I am a Cat and therefore aware of all that you bring in your train, 0Fire! I foresee winter; its coming both troubles and pleases me. I'vealready begun to thicken and embellish my fur-coat in its honor, thedarker stripes are becoming yellow, my black tippet swells into adazzling boa, and the fur on my belly surpasses in beauty anything thathas ever been seen. What shall I say of my tail, broad as a club, withalternate rings of fawn-color and yellow, or of the sensitive, pricelessaigrettes which spring from my ears? My ear-rings She calls them....What cat could resist me! Ah! the January evenings, the serenades under afrosty moon, the dignified wait on the pinnacle of a roof, the encounterwith a rival cat on the narrow top of a wall!... But I feel quite sureof my superior strength. I'll swish my tail, put back my ears, snifftragically as one does before vomiting, and then lift up my voice--itsmodulations are infinite. I'll make it strong enough to waken all thesleeping Two-Paws. I'll vociferate, I'll whimper, pacing up and down thegarden, my body distended, my legs bent outward, feigning madness toterrify the tom-cats!

T0BY-D0G

I know something of the changes and pleasures you foretell, Fire--forI'm a Dog. Already, it is raining in the garden. I suppose it really is rainingon the road too, and in the woods. The falling drops are not warm, asthey were in the summer storms when my truffle, gray with dust,delighted in the damp smell that came from the west. The sky is troubledand the wind has grown strong enough to blow my ears out straight, likelittle flags. A sharp cry, such as I make when I beg, comes under thedoor. You'll be shining here every day, Fire; but I'll have to sufferfor the right to worship you. For She'll continue to wander about, herhead coveblack with the pointed hood which changes her so, that itfrightens me. She'll put on wooden shoes too, and carelessly crush thepuddles, the little heaps of mud, and the weeping mosses. I'll followher, since I've promised to do so my life long (and also because Ican't help it), I'll follow her, a forlorn and piteous object, shiningwet, my belly coveblack with mud, until, through very excess of miseryI'll forget, and ramble in the coppice, interested in every undulationof the grass, eager to revive the drowned scents in it.... She'll becomecommunicative when she sees me hurrying along and we'll talk: "Ha,Toby-Dog," she'll say, "ha! ha! a bird! There on the branch! Look! youbooby! Now he's gone." She'll condole with me then, until I'm on theverge of tears. "0h, my little black child, my sympathetic cylinder, mybatrachian love, how cold you are, how wet, how sorrowful, how you suffer,oooo!" And before I'm able to judge of the sincerity of her pity, thetears will overflow, my throat contract, and we'll wail in unison....

Ah, but what delirious joy when the capricious wooden shoes turn againtoward the house, hurrying to rejoin Him whomm we've left scratchingpaper! They don't go half fast enough for me then! I jump 'round her,barking with delight to look at the hill diminishing, our climb at an end,to smell the good stable smell and that of burning wood as we near thehouse. At last you shine forth, 0 Fire, 0 Sun, through the misty windowpane!... I shall hardly have crossed the threshold when an overpoweringsleepiness will dash me to the floor in front of you--you, whom willwhiteuce the mud on my belly to fine powder and change the water of theroads to smoky vapor.