Whether we understand it or not

Whether we understand it or not

Whether we understand it or not

Colour. Whether we understand it or not, there, undoubtedly, is nothing in this world left to chance alone, and nothing, I sincerely believe, is done by Nature without a purpose. The same merciful Providence that clothes the lambs with wool, the reason for which we can understand, paints the rose’s petal, the pigeon’s breast, or even the robin’s egg, for reasons which to us are inscrutable, or only to be vaguely guessed at. We can tell the “why” and the “wherefore” of the rainbow’s evanescent hues, but who shall investigate the laws that determine the fixed colours of the animal and vegetable creation? Who shall tell us why the grass is green, the rose is red, that bullfinch on the pear-tree so glorious in his gaudiness, and that sparrow so humble in his coat of brown?

In regard to the origin of the domestic cat

In regard to the origin of the domestic cat

In regard to the origin of the domestic cat

In regard to the origin of the domestic cat, naturalists have squabbled and fought for centuries, and the best thing possible, I think, is for every man steadfastly to retain his own opinion, then everybody is sure to be right. For myself, I really cannot see that it would either assist us in breeding better cats, or render us a bit more humane in our treatment of the pretty animal, to be assured that she was first imported into this country from Egypt or Persia in the year one thousand and ever so much before Christ, or that the father of all the cats was a Scottish wild cat, captured and tamed by some old Highland witch-wife a thousand years before the birth of Noah’s grandfather. What matters it to us whether the pussy that purrs on our footstool is a polecat bred bigger, or a Polar bear bred less? There she is,

The rank is but the guinea stamp,
And a cat’s a cat for a’ that.

But, and if, you are fond of pedigree, why then surely it ought to satisfy you to know that, ages before your ancestors or mine could distinguish between a B and a bull, pussy was the pet of Persian princes, the idol of many a harem, and the playmate of many a juvenile Pharaoh. What classification, then, are we to make of cats? We search around us in vain for something to guide us; then, fairly on our beam-ends, are fain to clutch at the only solution to the question, and fall back upon coat and colour, with some few distinctive points of difference in the size and shape of the skull and body. Colour or markings, then, and quality of coat, are the guiding distinctions between one breed of cat and another; and to these we add, as auxiliaries, size and shape.

But rather that this difference is so minute

But rather that this difference is so minute

But rather that this difference is so minute

Now, I do not mean to say that there is really no difference in shape and form between the different breeds of the domestic cat, but rather that this difference is so minute, compared to that which exists between dogs, that the term “breeds” seems almost a misnomer as applied to cats. It is only when you see pussy arrayed in all the wealth and beauty of her lovely fur, that you can see any real distinction between her and another.

I feel as I write that I am sailing as close to a wind as possible

I feel as I write that I am sailing as close to a wind as possible

I feel as I write that I am sailing as close to a wind as possible

I feel as I write that I am sailing as close to a wind as possible; I am luffing all my ship will steer; were I to keep her away a single point, I should drift down into the pleasant gulf-stream of comparative anatomy, and thence away and away to the broad enchanted ocean of speculative theory. And I confess, too, I wouldn’t mind a cruise or two in those latitudes, did space and time admit of it.

We find the same shape and almost the same size of bones

We find the same shape and almost the same size of bones

We find the same shape and almost the same size of bones

If we dissect the cat, we will find that the skeleton of one breed of pussy would pretty nearly pass for that of another; we find the same shape and almost the same size of bones, the same arrangement of teeth as regards their levelness, the same number of teeth, and the same formation of jawbone. Clothe that skeleton with muscle, and still you can hardly tell the breed of the cat, for scarcely will you be able to find a muscle in the one breed that has not its fellow in all, a little difference perhaps in the size and development of one or two, but even this more the result of accident and use than a distinction real and natural.

