THE CAT TO-DAY 281 



for cat circles into which the Empress had no en- 

 tree, and who, in its own gentle fashion, is the 

 most unswervingly obstinate creature in the world. 



" For wiles may win thee, but no arts enslave," 



writes Graham Tomson in praise of Le Chat Noir, 

 most honoured, if not most prized, of all the furry 

 fraternity that basked about her hearth. 



" Half loving-kindliness, and half disdain, 

 Thou comest to my call, serenely suave, 

 With humming speech and gracious gesture grave, 

 In salutation courtly and urbane. 

 Yet must I humble me thy grace to gain. 

 For wiles may win thee, but no arts enslave. 

 And nowhere gladly thou abidest, save 

 Where naught disturbs the concord of thy reign. 



" Sphinx of my quiet hearth ! who deignst to dwell " 

 Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease, 

 Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses ; 

 That men forget dost thou remember well, 

 Beholden still in blinking reveries, 

 With sombre, sea-green gaze inscrutable." 



There has been a great deal of modern verse, as of 

 modern prose, written about cats ; yet little, worthy 

 of its subject, and little in English that can compare 

 with the affectionate tributes of France. Shelley's 

 schoolboy doggerel is unworthy of consideration, 

 and Keats's sonnet had best be buried in oblivion. 

 Jocularity sits ill upon the immortals. Matthew 

 Arnold has indeed celebrated Atossa in some 



