CHAPTER XXI.

[_See Note T, Addenda._]

THE MILLER'S FRIEND--A TALE.

You might have travelled many a long summer's day and not met with such

another. The very look of him was enough to dispel all ideas of hunger: he

was so big and so stout, yet withal so rosy and hardy. His voice had a

cheery ring with it, which, combined with the merry twinkle in his eye,

set you on good terms with yourself at once, if indeed it did not make you

laugh outright. As for _his_ laugh, to hear it once was to remember it for

ever. It was hearty, it was musical; in pitch something between the _Ha!

ha! ha!_ and the HO! HO! HO! and it rang through the old mill, wakening a

dozen sleeping echoes, and causing the old bulldog to bark, although that

quadruped had to lean against a pillar to perform the feat. The miller

wasn't a young man by any means; but though he had no wife, he was the

jolliest widower ever you saw, albeit his hair and whiskers were like the

powdery snow. But his voice--ay, that was the bit--you should have heard

it rising in song-snatches, and rolling high over the double bass of the

grinding wheels and the shrill clack-clack of that merry old mill.

He was honest moreover. No one in the parish had ever been heard to accuse

him of giving light weight, or adding sand to the meal to make it turn the

scale sooner. And, as a matter of course, he was a general favourite,

especially among the farmer's daughters and servant-maids; so much so

indeed, that all round the country it became the general custom to take

meal by the stone, instead of by the bushel, that the "errands to the

mill" might be all the more frequent. And indeed, however dull a lass

might be, when she was going to the mill, she never left it without a

rosier blush on her bonnie cheek, and a smile playing around her lips, as

she trundled cheerily along with her bag upon her head. Yes, indeed, had

he wanted a wife, the miller might have married the youngest of them all.

Such was the miller, and such too were the race he sprang from,--they were

in the habit of getting young again, just at the age that other folks

began to get old. They were in their prime at eighty, and never thought of

departing this life, until the dial shadow of their existence began to

creep near the hundred. Then all at once it used to strike Old Death, that

he had forgotten all about them, so he would lift his scythe, and cut them

down smartly and suddenly.

And as the miller was jolly, so everything about that old mill was jolly

too. There was music in the mill-lead as the waters leapt joyously from

under the sluice, and hurried along to their task, and the great wheel

itself, as it turned slowly and steadily round, seemed actually bursting

with suppressed merriment. Then you should have seen the sweet little bit

of scenery the mill was set down in. Ah! English tourists have yet to

learn, that there is one part of Scotland yet unhackneyed, yet

uncockneyed, yet unspoiled, but still romantic enough to repay a journey

from London-town. The mill was built by the banks of the wimpling

Don,--built in a dingle, green rolling braes sloping up at one side, steep

rocks on the other, and the river, here broad and fordable, rippling

between. On the top of the rocks waved a tall pine forest; some of the

trees hung by their roots over the cliff just as the storm had left them.

'Twas sweet in summertime to hear the birds singing in that forest, or to

see the crimson glow of sunset glimmering through the branches; but how

tall and dark and weirdly looked those trees, as they stretched their

branches up into the green frosty sky of a quiet winter's gloaming.

To my friend the miller this wood had an especial attraction, for within

its shade he had wooed his first, his early love. If you had scaled the

little foot-path, that struggled up through the rocks, at the place where

they were less precipitous, and finally gained the cliff, just at the

point where Snuffie Sandy tumbled over in the dark and broke his neck, you

would have come to a little foot-path, that went windingly away among the

tall solemn Scotch pines, to the roots of which the sun never penetrated

even at noon, and whose massive trunks might have been mistaken in the

sombre light, for the pillars in some gigantic cavern. Onward for a

quarter of an hour, and you would suddenly have found yourself in a

clearing in the midst of the forest. This clearing was fully a square mile

in extent, and was tastefully laid out as a little farm, neat cottage and

garden, barnyard, field, and fence, and all complete, as snug a little

place as you could wish to see. Owing to its situation, there was quite an

understanding between the domestic animals, and the denizens of the

surrounding wood. In summertime the hare and the rabbit, browsed

peacefully beside the cows and the sheep; the birds came regularly to the

latter for a supply of wool to line their nests; the hens and ducks

shared their oats amicably with the wild pigeons; and old Dobbin the

horse, who used to be tethered among the clover, didn't mind the crows a

bit: they used his back as a sort of moving hustings on which to debate

politics or have an occasional stand-up fight, and when Dobbin lay down to

rest they lovingly picked his teeth. And everything immediately around the

cottage, was as natty and neat as the little farm itself. The greenest of

garden gates led you into the sprucest of little gardens; the box was

neatly trimmed; never a blade of grass grew on the gravel; and although

there were not many flowers, it did one's heart good in early spring to

see the blue and yellow crocuses, peeping through the dun earth, and the

sweet-scented primrose discs, diamonded with dew, reclining on the

delicate green of their tender leaves. There was a rustic porch around the

cottage door; it was formed of the unbarked stems of the spruce fir-tree,

with just an inch of branch left on for effect, and the door itself

boasted of a brass knocker, bright enough to shave at; and had you knocked

and been invited "ben" to the best-parlour, you would have found

everything there too both trig and trim. There was nothing either on the

mantle-piece or on the walls to offend your feelings. There were no

hideous ornaments or foxy lithographs, but shells, and grass, and moss,

and a few modest engravings and photo's of friends. Instead of a

chiffonier there was a neat chest of drawers, and instead of a piano a

spinning-wheel. At this latter, Nannie, when not milking or attending to

household matters, sat birring all day long, making music which, if not

operatic, was at least natural, and suited Nannie and pleased the cat to a

nicety. Nannie of course was the presiding goddess of the cottage and

farm. The place was all her own. She kept a man and a laddie to do the

out-work, and a tidy bit of a girl to assist her in-doors. Nannie from all

accounts must have been alarmingly near forty, though she looked a full

dozen of years younger, and beautiful for even that age,--beautiful in

regularity of features, in just sufficient colour, and in a lack of all

coarseness. Taking her, figure and all combined, you would have said that,

if not a lady, she was at least born to adorn a higher sphere. She had

never been married, but didn't look an old maid by any means. For Nannie

had had her little history. And merry and cheerful as she always was

during the day, still, when the day's duties were over, and she had

retired to her little chamber, after she had read her chapter and psalm

and sat down to muse, there would come a strange sad look in her eyes, and

at times a tear stood there, as she took from her pocket a portrait and a

lock of dark brown hair. And that portrait on which she grazed so fondly,

although the face was younger, was the miller's; his, too, though

different in colour, that lock of hair tied with blue, that seemed to

cling caressingly around poor Nannie's finger. For the miller and she had

loved each other all their lives long. Oh! their story is quite a common

one,--a lover's quarrel, a harsh word, and a silent parting: that was all.

And the miller had gone off in a pet, and married a woman double his age.

The marriage was as uncongenial as snow in summer; but now, though his

wife had been long in her grave, the miller, though he knew he could get

forgiveness at once from Nannie, never went to ask it, feeling he had

erred too deeply to deserve it. So they had lived for years--those two

loving hearts--with only the dark pine forest and the broad river between

them.

One dark Christmas morning the miller was astir long before his usual

time, for there was more to do than he could well manage. There was barley

to prepare for Christmas broth, and meal for Christmas brose; so long

before the sun had dreamt of getting out of bed, he had hauled up the

sluice. The waters rushed headlong on towards the great mill-wheel; the

great mill-wheel turned slowly round; and suddenly the old mill,

previously as silent and dark as the grave itself, became instinct with

life and sound.

It was a good quarter of a mile walk, from the mill-dam sluice to the

mill. Hundreds of times he had gone the road before, but on this

particular morning, somehow or other, the miller felt peculiarly nervous.

It was so dark, and everything was so still, and being Christmas morning,

what more likely than that he should see a ghost. He tried to sing, but

for once in his life he failed; and he felt quite a sense of relief when

the farmer's cocks awoke, and began hallooing to each other all over the

country. So, in no enviable frame of mind, he reached the mill and opened

the door. The old dog came to meet him, and he struck a light, and shaking

off for a time his superstitious fears, he donned a dusty coat, and set to

work in earnest. First there was the corn to spread upon the kiln. That

done, he went below to put a match to the kiln-fire which was already

laid. In this furnace it was not coals that were burned, nor wood either,

but the outside husks of the oats themselves,--what are called in Scotland

"shealings." This made a roaring fire, and was easily lit. All was

darkness when the miller went down, but he soon had both light and heat.

Indeed, from the latter he was fain to stand back; and so, leaning on his

shovel, as he contemplated his work, with the firelight playing around his

handsome face and figure and the darkness behind him, he would have formed

no mean study for a painter. But suddenly the spade dropped from his

grasp, his face turned pale,--pale as it never would be again until death

set his seal on it,--and the perspiration stood in big drops on his brow,

while his frightened gaze was riveted on the furnace before him. He had

seen _a face in the fire_, apparently that of a demon--what else could it

be?--black and unearthly looking, with white teeth and green glaring eyes;

it showed but a moment, and disappeared again in the smoke beneath the

kiln. For a few seconds which seemed like ages, he stood there transfixed;

then again that awful face in the blaze, and this time a horrid yell which

seemed to rend the very mill; and something sprang wildly from the

furnace,--sprung at him, over him, through him, somehow or anyhow, the

miller could not tell,--he had tumbled down in a dead faint. Daylight was

just coming in when he awoke. The fire was black out, and the mill still

grinding away at nothing in particular. Outside, the snow lay on the

ground to a depth of several inches; it was no wonder then that the poor

miller began to shiver, as soon as he gathered himself up. He

shivered,--and when he thought of that terrible apparition, he shuddered

as well as shivered.