Animals of the dog kind are a step or two more advanced in civilisation

Animals of the dog kind are a step or two more advanced in civilisation

Animals of the dog kind are a step or two more advanced in civilisation, if I may be allowed to use the term, than cats; and hence, as intelligence can appreciate intelligence, and always seeks to rise to a higher level, more breeds, or a larger number of species, of the former than of the latter have forsaken their wild or natural condition to attach themselves to man. May not the time come, in the distant future, when a larger variety of feline animals shall become fashionable when domesticated tigers, tame lions, or pet ocelots shall be the rage? If so, that will indeed be the millennium for cats. Just fancy how becoming it would be to meet the lovely and accomplished Miss De Dear out walking, and leading a beautiful leopard by a slight silver chain, or Lady Bluesock in her phaeton, with a tame ocelot beside John on the dickey! A lady beside a lion on the lawn would, I think, make a prettier picture than one by the side of a peacock, and a tame Bengalese tiger would be a pet worthy to crouch at the foot of a throne. To be sure, little bits of mistakes would occur at times; instead of the pussy of the period bolting away with the canary, nothing less would satisfy the pet than a nice fat baby, and then those extraordinary people the cat exterminators would be louder in their denunciations than ever.

Gordon Stables - The Domestic Cat

Gordon Stables - The Domestic Cat

Classification: Its Basis.

In the feline world you find no such diversity, of form, shape, disposition, coat, size, etc, as you do in the canine. Dogs differ from each other in both the size and conformation of the skeleton, and in many other important points, almost as much as if they belonged to entirely different species. Mark, for instance, how unlike the bulldog is to the greyhound, or the Scotch toy-terrier to the English mastiff; yet, from the toy-terrier upwards to the giant Saint Bernard, they are all dogs, every one of them. So is the jackal, so is the fox and the wolf. The domesticated dog himself, indeed, is the best judge as to whether any given animal belongs to his own species or not. I have taken dogs to different zoological gardens, and have always found that they were ready enough to hob-nob with either jackal or fox, if the latter were only decently civil; but they will turn away with indifference, or even abhorrence, from a wild goat or sloth. But among the various breeds of cats there exists no such characteristic differences, so that in proposing a classification one almost hesitates to use the word “breed” at all, and feels inclined to search about for another and better term. If I were not under a vow not to let my imagination run riot in these papers, but to glide gently over the surface of things, rather than be erudite, philosophical, theoretical, or speculative, I should feel sorely tempted to pause here for a moment, and ask myself the question Why are there so many distinct breeds of the domesticated dog, and, properly speaking, only one of the more humble cat? Did the former all spring from the same original stock, or are certain breeds, such as the staghound, etc, more directly descended from the wolf, the collie, Pomeranian, etc, from the fox after his kind, and other breeds from animals now entirely extinct in the wild state? And once upon a time, as the fairy books say, did flocks of wolves, foxes, wild mastiffs, and all dogs run at large in these islands, clubbing together in warlike and predatory bands, each after his kind, much in the same way that the Scottish Highlanders used to do two or three hundred years ago?

But not too poor to give them a home

But not too poor to give them a home

But not too poor to give them a home

"No, no!" sobbed the poor woman; "I cannot part with them. I am a poor woman, it is true, but not too poor to give them a home; and while I have a bit and a sup for myself they shall have one too. Their poor mother left them here, and if she ever does return she shall find them here. And if she never returns, then "

And she never did return, and no tidings of her fate ever reached us. If she was enticed away by artful blandishments, or kidnapped by cruel violence, we knew not. But I honestly believe the latter. Either way, it was her fatal beauty that led her to destruction; for, as I have said before, she was the most perfect creature, the most beautiful Maltese cat, that I ever beheld in my life! I am sure she never deserted her two pretty little kittens of her own accord. And if poor dumb thing she was stolen and killed for her beautiful fur, still I say, as I said at first, she was "more sinned against than sinning." C. H. Grattan, in Tit-Bits.

When I returned at dinner-time I found matters still worse

When I returned at dinner-time I found matters still worse

When I returned at dinner-time I found matters still worse

When I returned at dinner-time I found matters still worse. She had not returned. My poor landlady was almost in hysterics, though she tried hard to control herself.

To satisfy her I set off to consult the police. My mission was not encouraging. They promised to do their best, but gave slight hopes of a successful result.

So sad, weary, and discouraged, I returned home, only to learn there were no tidings of the missing one.

"I give her up now," said my weeping landlady; "I shall never see her again. She is lost for ever; and those two poor pretty little creatures "

"By the way," I said, "I wanted to speak to you about them. If she never does return, what do you purpose to do with them?"

"Keep them!" said the generous and impulsive little woman.

