PART I

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

FRIENDS AND HELPERS

COMPILED BY

SARAH J. EDDY

1899

PREFACE.

The object of this book is to teach children to treat all living

creatures with considerate kindness and to appreciate the services of

man's helpers in the animal world.

In many homes this teaching is entirely neglected, and it is left for

the school-teacher to arouse interest in the animals dependent upon us,

and to encourage pity and compassion for their suffering.

Sir Arthur Helps says: "The great advancement of the world, throughout

all ages, is to be measured by the increase of humanity and the decrease

of cruelty."

Cruelty in any form is a species of savagery. Civilization can be

brought about only by education. The savage does not know that he is a

savage. The child does not realize that he is cruel, until he is shown

the ways in which the lower animals suffer and are made miserable.

The thoughtless child makes the selfish man or woman, and selfishness

lies at the root of crime.

"Evil is wrought by want of thought

As well as want of heart."

Children have tender hearts and quick sensibilities, but they sometimes

lack imagination and sympathy through their ignorance of actual

conditions. They are easily influenced by one whom they love and

respect, and the teacher's power to make the world better by pointing

out the great duty of humanity should find more scope than it has done

in our educational systems.

"The humane movement is a broad one, reaching from humane treatment of

animals on the one hand to peace with all nations on the other. It

implies a step beyond animal's rights. It implies character building.

Society first said that needless suffering should be prevented; society

now says that children must not be permitted to cause pain because of

the effect on the children themselves."

Mr. Frank M. Chapman has kindly written for the book the chapters on

"Our Friends the Birds," "Feathered Travelers," "When the Birds Return,"

"Birds' Homes," and "The Robin."

Through the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company several poems

by Celia Thaxter and others have been used. The publications of the

English Humanitarian League, especially the pamphlets by Mrs. Florence

H. Suckling and some of the writings of Miss Edith Carrington, have

proved helpful and suggestive. The compiler has had the assistance of

Mrs. Charles A. Lane in editing and preparing material.

CONTENTS.

PART I.

ROVER AND HIS FRIENDS .. Adapted from an English story

FAMOUS DOGS

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF DOGS .. Anna Harris Smith

STORIES OF DOGS

FORSAKE NOT AN OLD FRIEND .. Plutarch

CATS AND DOGS

FAMOUS CATS

KITTY'S CHRISTMAS

TO MY CAT MUFF .. John Owen

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF CATS

CAT QUESTIONS .. Lucy Larcom

THE CAT FAMILY

THINGS TO REMEMBER

STORIES OF CATS

A BRAVE GIRL .. Harriet Beecher Stowe

AUNT ESTHER'S RULE .. " "

LION STORIES

THE KING OF BEASTS

THE SHIP OF THE DESERT

A HEAVY LOAD

FAMOUS HORSES

HOW TO TREAT HORSES

CATCHING THE COLT .. Marian Douglass

A REMARKABLE HORSE-TRAINER

THE ARAB TO HIS HORSE .. Bayard Taylor

"WAITING FOR MASTER"

PART II.

ROBERT'S DREAM .. Anna Harris Smith

ROBERT ON A FARM .. Anna Harris Smith

APRIL SONG .. Mary E. Wilkins

EARTHWORMS AND SNAKES.

HUMANITY .. T. Gisborne

ANTS, BEES, AND WASPS

A LITTLE BLACK SLAVE .. Adapted from an English story

A BUTTERFLY'S WING

TO A BUTTERFLY .. Jane Taylor

CUNNING BEE .. Anonymous

GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET .. John Keats

PATIENT WEAVERS

THE WOODMOUSE .. Mary Howitt

A MOUSE'S STORY

WISE RATS

THE SQUIRREL'S STORY .. Anna Harris Smith

FORBEARANCE .. Ralph Waldo Emerson

THE STEEL TRAP .. Adapted from story by Mrs. C. Fairchild Allen

THE RABBIT

DAVID'S STORY

LINES FROM COWPER

SOME READY HELPERS

A TRIUMPH .. Celia Thaxter

PART III.