"An awfu' visitation," he muttered to himself,--"a truly awfu' visitation

on a Christmas morning;" and he began to wonder what he had ever done to

deserve it. He went over his whole life,--honest man, it had been anything

but a chequered or eventful one,--and finally came to the conclusion that

it must be a judgment on him for forsaking his early love.

"Poor lonely Nannie!" he sighed, as he dragged himself wearily away to

begin his work.

The miller was a steady, sober man, but he did feel glad when visitors

began to arrive at the mill, and being Christmas morning, bring a bottle

with them. But he could not find exhilaration in the whisky,--no, nor

consolation either. He simply could not get warm, only his face seemed to

glow; and there was a weight at his heart, as if he had swallowed one of

his own millstones. When at last the day wore over, and he found himself

at home, he thought he had never felt so tired in his life before. His

decent old body of a housekeeper marked how ill he looked, and insisted on

putting him to bed at once, with a bottle of hot water, an extra blanket,

and a basin of gruel.

Next day the miller was in a raging fever, and for many weeks he seemed

only hovering between life and death. Mrs. Fowler, as his housekeeper was

called, could not have been more kind to him if he had been her own son.

But one day she said to herself, as she looked upon his poor worn face, "I

see I canna cure him, and the man will die if assistance doesna come soon.

I'll try it,--I'll try it."

What the trying it had reference to we shall soon see. Mrs. Fowler put on

her Sunday's gown and bonnet, put on her scarlet shawl and her sable boa,

and telling the miller she would soon return, went out into the keen

January air, and took her way to the bridge that spanned the rapid Don.

For the good lady was far too old to try the ford, or climb the rocks, or

trust herself in the dark little footpath, that led through the forest to

Nannie's house. She arrived there in good time for all that.

Nannie was spinning, but strange to say, she was always glad to see Mrs.

Fowler. So she put aside the reel and bustled about to get tea ready.

"And is he getting any better?" asked Nannie at length, referring to the

miller. The question was asked in seemingly a half-careless tone, but none

knew but herself, how her heart was beating all the while.

"Na, na, poor man," said Janet, for that was her maiden name, "he is no

long for this world."

Nannie had turned away her head, and buried her face in her hands.

Presently she was sobbing like a child. Janet spoke not.

"Oh," cried poor Nannie, "I must, I _shall_ see him before he dies."

Then Janet spoke.

"And God in heaven bless you, my bonnie bairn, for those words; for you're

the only one in this weary world that can save his life."

"No,--but," said Nannie, "if he really is going to live, you

know,--I--a--"

Oh the inconsistency of women! A moment before, and she would have given

all she possessed in the world for one glance of the loved face; now,

because he was going to live,--oh, dear!

But Janet hastened to tell her all the story,--how in his wild delirium he

had spoke of no one, raved of no one, save her; and now that the fever had

subsided and left him weak as a baby, how he always led the subject on to

Nannie, his early love, their rambles in the pine-forest, and his cruel

desertion of her, and how he always wound up with the melancholy

reflection, that he knew poor Nannie would forgive him when she saw him

being carried to his "lang hame."

And so well did Janet represent the whole matter and argue her case, that

Nannie gave her consent to go along with her even then. And she laughed

and cried at the same time, in quite a hysterical way, as she said,--

"Well, Mistress Fowler,--he! he! he!--you know best and--he! he!--if you

really think it will do the poor man good, I'll go; and--but--oh! Mistress

Fowler, I _must_ have a cry."

And she did.

And it really seemed to do her good; for she smiled quite calm and

happy-like afterwards--the heightened flush in her cheeks making her look

ten times prettier; and she was soon dressed and ready to march.

Just as she was going out, however, her countenance fell, and,--

"Oh! Mistress Fowler, my poor cat," cried Nannie.

"Your cat?" said Janet.

"Aye, woman, my cat," replied Nannie; "come and see the poor darling.

Somehow or other it got dreadfully burnt, about three weeks ago, and it

isn't better yet; come and see."

"That a cat!" said Janet with uplifted hands and eyes; "dearie me! dearie

me!"

In good sooth it might have been taken for a kangaroo, or anything else

you liked. There wasn't a hair on its whole body; and although the wounds

and scars were healed, it was still in a state of prostration and

debility. It purred kindly, however, when its mistress gently stroked it,

showing how fully it appreciated her kindness. * * *

"You'll even take the poor thing wi' you, Nannie," said old Janet.

"Three whole hours," said the miller to himself as he lay in bed and

looked up at the old-fashioned eight-day clock, whose melancholy ticking

had been his only solace since Janet left,--"three whole hours, and she

promised she would be back in one." Presently big flakes of snow began to

fall slowly ground-wards, and the poor man's spirits seemed to fall along

with them. It was so gloomy being all alone in the still house; the very

fire had forsaken him; and he shivered as he gazed out into the fast

closing winter's day. He remembered how different had been his feelings

one evening, long, long ago, when he had stood with her by his side,

looking upwards through the maze of snow-flakes,--how they had crept

closer together from the cold, and sworn to be for ever near each other.

Ah, that lost love! He was sure he was dying, even now; and how dreadful

he thought it was to die all alone. He wondered if _she_ would feel sorry,

when she heard of his death. And then he slept--a nasty fitful starting

sleep, with painful racking dreams; now he was climbing interminable

precipices, every moment ready to fall; now he was walking over long

trackless moors that would never, never have an end; and now he was

toiling at the mill with wheels, wheels all around him, and horrid shapes

with brown skinny arms, that tried to clutch and pull him down among the

dark grinding machinery; then he screamed, or tried to scream, and at once

his dream took another form. He seemed to be lying in his own room, and

could hear the ticking of the old clock; but it was no longer dark and

dismal, the blinds were drawn, the lamp was lit, a cheerful fire burned

on the clean-swept hearth, and the kettle sang on the hob, and--ah,

blissful vision! there, beside the bed, sat Nannie,--his Nannie, as he had

seen her years and years ago; a bright blush was on her cheek, and her

bonnie eyes were bent on his face with so sad a look. The miller held his

breath, lest the vision should vanish into darkness.

"Oh! oh!" cried poor Nannie, "he doesn't know me, he doesn't know me;" and

she hid her face on his breast and sobbed aloud. _Now_ he knew it was no

dream. He stretched out his arms, but it had all come so suddenly,

everything seemed to swim before his eyes, and his head sank like lead on

the pillow. He had fainted.

When he opened his eyes again, it was only to meet once more Nannie's

loving anxious gaze; he could only smile as he pressed her hand, and fell

into a sleep, sweeter than he had slept since childhood.

Well may the poet call sleep "Nature's sweet restorer." But there is

something more important than even sleep itself, and without which,

refreshing sleep can never come--happiness and contentment. Psychics, or

mental treatment, is not now overlooked by medical men as it used to be;

and if ever the philosopher's stone, or the secret of making men immortal,

be found, it will be through this science.

It was far into the middle of next day, before the miller awoke. He felt a

sensation of happiness at his heart even before he opened his eyes, or

remembered the cause. The cause indeed was just then busy getting ready

his breakfast. It was a clear frosty day outside, with the sky ever so

bright and blue, and the whole landscape white with dry powdery snow; and

inside everything was as neat as new pins. How pretty and home-like Nannie

looked, bustling about with her peachy cheeks and her nut-brown hair. It

was quite refreshing to look at her,--at least so the miller thought; and

he gave a big double-shuffle sigh, like what a child does when it is just

finishing a good cry.

"Oh! you're awake, are you?" said Nannie, going to the bedside, and taking

his hot hand between her cold little palms.

"I've been keeking at you from under the coverlit for mair than an hour,"

said the miller, honestly.

"And what made ye come, Nannie?"

"I heard you were dying, John."

"Oh! bless you, bless you, poor lassie; it is mair than kind,--it's what

only an angel would do. But if ye knew what I've suffered a' these lang

lang years,--"

"I do know, John; Janet has told me everything."

"And bye-gones are bye-gones; and I'm forgiven?"

"Bye-gones are bye-gones, John; and you're forgiven."

"Nannie," said the miller, emphatically, "that wee deevilock (imp) that

lap oot at me through the kiln-fire was a saint, I'll be sworn."

"It's here," said Nannie.

"Eh?" said John, somewhat nervously.

"Here," continued Nannie; and she held up the cat which had been sleeping

cosily at the miller's feet all the night.

"Dear me! dear me!" said the invalid. "Well, well; and the deevilock was

a cat--your cat--after all. Well, Nannie, it's no bonnie; but, Lord bless

it, give me it, till I take it into my bosom."

Pussy, purring, was duly deposited under the bed-clothes; and then Nannie

enjoined her patient not to talk any more. "But," she added, "you do feel

better; don't you?"

"Better! Nannie," quo' John; "if I had any mortal thing on besides my

sark, I would rise this vera minute, and dance the reel o' Bogie."

