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Catoninetales

A Domestic Epic: By Hattie Brown: A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 14 [i.e. W. J. Linton]

Linton, W. J. (1812-1897)

THE FIGHT WITH THE DOG

LOVE

FUNEREAL CATALOGUE THE PERSONAGES OF THE PAST PROCESSION.

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LOVE

With cat-like watch. As you like it.

Care will kill a cat. Wither.

Dan cupid, 'tis well known,
Both men and cats doth own:
No creature left alone
By him. Here make I moan
Of wrong that he hath done
My Catte, my Robyn dear,
My favourite, my fere,
My Catte withouten peer.
Would Cerberus he were here!
My Robyn! — Every dame
Who cattish blood could claim
Held Robyn well in mind;
As favourably inclined

Cat damosels were also.
Many a pleasant throe
He flung in Misses' hearts,
So perfect were his parts,
So lovely eke his looks,
Like cats in gospel books;

(Roydon)

And his demeanour staid,
That never properest maid
Need be of him affray'd,
So debonair and meek.
He had too little cheek.
And his best coat so sleek!
He never miss'd a week,
Nay! never miss'd a day,
To brush the dust away.
His sleekness took no hurt,
For the least speck of dirt
He wiped off with his tongue.
His whiskers too were long,
Becoming one so young;
His eyen were so clear;
And on each pretty ear
There was a tip of black,
The same along his back;
And his fine mottled sides
Were beauteous as hides
Of tortoises, or shells
Which whosoever dwells
By the sea-shore is apt
To value. When he lapp'd
His cream you did perceive
'Twixt jaws a foe could reive

His tongue's rich coral red,
Fit tongue of so rare head!
And when he flung his taile,
As thresher throws his flail,
You felt he could not fail
In fight with other male.
O Catte delightful! hail
Even to that form so pale,
Dim and untortoiseshell'd,
In visions oft beheld!
My grief is partly quell'd
By history of his fate,
The taile I here relate.
Be sure that highest dames
At Robyn took their aims:
A hope no mother shames.
Each sought to fix for life
Her daughter as a wife;
And all the neighbourhood
And to a distance would
Echone have wed her child
To him, the Unbeguiled.
The girls, they all were wild
To win the love of him.
Many bright eyes grew dim
Weeping for him away;
Many a maid would stray
From the parental home,
And anywhither roam
In vain hope to surprize
One glance of his dear eyes.

And if by chance they met
The welcome he would get
From virgin looks abash'd
All daring hope had dash'd
Of other loving swains.
I tell not of the pains
Mothers and daughters took
That he might only look
With favour on love-chains:
Labour that had no gains,
For no chains did he brook.
A lusty bachelor
Was he that time; and for
The love of cats most fair
And tender had no care,
No more than a cold frog.
His heart was yet a Log,
Nor apt his neck to crane
After sly Beauties fain
To love him and complain
Not being loved again.
He better liked a sweet
Nice juicy bit of meat,
Of mutton, beef, or pork,
Which he took on a fork
Full seemèly, nor raught.

(Chaucer)

Delicate mice he caught
Were daintier, he thought,
Than school-girl cats, howe'er
Fine-eyed or fine of hair;
And many such there were.

(Æsop)

No Chartreuse pious grey,
No lop-ear of Malay,
Or Madagascar Miss
With twisted taile, to bliss
Of Hymen could twist him;
White Persian hope grew dim,
Silky Angora's slim,
As certain both to fail
As Manx Maid scant of taile.
No wooing might avail
With this unfeeling male,
He wanted no sweethearts:
The gizzards and tit-parts
Of chickens he prefer'd,
Or a plump youngling bird,
Or toothsome tender rabbit,
Had he the luck to grab it.
Even tailes of rats or mice
Were to his taste more nice
And held of more account
Than all that love-amount.
Love-tailes were so absurd:
For he if young had heard

A scrape of wisdom's saw
From his old grandam; Law!
She used to say: my dear!
You keep from misses clear!
Quite time enough to wed
When I am gravely dead.
Certes she did not care
To have her easy chair
Invaded by a wife;
And she mislikèd strife,
And would not be too free
With Mrs. R. — not she,
For worlds. I lose my taile.

NOTE by the Editor. The Chinese Cat has long pendant ears, rabbit-like. The Malayan Cats and those also of the Isle of Madagascar are distinguished by their tails being curiously twisted or knotted. Miss Brown's natural history is generally most remarkably correct; in the present instance however she has, it would appear, confounded the peculiar characteristics of the Chinese with those of the Malayan variety. She will not often be caught tripping, even in her liveliest moods.

One night they did prevail
On Rob. It was a time
Of early frosts. The rime
Just whiten'd like a cake
The very first day-break,
But had not strength to hold.
The evenings were that cold
That schemers young or old
Might find excuse to sleep
Before the fire, or keep
Alive with moving tailes.
Well, one of these females,
An old cat-dame, prevails
On Robyn to attend,
And Bob White too, a friend,
Their dozings to partake.
Or join them in a wake,
A soirée musicale,

Anglicè Cattes' night squall.
Venìt, vidìt, vicìt!
The English, Ma'am! of it
Is first — he came and sat;
Second — he saw his Catte;
And third — what hap'd of that.
Such poor Cæsarean wit!
The Catte he sat beside
Was comely and her hide
A pleasant kind of black.
Well could she arch her back,
And ripply as a river
Her slender taile would quiver
When sadder tailes oppress'd
Her gentleness of breast.
But if she were but pleased,
She musically eased
Her bosom with a purr,
Persistent as a burr
Upon a length of fur.
Black was she, as I said,
But when the sunshine play'd
Upon her velvet skin,
Outsiders, taken in,
Took her for tabby,— lo!
Gold stripes appear'd in row

Along her sides; taile, head,
Were fairly zebraèd,
And radiant grew each hair.
For grace she might compare
With best She in a year
You'd find. Her eyen clear.
Right proper she, I ween,
To be our Katt-King's Queen,
Majestic although slim,
A consort worthy him.
So leaping at her side
His heart chose her for bride.

“Black but comely” is, I am told, the true rendering of the text of Solomon; but in our American Bible (published in 1842 by the Messrs. Lippincott of Philadelphia) which my dear Miss Fields gave me when we came North, I find it corrected to “dark but beautiful.”

And she mew'd up, unwoo'd
Before, would what she could,
A virgin young and raw:
She lifted up his paw
And lick'd it, as to say
“I'm yours, to love, to obey,
And honour,— or of that
All may become a Catte.”
I am not rude to tell
Young lovers' transports. Well!
She loved and troth did plight.

And he loved her. Next night
He for his Lady's sake,
His love-thirst too to slake,
Bethought him he would take
His presents to her bower:
No matter what. The hour
Was right for a cat-call.

He nears the house — A squall,
A spit, and over the wall
A skurry! What is she
Those revels leads? Ah me!
What is it that he sees?
That Most Adored of Shes
Coquetting: on his knees
A male Catt, his friend White.
Dark Fate! how fell thy spite.
Home went he back that night,
Thought of his yester-kiss,
Thought of his now lost bliss,
Thought all the world a miss,
Saw all her falsehood through,
Foresaw young piebalds too,
Forgave her, knew his part
Was play'd.

Then broke his heart.