THE CANARY'S STORY

THE CAGED THRUSH .. R. F. Murray

HOW TO CARE FOR A CANARY

AN INDIAN STORY

HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS .. Henry W. Longfellow

TO THE CUCKOO .. John Logan

OUR FRIENDS THE BIRDS \

FEATHERED TRAVELERS |

WHEN THE BIRDS RETURN > .. Frank M. Chapman

BIRDS' HOMES |

THE ROBIN /

ROBIN REJOICE .. Garrett Newkirk

TO A SKYLARK .. Percy Bysshe Shelley

FRIGHTENED BIRDS

DON'T ROB THE BIRDS, BOYS .. Anonymous

A GOOD SHOT .. Adapted

THE GOLDFINCH

BIRDS' TRADES

THE SPARROW

SPARROWS

CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY .. Celia Thaxter

THE CROW

THE BLUEBIRD .. Emily Huntington Miller

THE FARMER'S FRIEND

THE WOUNDED CURLEW .. Celia Thaxter

THE SANDPIPER .. " "

THE COST OF A HAT

THE HALO .. Rev. W. C. Gannett

THE SNOWY HERON

WINGED FISHERS

WHAT THE LITTLE SEAL THINKS

WHAT THE YOUNG SEABIRD THINKS

WHAT THE BIRDS DO FOR US

THE BRAVEST ARE THE TENDEREREST

LINES TO A SEABIRD .. M. A. Stodart

THE TRUE HERO

LINES BY SUSAN COOLIDGE

SELECTIONS FROM EMILY DICKINSON AND S. T. COLERIDGE

WHAT THE CHILDREN CAN DO

TO THE TEACHER

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Frontispiece, "Loving Playmates." From photograph by Sarah J. Eddy.

"Can't You Talk?" By G. A. Holmes

"Speak for It." From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Group of Sheep under Tree. From photograph by T. E. M. and G. P. White

The Connoisseurs. From painting by Sir Edwin Landseer

Odin. From painting by Sir Edwin Landseer

Owney. From photograph by Elmer Chickering

Hearing. From painting by H. Sperling

"Saved." From painting by H. Sperling

Breakfast. From painting by H. W. Trood

Alexander. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Kitty's Christmas. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Gentle Kitty Gray. " " "

Cat's Paw

Cat's Eye

A Happy Pair. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

The Traveling Basket. " " "

"Please give me some more. " " "

Driven out. From painting by M. Stocks

Friends

The Lion at Home. From painting by Rosa Bonheur

Portrait of Rosa Bonheur. From painting by Rosa Bonheur

The King of Beasts. From painting by Rosa Bonheur

The Ship of the Desert

At the Watering Trough. By Dagnan-Bouveret

A Norman Sire. From painting by Rosa Bonheur

Three Members of a Temperance Society. By J. F. Herring

Natural and Comfortable

Strained and Miserable

Mare and Colt. From painting by C. Steffeck

Waiting for Master

A Farm Yard

A Group of Friends. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Hen and Chickens. " " "

Chickens Drinking

A Happy Family. From photograph by J. M. Eldredge

Just Arrived

Pig looking over a Fence

Feeding the Pigs

Old White Horse

A Little Songster

Pussy Willows

Paper-Makers

A Butterfly

Grasshopper and Cricket. Illustration by Alice Barber Stephens

Spider and Web

A Woodmouse

Little Freehold. By S. J. Carter

An Interesting Family. By S. J. Carter

Frog and Lily-pads

Four little Friends

A Bird's House

Feathered Travelers

Over the Nest

A Bird's Nest

Swallows

Bird and Nest. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Robin

Frightened Bird

Mother Bird feeding Little One

The Goldfinch

Sparrows

A Wintry Day

The Farmer's Friend

Head-piece to "The Cost of a Hat"

The Snowy Heron

Egret Plumes

Sea-gulls

Birds on Fence

A Band of Mercy. From photograph by S. J. Eddy

Making Friends. " " "

PART I

ROVER AND OTHER STORIES

ROVER AND HIS FRIENDS.

WHY ROVER RAN AWAY.

One morning Rover was very hungry indeed. He had been going from place

to place with his master, and now it was two long days since he had

eaten a good dinner. His master was a poor tinker who traveled about the

country and never stayed long in one place. Rover would have liked this

if his master had been kind to him, but the dog was used only to blows

and kicks.

Rover was a rough, shaggy dog, and his tail curled down under him in a

way that showed he had been ill-treated. But he had good, faithful,

brown eyes, and the drooping tail was always ready to wag at a kind

word.

The tinker's breakfast was on the table. How good it smelt! Rover looked

at it with longing eyes.

