ed just before I arrived. Then, and not till then, I felt for the first time that I and my native place were dif united forever. I fighed a long adieu to fields and woods, from which I once thought I fhould never be parted, and was at no time fo fenfible of their beauties as just when I left them all behind me, to return no W. C.

more,

LETTER LXXV.

To Lady HESKETH.

THE LODGE, Nov. 10, 1787.

THE Parliament, my dearest coufin, pro

rogued continually, is a meteor dancing before my eyes, promifing me my wifh only to disappoint me, and none but the king and his ministers can tell when you and I shall come together. I hope, however, that the period, though fo often poftponed, is not far diftant, and that once more I shall behold you, and experience your power to make winter gay and sprightly.

I have a Kitten, my dear, the drolleft of all creatures

In

that ever wore a cat's skin. Her gambols are not to be defcribed, and would be incredible if they could. point of size she is likely to be a kitten always, being extremely fmall of her age; but time, I fuppofe, that spoils every thing, will make her also a cat. You will fee her, I hope, before that melancholy period fhall arrive, for no wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compenfate the lofs of her present hilarity. She is dreffed in a tortoise-shell fuit, and I know that you will delight in her.

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 faw the fky as red as a city in flames could have made it. I have a Leech in a bottle that foretels all these prodigies and convulfions of nature. No, not as you will naturally conjecture, by articulate utterance of oracular notices, but by a variety of gefticulations, which here I have not room to give an account of. Suffice it to fay, that no change of weather furprises him, and that in point of the earliest and most accurate intelligence, he is worth all the Barometers in the worldnone of them all, indeed, can make the least pretence to foretel thunder-a fpecies of capacity of which he has given the most unequivocal evidence. I gave but fixpence 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 acquifition. W. C.

THE RETIRED CAT.*

A POET's Cat, fedate and grave,
As Poet well could wifh to have,
Was much addicted to inquire
For nooks, to which fhe might retire,
And where fecure as mouse in chink,
She might repose, or fit and think.
I know not where the caught the trick-
Nature perhaps herself had cast her

In fuch a mould philofophique,

Or elfe fhe learn'd it of her master.
Sometimes afcending debonair,

An apple-tree or lofty pear,

*NOTE BY THE EDITOR.

As the Kitten mentioned in this letter was probably in her ad

vanced life the heroine of a little sportive moral poem, it introduced perhaps not improperly here.

may be

Lodg'd with convenience in the fork,
She watch'd the gard'ner at his work;
Sometimes her ease and folace fought
In an old empty wat❜ring pot;
There wanting nothing, fave a fan,
To seem some nymph in her fedan,
Apparell'd in exactest fort,

And ready to be borne to court.

But love of change it seems has place Not only in our wifer race;

Cats alfo feel as well as we

That paffion's force, and fo did fhe.
Her climbing fhe began to find
Expos'd her too much to the wind,
And the old utenfil of tin

Was cold and comfortless within :
She therefore wifh'd instead of those,
Some place of more ferene repofe,
Where neither cold might come, nor air
Too rudely wanton with her hair;
And fought it in the likelieft mode
Within her master's fnug abode.

A draw'r, it chanc'd, at bottom lin'd
With linen of the fofteft kind,
With fuch as merchants introduce
From India, for the ladies' ufe,
A draw'r impending o'er the reft,
Half open in the topmost cheft,
Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to flumber there.

Pufs with delight beyond expreffion, Survey'd the fcene, and took poffeffion. Recumbent at her eafe ere long,

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

And flept as fhe would fleep her laft,

When in came, housewifely inclin❜d,
The chambermaid, and shut it faft,
By no malignity impell'd,

But all unconscious whom it held.
Awaken'd by the fhock (cried Pufs)
"Was ever Cat attended thus !
The open draw'r was left I fee

Merely to prove a neft for me,
For foon as I was well compos'd,

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

How smooth thefe 'kerchiefs, and how fweet, Oh what a delicate retreat!

I will refign myself to rest

Till Sol, declining in the west,

Shall call to fupper; when, no doubt,

Sufan will come and let me out."

The evening came, the Sun descended, And Pufs remain'd still unattended.

The night roll'd tardily away,

(With her indeed 'twas never day)
The sprightly morn her course renew'd,

The evening grey again enfued,

And Pufs came into mind no more

Than if entomb'd the day before.

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

Nor flept a single wink, or purr'd,

Confcious of jeopardy incurr'd.

That night, by chance, the Poet watching,

Heard an inexplicable fcratching;
His noble heart went pit-a-pat,

And to himself he said, “What's that?"

He drew the curtain at his fide,

And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied,

Yet by his ear directed, guefs'd,
Something imprison'd in the cheft,
And doubtful what, with prudent care,
Refolv'd it should continue there.

At length a voice, which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,

Confol'd him, and dispell'd his fears;
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
He 'gan in hafte the draw'rs explore,
The lowest first, and without stop,
The reft in order to the top.

For 'tis a truth, well known to moft,
That whatsoever thing is loft,

We feek it, ere it come to light,

In ev'ry cranny but the right.

Forth skipp'd the Cat; not now replete
As erft with airy felf-conceit,

Nor in her own fond apprehenfion,
A theme for all the world's attention,
But modeft, fober, cur'd of all
Her notions hyperbolical,

And wifhing for her place of rest
Any thing rather than a chest.
Then ftept the Poet into bed
With this reflection in his head.

MORAL.

Beware of too fublime a fenfe

Of your own worth and confequence !
The man who dreams himself so great,
And his importance of fuch weight,
That all around, in all that's done,
Must move and act for him alone,
Will learn in school of tribulation,
The folly of his expectation.