It was a treat to John to see Nannie infusing the tea in Janet's best

brown-stone,--it was a treat to see her kneeling there, making the toast

and then putting on the butter, and crushing the hard edges with the

knife, and seaming it across and across, that the butter might find its

way to the interior; and it was a treat to see the way she placed the

little table at his pillow-side, and spread a clean white towel over the

tray, that held the plates for the toast, and the pot with the fragrant

tea. But when she placed her own cup on the same tray, and sat down

beside him, John was indeed a happy man; and scarcely a mouthful could he

swallow for looking at her, although she had cut the tender juicy steak

into the most tempting tiny morsels that ever were seen.

Now although the miller began to revive, from the very day that Nannie

first became his gentle nurse, still he had a hard tussle for his life;

and the winter's snow had melted, the ploughed fields--dotted here and

there with sacks of golden grain--were changing from black to brown in the

spring sunshine, ere, leaning on Nannie's arm, he could take even a short

walk. It was wonderful, though, the amount of good even that first little

outing did him. It seemed to put new life into his veins, to see the buds

coming out on the trees, the grass turning green, and the sturdy farmers

busy scattering the corn, with the reverend-looking rooks in swallowtail

coats, religiously following at their heels. Oh! bless you, it was the

worms, not the grain, they were gobbling up. To the upper moorland the

peewits had returned, and the curlew was mingling his shrill scream with

their laughing voices; and of course there was the lark up yonder in

heaven's blue, all a-quiver with song, and ever and anon cocking his head,

and giving another look down, to see if that hussy of a hen of his--who

couldn't sing a stave to save her life--was duly appreciating his efforts

to amuse her. Well, then, if I tell you that the soft spring-wind was

blowing balmily from the south-west,--as properly educated spring-winds

always ought to, and do blow,--you will not marvel that, when the miller

at last sought the house, there was a brighter look in his eye, and that

the roses of returning health had already begun to bud on his cheeks. Old

Janet met him in the door, and noted this.

"Ay, my lad," she said, with a cheery nod, "you'll live yet awhile."

That same evening Janet beckoned Nannie into her own room, and having

closed the door,--

"Now," she said, "my dear lassie, I'm just going to tell you, you've done

your duty like a Christian. Wi' the blessing of God ye hae saved John's

life."

"You think he is really out of danger, then?" asked Nannie, anxiously.

"He'll be in danger lang eno', if you bide ony mair wi' him," answered

Janet, with Scottish bluntness.

"Ye'll even gang home the morn, my lass, and I'll make John himsel' come

over and thank you for a' you've done for him, as soon as he can walk as

far; and mark my words, he won't let that be lang."

So next morning Nannie took her departure, back to her little farm in the

pine forest. But pussy had no such intention. She had quite recovered the

effects of her late incineration; and had got a complete new coat of the

silkiest fur. Besides, she had taken quite a fancy to the miller,--for

here again cats are like women: allow them to nurse and attend you when

ill, and they are sure to love you. There were water-rats to catch in the

dam, mice in the mill, and plenty of trout in the mill-lead, and this cat

was madly fond of sport,--so she stayed.

Nannie was right about the miller's recovery. Every day he extended his

walk a little farther, and by-and-by was quite able to superintend

matters at the mill.

Well, one fine morning, when the country-side was busy laying down the

turnips, John, dressed in his best, with a smart cane in his hand,--for

the day was to be big with his fate,--took the road and shaped his course

for Nannie's farm. Mind you, all the time that Nannie was nursing him,

John never breathed a word of his love for her or his hopes for the

future,--he was much too honourable to take so unfair an advantage.

Nannie was busy in her little garden; and either the pleasure of meeting

the miller, or the excitement of labour had flushed her cheeks, and made

her look very pretty indeed.

"I just came over to help you with the garden a bit," said John,--the

hypocrite! "for thanks to you, Nannie, I'm just as strong as a young

colt."

So they worked in the garden most industriously all day, just like a

second edition of Adam and Eve; and at sunset Nannie set out to convoy the

miller through the pine wood. Now, although they had both been chattering

all day like a couple of magpies, neither now had a word to say.

Nevertheless they took the path as if by instinct, that led down into the

hazel-copse that overlooked the wimpling Don. There were yellow primroses

growing here, and wild sorrel, and a mossy bank; and on this our lovers

sat.

"Ah!" said John, "it does seem strange, but this is the very spot where we

parted years ago,--and in anger, dear lassie."

Nannie was silent.

"You'll marry me now; won't you?" continued John.

A soft warm hand placed in his, was the reply; a wee mouth held up to

kiss, and a face all wet with tears. What little fools women are, to be

sure!

In the first harvest-moon the miller and she were married. There was a

wedding-breakfast, a wedding-dinner, ay, and a wedding-ball. To this

latter came all the flower of the country; it was held in the old mill,

and began as early as six in the evening. Never before in the country-side

had such a rant been seen or heard tell of. There were three small

fiddles and a blind bass, besides a clarionet and a squinting fifer;--what

do you think of that for music? And there were four-and-twenty "sweetie

wives"[7] round the door, with baskets full to the brim; and they were all

_sold out before morning_,--think of that. Now the English reader has

little notion how important a personage a "sweetie-wife" is at a country

ball. The "sweeties" are made up in little ornamented sixpenny bags, and

to these a young man treats his partner after a dance; so you may tell how

any girl is appreciated by the number of bags of sweeties in her

possession. Highest of all is the belle of the ball herself,--a lovely and

stately girl, who will only dance with men with beards, and who has so

many bags that her pockets will hold no more; so she keeps dealing them

out with a queenly hand, to her plainer and less fair friends. Then there

are stars of lesser magnitude, with enough but none to spare; and minor

constellations, with perhaps a dozen bags; and there are ten-bag beauties,

and seven-bag beauties, and five-bag beauties, three-bag beauties, and

beauties with never a bag at all, who have only been thought worthy of

getting their sweeties in loose handfuls.

Ay, that was a ball. The miller had given orders that the lads and lasses

should "dance the day-light in," and that not even a "sweetie-wife" should

go home sober. Then, hey! how the fiddlers played! Hey! how the dancers

danced! and hey! how the sweeties flew!

And when, during a lull, the miller himself and his pretty wife came in to

dance one reel, just for fashion sake,--oh, dear! wasn't the floor quickly

filled? The fiddlers played as they hadn't played yet; and the way the old

blind bass screwed his mouth, and turned up the whites of his eyes was a

caution to see. The tune was that rattling old Scotch strathspey, "The

Miller of Drone"; and you should just have heard the cracking of thumbs

and the hooch-!-ing,--if you had had a single drop of Scottish blood,

twelve generations removed, you would have been on your pins at once. But

when they came to the reel, the hoochs! were fired off like pistol shots,

till they ended in one jubilant hurrah!! and the rafters rang as the music

stopped. Then steaming whiskey punch was handed round in bumpers from

buckets, and all drank the miller's health, and the miller's wife's

health, and long life and happiness, and three times three, with Highland

honours. Then the miller and his bride drove off,--in a real carriage and

pair, mind you; with wedding-favours on the horses' heads, and tassels at

their ears, oh! none of your half-and-half affairs; and eight-and-forty

old shoes from four-and-twenty old sweetie wives, came whistling after

them, as they rattled round the corner and were lost to view.

I am in a position to state, that John and his Nannie spent a most happy

honeymoon in the Highlands of their native land, in that most pleasant of

all seasons when the bloom still lingers on the heather and the autumn

tints are on the trees.

Years have fled since then, but the old mill-wheel goes merrily round as

in the days of yore; and Nannie and John are still alive, and likely to

live for many a long year. And when the miller returns from his labour of

an evening to his home in the pine-wood, there are a clean fireside and a

singing kettle to welcome him; and better still, a little curly-haired boy

with his mother's eyes, and a wee baby-girl with its father's dimples and

its mother's smile. Pussy is getting old, but in the long fore-nights of

winter she loves to play with the little ones on the rug, or lull them to

sleep with her drowsy purr; but, when "summer days are fine," she will

follow them far a-field, and the children gather gowans on the leas and

string them into garlands to hang around her neck; and at sundown, pussy,

they think, must be very tired; the good-natured cat humours the bairnies'

fancy, and pretends to be nothing short of dead-beat, and so they carry

pussy home.

ADDENDA.

NOTE A.

I deem it fair both to myself and to the reader, to supplement my own

evidence on the "Curiosities of Cat Life," by giving the names and

addresses of my authorities for those of my anecdotes, which may seem to

run contrary to the generally received opinions, concerning cats; at the

same time thanking those ladies and gentlemen, who have taken so much

interest in the progress of this work, and expressed themselves willing to

vouch for the truth of the incidents herein related by me. I have tried to

make the anecdotes as readable as possible, and as humorous, as I know

many people think "cats" a dry subject; _but in no single instance have

the interests of truth been disregarded_. My anecdotes are what might be

called sample anecdotes, as I have many hundreds more of the same sort, my

object being to describe _pussy as she really is_, and thus, to gain

favour for an animal hitherto understood only by the few, and abused by

the many. And, nothing would give me greater pain, than the reader to have

an idea, that my cats are exceptional cats; for, I distinctly aver, that

_no cat mentioned in this book, has either done or suffered anything,

which any other cat in the kingdom cannot do or suffer_.

INDEX OF NAMES AND ADDRESSES.

Anderson, Alex., Mr., New Fowlis, Crieff, N.B.

Anderson, Jane, Miss, Old Meldrum, Aberdeenshire.

Bird, Miss, Snowdon Place, Stirling.

Bonnar, T., Mr., Largoward, St. Andrews.

Budge, W., Mr., 113, Montrose Street, Brechin.

