another--would softly poke its paw under the hen and stir up the family,
making them all run out in consternation, and keeping things lively once
more. The cats didn't dream of catching the chickens, only wanting,
evidently, that they should emulate Joey and keep moving on.

A writer in the _London Spectator_ tells of a favorite bantam hen
with which the house cat has long been accustomed to play. This bantam
has increased and multiplied, and keeps her family in a "coop" on the
ground,--into which rats easily enter. At bedtime, however, pussy takes
up her residence there, and bantam, the brood of chickens, and pussy
sleep in happy harmony nightly. If any rats arrive, their experience
must be sad and sharp. Another writer in the same number tells of a cat
in Huddersfield, England, belonging to Canon Beardsley, who helps
himself to a reel of cotton from the work-basket, takes it on the floor,
and plays with it as long as he likes, and then jumps up and puts the
reel back in its place again; just as our Bobinette used to get his
tape-measure, although the latter never was known to put it away.

Miss Sarah Orne Jewett is a cat-lover, too, and the dear old
countrywomen "down in Maine," with whom one gets acquainted through her
books, usually keep a cat also. Says she:--

"I look back over so long a line of family cats, from a certain poor
Spotty who died an awful death in a fit on the flagstones under the
library window when I was less than five years old, to a lawless,
fluffy, yellow and white coon cat now in my possession, that I find it
hard to single out the most interesting pussy of all. I shall have to
speak of two cats at least, one being the enemy and the other the friend
of my dog Joe. Joe and I grew up together and were fond companions,
until he died of far too early old age and left me to take my country