"I wanted to say, if she does not return, I will, if you like, relieve you of one of them. My sister, who lives with me, and keeps my house, is a very kind, tender-hearted woman. There are no children in the house, and she would, I am sure, be very kind to the poor little thing. What do you say?"

Then she went out before the rain

Then she went out before the rain

Then she went out before the rain

"Oh, then she went out before the rain, did she?"

"Yes, sir; some time before the rain."

"Oh, then that explains it; she was probably caught out by the rain, and took shelter somewhere, and has been persuaded to stay. There is nothing to be alarmed at; you had better not wait up another moment."

"But I don't like to shut her out, general; I should not sleep a wink."

"Nonsense, nonsense!" I said. "Go to bed, you silly woman; you will hear her when she comes, of course, and can come down and let her in." And so saying, I retired to my own room.

The next morning at breakfast, I noticed that my landlady was looking pale and troubled, and I felt sure she had spent a sleepless night.

"Well, Mrs. Honeywold," I said, with assumed cheerfulness, as she handed my coffee to me, "how long did you have to sit up? What time did she come in?"

"She did not come in all night, general," said my landlady, in a troubled voice. "She has not come home yet, and I am very anxious about it."

"No need of that, I trust," I said, reassuringly; "she will come this morning, no doubt."

"I don't know. I wish I was sure of that. I don't know what to make of it. I don't understand it. She never did so before. How she could have stayed out, and left those two blessed little things all night and she always seemed such a tender, loving mother, too I don't understand it."

Yes she said quietly

Yes she said quietly

Yes she said quietly

"Yes," she said, quietly, "I know it."

"But is it safe?" I asked, as I turned to lock the door; "and so late, too."

"I do not think there is any danger," she said. "I was on the watch; I was in the hall myself, waiting."

"Not waiting for me, I hope?" said I; "that was surely unnecessary."

"No, not for you," she answered. "I presume you can take care of yourself; but," she added, in a low voice, "she is out, and I was waiting to let her in."

"Out at this time of night! that seems strange. Where has she gone?"

"I do not know."

"And how long has she been gone?" I asked, as I hung up my hat.

"I cannot tell just what time she went out," she said; "I know she was in the garden with the little ones, and came in just before tea. After they had had their suppers and gone to bed I saw her in the parlour alone, and when I came into the room again she was gone, and she has not returned, and I "

The day had been a beautiful one

The day had been a beautiful one

The day had been a beautiful one

The day had been a beautiful one, though sultry; but in the early evening we had a heavy thunder-shower, the violence of the summer rain delaying my return to town for an hour or two; and when the rain ceased, the evening was still starless, cloudy, and damp; and as I drove back to town I remember that the night air, although somewhat freshened by the rain, was warm, and heavy with the scent of unseen flowers.

It was late when I reached the quiet street where I had taken up my abode, and as I mounted the steps I involuntarily felt for my latch-key, but to my surprise I found the hall-door not only unfastened, but a little way opened.

"Why, how is this, Mrs. Honeywold?" I said, as my landlady met me in the hall. "Do you know that your street-door was left open?"

When I came down in the afternoon

When I came down in the afternoon

When I came down in the afternoon

One fine summer day I had made an appointment with a friend to drive out to his place in the suburbs and dine with him, returning in the evening. When I came down in the afternoon, dressed for my excursion, I went into the dining-room to tell Mrs. Honeywold she need not wait for me. As I came back through the parlour, she was there alone. She was sitting on the sofa. A book lay near her, but I do not think she had been reading. She was sitting perfectly still, as if lost in reverie, and her eyes looked heavy with sleep or thought. But as I passed out of the room I looked back. I saw she had risen to her feet, and standing with her graceful figure drawn up to its full height, she was looking after me, with a look which I flattered myself was a look of interest. Ah, how well I remember that look!

I do not even know where she lived before she came here

I do not even know where she lived before she came here

I do not even know where she lived before she came here

"No more than you do yourself, general," said Mrs. Honeywold. "I do not even know where she lived before she came here. I cannot question her, and now, indeed, I have become so fond of her, I should not be willing to part with her; and I would not turn her and her little ones out of my house for the world!"

Further conversation elicited the fact that she was not a boarder, but that she and her little ones were the dependents upon Mrs. Honeywold's charity.