Burns, D., Mr., 19, Murray Road East, Finsbury Park, London.

Catto, W. D., Ed. of "People's Journal," Dundee.

Church, W., Mrs., 5, Regent's Park, Heavitree, Essex.

Cockerell, Misses, 41, Warwick Street, London.

Crerar, Peter, Mr., Buchan's Buildings, Burrell Street, Crief, N.B.

Cresswell, Frances, Miss, Early Wood, Bagshot, Surrey.

Catto, Edward, Mr., 17, Mortimer Street, Dundee.

Davis, Mr., Aberdare, South Wales.

Donald, John, Mr., 54, Plantation Street, Glasgow.

Dorwood, David, Mr., Kinettles, Forfarshire.

Douglas, T. S., Mr., Park Street, Aberdeen.

Durno, Isa, Miss, Floors, Auchterless, N.B.

Ford, R., Mr., 32, Princess Street, Dundee.

Forshall, F. M., Miss, 14, Park Place, Clarence Gate, London.

Gerrard, Samuel, Mr., New Aberdour, Fraserburgh, N.B.

Gillespie, James, Mr., Ardean, by Dollar, N.B.

Geekie, G., Mr., 18, Mitchell Square, Blairgowrie, Perth.

Gordon, Miss, Camden House, Aberdeen.

Gordon, Mrs., 41, Grieve Street, Dunfermline, N.B.

Grant, Archibald, Mr., New Dupplis, Elgin.

Gray, T., Mr., Park Street, Galashiels.

Grey, P., Mr., Durris, by Aberdeen.

Hutcheson, James, Mr., 22, Temple Lane, Dundee.

Howie, David, Mr., Inverleithen, Peebleshire.

Leitch, David, 31, Bonnygate, Cupar Fife, N.B.

Lynch, Miss, Arduthie, Stonehaven, N.B.

Mackie, A., Mr., 12, Lower James Street, Sheerness.

Macdonald, Mrs., Post Office, Lasswade, N.B.

McCorkle, R., Miss, Newhouse, Stirling.

McLean, John, Mr., Orbliston, Fochabers, N.B.

McKenzie, Mrs., Dornoch, N.B.

McPherson, Colin, Mr., Viewbank Terrace, Dundee.

Miller, Francis, Mr., 17, Sutherland Street, Helensburgh.

Millar, D., Mr., The Cross, Linlithgow.

Mitchell, J., Mr., Matthew's Land, Strathmartine, by Dundee.

Morseley, C. A., Miss, 8, Ludeley Place, Brighton.

Mowat, M., Mr., Berriedale, Caithness.

Oliver, A., Miss, Bovinger Rectory, Ongar, Essex.

Paterson, J., Mr., Carnbo, Kinross.

Pettigrew, Miss, Post Office, Auchterarder, N.B.

Pratt, W., Mr., 143, Norwich Road, Ipswich.

Robinson, W. J., Ballycassidy, _viâ_ Omagh, Ireland.

Rebecca, Mr., Rubislaw, near Aberdeen.

Sibbald, Peter, Mr., 5, Brougham Place, Hawick.

Smith, J., Mr., 79, Princess Street, Dundee.

Stoddart, D., Mr., 92, Rose Street, Edinburgh.

Suter, Miss, Balne Vicarage, Selby.

Swanson, J., Mr., Durness Street, Thurso.

Taylor, W., Mr., Merchant, Cuminstone, by Turriff, N.B.

Tyndal, T. G., Mr., Schoolmaster, Portleithen, Hillside, Aberdeen.

Wallace, Mrs., E. U. Manse, Coupar Angus.

Watson, J., Mr., High Street, Alva, Stirlingshire.

Whiteley, Mr., Baggholme Road, Lincoln.

Whyte, J., Mr., Dallfied Terrace, Dundee.

Wilson, G., Mrs., Cults, near Aberdeen.

NOTE B.

Anecdotes of "Jenny," and "the cat, kitten, and mice,"--from Mrs.

McDonald. The cat with two homes,--Mr. J. McLean. The cat that eats its

mother's kittens, lives at an hotel adjoining the railway station,

Keighley, Yorkshire. The cat ringing the bell,--Miss McCorkle.

NOTE C.

The cat that went to the harvest-field with mistress and

child,--Mrs.--Kintore, Aberdeen. Anecdotes of tabby and child,--Miss

Durno. Cat saving the life of the sick child,--Mrs. G. Wilson.

NOTE D.

"Pussy Poll,"--by Mr. Budge.

NOTE E.

Anecdote of woman going to harvest,--Mr. Samuel Gerrard. Sagacity of the

shopkeeper's cat,--Mrs. Gordon. Cat and starling's nest,--Mrs. Wilson. Cat

baiting mouse's hole,--Mr. Rebecca. Cat taking a Fenian's revenge,--Mr.

Robinson. Cats mysteriously disappearing: first anecdote,--Mr. D. Miller;

second ditto,--Mrs. Gordon.

NOTE F.

"The cat that kept the Sabbath,"--from incidents related by Mr. Whyte.

Mrs. Gordon and Mr. Swanson also know of almost similar instances.

NOTE G.

Cat and the tame mavis,--Mr. P. Gray. The merchant's honest cat,--Mr.

Taylor. Cat bringing home a live canary,--Mr. Watson.

NOTE H.

"Ploughman's Mysie,"--from incidents related by Mr. Watson, etc.

NOTE I.

Cat and pigeon loft,--this occurred in Dundee. Cat and school-boy,--Mr. A.

Grant. Buried cats,--Mrs. G. Wilson. Tom the cat, and Archie,--Mr.

Taylor.

NOTE J.

Cat travelling to Wales after her master,--Mr. Whiteley. Mr. Davis

possesses a cat that travelled from Pembroke to Aberdare, over fifty

miles.

NOTE K.

Cat and pickled herring,--Mrs. Gordon. Cat and "bonnie fishwife,"--Mr. D.

Miller. The cat that _was_ a thief,--from incidents related by Mr. Smith.

NOTE L.

Mary, the old maid, and her cat,--Mr. Taylor. Cats saving kittens' lives

by swimming,--Miss Durno and Mr. Mitchell. "Ginger and Josie," these two

cats are, I believe, still alive. They belong to Miss Anderson.

NOTE M.

Miller's cat,--Mr. Philip. Cat that kept watch with its master at

sea,--Mrs. Church. Cat's love for the boy that caused its death,--Miss

Lynch. Fiddler's cat, that died on his grave,--Mr. Crerar.

NOTE N.

The anecdotes of cats fishing, both in shallow water and in deep, can be

testified to by Mrs. Gordon, Mr. P. Sibbald, Mr. Philip, and Mr. Paterson,

etc.; Cats teaching their kittens to fish, by Mrs. Gordon and Mr. Taylor.

Cat catching eels,--Mr. T. Gray. Water-rats,--Mr. T. Gray.

NOTE O.

The sketch of the starling in this tale is taken from life.

NOTE P.

Anecdote of Pirnie,--Mr. Watson. Graysie and the weasel,--Miss Durno. Cat

killing twenty rats in a day,--Mr. Gerrard. Anecdote of poor farmer and

the rabbits,--Mr. Gerrard. Cat and the fox,--Mr. A. Grant.

NOTE Q.

The further adventures of this famous cat, Gibbey, will be found in the

second volume, in the tale entitled "The Two Muffies."

NOTE R.

Cats rearing dogs--this is a very common occurrence,--Mr. Stoddart and Mr.

Watson. Cat rearing a hare--this is likewise not unusual. The late Mr. J.

Duncan, Wolfhill Village, Perthshire, had a cat that was in the constant

habit of killing and bringing home rabbits as large as herself. Still,

when once upon a time all her kittens were drowned, she went and brought

home two young rabbits, which she suckled and reared to maturity, and

defended from dogs and cats and all comers. "It was especially observed,"

says Mr. Ford, "that she never brought them mice and birds, as she always

used to do with her kittens."

Nursing squirrels. Every one has seen this, doubtless.

Nursing chickens. I confess I was surprised when I first heard of this

habit in some cats, as related to me by Miss Gillespie; but since then the

matter has been placed beyond a doubt by dozens of witnesses.

Nursing hedgehogs,--Mr. Paterson.

Nursing rats,--Miss C. A. Morseley.

NOTE S.

Anecdote of Tom and Tabby,--Mrs. McDonald. Anecdote of the Czar and

Whiskey,--Mr. Taylor. Pussy and the hare,--a true account of the latter

years of a very remarkable cat and her no less remarkable bosom companion.

I could conduct the reader now to a certain family, where a cat, a dog,

and a rabbit nightly sleep together on the hearth-rug.

"Pussy and the hare,"--from incidents related by Mr. Tyndal.

NOTE T.

"The Miller's Friend." This is a tale based on fact. The cat mentioned in

the story was _twice_ nearly burned alive in the kiln. It was strange,

that although she took up her abode for a time at the mill, she went home

to have her kittens. When the different members of her family could

provide for themselves, she went back. She was very expert at fishing and

catching water-rats. For the incidents of the story I am indebted to Mr.

Philip.

The following anecdote was kindly sent me by Mr. Catto, of _The People's

Journal_:--

CURIOUS STORY OF A MONTROSE CAT.--About five o'clock on Friday morning the

loud "walin" of a cat was heard at a door in Castle Street, Montrose.

"Mither," exclaimed Johnny to his parent, "that's Tammie at the door."