"Please give me a bit, master," said Rover. "I am so hungry!"

The tinker did not seem to hear. At last he said roughly: "Be still,

Rover!"

Rover waited patiently for a few minutes, but his master had no thought

of feeding him. At last Rover put out his long, red tongue and swept the

meat and bread into his mouth.

[Illustration: Caption: "Can't you talk?" Small child kneeling in front

of dog, while kitten looks on.]

Then the angry tinker struck the poor dog and spoke sharply to him. An

hour later Rover had run away.

ROVER'S NEW HOME

It was a hot day in summer, and Rover stopped to drink some water out of

a mud-puddle. How hungry and thirsty he was! He ran on for miles and

miles. At last he saw a cottage with smoke coming out of the chimney.

High hills were all around it, and a thick, dark wood was not far away.

On the doorstep were two little children. When they saw the dog they

shouted with delight.

"It is Rover!" cried Sandy. "It is Tommy Tinker's dog. Where have you

come from, old fellow, and where is your master?"

It was plain that Rover was no stranger to them. He had been there with

his master only the week before, and while Tinker Tom was mending the

kettle, the children and the dog had made friends. The mother had given

him a bone, and though some persons may forget a kindness, a dog never

does. Rover could not answer Sandy's question. All he could do was to

wag his tail faster than ever. The little girl put her arms about his

shaggy neck.

"Poor doggie!" she said. "You shall have some of my supper."

HOW ROVER WAS CARED FOR.

When the children's mother saw Rover she brought him a large bowl of

water, which he quickly lapped up. Then she gave him something to eat

and made a soft bed for him in a corner of the room. She said: "Perhaps

Tinker Tom may come for his dog, and we will keep him till then."

Rover hoped he would never come, but he could not say so. He curled

himself up in his bed and, with a long sigh of happiness, went to sleep.

Rover was very happy in his new home. He had no wish to run away again.

He had good brown bread to eat, which was better for him than white

bread would have been. Sandy learned to make for him a thick cake out of

oatmeal, and sometimes he had a bone. Fortunately for the dog, Sandy's

mother was too poor to be able to give him much meat. There was always a

dish of fresh water ready for him, and a bit of cabbage with his food

kept him well and strong.

Sandy would often talk to Rover, and the dog soon learned to understand

what was said to him. He was delighted when Sandy said, "Would you like

to go for a walk?" But Sandy never said this unless he was really going

to take Rover out, or the dog soon would have learned that the boy did

not always mean what he said.

One of the things that Rover liked best to do was to run after a large

ball of wool which Sandy made on purpose for him.

[Illustration: Caption: "Speak for it!" Photograph of boy approx. 5

years old holding treat above head of dog sitting expectantly in front

of him.]

Sandy often brushed and combed Rover, and this made his coat glossy and

clean. One would hardly have recognized the rough, neglected dog in the

pet of the household.

TINKER TOM COMES BACK

One day when Rover was playing with the children on the hill, he

suddenly ran away as fast as he could go.

"Oh, Rover, come back, come back!" called little Jessie; but Rover kept

on until he was lost to sight in the dark woods. In the distance he had

seen a well-known figure. Tinker Tom was coming along the road with his

pack on his back.

When the tinker came to the house, Sandy's mother told him about Rover.

"You may keep him and welcome," said the tinker, "if you will give me

something to eat."

So a good, hot dinner was spread for him, and at last he went away with

his pack on his back. When he had been gone a long time and it was quite

dark, Rover appeared. He came in looking pleased and proud, as if he had

done some very wise thing. He said as plainly as he could, "Am I not a

clever dog?"

You may be sure that Sandy and Jessie were glad to see him again and to

know that now nobody could take him away.

ROVER LEARNS TO BE USEFUL.

Sandy's father was a poor man who had charge of a large flock of sheep.

In summer he led them from one feeding-place to another over the high

hills. Often he was away for many days at a time. In winter the sheep

were kept near the cottage and fed with food which had been laid up for

them in the autumn. The sheep did not belong to Sandy's father, but he

took the best possible care of them.

[Illustration: Caption: "Rover learns to be useful." Group of sheep

standing around under a tree. Several appear to be looking at something

off to the right -- Rover?]

One day when he came home from the hills he said: "We must not let Rover

be idle all his life. He must learn to do something useful. I shall take

him to the hills in the morning and teach him to look after the sheep.

