all of us 
 may read, the well-known rhyme, a screed of earliest 
 time when the world yet was young, and which doubt 
 not was sung amid reechoing spanks, 'neath Himalayan 
 flanks, to children on their nurses' laps, perhaps upon 
 
 ■ 
 
90 THE MEANING 
 
 Euphrates banks ere Babylon was. This is it, as first 
 writ in pure Sanscrit, a hymn of the Rigvedas : — 
 
 Hyd id ldi dlth'k atant hephi dlth koujv 
 mp ta uv urthmun cyrnikh olala pht tuce 
 cut chspau tan ddychrha nawawyt hys pun 
 
 Of which, according to the best scholars, the English 
 given almost literally is as follows : — 
 
 The myth is not addled 
 
 The Cat fiddle-faddled ; 
 In the high sky sky-daddled, 
 The Cows jump'd over the Moon ; 
 The Little Dog {Cur Nicola) laught 
 At the Moon over-raught ; 
 And the dish ran away with the spoon. 
 
 The Cat in Hindu mythology is the Moon, the Cow a 
 cloud. The moony Cat fiddles, -plays like the Cat on 
 the sign-board : the weather is neither foul-ward nor 
 fine-ward. Skydaddled * over the heavens, the white 
 cow-clouds, perhaps a herd, leap over her. The moon 
 so blurred and obscured, twilight seems to return, to 
 the delight of the " little dog " Canicula, Sirius himself, 
 the Dog of Twilight, who, not seeing the moon return 
 from behind the clouds, imagines himself lord of the 
 situation. Of one relation the meaning is not so clear. 
 The Dish may symbolize the round moon-disk, which 
 that Spoonful of Cow was to carry off, carried instead 
 as the clouds are lost in the moonshine. This is only 
 
 * Sky (not ske) daddled, scattered, as aforesaid from the old Irish 
 Bible, there squdad ol, is plainly identical with Danish skye dcdehl : 
 throwing light upon the acquaintance of the Phenician (or yet earlier 
 Arab) navigators with Ireland, and the Baltic through the Cattegut. 
 
THE MEANING 9 1 
 
 a guess. It may be a hint that the larger can not stint 
 for the less ; or merely the myth itself running off with 
 the means that should have raught for us its meaning. 
 So important leaning excuses so much explanation. 
 
 I must acknowledge also to reading that it is not the 
 home-loving Cat, but the Grasshopper, the Locust, in 
 the attitude of preyer, which is placed at the top of the 
 New Troy Exchange. However, on again referring to 
 the Rigvcdas I find the Cat frequently indentified with 
 or rather perhaps connected with the Grasshopper in 
 the moon myths. In the PanCat-tantrums Carabbas 
 (the soft-sounding C), the Hindu Puss-in-boots, who 
 lives on Mount Moon, is the Grasshopper, or Leaping 
 Locust, claiming all he can hop across as his master's. 
 And he is the original also of our Hop-o'-my-thumb, 
 whose boots are seven-leagued. 
 
 Our own Kok Robyn's first death and burial, or his 
 burial and first return to life (as we may be pleased to 
 consider it), is not without a very profound mythical 
 significance. The Cat on 'Change is a Weathercock. 
 The Cat and Cock are again identical. It is at night 
 that the Cat is most active, and it is at moonrise, says 
 yElianos, that the Cock exults. So both personify the 
 moon. And as Sun and Moon through their attributes 
 are in the old myths interchangeable, so the Cock can 
 likewise be taken as the Sun, his crest symbolizing the 
 same, and his names, Cristatus, Cristiger, Cristens, as 
 the christian poet Prudentius tells us. Our tortoise- 
 shell Cat, in the Sanscrit Mushakaratis, the brindled 
 mouse-eater, the golden-haired cloud-devourer, whose 
 hairs are the Sun's rays, takes fitly therefore the name 
 of Kok Robyn, the red-breasted twilight in which the 
 
02 THE MEANING 
 
 Sun or, as seen in our present version, the Moon rises. 
 But the Setter's time comes, the setting ordered by 
 Dan Apollo as the Moon disappears at dawn. Union 
 is the twilight that unites day and night, hears night's 
 dying groans, and Jack,* the Sun again, on his back, 
 not yet fairly risen, only half awake, has his eye upon 
 him. The Hindu Moon is male. Nellie (a sisterly 
 diminutive of Helen — Helios, the Sun) is early-rising 
 Aurora, who bosses the Moon-funerals. The pall is of 
 course the heavens. But here seems some confusion, 
 (" a limb o' thee " referring rather to the body) as if 
 parts of two strophes had been lost and a transcriber 
 had agglomerated the fragments. Timothy is surely 
 nothing if not an alias for Thomas the doubter, who 
 must touch the body to be sure of its death or, in the 
 legend otherwise applied, who leaves not his bed till 
 the risen Sun shall kiss his finger-tips. : Donoghue 
 sounds suspiciously like Don'tknovvwho, but the name 
 is Sanscrit too, or earlier. In the PanCat-tantrums his 
 boat is often spoken of, the mystic boat in which the 
 Sun by night and the Moon by day travel underneath 
 the ocean ; and it may be that as " chief mourner " he 
 here assumes the office of the modern Charon. So he 
 may carry the body, and Tim and his fellow denizens 
 of the air be only wanted as appropriately for the pall. 
 The Dog, a cat-dog, Leo, who utters K.R.'s Epitaph, 
 is the dog of Diana, also Sirius, the Star of Twilight. 
 Whence, from the elder legend (the Moon there being 
 
 * Here again we have a new form of the Sun Myth : Jack the Giant- 
 Killer being only Hercules Redivivus, and Heracles himself the Greek 
 reformed Indras, a very ancient King Arthur or John Brown. 
 