"Na, na," said his mother, "it canna' be him, for I threw him ower the

brig and drooned him a fortnight since." Nevertheless, the "wals" became

more loud and frequent. The good woman became terrified, and cried out,

"Oh, dinna' lat him in, Johnny; it's his ghost!" Notwithstanding the

terrific appearance of the cat, which all who have seen agree in

acknowledging as something indescribably horrible, Johnny rose, cautiously

approached the door, and with bated breath whispered through the keyhole,

"Is that you, Tammie?" Three mild responsive "wals" were given. Thus

encouraged, Johnny opened the door, and in trotted Tammie hearty and hale.

How he escaped from the strong ebb tide that was ruthlessly sweeping him

away in the dread darkness of the night, is a mystery which he has not yet

told. Perhaps he is reserving it for future publication. The narrative

will be deeply affecting, and on its appearance we shall not hesitate to

give copious extracts from it. "Tammie" is not to be drowned again, and

his mistress thus explains why she made the attempt:--"Weel, ye see, it's

the auld story. Tammie is gey good lookin' and had ower mony lasses

rinnin' after him; and them and him made sic a disturbance upon the stair

that I was determined to get rid o' him."

END OF VOL. I.

[Illustration: Abissinian,

The Property of

MRS. CAPTAIN BARRETT LENNARD.

_Brought from Abissinia at the conclusion of the War._]

CATS.

CHAPTER I.[8]

ORIGIN AND ANTIQUITY OF THE DOMESTIC CAT.

Gentle Reader,--I throw myself on your leniency. The other day my

publisher beckoned me into his private office, behind the shop--a sanctum

chiefly remarkable for the solemn air of dusty gloom, and the aristocratic

cobwebbiness, which prevails in it; and says that gentleman to me,--

"You _must_ give us a chapter on the origin and antiquity of the D. C."

"But," I implored, "I'm not writing about the ancestorial cat, plague take

her! It is the history of the _present_ puss, with glimpses of _the coming

cat_, that I wish to give."

"Never mind," said he, "say something; people expect it."

"It will be so dry," I continued.

"Then make it all the shorter."

Heigho! it is very like shoving a man forward by the shoulder, and asking

him to make a speech, when he feels that he can't say Bo! to a goose; or

putting a fiddle into one's hand, and asking him for a selection from his

favourite opera, when he isn't in the humour to play; when, in fact, the

fiddle feels like a pair of bellows, and the bow as heavy as the kitchen

poker. Origin and antiquity indeed! I dreamt about origin and antiquity

all night, and had origin and antiquity on the brain for a week after.

However, needs must when the devil--hem! I mean one's publisher--drives.

Determined, therefore, to write a most learned essay on the origin and

antiquity of the D. C., I ordered a cab one morning, and--

"Where for?" says Cabby, and--

"British Museum," says I.

Arrived at the reading room--N.B. I had taken a ream of foolscap with me,

a box of Gillott's extra fine, and my brandy-flask filled (for this once

only) with ink--"I want," said I, to a man who came at my beck, "all the

books you may have in this little place, which may bear reference directly

or indirectly to the subject of _cats_. CATS, sir," I repeated more

emphatically, because I thought he smiled. "Bring Herodotus, the father of

cat-history, and Lady Cust, the mother of ditto; bring Jardine, and

Rüppel, and Pennant, and Bell; also Temminck, Lonnini, and Hietro dello

Valli; bring Daubenton the Egyptian, and Sulliman the Persian, Professor

Owen, the erudite Darwin, and the learned Faust, and--Mephistopheles too,

if procurable; and, look here, just throw in a few Russian, Hungarian, and

Turkish authorities, and don't forget to bring lexicons to match." The man

groaned, and went for a barrow. Half an hour afterwards I was seated at my

desk, and if ever book-man had cause for joy, I was that individual. The

illustrious authorities were piled so high above me, that an accident

would have resulted in burial alive; they were behind me, before me, I sat

upon them, and I had them for footstools. But still I was not happy. I

leant my head on the ream of foolscap, and tried to compose myself before

I composed anything else. Presently I was roused from my reverie, by

hearing some one close alongside of me make the remark, "Hem! hem!"

clearing his throat as if to speak. On looking up, I beheld on the desk

before me the queerest little old man ever I saw in my life. Taking him

all and all, he couldn't have been anything like a yard long. His legs,

not longer nor thicker than sheep shears, were encased in silken hose and

knee-breeches; his shrivelled body bedecked in tight-fitting velveteens,

with long hair tied in a cue and worn as a tail, while his face looked for

all the world like a piece of ancient parchment, which had got

accidentally wet, and been dried before the fire. And he sat with one leg

crossed over his knee, on a folio nearly as big as himself, and took

snuff.

"Ahem!" he remarked again, "take your pen, sir, and write."

I hastened to obey, merely asking parenthetically, "On cats?"

"On cats," was the reply.

"Far away in sunny Greece," continued the little man, "484 years before

the birth of Christ, and on a beautiful morning, when all nature looked

fresh and gay, a fair and lovely girl might have been seen hastening--"

"Ah!" said I, "this will be interesting; heave round, ancient cockalorum."

"Hastening, sir, for the midwife. If the day was bright and fine, still

more enchanting was the scenery, for it was the suburbs of the city of

Halicarnassus, now called Budron, in the province of Caria. And that

morning, exactly at ten o'clock, was born into the world a sweet little

babe, afterwards the great and illustrious Herodotus.

"He wrote--indeed I may say sang, for his whole history is one noble

poem--of the ancient Medes and Assyrians, and of the long line of Persia's

kings; he sang the wars of Cyrus, and told the sad tale of the kingdom of

Lydia, and he sung the wars of gallant Darius and the Scythians, and told

of conquering Cambyses, and Egypt of the olden time; and last, but not

least, sir, he wrote on _Cats_ and _Cat-life_.

"Ay, sir, in Egypt in the good old times, pussy had her rights, had

appreciation, had justice. If a boy had killed a cat with a stone, or a

man murdered her with a dog, Lynch law would have been had on the very

spot. Pussy was gently tended, cared for, and loved even to veneration,

while alive, and after death, her little body had the honours of

embalmment; her virtues were written on monumental tablets, and her memory

cherished by the bereaved owners until the day of their death. In Turkey

too, and especially in Persia, cats have been household pets as far back

as man can remember. In many places hospitals were built for them,

something after the style and fashion of your modern cat-homes; and in so

great esteem was she held, that bloody riots and war itself were not

unfrequently the result of injury done, or insult offered to pussy. In the

quaint but beautiful love-songs of ancient Persia, so full of splendid

imagery, do we not often find the poet comparing the bright eyes of his

mistress to those of gentle pussy, or her winning ways to those of the

domestic cat?"

"The origin of the D. C. did you say, sir?"

"There is the tiger of Bengal, which you have seen at a

distance--preferring no nearer acquaintance. There is the tiger-cat, or

spotted leopard of Central Africa, which--I will do you the justice to

say--you have shot; and there is the kolo-kolo of Guiana--"

"Isn't," insinuated I, "one kolo enough for a cat?"

"It is, sir," said the little man severely; "a cat of two colours, and a

very vicious beast he is besides. There is the small serval of Africa, and

the ocelot, all too well known to need a description. But from none of all

these springs the domestic cat. Neither does it descend from the wild cat,

still common enough in Skye and Sutherland, in the mountains of Ireland,

and spread here and there throughout Europe. It must be regarded as quite

a distinct species. Domestic pussy _will_, at odd times, escape to the

hills, and, becoming a nomad, breed with the wild-cat; but the kittens

will be found far different, both in markings and shape. No, sir," and

here the little old man got very much excited, and took snuff so

vehemently that the tears coursed down his wizened cheeks. "No, I fully

believe with the to-be-immortal Darwin, that mankind is descended in a

direct line from the _oyster_--"

"And how deliciously," said I, "our forefathers eat with buttered roll and

stout."

"The _oyster_, sir," he repeated, not heeding the interruption; "and I do

unhesitatingly believe, that cats sprang in an equally direct line from

the _mussel_."

The little man then got into such an apparent ravel, among hard names and

great unspellable authorities, that my head again drooped on the desk

before me, and the next thing I remember, is the man--not the little old

man; he had somehow or other mysteriously disappeared--touching me gently

on the shoulder, and giving me to understand that it was time to be

moving.

I did move. And I left the reading-room as wise--if not wiser--than when I

entered it, on the origin and antiquity of the domestic cat.

CHAPTER II.

[_See Note A, Addenda._]

CLASSIFICATION AND POINTS.

As the present work is not by any means intended to partake of the

scientific, but is written solely with the view of gaining for the

domestic cat her proper position in society, it will, I think, serve my

purpose better to describe the classification of cats generally adopted at

pussy-shows, instead of dividing them, as otherwise they ought to be, into

the different species and breeds. Had I adopted the latter method, I

should have felt bound to give a minute description of the cats of various

countries and climates, such as those peculiar to India, China, Abyssinia,

Russia, and Persia, as well as those inhabiting our own land.

The classification adopted at the Crystal Palace Show, and also at

Birmingham, is--with one exception, to be mentioned further on--as good as

any we can at present have. The cats are divided into long-haired and

short-haired of both sexes, the latter being mostly English, the former

including the various species of Angora or Persian.

CLASS I. And first on the list comes _Tortoiseshell Tom_.

