flat bits of hard wood, the edges of one of which are notched. The game
is played by two only; they are both blindfolded and tied to the ends of
a long string, which is fastened in the centre to a post, by a loose
knot, so as to play easily in the evolutions made by the players. The
party who plays the mouse occasionally scrapes the toys together, and
the other, who plays the cat, attracted by the sound, endeavours to
catch him.
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."
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 I' THE HOLE.[M]
[M] 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.
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.
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. 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. 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."
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.
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."
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.
"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."
[Illustration]
LOST.
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.
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.
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.
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 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?"
"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.
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!
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?"
"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----"
"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."
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?"
"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----"