Just at the edge of the evening

Just at the edge of the evening

Just at the edge of the evening

"She came to me," she said, "just at the edge of the evening, one cold rainy night, and I could not refuse to give her shelter, at least for the night, or till she could do better. I did not think of her remaining; but she is so pretty and gentle, and innocent-looking, I could not turn her out of my house could I, now? I know I am silly in such ways; but what could I do?"

"But is it possible," I said, "that she has remained here ever since, and you know nothing more about her?"

She never wore ornaments of any kind

She never wore ornaments of any kind

She never wore ornaments of any kind

She never wore ornaments of any kind, no chain, no brooch, no ring or pin. She had twins two beautiful little blue-eyed things, wonderfully like herself little shy, graceful creatures, always together, always playful. She never spoke of her own affairs, and affable as she was, and gentle in manner, there was something about her which repelled intrusion.

When, after some weeks' residence there, I had gained the good-will of my simple-minded but kindly little landlady, I cautiously ventured to ask her to gratify my not, I think, unnatural curiosity; but I found, to my surprise, she knew but little more than I did myself.

She spent little upon dress I was sure she was not wealthy

She spent little upon dress I was sure she was not wealthy

She spent little upon dress I was sure she was not wealthy

She spent little upon dress (I was sure she was not wealthy); but though there was little variety, her dress was always exquisitely neat and in perfect good taste, of some soft glossy fabric, smooth as silk and lustrous as satin, and of the softest shade of silver-gray, that colour so beautiful in itself, and so becoming to beautiful wearers; simply made, but fitting with a nicety more like the work of nature than of art to every curve and outline of that full and stately figure, and finished off round her white throat with something scarcely whiter.

I had gone the round of all the best boarding-houses in town

I had gone the round of all the best boarding-houses in town

I had gone the round of all the best boarding-houses in town

I had gone the round of all the best boarding-houses in town, when, at last, I went to Mrs. Honeywold's, and there, in her small, unpretending establishment, I, General Leslie Auchester, having been subdued, I trust, to a proper and humble state of mind by my past experiences, agreed to take up my abode.

And it was there I first met her! Hers was the early maturity of loveliness, perfect in repose, with mild, thoughtful eyes, intelligent and tender, a trifle sad at times, but lighting up with quick brilliancy as some new object met her view, or some vivid thought darted its lightning flash through her brain for she was wonderfully quick of perception with an exquisite figure, splendidly symmetrical, yet swaying and supple as a young willow, and with unstudied grace in every quick, sinewy motion.

The most perfect creature I ever beheld.

The most perfect creature I ever beheld.

Lost. The most perfect creature I ever beheld.

How beautiful she was in her superb calmness, so graceful, so mild, and yet so majestic! Ah! I was a younger man then, of course, than I am now, and possibly more impressionable; but I thought her then the most perfect creature I had ever beheld. And even now, looking back through the gathering mists of time and the chilling frosts of advancing age, and recalling what she was, I endorse that earlier sentiment she lives in my memory now, as she lived in my presence then, as the most perfect creature I ever beheld.

Grammer's Cat And Ours. by John Tabois Tregellas.

"Grammer's Cat And Ours." by John Tabois Tregellas.

John Tabois Tregellas (1792-1865), born at St. Agnes. The greatest master of the niceties of the Cornish dialect, in which he wrote largely, both in prose and verse. The piece quoted from is included in a volume of miscellanies published by Mr. Netherton, Truro, and happily indicates the marked difference between the modern dialect of Cornwall and that of Devon, illustrated in "Girt Ofvenders an' Zmal." The hero of "Grammer's Cat" was a miner named Jim Chegwidden.