He will be a great help to me, and I will be a good master to him."

So the next morning Rover started off with his master, looking very

proud and happy. At first it was hard to make the dog take care of the

sheep in the right way. He thought it was great fun to run after them

and bark at their heels, but he did not know when to bark and when to be

quiet. However, he did his best to learn, and when the shepherd went

home he said that Rover would make a very useful dog.

THE LOST SHEEP.

Soon the snow began to fall and it was pleasant to sit round the fire

and watch the great logs crackling on the hearth. They were all very

happy at the cottage and Rover was sure that he had the best home in the

world.

One bitterly cold night the wind blew in great gusts. In some way the

door of the sheep-shed blew open and in the morning not one of the sheep

could be seen. The poor things were so tired of being shut up that they

had wandered off in the cold.

When the shepherd missed his sheep, he was in great trouble.

"Rover, my boy," he said, "the sheep have run away. What shall we do? I

wonder if you are wise enough to help me find them."

Rover jumped up quickly and shook himself as if to say, "I am all

ready!" and then ran to the door. First he ran round and round the

sheepfold, smelling with his moist, black nose close to the ground, and

looking very wise. Then he ran a little way towards the hills and stood

looking back, with one paw in the air. His ears were lifted, his eyes

were bright, and he gave a low whine, as if to say, "I think those poor

sheep have gone to the hills. Are you coming with me, or shall I go

alone?"

THE LOST DOG.

Rover trotted off towards the hills and his master followed, but he

could not walk fast enough to please the dog.

There was no snow on the ground at first, but before noon it began to

fall thick and fast. The day passed and the father was still away; night

came and he had not returned.

Sandy and Jessie were very sad, for they could think only of their

father and his faithful dog. It was very dangerous to be out on the

hills in such weather. Often men were lost in the snow and died from

cold and hunger.

At last, after hours of anxious waiting, a welcome footstep was heard

and the happy children ran to open the door. Their father came in,

shaking the snow from his rough coat. He looked very grave and tired.

"Oh, father!" cried Sandy. "Where is Rover? And have you found the

sheep?"

The poor man shook his head. "The sheep are not to be found," he said

sadly. "And I have lost our good Rover, too. It is a terrible storm. I

fear they are all frozen. If the sheep are killed, it will take all I

have in the world to pay for them."

ROVER COMES HOME.

Sandy and Jessie began to cry. Their mother, too, was crying. She was

busy with the supper, but her thoughts were with the poor, hungry

animals in the bitter cold.

Early the next morning, and for several days the shepherd went out to

look for his lost sheep, but he could find no trace of them.

"There is nothing for me to do now but to go to the owner of the sheep,"

he said, at last. "He is a very hard man. I am afraid he will turn us

out of our home."

Suddenly, while he was speaking, there was a noise at the door, and in

a moment a familiar voice was heard.

"Bow-wow-wow! Bow-wow-wow!"

"Rover has come back!" shouted Sandy, flinging himself upon the door in

his hurry to open it.

"Rover has come back!" cried little Jessie.

"The sheep have come back!" said their mother, looking out into the

yard. Yes, there were the sheep,--every one of them safe and sound. And

there beside them, wagging his tail with joy and pride, was poor, tired,

cold, hungry Rover. He was hoarse from barking and breathless from

running, but he was the happiest dog in all the world.

The unhappy sheep had paid dearly for their wish to get out. They were

glad to go back into their warm shed and eat a good meal of turnips. As

for Rover, he was treated like a prince. He had the supper he liked

best, and a soft bed was made for him near the fire. He put his curly

head down on his paws and went to sleep, while Sandy and Jessie watched

him lovingly. How far he had tramped over the hills or how he had found

the sheep he could not tell.

"He is tired out," said the shepherd. "He must have a long rest now, for

he has earned it. Good, faithful, grateful Rover!"

FAMOUS DOGS.

The story of the dog Argus was told two thousand years ago by the great

Greek poet, Homer. Argus may not have been a real dog, but the poet must

have known some dog like him or he could not have told the story so

well.

Argus belonged to Ulysses, king of Ithaca. He was only a puppy when his

master went away to the Trojan war. The years went by and Ulysses did

not return. Every one thought that he was dead. At last Argus grew so

old and feeble that he could not run about the palace. All day long he

lay in the warm, sunny courtyard, too weak to move. It was twenty years

since he had heard his master's voice.

