Mrs. Throckmorton carries us to-morrow in her chaise to Chicheley. The event however must be supposed to depend on elements, at least on the state of the atmosphere, which is turbulent beyond measure. Yesterday it thundered, last night it lightened, and at three this morning I saw the sky as red as a city in flames could have made it. I have a leech in a bottle that foretells all these prodigies and convulsions of nature. No, not as you will naturally conjecture, by articulate utterance of oracular notices, but by a variety of gesticulations, which here I have not room to give an account of. Suffice it to say, that no change of weather surprises him, and that in point of the earliest and most accurate intelligence, he is worth all the barometers in the world. None of them all indeed can make the least pretence to foretell thunder a species of capacity of which he has given the most unequivocal evidence. I gave but six-pence for him, which is a groat more than the market price, though he is in fact, or rather would be, if leeches were not found in every ditch, an invaluable acquisition.

3

W. C.

な

THE

RETIRED CAT*

A poet's Cat, sedate and grave,

As poet well could wish to have,

Was much addicted to enquire

For nooks, to which she might retire,
And where secure as mouse in chink,
She might repose, or sit and think.
I know not where she caught the trick-
Nature perhaps herself had cast her
In such a mould PHILOSOPHIQUE;
Or else she learn'd it of her master.
Sometimes ascending, debonair,
An apple-tree, or lofty pear,
Lodg'd with convenience in the fork,
She watch'd the gard'ner at his work ;
Sometimes her ease and solace sought,
In an old empty wat'ring pot,

NOTE BY THE EDITOR.

As the kitten mentioned in this Letter was probably in her advanced life the heroine of a little sportive moral poem, it may be introduced perhaps not improperly here.

There wanting nothing, save a fan,

To seem some nymph in her sedan,
Apparell'd in exactest sort,

And ready to be borne to court.

But love of change it seems has place

Not only in our wiser race;

Cats also feel as well as we

That passion's force, and so did she.
Her climbing she began to find
Expos'd her too much to the wind,

And the old utensil of tin

Was cold and comfortless within:

She therefore wish'd instead of those,

Some place of more serene repose,
Where neither cold might come, nor air

Too rudely wanton with her hair,
And sought it in the likeliest mode

Within her master's snug abode.

A draw'r, (it chanc'd, at bottom lin'd

With linen of the softest kind,

With such as merchants introduce

From India, for the lady's use,)
A draw'r impending o'er the rest,
Half open in the top-most chest,
Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to slumber there.

Puss with delight beyond expression,
Survey'd the scene, and took possession.
Recumbent at her ease ere long,

And lull'd by her own hum-drum song,
She left the cares of life behind,

And slept as she would sleep her last,
When in came, housewifely inclined,
The chambermaid, and shut it fast,
By no malignity impell'd,

But all unconscious whom it held.

Awaken'd by the shock (cried puss)

"Was ever cat attended thus!

"The open draw'r was left I see

"Merely to prove a nest for me,

"For soon as I was well compos'd,

"Then came the maid, and it was clos'd:

"How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet,

"Oh what a delicate retreat!

"I will resign myself to rest

" "Till Sol, declining in the west,

"Shall call to supper; when, no doubt

"Susan will come and let me out.

The sprightly morn her course renew'd,
The evening grey again ensued,

And puss came into mind no more

Than if entombed the day before.

With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room,
She now presaged approaching doom,

Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd,

Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd.

That night, by chance, the poet watching,

Heard an inexplicable scratching,

His noble heart went pit-a-pat,

And to himself he said

"what's that?"

He drew the curtain at his side,

And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied.

Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd,

Something imprison'd in the chest,

And doubtful what, with prudent care,

Resolv'd it should continue there.

At length a voice, which well he knew,

A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,

Consol❜d him, and dispell'd his fears;
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
He 'gan in haste the draw'rs explore,
The lowest first, and without stop,

The rest in order to the top.