For many a long year, this cat was considered a myth and an impossibility;

and this belief seemed to receive confirmation, when, at the first Crystal

Palace Show, no Tortoiseshell Tom put in an appearance. He was all there,

however, at the second; and people scratched their heads, and stared as

they looked at him and said, "Well, then, to be sure, who would have

thought it!"

He isn't a beauty by any means. I have seen some seals not unlike him

about the head; and he looks as though he would take off his gloves on

very slight provocation. This cat belongs to Mr. L. Smith, Clerkenwell,

London; but I have no doubt there are many other Tortoiseshell Toms in the

world. A friend of mine was telling me last week, that he had had one,

but that it only lived for three months.

I myself know of one other; I sent a humble but enthusiastic friend of

mine to treat for its purchase, but in vain--they would not part with the

cat, although they have not the slightest notion of its value.

"By George, Doctor," says my humble but enthusiastic friend, "if they

won't sell him I'll steal him."

"For shame, Fred," say I. And I have suggested "cutting out"[9] as a more

honourable expedient.

On the whole, nature seems to abhor a Tortoiseshell Tom as it does a

vacuum, or a chicken with two heads.

Tortoiseshell cats are, as a rule, neither very large, nor very

prepossessing. They have a sinister look about them, as though they would

as soon bite you as not. I question too if they exhibit the same affection

as other species. They are, however, excellent hunters, and brave to a

fault. They will often fight with, and defeat, cats double their own

weight and size.

_Judged by_: The comparative distinctness of markings, length and texture

of _pelage_[10] (it ought to be longish and very soft and glossy) deepness

of the shades of colour, entire absence of white, and general plumpness.

CLASS II. _Tortoiseshell and White._ Colour to be red, yellow, black, and

white.

This cat ought to be, in size, rather larger than the former, not too

leggy, with a round well-pleased head and bright eyes, with the patches of

colour evenly and tastefully arranged, and the tints very decided.

_Judged by_: These qualities, and general condition of body and pelage.

CLASS III. _Brown Tabby._ Colour to be rich brown, striped and marked with

black--no white. This is a class of very fine, noble cats. They are the

true English cats, and, if well trained, possess all pussy's noblest

attributes to perfection. They are docile, honest, and faithful, fond of

children, careful mothers and brave fathers, though seldom taking undue

advantage of their great strength; and it is of them nearly all the best

cat-stories are told.

_Judged by_: General size. They ought to be very large, long massive body,

with shortish legs (especially fore-legs) and exhibiting great power with

suppleness. Head ought to be large and round, with perpendicular stripes,

converging rather towards the eye-brows, and branching off horizontally

over the cheeks. The face ought to have an intellectual look--not

sinister, and the ears--especially in the males--must be short.

The ground-work of brown, should be of a rich colour, and the markings on

the body deeply black, and uniformly arranged. The pelage to be longer on

the chest, and marked with one bar at least, giving the appearance of a

Lord Mayor's Chain. The legs also ought to be striped transversely with

black. Tail long and moderately bushy.

CLASS IV. _Blue or Silver Tabby._ Colour to be blue, or silver grey,

striped and marked with black. I do not know a more lovely cat than this

same Silver Tabby. They are really quite elegant cats. Of a size rather

smaller than the Brown Tabbies. They are more gracefully shaped, more

lithe and quicker in all their movements. The head is also smaller and not

so blunt, and the eyes piercingly bright; the ears too are a shade longer.

_Judged by_: General contour, and brightness of markings. Ground colour to

be something like the grey of Aberdeen granite, and markings to be deep

and well placed. Pelage close and glossy.

CLASS V. _Red Tabby._ Colour to be reddish, or sandy, marked with darker

red, no white.

This splendid cat is, I am sorry to say, getting only too rare, and sadly

needs encouragement, for if it is allowed to die out, where shall we get

our favourite red and white cats? Where even our tortoise-shell? In some

parts of the country, there is a very unjust prejudice against the colour

of this cat. I beg then humbly to suggest to the committees of management

of cat-shows, that they ought to give a little stimulant to the breeding

of this beautiful animal, in the shape of a rather higher prize. Indeed I

think it would be a good plan, to make the amount of prize-money, in all

classes, bear some sort of relation to the comparative rarity of the

breed. This sort of handicapping would, I am sure, tend to equalize the

number of entries for each class.

The Red Tabby ought to approach in size, and shape, nearly to the Brown.

They are the same kind-hearted, good-natured animals as their brown

brethren, and as a rule are better hunters. They go farther afield, and

tackle larger game, and seldom forget to bring home at least a portion of

each day's game-bag. They are often, moreover, very expert fishers.

_Judged by_: Size and general appearance; urbanity of countenance not to

be overlooked. _Markings_--the ground colour to be a nice sandy colour,

and the stripes a rich deep red, and in all respects the same shape as

those on the Brown Tabby. The eyes deep-set and a beautiful yellow.

CLASS VI. _Red and White Tabby._ Colour to be reddish or sandy, marked

with white. These are very fine cats, although, perhaps not very

fashionable, but some that I have seen were very beautiful; especially one

I remember in Wales, a very large cat, the white ground was like the

driven snow, and the spots about the size of half-crowns, spread

prodigally all over, like those in a well-bred Dalmatian dog; I do not

think that two spots in all his body coalesced.

_Judged by_: Size--you want this cat largish. Brightness of colouring, and

regularity of markings. Tail is long and not very bushy, and eyes yellow

mostly.

CLASS VII. _Spotted Tabby._ Colour to be brown, blue, or light or dark

grey, marked with black or white. At most cat-shows, a good deal of

confusion exists, about what this cat ought really to be like, even among

the best judges. There is plenty of latitude given as to colour. I like

the brown, and the blue, and light or dark grey, and the black, but I

abjure the white; at all events we can very easily dispense with it. The

cat I have in my mind's eye at the present moment, comes, I think, well up

to the mark of what a Spotted Tabby should be like. He was a large "sonsy"

animal, with broad brow and chest, short ears, and well-pleased face,

quite the cat to sing lullabies at the farmer's fireside, or to romp in

garden or on parlour floor with the squire's bright-eyed English children.

His markings were as follows. The ground colour was dark grey; a broad

black band ran along his back and down his fine tail; and diverging from

this band came dark stripes of colour down the sides, converging round the

thighs, and swirling round his chest in two Lord Mayor's chains; but the

stripes had this peculiarity, they were all _broken up into spots_.

CLASS VIII. _Black and White._ Colour, black evenly marked with white.

This is something more definite. The Black-and-white Tom cat is a large,

handsome, gentlemanlike fellow, a sort of cat that you could not believe

would condescend to do a dirty action, or would hardly deign to capture a

miserable mouse; and his wife is a perfect lady. I have never seen a more

handsome specimen than Miss F----n's prize cat "Snowball." His eyes

sparkle like emeralds; his nose and upper lip are pure white, but his chin

is black. His shirt-front is spotless as the snow. He wears white gloves,

not gauntlets--gauntlets, he told me, were snobbish, and only fit for low

cats--and beautiful white stockings. This cat knocks with the knocker at

the area door when he wants admission.

_Judged by_: Evenness of the markings; not too much white. Miss F----n's

is a good example. Pelage to be thick and glossy, whiskers white, and eyes

a deep sea-green.

CLASS IX. _Black._ Colour to be entirely black; no white. No, not a morsel

of white can be here tolerated, not even on the point of the chin;

although we often see pure black cats on whose coats Nature seems to have

been amusing herself, by planting long single white hairs all over them.

This is sometimes, but not always, the result of age.

This cat is, above all others, the best adapted for house-hunting; for

his hearing and sight are extremely keen, and while seeing well in the

dark, he is himself unseen. He is invaluable to those whose goods are

liable to become a prey to vermin. He is a fierce cat when angered, but

not naturally quarrelsome.

_Judged by_: Size. They ought to be large, but with more grace of motion

than the Brown Tabby. Colour, all jet black, and pelage glossy and thick.

Whiskers to be black as well. Eyes: green eyes better than yellow, but

hazel or brown better than either.

CLASS X. _White._ Colour to be entirely white: no black. These cats make

very pretty parlour cats when they are bright in colour. Millers often

prefer them as hunters to black cats, thinking, perhaps with reason, that

they are not so easily seen among the bags. A perfectly white cat is a

very nice and affectionate pet; but they are often dull and apathetic.

Some of them, too, are _deaf_.

_Judged by_: General condition of pelage and symmetry of body. Ought to be

graceful, and not too languid-looking. Must be entirely white. Eyes:

ought to be blue, although they are too often yellow. Eyes ought to be

_both blue_. It is a defect to have eyes of different colours.

CLASS XI. _Unusual Colour._ Colour to be any remarkable hue not otherwise

classified.

_Judged by_: Colour, shape, size, and symmetry. A very beautiful and

graceful little cat, I saw at the Birmingham Show. It belongs to a Mr. S.

Lawrence, and is called "Maltese," although I never saw anything like it

in that island. It was all of one colour--a strange sort of slate-colour

or blue: even the whiskers were of the same hue. The nose was tipped with

black, and the eyes were orange yellow.

CLASS XII. _Any other Variety or Abnormal Formation._ Any colour, but of

singular form, such as Manx or six-clawed cats.

