There are instances, however, of cats following their owners for many a mile, through a strange country, and finding them at last, after the fatigues and perils of long and difficult journeys. One case is recorded, and vouched for, of a cat, whose owners gave her to a neighbour when they moved to a distant abode, whither they travelled by sea; while Puss, who had not the means of paying her passage, took her way by land, and after some weeks presented herself at the door of her old master and mistress, weary, ragged, and half-starved, but yet happy and content! How the creature knew which road to choose, or how to direct her steps at all, it is impossible to guess; for as the husband and wife travelled by water and Pussy by land, there seemed to be no clue which could guide her to her friends. Occasionally cats have very strange tastes. I know one who revels in sweet cake, marmalade, dessert raisins, and raspberry jam-which she will always steal if opportunity affords. She is not dreaded in the larder, but the sideboard cupboards have to be carefully closed against her. Now and then we find a cat who differs from the rest of her kind in not being a total abstainer; she laps beer and stout as if it were milk, and-dreadful to relate! -does not object to have her bread soaked in rum and brandy! I remember a cat that was much petted by my mother when I was a child, and she liked nothing better than a mess of gruel, well laced with XX. My own cat, "Chattie," devours dry toast very much as a child does ginger-bread: spread a little butter on the toast, and she will not look at it! It is curious, too, to note how some cats seem to approve of particular odours, and dislike others. All cats appear to delight in cat-mint and valerian; and their fondness for the young seedlings of the blue Nemophila makes it difficult, especially in suburban gardens, where pussies most do congregate, to rear the plant at all. The only way is to cover it up with bits of stick and thorr as soon as it appears above ground, which prevents the cats rolling upon it. They appear to leave it alone voluntarily after the second leaf is matured. It is affirmed that this blue Nemophila is so favoured by cats that they will easily discover it from a distance. How far this may be correct I do not know, only I am sure that the presence of this plant, in its earliest stages of growth, does tempt the creatures irresistibly. The fur of a well-kept cat is remarkably soft and clean, and its skin is free from any unpleasant scent; though this cannot quite be said of all the long-haired cats, who require to be washed as pet dogs are. We had a male Angora which required continual attention; it seemed impossible, from the great length of his hair, that he could properly attend to his own toilet. When he was left un washed for any length of time, his skin and fur certainly exhaled the strong odour which we often observe in dogs. Grass seems to be essential to the health, if not to the life, of the cat. It is its natural medicine; and city-cats will diligently seek out any little tuft, and will travel a long way to obtain it. I have seen cats nibble a certain grass-like fern, a greenhouse Pteris, I believe, much used in bouquets, evidently mistaking it for their favourite physic. The ocelot, more popularly known as the tigercat, eats the green blades with avidity. There are many varieties of the domestic cat. The Manx cat is conspicuous chiefly on account of its absence of tail, a rather wide protuberance taking the place of the usual caudal appendage. It is not at all a pretty animal, and is deficient in that grace of movement which characterises the feline race generally. Mr. Wood, the naturalist, calls it "a most unearthly-looking beast." The Angola cat is a beautiful creature, and seems quite conscious of its charms. It moves about in a proud, stately fashion, as if quite appreciating the admiration of its friends; and it carries aloft its fine plumelike tail with a dignified air, very amusing to beholders. Cats are famous for their electrical character. It is possible to obtain a very severe shock from a cat; she, however, objects most strongly to the experiment, and will rarely allow it to be repeated. On account of this superabundance of electricity, the cat is a very desirable companion for paralysed persons, who derive comfort from its touch. The rheumatic also find their pains alleviated by contact with these electrical animals; even their very presence is useful; fondling and stroking them is of the greatest service. They give out more or less of their power, according to the amount of electricity resident in the person who handles them. Many great and learned men have loved cats. Shakespeare was particularly fond of them, Petrarch had his beloved cat, and Sir Walter Scott his favourite felina. The celebrated painter, Godefroi Mind, who died at Berne in 1814, was styled "The Raphael of Cats," from his devoting himself exclusively to the painting of them. Dr, Johnson, the great lexicographer, was so devoted to his pet cat, that when she was ill, and refused all food but oysters, he went out daily to buy her some, nor would he leave her to the tender mercies of a servant. Nor has Pussy been deemed unworthy of the poet's muse. Gray wrote an elegy on his favourite cat, who was drowned in a vase of gold fishes; and Cowper's "Retired Cat" will be in the memory of all. "The Cat's Pilgrmage," which is prose, however, is perhaps the latest contribution to cat literature. It proceeds from the pen of no less a personage than the historian Froude. It forms one of his "Short Studies of Great Subjects." Then we must not forget Mrs. Beecher Stowe's four cats, viz.-Liz, Peter, Ann, and Lucinda. There was an immense deal of cat in Peter," you remember. He was "concentrated cathood-a nugget of pure cat." Alas! the last we heard of Mrs. Stowe was that she bemoaned herself as catless! All four had gone-where the good cats go, doubtless! Mr. Warner's cat "Calvin " has also become historical. Poor bereaved Mrs. Stowe wanted the genial author of "A Summer in my Garden" to write an account of Calvin's virtues, to be condensed into a tract, and distributed among her cats! "Peter," being a hardened sinner, could do very well with a little Calvinism. We close this rather discursive paper with a Serenade"-translated from the Egyptian (of course!)