THE MEANING 
 
 93 
 
 male), we have the Dog with our Man in the Moon. 
 The rest of the allegory (cloud-mice etc.) is plain. 
 
 A very similar myth may be observed in the Fight 
 with the dog : the contest between Day and Night, 
 or Light and Darkness, under new forms assigned to 
 them: the Dog "half blood-hound and half bull," the 
 Cat brindled as a moon-calf. The Third Fvtte has 
 yet another aspect. Here it is the strife between the 
 golden haired Apollo and the white Moon-cat. The 
 Moon takes possession of the black cat — Night ; and 
 in the Fourth Fytte the dejected Sun-god descends 
 seaward. In the Fifth his butter-ears reappear. No 
 need to track the myth throughout. The cord round 
 Rob's neck (sixth) is symbolical of the Sun again, 
 (the robin is sacred to S. Martin) ; and the Seventh 
 and Eighth are fit joints of the taile of Lamentations 
 for Thammuz — Thomas Cat — Adonais — Adonis — the 
 Sun or Moon. 
 
 Thus may we interpret the Myth of the Cat-Moon, 
 so much of it as need be tied to our own tailes. The 
 myth meaning the Sun would have the Cock as hero, 
 instead of the Cat. Nellie then will be the evening 
 splendour which undertakes his setting, and the other 
 persons of the drama change characters accordingly. 
 In the Taithriya-brahmanum the crimson-vested bird 
 of dawn, the Lark (Bharadvagas) sings, as the Robin, 
 all day through to the many-coloured birds, but gives 
 his heart to the little dusky Wren (Iyattika-cakuntika), 
 the brown dusk Eventide. For this the Sparrowhawk 
 relentlessly pursues him with his hate, and eventually 
 kills him. All the birds who had loved him assemble 
 to his funeral. The promised wine, his loving pledge 
 
94 THE MEANING 
 
 to Jenny, their bridal sacrament, is his own life-blood. 
 The dusk brown evening boasts its ruddy heaven, yet 
 ruddier than the early morning glow as Robin's blood 
 is of a richer tint than all the glory of his living coat. 
 
 It is the ever-changing solar song. 
 
 Is it not too the universal tale, 
 
 The pancattantrums of all-changing Love ? 
 
 When crimson-clad Cophetua from his throne 
 
 Wooeth the Nut-brown Maid, 'tis burly Rob 
 
 And homely Jennie in a new disguise. 
 
 Call it also, to point some moral here, 
 
 The Glory on the lap of Evening Calm, 
 
 The bright serenity of a well-spent life. 
 
 So every thing aye meaneth some thing else. 
 
 Eheu, Jehu ! As the Wise Cat observed 
 
 To the Philologist — " Man everywhere 
 
 And at all times is man." Here ends my taile. 
 
 If any ask — Why this or that forget ? 
 Let it to a Cat's short memory be set ! 
 
L ENVOI 95 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 QO, LITTLE BOOK ! 
 
 Who on you look, 
 Who read you fair, 
 Will own the young 
 With thewes unstrung 
 Not vainly sung 
 Nor need despair. 
 This did I write 
 For Self's delight ; 
 Who list may read : 
 I have no greed 
 For pay or praise. 
 My little Book, 
 Done all alone, 
 Fame shall thee own 
 Past many days. 
 Go thou thy ways, 
 Unheeding fleas — 
 Skip-critics : these 
 Make no heart ache. 
 Art for art's sake 
 Is all my geste : 
 Some high behest 
 Let others take ! 
 For me Art is enough, 
 According to the canon 
 
96 l' envoi 
 
 Of later days (quant : stiff : ). 
 
 And who shall lay a ban on 
 
 Me ? My will 's my pleasure : 
 
 I admit no moral master ; 
 
 And so I keep the measure, 
 
 Slower in time or faster, 
 
 My feet clear from disaster, 
 
 I care not whom I offend. 
 God send my readers good digestion ! 
 
 That 's not the question : 
 
 I have not been ordain'd 
 
 As preacher ; in no wise 
 
 Am given to sermonize ; 
 
 My text trots self-explain'd. 
 
 Enough if with some art 
 
 I play the Jester's part, 
 
 With cap and bells to please 
 
 Lord Idlesse, and dry peas 
 
 All pleasantly perverse 
 
 To rattle in his ear. 
 
