=THE CAT 



Hodge, the Cat 



Burly and big his books among, 



Good Samuel Johnson sat, 

 With frowning brows and wig askew, 

 His snuff-strewn waistcoat far from new; 

 So stern and menacing his air, 



That neither " Black Sam " nor the maid 

 To knock or interrupt him dare; 

 Yet close beside him, unafraid, 

 Sat Hodge, the cat. 



" This participle," the Doctor wrote, 

 " The modern scholar cavils at, 

 But," — even as he penned the word, 

 A soft protesting note was heard: 

 The Doctor fumbled with his pen, 



The dawning thought took wings and flew, 

 The sound repeated came again, 

 It was a faint reminding " Mew ! " 

 From Hodge, the cat. 



" Poor Pussy ! " said the learned man, 



Giving the glossy fur a pat, 

 " It is your dinner time, I know, 

 And, — well, perhaps I ought to go; 



80 



