THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 167 



Who every limb and sinew strains 



To do what costs thee little pains. 



But, stopped the while thy wanton play, 



Applauses too thy feats repay : 



For then, beneath some childish hand, 



With modest pride thou takest thy stand ; 



Dilated then thy glossy fur, 



And loudly swells thy busy purr ; 



As, timing well the equal sound, 



Thy clutching feet bepat the ground, 



And all their harmless claws disclose, 



Like prickles of an early rose.&quot; 



If this verse be far less graceful and poetic than 

 that in which Wordsworth has described for us the 

 kitten playing with the fallen leaves, it has the merit 

 of plain fidelity to facts. Joanna Baillie understood 

 how dear to kittenhood are attention and applause, 

 how much of the irresistible prancing and paddling 

 is pure comedy, designed to dazzle an audience. 

 Wordsworth, gazing serenely at the small impostor 

 on the wall, was deceived by a specious show of 

 innocence. With touching simplicity, he fancied 

 her unconscious of the admiration she was exciting, 

 and philosophized over the absence of that coquetry 

 which was rampant in her little bosom. 



&quot; But the kitten, how she starts, 

 Crouches, stretches, paws and darts ! 

 First at one, and then its fellow, 

 Just as light and just as yellow ; 

 There are many now, now one, 

 Now they stop, and there are none. 