One day a beggar came into the courtyard. No one knew who he was. The

queen looked at him coldly. There was no friendly face to greet him. But

the old dog lifted up his head and whined and wagged his tail for joy.

The beggar's rags could not deceive him. He knew his master had come

back at last, and Ulysses stooped to caress him with tears in his eyes.

The most famous dog in the world was a mastiff of St. Bernard's. His

name was Barry. He lived high up in the Alps where it is winter the

greater part of the year. He was trained, by the good monks with whom he

lived, to go out and hunt for travelers lost in the snow. When he found

a man lying half-frozen in the drifts, he would run back, barking for

help. Then the monks would follow him and bring the traveler to their

warm house.

[Illustration: THE CONNOISSEURS. By Sir Edwin Landseer.]

Barry knew all the dangerous places, and when there had been a snow

slide he was sure to be on the spot as soon as he could, to see if any

one were hurt. Once he found a little, boy in the snow and in some way

made him understand what he must do. The child climbed upon the dog's

broad back and was carried safely to the fire and the good supper always

waiting for the lost ones.

Barry lived with, the monks for twelve years, and saved forty lives.

Other St. Bernard dogs have been brave and wise, but Barry's name stands

first among them all.

Many great men have had dogs whom they loved and trusted. Sir Walter

Scott, one of the most famous story-writers that ever lived, had several

dogs. He used to take them with him whenever he went to walk. There was

an old staghound named Maida, and a black greyhound called Hamlet, after

one of Shakespeare's heroes. Then there was a beautiful setter with long

ears and a silky coat. Her name was Finette. Sir Walter would often stop

and talk to these four-footed friends and they seemed to understand what

he said. In one of his best stories a dog plays a very important part.

Dr. John Brown was another Scotch writer who loved dogs. He gave an

account of his pets in a book called "Spare Hours." He wrote the story

of "Rab and his Friends," a tribute of which any dog might be proud.

There was a great artist named Landseer, who painted his dogs' pictures

so wonderfully that we know he must have loved them very much. In one

picture he shows his two dogs looking over his shoulder at his drawing.

He gave them a very long name which means "Those who know all about it";

but I am sure he did not laugh at them unkindly. Dogs do not like to be

laughed at any more than we do.

Odin was the name of one of Sir Edwin Landseer's dogs, When we look at

his portrait we can understand why the artist should have thus named

him, for Odin was the all-wise god of the old Norsemen.

[Illustration: ODIN. By Sir Edwin Landseer.]

Jack was a famous dog who was with the English soldiers during a great

war in eastern Europe. He was not a dog of fine breed or gentle

training. He had been rescued by one of the soldiers from a cruel death,

and he gave in return his love and gratitude. He fought in one of the

battles and saved his master's life. When the fighting was over he used

to go about the battlefield carrying a can of tea for the wounded men.

Mrs. Browning had a dog named Flush, to whom she wrote one of her poems.

She was unable to leave her room for many long months of illness, but

the little dog spent the weary days by her side, cheerfully giving up

merrier company for her sake.

Lord Byron's dog was named Boatswain and he is buried in the garden of

the poet's beautiful home. There is a monument to his memory and on it

are these lines:

Near this spot

Are deposited the remains of one

Who possessed beauty without vanity,

Strength without insolence,

Courage without ferocity,

And all the virtues of man without his vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery

If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the memory of

BOATSWAIN, a dog,

Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,

And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

There was once a poor man in Scotland, who, when he died, was buried in

a graveyard in Edinburgh, his only mourner being a little Scotch

terrier. On two mornings the sexton found the dog lying on his master's

grave and drove him away, but the third morning was cold and wet and the

dog was allowed to remain. From that time, for twelve years and a half,

no matter how stormy the weather, the faithful animal made the graveyard

his home, only leaving it once a day to get food.

At last he died of old age, and was buried in a flower garden near by. A

costly marble fountain was erected to the memory of the faithful little

dog, and a bronze statue of "Grey-Friar's Bobby" sits on top of it.

The most famous dog in America was Owney, the postal dog. He traveled

with the mail-bags from one end of the country to the other. He even

went to Alaska and across the Pacific Ocean.

Owney first joined the Post-office Department at Albany, N. Y., and he

always looked upon that office as headquarters where he must report

himself after a long trip.

