Complete. From “Poems in Prose.”

THE CHINESE can tell the hour of the day by the eyes of their cats. One day a missionary, while promenading in the suburbs of Nankin, noticed that he had forgotten his watch, and asked a small boy what time it was.

  This gamin of the Celestial Empire at first hesitated, but then, bethinking himself, replied, “I will tell you.” A few moments later he reappeared holding in his arms a very large cat, and, looking in the white of its eyes as people look at a clock, he declared without hesitating, “It is not yet quite midday,”—which was true!

  As for me when I lean over towards the beautiful Feline, who is so well named, who at the same time is the honor of her sex, the pride of my heart, and the perfume of my mind, be it at night, in open day, in full light, or in opaque shadow, I always see distinctly at the bottom of her adorable eyes the time of day; and it is ever the same,—one vast hour, as solemn, as grand as space, without divisions of minutes or of seconds,—an immovable hour which is not marked upon the clock; which is nevertheless as light as a sigh, as rapid as a glance.

  And were any one impertinent enough to disturb me while my eyes are resting upon that delightful dial; were some disreputable and intolerant evil spirit, some demon of contradiction to come and say: What is it you gaze upon with such deep study? What seek you in the eyes of this being? Do you seek the hour in them, prodigal and idle mortal? I would unhesitatingly make reply: Yes, I see the hour; it is eternity!

  Now, madam, is not this a really meritorious madrigal,—one as lucid and as plain as you yourself? In truth, I have had so much pleasure in embroidering this striking piece of gallantry, that I shall ask for nothing in exchange.