cat, Phosphor is the most affectionate little soul. He is still very
playful, though so large, and last summer to see him bounding on the
grass, playing with his tail, turning somersaults all by himself, was
quite worth while. When we first happened to go away in his early years
he wouldn't speak to us when we came back, he felt so neglected. I went
away for five months once, before Lucifer was more than a year old. He
got into no one's lap while I was gone, but the moment I sat down on my
return, he jumped into mine, saluted me, and curled himself down for a
nap, showing the plainest recognition. Now when one comes back, Phosphor
is wild with joy--always in a well-bred way. He will get into your arms
and on your shoulder and rub his face around, and before you know it his
little mouth is in the middle of your mouth as much like a kiss as
anything can be. Perhaps it isn't so well bred, but his motions are so
quick and perfect it seems so. When you let him in he curls into heaps
of joy, and fairly stands on his head sometimes. He is the most
responsive creature, always ready for a caress, and his wild, great
amber eyes beam love, if ever love had manifestation. His beauty is
really extraordinary; his tail a real wonder. Lucifer, I grieve to say,
looks very moth-eaten. Phosphor wore a bell for a short time once--a
little Inch-Cape Rock bell--but he left it to toll all winter in a tall
tree near the drawing-room window.

"A charm of cats is that they seem to live in a world of their own, just
as much as if it were a real dimension of space; and speaking of a
fourth dimension, I am living in the expectation that the new
discoveries in the matter of radiant energy will presently be revealing
to all our senses the fact that there is no death.

"We had some barn kittens once that lived in the hen-house, ate with the
hens, and quarrelled with them for any tidbit. They curled up in the egg