When Owney was ready for a journey he did not ask any one to go with

him. He was quite able to take care of himself. He would follow the

mail-bag to the station and jump into the postal car. Having chosen the

particular mail-bag which he wished to follow, he would stretch himself

out upon it for a good nap. He had no further care, of course. When the

mail-bag was taken out, Owney went, too.

Owney was not a handsome dog, but he knew how to make friends. He was

welcome wherever he went, and he often came back to Albany cohered with

checks and medals to show how far he had traveled and in what esteem he

was held.

His intelligence was very wonderful. Many times a tired postal clerk who

had fallen asleep, forgetful of the stations, was wakened by Owney's

barking. The dog had a fine saver collar of which he was very proud. One

day a clerk had slipped it off to examine the medals which were hung on

it and in the hurry of extra work it was laid down and forgotten. Owney

was too wise to leave his collar behind him, so putting his nose through

it and rubbing his head against a post, he slipped it on for himself.

After this he was often made to put on his collar to amuse his visitors.

[Illustration: OWNEY, photographed by Edward Chickering. Dog bedecked

with ribbons and medals.]

Owney died a few years ago, to the grief of the largest circle of

friends a dog ever had. In nearly every large city of the United States

he was known and missed, and many years will go by before he is

forgotten.

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF DOGS. William and Edward were two boys who lived in

the same village. They were cousins, and they had a kind uncle who was

always trying to give them pleasure.

One day he gave to each of the boys a puppy. These puppies were so

nearly alike that neither the boys nor their uncle could tell them

apart.

The boys were delighted with their new pets, and thinking that his dogs

were in good hands, Uncle Frank went away for two years.

When he came back he went to see William, and asked about his dog.

"Oh, he was very troublesome, Uncle Frank!" said William. "He cried and

whined all the time, and after a while he was so cross that I did not

like to go near him. I kept him chained to the kennel, but one day he

broke his chain and ran away."

"Why did you chain him?" asked Uncle Frank. "We were going to train him

for a watchdog," said William.

"That is not the way to train a watchdog," said his uncle. "I am sorry

that I gave him to you. How would you like to be tied to a kennel all

day, with no chance to run about? Did you take him to walk often?"

"Not very often," said William. "When I am playing I have no time to

look after a dog. He would get into mischief if I let him go where he

liked."

[Illustration: HEARING. By H. Sperling.]

"Of course," said Uncle Frank. "He was only a baby. I can remember when

you needed looking after. Now I am going to see Edward."

"Edward's dog is different from mine," said William. "He is very kind

and gentle. I wish I could have a dog like that."

Uncle Frank walked away without a word. When he came to the house where

Edward lived, he saw a fine dog lying near the steps, looking very

comfortable and happy.

"Is it possible this was once my little dog?" asked Edward's uncle, when

the first greetings were over. "How do you keep him in such good

condition?"

"When you first gave him to me," said Edward," I fed him five or six

times a day with boiled milk. After a few weeks I gave him oatmeal or

Indian meal porridge. Sometimes he had bread or crackers in milk.

"As he grew older, I gave him brown bread and corn cake, and once in a

while I let him have a beef bone to play with. He liked that very much,

and he did not object to being tied up sometimes, if he had a bone to

gnaw."

"Did you keep him chained?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Oh, no!" said Edward. "He soon learned not to run away, and now I never

chain him. Even when he was tied up, he had room to run about. I

stretched a long wire across a corner of the yard, and on the wire was a

large iron ring. When the dog's light chain was slipped through the

ring, he could run back and forth for twenty feet, and could lie in the

sun or shade as he liked."

"Where does he sleep?" asked Edward's uncle.

"He has a large, clean kennel," said the boy, stooping to pat the dog's

silky head. "I wash the whole kennel every week. His bed is made of pine

shavings, and in cold weather I put in a pile of them, so that he can

have a blanket as well as a bed. The kennel is raised on blocks, so that

it will not be damp, and there is a platform in front of it for hot

nights. When it is chilly, I hang a piece of old carpet over the door,

and on very cold nights he sleeps on his own rug in the laundry. He is a

big, strong dog, and he doesn't like too warm a room to sleep in."

"How often do you wash him?" asked Uncle Frank.