To wash his hands and save the floshing,
Outside the door Jim did his washing,
But soon returned in haste and fright
"Mother, aw come! and see the sight;
Up on our house there's such a row,
Millions of cats es up there now!"
Jim's mother stared, and well she might;
She knew that Jim had not said right.
"'Millions of cats,' you said; now worn't it so?"
"Why, iss," said Jim, "and I beleeve ut too;
Not millions p'rhaps, but thousands must be theere,
And fiercer cats than they you'll never hear;
They're spitting, yowling, and the fur is flying,
Some of 'em's dead, I s'pose, and some is dying;
Such dismal groans I'm sure you never heard,
Aw, mother! ef you ded, you'd be affeered."
"Not I," said Jinny; "no, not I, indeed;
A hundred cats out theere, thee'st never seed."
Said Jim, "I doan't knaw 'zackly to a cat,
They must be laarge wauns, then, to do like that;
They maake such dismal noises when they're fighting,
Such scrowling, and such tearing, and such biting."
"Count ev'ry cat," says Jinny, "'round and 'round;
Iss, rams and yaws, theer caan't be twenty found."
"We'll caall 'em twenty, mother, ef 'twill do;
Shut all the cats, say I; let's have my stew."
"No, Jimmy, no! no stew to-night,
'Tell all the cats es counted right."
"Heere goes," said Jim; "lev Grammer's cat go fust
(Of all the thievish cats, he es the wust).
You knaw Mal Digry's cat, he's nither black nor blue,
But howsomever, he's a cat, and that maakes two;
Theer's that theer short-tailed cat, and she's a he,
Short tail or long now, mother, that maakes three;
Theer's that theer grayish cat what stawl the flour,
Hee's theere, I s'pose, and that, you knaw, maakes fower;
Trevenen's black es theere, ef he's alive,
Now, mother, doan't 'ee see, why, that maakes five;
That no-tailed cat, that wance was uncle Dick's,
He's sure theere to-night, and that maakes six;
That tabby cat you gove to Georgey Bevan,
I knaw his yowl he's theere, and that maakes seven;
That sickly cat we had, cud ait no mait,
She's up theere too to-night, and she maakes 'ight;
That genteel cat, you knaw, weth fur so fine,
She's surely theere, I s'pose, and that maakes nine;
Tom Avery's cat es theere, they caall un Ben,
A reg'lar fighter he, and he maakes ten;
The ould maid's cat, Miss Jinkin broft from Devon,
I s'pose she's theere, and that, you knaw, maakes 'leven;
Theere's Grace Penrose's cat, got chets, 'tes awnly two,
And they're too young to fight as yet; so they waan't do.
Iss, 'leven's all that I can mind,
Not more than 'leven you waan't find;
So lev me have my supper, mother,
And let the cats ait one another."
"No, Jimmy, no!
It shaan't be so;
No supper shu'st thou have this night
Until the cats thee'st counted right;
Go taake the lantern from the shelf,
And go and count the cats thyself."
See hungry Jimmy with his light,
Turned out to count the cats aright;
And he who had Hugh Tonkin blamed
Did soon return, and, much ashamed,
Confessed the number was but two,
And both were cats that well he knew.
Jim scratched his head,
And then he said
"Theere's Grammer's cat and ours out theere,
And they two cats made all that rout theere;
But ef two cats made such a row,
'Tes like a thousand, anyhow."

In Lawrence s History of the Horse

In Lawrence s History of the Horse

In Lawrence s History of the Horse

In Lawrence's "History of the Horse," it is stated that the celebrated Arabian stallion, Godolphin, and a black cat were for many years the warmest friends. When the horse died, in 1753, the cat sat upon his carcase till it was put under ground, and then, crawling slowly and reluctantly away, was never seen again till her dead body was found in a hay-loft. Stubbs painted the portraits of the Arabian and the cat. There was a hunter in the King's stables at Windsor, to which a cat was so attached, that whenever he was in the stable the creature would never leave her usual seat on the horse's back, and the horse was so well pleased with the attention that, to accommodate his friend, he slept, as horses will sometimes do, standing.

Cats And Horses. From time immemorial cats have been kept in stables.

Cats And Horses. From time immemorial cats have been kept in stables.

Cats And Horses.

From time immemorial cats have been kept in stables, and when this is the case there is generally a friendly feeling between one or other of the horses and the cat or cats. Such I have known with the heavy, ponderous cart-horse and his feline companion; such was the case in my stable, and so in many others. Cats are as a rule fond of horses, and the feeling is generally reciprocated. Several of our "race winners" have had their favourites at home, among others the well-known "Foxhall." "Many famous horses have had their stable cats, and the great, amiable Foxhall has adopted a couple of kittens, if it would not be more correct to say that they have adopted him. A pretty little white and a tabby, own brothers, live in Foxhall's box, and when Hatcher, his attendant, has rubbed him over, and put on his clothing, he takes up the kittens from the corner of the box where they have been waiting, and gently throws them on Foxhall's back. They are quite accustomed to the process, and, catching hold, soon settle down and curl themselves up into little fluffy balls, much to their own satisfaction and to the good horse's likewise, to judge from the way in which he turns and watches the operation."