This class, I think, deserves but little encouragement. What do we want

with cats with six claws? and--this is sarcasm--cats without tails ought

to be ashamed of themselves. Besides, if you bring me young kittens, I

shall, with the aid of a gum lancet, and a needle and thread, make you

Manx cats as fast as winking; and I think I could do so less clumsily than

has been done to some Manx(?) cats I lately saw at Birmingham. And,

talking of Birmingham, there was one cat exhibited there in this class,

which, as a Naval officer, I must be permitted to have a shy at. Was it a

Manx? No; very much the reverse, for, whereas a Manx cat has no tail, this

brute had no fewer than nine. It was labelled "Garotters back-biter," and

hailed from Millbank prison. I wish it were confined to that prison, or to

any prison. By all means use it on the backs of garotters. Tickle them up

with it three times a day if you choose. But why, in this civilized age,

should this brutal weapon be still raised against our brave blue-jackets,

who defend our coast and homes, and fight our battles both by sea and

land. Soldiers are now exempt from the lash; are sailors less deserving?

If not, why should a naval seaman be classed in the same catalogue, and

used in the same way, as that most mean and cowardly of all creatures--the

garotter? Ugh! the scenes I have witnessed in my own short time in the

service, I would not chill the blood of the reader by describing. But this

cat-o'-nine-tails has been, and is still, often used in the service, by

officers in command, not as an instrument of punishment, but of wrath and

revenge, against some poor fellow who may have unwittingly incurred their

displeasure. Then look at the demoralizing effect it has on the mind and

character. I have seen a brave honest man lashed up to the grating, and

receive his punishment in silence, and I have seen the same man, pale and

ghastly, cast loose--the blood from his bitten lips trickling over his

neck--but how changed! good no longer, but reckless. And I've marked his

future career, and seen him, in plain language, go posthaste to the devil.

Can you conceive of anything more cowardly than to tie a poor fellow hand

and foot, and make a brutal attack on his person? I have seen a

commander--thank God such men are few: smirking to himself, as he looked

on a strong man writhing in silent agony, and I have glanced from the one

to the other and thought, "_He_ is the _hero_--_you_, cocked hat, sword,

and all--are the _villain_." Discipline must be upheld, if we would

continue to rule the seas; but banish the cat, it can easily be dispensed

with; or, if it must be retained, let it be the terror only of thieves. If

a man errs, punish him, shoot him where he stands if his crime deserves

it, but, Avaunt dishonour! do not flog him.

On the judging of long-haired cats very few words will suffice.

The classes, are, _Tortoiseshell and White_, _Tabby_, _Red Tabby_, _Pure

White_, _Black_, and _Unusual Colour_.

These classes must be _judged by_:--Markings, which are wanted as distinct

and well arranged as possible. Size--they ought to be large cats.

Pelage--ought to be _very long_ silken, and glossy. The eyes should be of

the same colour as in the short-haired classes.

The head of the male Persian should be very broad and characteristic; and

the ears short, well feathered internally, and pointing downwards and

forwards. In the female, the head is much smaller and sharper.

In the pure Black cats, the hair is not so fine; and it is at times parted

down the centre like that of a well-bred Newfoundland dog.

Miss Hales's Angora, "Selim," is a very fine specimen--slate-coloured on

the body, the face vandyked with white, and a beautiful snowy apron in

front. His eyes are green and sparkling; and from his cage he glares out

at you with a look of surly grandeur, highly characteristic of his noble

breed.

The same lady's "Zuleika," a pussy imported from Smyrna, is a most lovely

and engaging little thing--all white, with small round head, long hair,

and pitiful eyes, as if it wanted so much to be petted--in fact just lived

to be loved, and nothing else. It is a pet fit for a princess.

It is the classification of the "Cats of no Sex" which I think might be

altered for the better. By the bye, what a ridiculous denomination--"cats

of _no_ sex"!

I think I see Lord Dundreary, after reading the catalogue, moralizing on

his finger ends.

"Catth of no theckth--that ith, neither mathculine nor feminine,--let me

thee,--why, they mutht be neuter catth--catth without life. Hi! Tham; I

thay, old man, they're going to hold a thow of _dead catth_."

Children and ladies often ask ridiculous questions about these wonderful

"cats of no sex."

Why not boldly adopt the terms "Entire cats" and "Non-entire cats," and

stick to them? _Honi soit qui mal y pense!_[11] Now "non-entire cats" are

excellent hunters and good home pets; and, if well cared for, they become

very large and beautiful, although they do at times become lazy and fat.

Why then should they not have as many classes to compete in as the

"entire" cats?

But there is a greater mistake still made in the judging. They are judged

_by weight only_. The reader can easily see, then, that there is no

encouragement given to any one to breed a beautiful cat; and at all

cat-shows, you will be surprised to find very ugly cats labelled _first

and second_ prize, next cage to a perfect beauty, whose only misfortune

was, that he had no appetite for breakfast that morning, and consequently

lost the prize by two ounces--_of beef-steak_. No; these cats must be

judged by their other qualities, of course giving a certain number of

points for extra weight. Example--I happen to know a cat which I'll back

for ugliness, against any puss in the three kingdoms. He was originally

white, but is now beautifully ornamented with cinder holes all over; his

face is seamed with bloody scars, got in honourable conflict; and you

ought just to see that cat throw back the remains of his ears and scowl. I

ought to have entered him at last Birmingham Show--he would have been

first; but, as the lassie said, I "didna like." But, if there is no

alteration by next year, Egad! he shall go to Birmingham and the Crystal

Palace too; and I think for weight he'll beat at both places.

_Wild Cats._ These animals are still to be found in some of the most

solitary regions of Skye and Sutherland: and, I am told, they are

sometimes seen in the mountainous parts of Connemara. Like the brown Tabby

of domesticity, they vary considerably in their markings; but they can

never be mistaken for any other. As a rule, the ground colour is yellowish

grey, with dark stripes--the markings being at times, as even and

beautiful as those of the Bengal tiger. The tail is shorter, and more

bushy than that of the domestic cat; and the head, if once seen, or the

voice, if once heard, can never be forgotten. Those I have seen killed,

were all anything but fat, or even in very good condition, showing, I

think, that their life must be rather a hard and miserable one.

On the north-west shore of the Isle of Skye, between Kilmuir manse and the

romantic ruin called Duntulm Castle, stands a mountain,--or rather one

half of a mountain, the other half, by some gigantic agency, is levelled

to the ground, and lies spread over the sea-shore in acres of large

boulders--the precipitous sides of the cleft mountain rising up at one

side, and the waves of the Atlantic for ever thundering on the other. A

road has been made straight over these boulders. Late one summer's night I

was coming home along this road, all alone with the exception of a little

wire-haired terrier called Kooran. I was just about the centre; the moon

was well down in the West, and cast my shadow far over the heaps of

stones. I was gazing up at the beetling cliffs above me and wondering

whether any one would ever find the hidden treasure of gold and precious

stones which, they say, lies buried in a cave somewhere on this mountain's

side, watched over by a malignant fairy (_see Note B, Addenda_), when I

was startled from my reverie by a sound which I should in vain attempt to

describe. It was partly growl, partly scream,--angry, mournful, horrible.

Kooran's tail sought instant refuge between his legs; and although I had

on a decent-sized Scotch bonnet, which might weigh somewhere over two

pounds, I think my hair raised it; at any rate my legs seemed suddenly to

become ethereal, and I did not feel the ground beneath my feet until I

had rounded the distant corner, and left both cat and mountain a good mile

behind me. The prey of the Wild Cat is principally rabbits, and game of

different sorts; and in the month of May they sometimes commit great

depredations among the young lambs. Of course the keepers trap and shoot

them on every possible occasion. It is not very often, however, that they

manage to get a shot at them, it being the habit of the wild-cat to lie

_perdu_ all day, coming out only at night to hunt their quarry, or at

early morning. Several stories of adventures with these dreadful creatures

could be told, if space permitted. I shall only mention one, which I do

not think has yet found its way into print. (_See Note C, Addenda._)

Liddesdale, it will do the reader no harm to know, is the southernmost

parish in Roxburghshire. Some years ago a shepherd who used to reside here

left for the Highlands. He had a family of boys. One day, while these lads

were running about among the hills and woods, they started a large wild

cat, and--for keepers' children know no fear--at once gave chase. Puss

took to a tree. Thinking they were now sure of her, one of the boys took

his jacket off, and prepared to climb and dislodge her; while the others

stood round with stones, to do for her when she came down. They saw their

brave companion climb the tree; they saw the monster come down to meet

him, and fasten on his neck. They looked up horrified; there was scarcely

a cry, save the low growl of the cat; a few drops of blood came pattering

down, and then the children ran off screaming towards home. The father was

soon on the spot, joined by some men with dogs. One of these instantly

drew his knife and commenced to climb the tree. The enraged brute now left

the boy and came down to attack the man; but the struggle was brief; the

cat was dashed, wounded, to the ground, where it was speedily despatched

by the dogs and men. But there was no sound from above. The poor boy was

found lying on his back athwart the branches, his head and arms drooping

downwards--_dead_.

CHAPTER III.

PUSSY'S PATIENCE AND CLEANLINESS.

Next to a cat's love for children, if there is one thing more than another

that ought to make one love her and respect her as a pet, it is the

extreme patience which she evinces under sufferings, sometimes the most

acute. We talk about dogs being game, and taking their death easy; and so

they mostly do under excitement; but in long lingering illnesses, pussy is

a much better patient.

Pussy, moreover, is blessed with extreme good-nature, and will pardon

almost any injury from one she loves. I have no patience with people who

say that cats are unforgiving, or that "a friendship of years may be

cancelled in a moment, by an accidental tread on its tail or feet."

