282 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



matchless lines, already quoted ; and Mr. Swin- 

 burne has chanted the praises of his cat with all 

 the extravagance of the French poets, but without 

 their admirable art which conveys to our minds the 

 penetrating charm of feline loveliness. If we com- 

 pare his verse with that of Baudelaire, or Verlaine, 

 we see that the vehemence of his sentiment is 

 untempered by that Gallic subtlety which suggests, 

 rather than sets forth, the cat's seductiveness. 



" Stately, kindly, lordly friend, 

 Condescend 

 Here to sit by me, and turn 

 Glorious eyes that smile and burn, 

 Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed, 

 On the golden page I read." 



It is probable that the cat did nothing of the 

 kind, — not that her race is indifferent to books, — 

 Gautier's Pierrot, we know, adored them, — but be- 

 cause entire possession of the volume, and freedom 

 to ruffle its leaves at will, are essential to Pussy's 

 literary enjoyment. Her theory of companionship 

 does not include community of tastes or interests. 

 She is rather the spectator than the participator of 

 our amusements. Mr. Swinburne, however, plainly 

 thinks otherwise. 



" Wild on woodland ways, your sires 

 Flashed like fires ; 

 Fair as flame, and fierce and fleet 

 As with wings, on wingless feet 