"About twice a month," said Edward, "I give him a bath in lukewarm water

and with Castile soap. I rinse the soap off with clear water, rub him

dry, and let him have a good scamper in the fields. I comb and brush him

thoroughly every day. That makes his coat clean and glossy. Once when he

had fleas I washed him with carbolic soap, and then took him in

swimming. I have been told that for a small dog the yolk of an egg is

better than any kind of soap, but I have never tried it for Chum."

"What does he have to eat, and how often do you feed him?"

He has two meals a day now. Sometimes he has dog biscuit soaked in water

or soup. Sometimes he likes his biscuit dry. Nearly every day he has a

few scraps of meat or a bone. He likes corn cake and brown bread and

macaroni, too. Sometimes I mix the meat and vegetables with mush made

from some cereal."

"I suppose you know," said Uncle Frank, "that a dog needs vegetable

food, and that he cannot keep well without it?"

"Yes, indeed. I give him cabbage and potatoes very often."

"Is Chum a good watchdog?" went on Uncle Frank. "He didn't bark at me

when I came up the path."

"It is just as well that you didn't try to open the door," said Edward;

"he would have barked loudly enough in that case. He barks at night when

he hears a strange step, because I have praised him for that; but in the

daytime he keeps his eyes open and lies still."

"What is that yellow dish by the laundry door?" said the boy's uncle,

looking about the pleasant yard.

"That is Chum's water dish," said Edward. "It is hard to keep tin or

iron clean, so mother gave me that. It is in the shade, you see. Chum

likes cool water as well as I do. You have always found it there,

haven't you, old fellow?"

The dog looked up gravely into the boy's face and panted a little from

the heat.

"Why does a dog pant like that?" asked Edward.

"He perspires through his tongue," said his uncle. "That is why it is so

cruel to put a muzzle over a dog's mouth. When he is overheated he

suffers very much. I hope you never take Chum with you when you ride on

your bicycle."

"No, sir!" said Edward with emphasis. "Chum knows that when the bicycle

goes he must stay at home. I would never let him tire himself out by

trying to keep up with me. But we have long walks together after tea."

Chum pricked up his ears at the word "walk" and laid his head lovingly

on his master's knee.

"There is another reason for not letting him follow your bicycle," said

Uncle Frank. "It might seriously injure him to run so fast. I am glad

his ears are not cropped. Sometimes a dog is made deaf when his ears are

cropped. They are very sensitive, and it hurts him to have them pulled

or roughly handled in any way."

"I wouldn't have his ears or his tail cut off," said Edward indignantly,

"and no one has ever struck him. He knows by my voice when I am

displeased with him, and he will beg to be forgiven by wagging his tail

as hard as he can. Chum shall not be hurt if I can help it.

"The other day a great bulldog got hold of him. We tried almost

everything to make the fierce dog let go, but it was impossible to

separate them. A man came out of a house with a pail of water, which he

threw over the bulldog's head. The dog immediately let go and ran away.

"A sudden dash of cold water," the man said, "will almost always break

up a fight."

"That is a good thing to remember," said the boy's uncle. "It is your

thoughtfulness that has made Chum such a fine dog. You have not overfed

him; you have given him plenty of fresh water and a comfortable home;

you have been patient with him and willing to teach him. Best of all,

you have never deceived him or been cruel and unkind to him. No one

ought to have a pet unless he is willing to take some trouble to keep it

well and happy. See how Chum watches you when you talk! He has doubtless

learned to understand much of what you say. He seems to think that he

has a good master, and I think so, too."

STORIES OF DOGS.

One of the great men of history was William, Prince of Orange. He is to

the little country of the Netherlands what George Washington is to us.

One night he was asleep in his tent, and a small spaniel was lying on

his bed. The guards, faithless to their trust, were sleeping. Suddenly

the dog sprang up, barking wildly. A small band of the enemy was

approaching, unheard by any of the men. There was just time for the

Prince to escape, before the Spanish soldiers were in his tent. To the

end of his life, William of Orange kept a spaniel of the same race in

his room, and in the statues of the Prince a little dog is frequently

seen lying at his feet.

A dog was once left in the room alone with a baby who was learning to

creep. On the hearth an open fire was smouldering. Suddenly there was a

bright little flicker of flame and the logs blazed up once more. Pleased

with the sight, the baby began to creep towards the fire as fast as he

could go. The dog saw the danger at once and seized the baby's dress

tightly between his teeth. Baby pulled and pulled, but the wise old dog

held the tiny skirts firmly. Then the baby cried and screamed, until his

nurse came to see what could be the matter. The dog wagged his tail and

looked up as if to say: "I'm glad you have come. You ought not to leave

a baby near a fire. What would have happened if I had not been here, I

should like to know?"