Appeared in The Plymouth Journal

Appeared in The Plymouth Journal

Appeared in The Plymouth Journal

The following still more extraordinary circumstance of a cat fishing in the sea, appeared in The Plymouth Journal, June, 1828: "There is now at the battery on the Devil's Point, a cat, which is an expert catcher of the finny tribe, being in the constant habit of diving into the sea, and bringing up the fish alive in her mouth, and depositing them in the guard-room for the use of the soldiers. She is now seven years old, and has long been a useful caterer. It is supposed that her pursuits of the water-rats first taught her to venture into the water, to which it is well known puss has a natural aversion. She is as fond of the water as a Newfoundland dog, and takes her regular peregrinations along the rocks at its edge, looking out for her prey, ready to dive for them at a moment's notice." Ed.

The love of fishing once developed itself to the disturbance of my own sport.

The love of fishing once developed itself to the disturbance of my own sport.

The love of fishing once developed itself to the disturbance of my own sport. With careful prevision, my boatman had, in the floods of November and December, secured a plentiful supply of minnows, to be held in readiness till wanted in my fishings for salmon in the ensuing February and March. The minnows were placed in a well two or three feet deep, and the cold spring water rendered them as tough as angler could desire. All went well for the first few days of the salmon fishing; the minnows were deemed admirable for the purpose, and the supply ample for our needs; but this good fortune was not to last. One morning the boatman reported a serious diminution of stock in the well, and on the following day things were still worse. Suspicion fell on more than one honest person, and we determined to watch late and early till the real thief was discovered. When the guidwife and bairns were abed, the boatman kept watch from the cottage window, and by the aid of a bright moon the mystery was soon solved. At the well-side stood puss, the favourite of the household; with arched back and extended paw she took her prey. When an unfortunate minnow approached the surface, sharp was the dash made by puss, arm and shoulder were boldly immersed, and straightway the victim lay gasping on the bank. Fishing in this manner, she soon captured half-a-dozen, and was then driven away. From that evening the well was always covered with a net, which scared puss into enforced honesty. By nature cats love dry warmth and sunshine, whilst they hate water and cold. Who has not seen the misery of a cat when compelled to step into a shallow pool, and how she examines her wet paw with anxiety, holding it up as something to be pitied? And yet the passion of destructiveness is so strong within them as to overcome even their aversion to water."

Pretty puss always kept close behind him

Pretty puss always kept close behind him

Near to his cottage on the river-bank was a dam or weir, over which the water trickled here and there a few inches deep. In the evenings of spring and summer Donald was generally to be found fishing upon this favourite stretch with artificial fly for trout, and, being an adept in the art, he seldom fished in vain. Pretty puss always kept close behind him, watching the trail of the mimic flies till a fish was hooked, and then her eagerness and love of sport could not be controlled, and so soon as the captive was in shoal water, in sprang puss up to the shoulders, and, fixing her claws firmly in the fish, brought it to the bank, when, with a caress from Donald, she again took her place behind him till another trout was on the line, and the sport was repeated. In this way did puss and her master pass the evenings, each proud of the other's doings, and happy in their companionship. Such was the affection of the cat for her master, that she could not even bear to be separated from him by day. Donald had charge of a ferry across the river, and no sooner did a bell at the opposite side of the stream give notice that a passenger was ready to voyage across, than down scampered puss to the boat, and, leaping in, she journeyed with her master to the further side, and again returned, gravely watching each stroke of the oar. Many a voyage did she thus daily make, and I question, with these luxurious boatings and the exciting fishing in the evenings, if ever cat was more truly happy.

Fishing Cats.

Fishing Cats.

