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 76 and we may read page after page of impassioned verse addressed to her by the wits and poets of her day, who veiled their own sentiments thinly under the disguise of despairing feline suitors. There seems to have been little coquetry in Grisette. She granted few favours; but preserved that soft and courteous indifference, that exquisite delicacy and tact, which compelled respect as well as adoration. Yet she too had a charming poetic gift,—Mme. Deshoullières acting as her amanuensis,—and nothing can be prettier than her shy admission to Tata that his gallantry and valour made her little heart beat fast; or than these lines which defy translation, but which may be accepted as the highest standard of absolute good-breeding for a cat. They should be hung, in their sweet old French, on the walls of every kitten nursery in the world.

It is melancholy to relate that Moncrif was pelted with ridicule by the satirists of his day because of