"Look," the same parties will tell you, "how patiently a dog will bear a

like accident."

Ay; but, say I, you must bear in mind three things:--First, a dog is

generally larger than a cat, and a tread is consequently a mere trifle to

him. Secondly, a cat is ten times more sensitive to pain than a dog. And,

thirdly, a cat has so many enemies of all sorts, that she must be for ever

on the alert to avert danger; not knowing when a foe may pounce upon her,

she has to sleep even with open ears. Is it any wonder, then, that, when

roused from slumber by a cruel and painful tread on her tail, she should

start up and show fight, or run off growling--perhaps, indeed, only

half-awake? But malice she never harbours in her heart; and in half an

hour, when she has thought the matter over, she will creep from under the

sofa or bed, to fondly caress the very one who hurt her.

No animal appreciates kindness more than a cat. Witness the gratitude even

a poor stray will evince, to any one who may have fed it when hungry.

"Not long ago," writes a lady to me, "a cat (one of the kind kept as a

machine) used to frequent our garden, starved enough, poor thing, as its

knotty fur betokened; so, having a trap set in our house to catch mice,

and being always more or less successful in catching the vermin, I one

day took the trap, with a mouse in it, to the garden, and by dint of very

little persuasion, managed to get near this cat waif, and give it the

mouse. That was quite enough; it got them ever after, so long as it was in

life; and invariably from that date whenever it saw me in the garden, it

would come bounding to me. And I am sure, by its dumb delight, it well

repaid me, showing that it fully appreciated both the voice, and hand of

kindness." (_See Note D, Addenda._)

It is this same patience in her nature, that makes our domestic cat such

an excellent hunter and vermin killer. We all know how patiently she will

sit in a corner, and watch for a mouse or rat. She knows very well it will

come sooner or later, and she is always rewarded with success. She is the

same in the hunting-field, waiting for hours at the door of a

rabbit-burrow, till poor Bunny, or some one of her children, peeps out;

then, "I'll have you," says puss, and forthwith walks it off. Or, hidden

under a heather hillock, or a turnip-leaf, she will wait and wait, and

never weary, until she can secure a beautiful grouse, or plump little

partridge. Witness their patience and long-suffering with children,--this

I have already spoken about, and need not repeat,--having proved, in a

former chapter, that they not only bear, but even seem to like, a certain

amount of rough treatment at baby hands.

Tucker was about the best-natured lump of a cat I ever knew. You might

have done anything with him--flung him over the church for instance. If

you had, I dare be sworn, Tucker would have alighted on his feet at the

other side, and gone quietly off to sleep. No, he was not a particularly

good hunter, he was hardly cruel enough to kill a mouse; but he had a

spirit of his own for all that, and if you had shaken your finger at him,

he would have let you have it straight from the shoulder. (_See Note E,

Addenda._)

Tucker used to submit himself, quietly, to be tied up in a towel, and

placed in a scale opposite a leg of mutton, or Scotch cheese. He was once

sent a distance of thirty yards, trussed up in this fashion, to a

shopkeeper's place, to be weighed. Tucker went through the operation so

patiently, that the grocer never suspected till the very last.

"A good solid hare," he said, feeling the bundle; "but bless me, isn't he

warm? Do you think he is really dead?"

"Err-a-wa-ow," said Tucker, popping out his head at a corner, as much as

to say, "Not just yet, friend;" and the laugh was all against the grocer.

How patiently a cat will wait for her dinner, until every one else is

served, reminding you only then, by her loud singing and demonstrative

kindness, that there is still a little hole in her stomach that wants

filling! And, how patiently sit and wait, and watch for the return of her

master or mistress, be they never so long absent! She knows their

footsteps, and jumps up at their knock, and runs to the door to meet them.

I know of a poor cat that was for a whole fortnight in a trap. The cruel

keepers had left him for all that time, without either food or drink; he

was afterwards discovered by his owner, and taken home. Although a

beautiful large Tom tabby when he left home, he was reduced to a perfect

skeleton. His leg had to be amputated; but he bore the operation without

flinching, struggling a little at first only, but giving vent to no

expression of pain. He made a very good recovery; but, being one of the

mighty-hunter persuasion, as soon as he was perfectly recovered, he hopped

off to the woods again. He did not return, however, and for two years was

not seen again; but one dark night, his master, on passing through a wood,

had his attention attracted by the cries of a cat. The animal was in a

tree; and, on the gentleman's approach, it sprang down, and commenced

rubbing round his legs, with every expression of affection and kindness.

On bending down to caress it, the gentleman was surprised to find it had

only three legs. It followed him home, and he then made certain it was

none other than his long-lost pet. It stopped at home for many a day after

this, and seemed in no way inconvenienced from the loss of its hind-leg.

But travellers never can settle, and puss took to the woods again, and

this time fell a victim to the keeper's vengeance. (_See Note F,

Addenda._)

Another cat of my acquaintance was in like manner caught in a trap, and

had to endure amputation of the leg; although in much suffering and pain,

it bore it without a murmur.

"I witnessed, only last week," says a young lady, "while residing with my

married sister, down in Kent, an instance of great patience and endurance

in a cat. A Dandie Dinmont dog was dragging her round and round the garden

walks by the tail, and instead of being annoyed, pussy seemed really to

enjoy it."--(_See Note G, Addenda._)

Cats know as well as a human beings, that, when you are examining and

treating their hurts--whether inflicted by traps or stones--you mean to do

them good. Cats, even strange cats, often lick my hands when I am probing

a wound and inflicting the most severe pain on them.

Cats always show gratitude by licking your hand; it is the greatest

compliment a cat can pay you, for they are not so ready as dogs, to sow

their kisses and caresses broad-cast.

I was amused the other day, at seeing the care and attention a little girl

was bestowing on a pet cat. Tom had been out all night, and came in next

day on three legs; the one he carried was wounded, bruised, and much

swollen, and Tom himself looked generally seedy and out of sorts. Now, had

it been a boy instead of a girl, he would, in all probability, have done

nothing useful. But females are always practical; and this embryo Miss

Nightingale, after having a good cry, set about at once to put matters

straight for poor Tom. She bathed the leg in warm water, and encircled it

with a large poultice. Then she rolled him in an old shawl, and put him to

bed in a basket. Tom kept his bed for ten days, during which time, she fed

him from a plate, not allowing him to get up; and every time the poultice

was changed, the cat licked her hand in evident gratitude. In fact, Tom

made the best of patients, being more like a sincere Christian than

anything else; and his little nurse was finally rewarded, by having her

pet gambolling around her as usual.

A cat, some time ago, received a charge of ragged shot in his shoulder. He

fainted from loss of blood, and afterwards had high fever, just as a human

being would have done, under like circumstances. The greater portion of

the shot was extracted, or worked out in the process of healing; one

portion, however, pussy carried to his grave with him. During the painful

process of having his wounds probed for shot, pussy never even groaned.

(_See Note H, Addenda._)

But it is in long and severe illnesses that pussy's patience is best

exemplified.

A poor cat, many years ago, took a severe illness--jaundice. He was a fine

large Tom cat, of the name of Tacket, and a very great pet; but in a short

time he got reduced to a mere bag of bones; his fine fur came out in

parts, and in parts hung about him like tassels. So pitiful an object

looked he, that his master and mistress had the sin of keeping him alive

forcibly pointed out to them by their friends. Indeed, he was now so weak

as to be unable to move from his bed by the kitchen fire. On the 10th day,

when he was at his very worst, a little raw meat was given him; and, his

head being supported, he managed to swallow it. This was the turning point

of his illness; he began to rally, and soon got well, and plump, and

sleek; and the other day died at the age of twelve. But it was a treat to

see how patiently poor Tacket bore his illness. Every morning, when his

master went to see him, although he could not rise, he tried to sing. But

the power of purring left him as he got weaker; on the 9th day he could

just sing one bar, and on the 10th day only one note. This cat had a great

dislike, for months afterwards, to milk in any shape or form; from having

been continually dosed with it while sick, he used positively to shiver at

the sight of it. (_See Note I, Addenda._)

But I have, I believe, said enough to prove pussy's claim to the

virtues of both patience and gratitude.

[Illustration: ANGORA.

First Prize--Owned by MISS M. ARMITAGE.]

[Illustration: PERSIAN.

First Prize--Owned by ---- MONGREDIAN, ESQ.]

_Habits of Cleanliness in Cats._ It must be allowed, that of all our

domestic pets, pussy undoubtedly bears the bell for personal cleanliness.

Nature has adorned her with a most beautiful coat, of the softest,

silkiest fur and loveliest of colours; and she spares no pains to keep it

clean and smart. I firmly believe that the cat is very proud of her

appearance, and likes to cut a dash--here again, by the bye, she resembles

the female of the human family. Pussy is for ever cleaning and washing at

herself. If a well-bred parlour cat, she will never allow a speck of dirt

to sully her fur. I can always tell whether a cat is properly cared for,

and has sufficient food, by the appearance of her coat. If she is allowed

to be hungry, or is badly housed, she soon loses all taste in herself, and

doesn't care a rat's tail how she looks.

When a cat's coat begins to appear rough and stare, it is the first

indication of approaching illness; and this symptom will never be

unattended to by those who love their pet.

I have known cats take ill and die from having their coats accidentally

soiled beyond remedy.

CHAPTER IV.