Having just come across a communication made to The Kelso Mail, in 1880, by a correspondent giving the signature of "March Brown," bearing on the subject to which I have already alluded ("Fishing Cats"), I deem it worthy of notice, corroborating, as it does, the statement so often made, and almost as often denied, that cats are adept fishers, not only for food, but likewise for the sport and pleasure they so derive. The writer says that "for several years it has been my happy fortune to fish the lovely Tweed for salmon and trout. From Tweed Well to Coldstream is a long stretch, but I have fished it all, and believe that though other rivers have their special advantages, there is not one in Britain which offers such varied and successful angling as the grand Border stream. Many have been the boatmen whom I have employed whilst fishing for salmon, and all were fairly honest, except in the matter of a little poaching. Some had the complaint more fiercely than others, and some so bad as to be incurable. One of the afflicted (Donald by name) was an excellent boatman by day; as to his nocturnal doings I deemed it best not to inquire, except on those occasions when he needed a holiday to attend a summons with which the police had favoured him. Now any one who has studied the proclivities of poachers, knows that they have wonderful powers over all animals who depend upon them, such as dogs, cats, ferrets, tame badgers, otters, etc., etc. Donald's special favourite was a lady-cat, which followed him in his frequent fishings, and took deep interest in the sport.

Nursery Rhymes And Stories.

Nursery Rhymes And Stories.

These are as plentiful as blackberries, and are far too numerous to be treated of here. Some are very old, such as "Puss in Boots," "Whittington and his Cat," "Hey, diddle, diddle!" etc. Some have a political meaning, others satirical, others amusing, funny, or instructive, while a few are unmeaning jangles. "Dame Trot and her Wonderful Cat," "The Cat and the Mouse," and, later, "The White Cat," "The Adventures of Miss Minette Cattina," are familiar to many of the present time. Of the older stories and rhymes there are enough to fill a book; not of or about the cat in particular, possibly; but even that the old combined with those of modern date might be done; and for such information and perusal the "Popular Rhymes," by J. O. Halliwell, will be found very interesting, space preventing the subject being amplified here. Nor do they come within the scope and intention for which I have written respecting the cat.

Cat i' The Hole.

Cat i' The Hole.

Jamieson's "Scottish Dictionary."

The name of a game well known in Fife, and perhaps in other counties. If seven boys are to play, six holes are made at certain distances. Each of the six stands at a hole, with a short stick in his hand; the seventh stands at a certain distance, holding a ball. When he gives the word, or makes the sign agreed upon, all the six must change holes, each running to his neighbour's hole, and putting his stick in the hole which he has newly seized. In making this change, the boy who has the ball tries to put it into the empty hole. If he succeeds in this, the boy who had not his stick (for the stick is the cat) in the hole for which he had run is put out, and must take the ball. When the Cat is in the Hole, it is against the laws of the game to put the ball into it.

Tip-cat. Is a game played with sticks of a certain length.

Tip-cat. Is a game played with sticks of a certain length.

Tip-cat.

Is a game played with sticks of a certain length and a piece of wood sharpened off at each end, which is called the "cat." A ring is made on the ground with chalk, or the pointed part of the cat, which is then placed in the centre. One end being smartly struck by the player, it springs spinning upwards; as it rises it is again struck, and thus knocked to a considerable distance. It is played in two ways, one being for the antagonist to guess how many sticks length it is off the ring, which is measured, and if right he goes in; or he may elect to pitch the cat, if possible, into the ring, which if he succeeds in doing, he then has the pleasure of knocking the wood called the cat recklessly, he knows not whither, until it alights somewhere, on something or some one.

Cat And Mouse-hunting.

Cat And Mouse-hunting.

The game of "Hunt the Slipper" used frequently to be called "Cat and Mouse-hunting." It is generally played with a slipper, shoe, or even a piece of wood, which was called the mouse, the centre player being the cat, and trying to catch or find the mouse. The "Boy's Own Book" thus describes the game, but not as Cat and Mouse: "Several young persons sit on the ground in a circle, a slipper is given them, and one who generally volunteers to accept the office in order to begin the game stands in the centre, and whose business it is to 'chase the slipper by its sound.' The parties who are seated pass it round so as to prevent, if possible, its being found in the possession of any individual. In order that the player in the centre may know where the slipper is, it is occasionally tapped on the ground and then suddenly handed on to right or left. When the slipper is found in the possession of any one in the circle, by the player who is hunting it, the party on whom it is found takes the latter player's place."