THE CAT.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 113, 7 April 1870, Page 7

THE CAT.

The following genuine bonne louche is a literal translation, and is hereby commended to the especial attention of the Mark Twdns and Josh Billingses of America : —

The cat is a concrete symbol of a vacillating politician.

It is always on the fence.

It is the feline embodiment of one of the profoundest human principles wrenched from the circumambience of the Unknown, and hurled into the bosom of consciousness.

Nine tailors make one man. A cat has nine times the life of one man, for it has nine lives. Possession, also, is nine points of the law. Behold a legal possession of existence equal to the span of eighty-one clothiers' lives.

Let us bow reverently before this august fact.

The wanderer by the midnight sea shore, when the moon — that ardent cornucopiae of Heaven — is streaming forth her flowers and fruits of radionce, and the illimitable is illuminated by the ineffable will, has remarked the phosphorescent ridges that scintillate along the willow tops, until the breakers seem to curve and snort like horses' necks with mane 3of lightning

So, O man ! when in the darkness of thine own chamber, thou passest thine hand along the furry spine of this feline phantom of the back yard, the electric sparks dart forth, and a flash of lightning fuses together the fingers and fur.

Exquisite antithesis of Nature ! The fireside embraces the ocean. The hearthstone is paved with sea shells. The monster of the deep disport, reflected in glowing embers. The infinite abroad is brought into amalgamation with the infinite at home. The ocean roars. The cat only purrs. The billows rise and culminate and break.

The cat's back rises. The feline tide is up, and we have a permanent billow of fur and flesh.

Oh ! impossible co-existence of uncontradictory contradiction. The Duke of Wellington was pronounced the greatest captain of his age. General Grant is pronounced the greatest captain of his. The greatest captain of any age was the captain with his whiskers.

Let us not call this the tergiversation of Nature. The whiskers of the captain. The whiskers of the cat.

The hirsute exponent of martial supremacy. The feline symbolism of the Bearded Lady, crossing her paws before the family fire. Jealousy has been called the greeneyed monster.

The cat is the green-eyed monster. Both lie in wait. One is the fox, the other the friend of the fireside. Either is to be met with in almost every family. Each is of both sexes. Old Tom gin, in excess, is one of man's bitterest bibulous foes of Old Tom cats. The one puts the bricks in the hats of the second, to be shied at the head of the third.

Oh ! osculations between sky and earth ! Oh lips of the Seen touching the lips of the Unseen ! Oh ! wave of thought careering through the asymptotes of cloudland, crystallising into angelic feel the tangents of humanity. The stars come out at night. So do the cats.

The " Cromwell Argus" of the 23rd says: — Considerable amusement was created in Cromwell on Monday last by the appearance of two bicycles, which had been purchased in Dunedin by Mr W. J. Barry. Several adventurous iudividuals essayed to ride — or drive — one of the crazy machines, but the progress made was slow, the amateur- velocipedestrians having to call too many grooms to their assistance before a start could be made. No doubt practice and perseverance will tend to show an improvement in the management of the machines.