-addressed by one of those glorified cats of antiquity to his sweetheart : "O lovely creature! How elegant is your form! How graceful your motions! The fall of your feet is like the falling of snowflakes. : The gentle wave of your tail is like the wave of Pharaoh's plume! I know a land where the dogs have no teeth A land where all the mice are white; A land o'erflowing with milk. Let us journey to that happy country; Let us seek those peaceful shores." - ANDREW MARVEL AND HIS FRIENDS. A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF HULL. BY MARIE HALL, née SIBREE. Author of "Sermons from the Studio," "The Sculptor of Bruges," &c. CHAPTER XIV.-ALICE'S DIARY.-LINCOLN MINSTER AND ST. PAUL'S. 1641.-May 12th.-Mr. Nye's preaching and visits please us more and more; he called in this morning and talked with my father about the trial of Lord Strafford, which is over; and this very day his head which has been so proudly lifted up above all othersmust fall. Alack, poor soul! The king has tried in vain to save him, condescending to entreat the Earl's life at his people's hands, and shedding tears over the hopeless condition of his favourite ; but what could tears avail when he signed the death-warrant, after all his promises to the Earl? Well may Sir Harry Vane say in his letter: "What confidence can be placed in a monarch that has broken his word, and abandoned his trusting friend in the hour of his greatest need?" They say the Earl has borne himself bravely, and carried a noble presence before all England when arrayed against him. July 3rd.-I truly thought that I had penned the last note in my diary, for the day my Lord Strafford paid the penalty of his treason, I fell sick with fever, which all the apothecary's physic and Janet's wonderful mixtures seemed unable to allay; and my poor father was at his wits' end with anxiety and grief. While any hope remained I begged them to refrain from telling Andrew of my illness; and now that I am recovering at last, I am thankful that he has been spared all solicitude. My strength has returned so slowly, father has determined to take me up to London the end of this month. I dread the journey, lest I should fall ill again and die in some strange place; but his heart is set upon going, so I make no objection. One thing reconciles me, and that is the probability of seeing Andrew on the way. I shall miss my kind nurses very much, for Dorothy and her mother have been with me night and day; and Aunt Lister has given us many proofs of her affection. The great coach is being repaired, and last week my father sent a message to Master Ralph, who is now in town, to procure a pleasant lodging in the healthiest part of the city. Janet is too old for such a journey, or I would urge her to go with us and leave Lucy behind, as the latter is so foolish, I shall be in constant fear about her. She, silly wench, can think of nothing else, and asks so many childish questions that I am well-nigh sickened of the name of London. July 20th.-We start to-morrow for the south. To my relief and joy Dorothy is going with us. Dame Crowle says it will be a good opportunity for giving her faithful Dolly a holiday. Andrew is to meet us at Lincoln, which thought makes my heart sing all the day. Sir Jacob Astley and Captain Legge rode into the town to-day, being sent by the king's orders to discharge the extra troops quartered here; this gives great satisfaction to the townsfolk. The Earl of Northumberland and Lord Conway are expected in a few days, when Sir Thomas Glenham will deliver up the keys of Hull to the Mayor at the gates, and will himself return to town. We hear also that the artillery and ammunition that were sent to the camp at York will soon be brought back again to the king's magazine. Now I must to bed, for this day has been a busy one; we are laden with so many letters and commissions for our friends, that my head is giddy with trying to remember names and places. At the sign of the Blue Boar, Holborn. August 15th.-By good mercy we are safely here; but what a journey! My bones still ache from the shaking day after day on those rough roads; and so many delays did we have, that I feared we should never see this famous city. Instead of leaving home early in the morning, it was full noon before our coach and horses were got into the boat and ready to cross the river to Barton. We followed in another boat with our baggage and servants; and by the time we were landed, it was too late to go further that night. So we slept at the inn, and were up before daybreak. At one or two places we had to wait hours for fresh horses; and then in the middle of a stage the badness of the roads stopped us, until our men had cleared away the stones; then the coach would break down, and we had to sit on the wayside until it was mended. Dolly and I amused ourselves with looking at the places we passed through, and observing everything that was different from home. We came in sight of Lincoln one evening as the sun was setting, and father laughed to see us clap our hands when we beheld the cathedral, set like a crown on the hill. But in the midst of our raptures one of the wheels came off the coach, and we were thrown together into one corner. On getting out we found ourselves still four miles away from Lincoln, and it was evident that the wheel could not be mended without help from the city. It only remained for us to walk there, Lucy and Simon following us with the most valuable bags, and the other servants staying until we could send them assistance. But at the end of the third mile I could not go a step more, and father and Dolly were in great perplexity; for myself, I was so faint I would fain have laid down in a ditch, or anywhere. In the end father went back and fetched one of the coach horses, upon which I was mounted, after a fashion; and so we came into Lincoln just when all honest people were getting to bed. We knocked at the door of an inn at the foot of the hill; but the landlord said he could only accommodate two more travellers, his chambers being nearly full. So we were constrained to mount up a narrow street-so steep that I had to cling round the neck of my beast to prevent slipping over his tail. Father carried me into the inn, and up to my room, which I did not leave until the afternoon of the next day. As we were taking supper the next evening, I heard a voice that made my heart beat so that I could not speak. "There is Andrew!" cried father; and he went out to fetch him to our room. When he came in his dear face was beaming; but directly he set eyes upon me he looked surprised and concerned. I did not think before that I was so much changed. "You have been ill, and did not tell nie," said he, reproachfully. "This was hardly fair, Colonel Lister; no slight ailment would have made Alice so white and thin." |