THE CAT= 



Practice 



Cultivate your garden, said Goethe and Voltaire, 

 Every other task is wasted and dead-born; 

 Narrow all your efforts to a given sphere, 

 Seek your Heaven daily in a bit of ground. 



So my cat behaves. Like a veteran, 



He brushes well his coat before he sits to dine; 



All his work is centred in his own domain, 



Just to keep his spotless fur soft, and clean, and fine. 



His tongue is sponge, and brush, and towel, and curry- 

 comb, 

 Well he knows what work it can be made to do, 

 Poor little wash-rag, smaller than my thumb. 



His nose touches his back, touches his hind paws too, 

 Every patch of fur is raked, and scraped, and 



smoothed ; 

 What more has Goethe done, what more could Voltaire 



do? 



From the French of Hippolyte Taine. 



