BATTLE OF THE CATS.

(_From the "Noctes" of Blackwood._)


_Tickler._--A Battle of Cats.

"How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon the slates!"

Miss Tabitha having made an assignation with Tom Tortoiseshell, the feline
phenomenon, they two sit curmurring, forgetful of mice and milk, of all
but love! How meekly mews the Demure, relapsing into that sweet
under-song--the Purr! And how curls Tom's whiskers like those of a Pashaw!
The point of his tail--and the point only is alive--insidiously turning
itself, with serpent-like seduction, towards that of Tabitha, pensive as a
nun. His eyes are rubies, hers emeralds--as they should be--his lightning,
hers lustre--for in her sight he is the lord, and in his, she is the lady
of creation.

_North._--

"O happy love! when love like this is found;--
O heartfelt raptures! blessed beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare.--
If earth a draught of heavenly pleasure share,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
In others arms breathe out the tender tale"--