 Yet do I not rehearse, 
 
 In strains his soul to move, 
 Fierce War and faithful Love, 
 
 And Truth not too severe 
 
 But fashionably dress'd, 
 
 Pale Grief and pleasing Fear. 
 And other tyrants, Robyn ! of the breast ? 
 What matters whom I choose 
 
 For hero ? Must my Muse 
 
 Tread heels of Alexander, 
 
 Of Walker, of Pizarro, 
 
 Napoleon, or Suwarow, 
 
L ENVOI 97 
 
 Or other Greek or Roman 
 
 Or French heroic gander, 
 
 Or common or uncommon ? 
 
 Why is not Philip Sparrow 
 
 As good as Philip's Son? 
 
 And what has Homer done 
 
 That he may sport his mice, 
 
 Frogs and such vermin nice, 
 
 And I not own a Cat? 
 
 By Helicon, and that 
 
 Is a fair poet's oath, 
 
 Your frogs and mice are, both, 
 
 No fitter for bards' words 
 
 Than is my Cat : my sherds 
 
 Of rhyme, lame verse at best, 
 
 And other faults confess'd, 
 
 Of catachresic sort 
 
 Et cetera. Though short 
 
 To wear the Homeric weed, 
 
 Mere catagraphs indeed 
 
 And catalectic they, 
 
 As modest Frenchmen say ; 
 
 Albeit catenate, 
 
 Which is but fair to state ; 
 
 Yet, by Apollo's shell, 
 
 Of tortoise too, so well 
 
 By that mercurial child 
 
 Fashion'd when he defiled 
 
 Sol wroth for loss of beef, 
 
 By him of poets chief, 
 
 And by the Muses nine, 
 
 I swear these mews of mine 
 
 H 
 
98 l'envoi 
 
 Shall win the world's belief. 
 
 While Cats are light o' love, 
 
 Or Caterpillars move 
 
 Cat-like toward their prey, 
 
 While every dog his day 
 
 Must have, and cats delight 
 
 In vows of Catti knight, 
 
 So long as at the fire 
 
 Cats toast their tailes, till ire 
 Of cat and dog down dwindles, 
 So long shall my poor spindle's 
 
 Yarn provoke applause. 
 
 Ay ! and by Cokys jaws 
 
 And his nine-jointed taile, 
 Eyes, heart, by Rob's each wail 
 And permanent purring note, 
 By his one motley coat, 
 Yea ! by its every hair, 
 Black, white, red, gold, I swear 
 These wakes of him shall live 
 A nine-fold life, nor sieve 
 Of Fame refuse them through. 
 And reasons are there too 
 Why even a Critic's gall 
 Should spare my song. I 'm small 
 And young, a little girl ; 
 And now first tempt the whirl- 
 Pool of professional ink. 
 In truth, upon the brink 
 I did a little loiter 
 With modest maiden's coy 
 Tergiversating dread. 
 
L ENVOI 99 
 
 But then meheard it said, 
 " Tis a true Muse invites, 
 And while the maggot bites 
 Adventure ! " Was I wrong ? 
 Came else uncall'd my Song. 
 Well, words I wrote are writ : 
 Poor caterings, I admit : 
 As such do I present 'em. 
 
 ADDITAMENTUM 
 
 GO, LITTLE BOOK ! from Author's solitude : 
 I cast thee on the market : go thy ways ! 
 And if (so Southey) not too vainly good, 
 The world may own thee after many days. 
 When Holland 's read, and Miller kinder view'd, 
 Poor Hattie Brown may hold her hat for praise. 
 Would L. C M. pronounce my verses fine, 
 I 'd own I think a many worse than mine. 
 
 Or, borrowing good words of Mr. Thos. Watson : 
 
 " My littel Booke ! goe hie thee hence awaie, 
 Whose price (God knowes) will countervayle no part 
 Of pains I tooke to make thee what thou art : 
 And yet I joie thy birth." 
 
 And of Master Hawes in his Pastime of Pleasure : 
 
 " Go, little Book ! I pray good hap thee save 
 From miss-metring by wrong impression ; 
 And who that ever list thee for to have, 
 That he perceive well thine intention." 
 
TOO 
 
 FINIS 
 
 As likewise the worthiest Mr. Geoffrey Chaucer 
 
 "And for there is so great diversitie 
 In Englishe and in wryting of our tongue, 
 So pray I God that none misvvryteth thee, 
 Ne thee mismetre for default of tongue ; 
 And redde wherso thou be, or elles sung, 
 That thou be understood God I beseeche." 
 
 Thus have I fingered the basket, beheld the holy 
 barley (is it but hurly-burly ? ), fed on the drum- 
 head, and drunken of the liquor of satisfaction. 
 O Orpheus, thou wildcat charmer ! have I not at 
 this thy feast said Konz omtoz. and it is finished ! 
 
 Finis coronat 
 
 (Is my work one to groan at ? ) 
 O Puss! 
 
 

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, 
 BERKELEY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 
 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing 
 to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in 
 demand may be renewed if application is made before 
 expiration of loan period. 
 
 NOV 20 l»« 
 
 KES.WR- 
 
 20wi-l '22 
 
UJ.XIl/UJlj »* »u < 
 
 ■ 
 
 u 
 
 
 Catoninets 
 
 Lies* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 JL 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ,A LIBRARY