There is a well-known painting called "Saved," which tells its own

story. A pet kitten has been chased by two lively little terriers, and

the big, friendly dog has taken her into his care. She is not afraid of

the little dogs now. They may bark as much as they like. The big dog

looks as if he were saying, "Run away, little dogs! You may not mean to

hurt Miss Puss, but you are very rude to frighten her so. If you were as

large and strong as I am, you would be ashamed to bark at a poor,

helpless little kitten. Come now; run away, and do not tease her any

more."

A large dog once hurt his leg, and a friendly surgeon bandaged it for

him. One night, some months after, the surgeon received a call from his

former patient, who brought with him another dog, suffering from a

similar accident. The larger dog introduced his friend as well as he

could, and then retired politely to a corner of the room until the

operation was over.

Once there was a small fox-terrier named Chip who hurt his foot in some

way, and was taken to the doctor for treatment. Not many weeks later he

was found on the doctor's doorstep, crying to get in. When the doctor

appeared the dog held up his swollen foot with a long thorn in it. "You

helped me before," he must have thought. "Do you suppose you can help me

now?"

[Illustration: "SAVED" From a Painting by H. Sperling.]

The most useful dog in the world is the collie, or shepherd dog. Without

him the Scotch shepherds would need more men than they could possibly

afford to hire.

The collie has had very careful training. It is a dog's instinct to

chase sheep, but the collie has been taught to take care of them. He

drives the flock to pasture, watches them to see that none strays away,

keeps them close together when any danger is near, and brings them home

again in safety.

Not long ago a collie was brought from England to this country. In his

new home there was a little girl, three years old. One day she wandered

away through the fields to an open well at some distance from the house.

Her father was on his way home, when he heard the barking of the dog,

and knew that something was wrong. Springing over a stone wall, the man

saw his little girl and the dog near the well. There was a light snow on

the ground, and by the rows of tiny footsteps it could be seen that the

child had walked round and round the well, and that the faithful dog had

walked beside her, keeping always between the edge of the well and his

little charge.

When the collie is kindly treated he is the most faithful and devoted of

dogs, but he feels very keenly any neglect or harsh words. Unkindness

makes him sullen, and sometimes cross.

Every book about dogs is full of stories of their faithfulness, their

intelligence, and their unselfishness. We have made the dog dependent

upon us, and he is too often the victim of our thoughtlessness and

cruelty. Dogs are made happy or unhappy in very much the same ways that

children are. If you are kind to your dog and willing to learn how to

take care of him properly, he will probably give you very little

trouble. He will grieve when you scold him, but he will love you

faithfully through all kinds of trouble and pain.

"FORSAKE NOT AN OLD FRIEND."

Goodness moves in a larger sphere than justice;... kindness and

beneficence should be extended to creatures of every species.... A good

man will take care of his horses and dogs, not only while they are

young, but when old and past service. Thus the people of Athens, when

they had finished the temple called Hecatompedon, set at liberty the

beasts of burden that had been chiefly employed in the work, suffering

them to pasture at large, free from any other service. It is said that

one of these afterwards came of its own accord to work, and, putting

itself at the head of the laboring cattle, marched before them to the

citadel. This pleased the people, and they made a decree that it should

be kept at the public charge so long as it lived. Many have shown

particular regard in burying the dogs which they had cherished and

loved, and among them Xantippus of old, whose dog swam by the side of

his galley to Salamis, when the Athenians were forced to abandon their

city, and was afterwards buried by him upon a promontory which is still

called the Dog's Grave.

PLUTARCH.

CATS AND DOGS.

Cats and dogs seem to be natural enemies, but it is quite possible to

make them very good friends. The easiest way to do this is to bring a

kitten in your arms to your dog and explain to him that he must never

chase her, or bark at her. He will listen, looking very wise, and if, in

his presence, you are careful not to pet her too much, he will try to

please you. If you make him jealous, or if you think it is fun to see

him run after the kitten, you can never succeed.

A bull-terrier named Teddy lives in the same house with Fluff, an Angora

cat of great beauty. Teddy has been carefully taught, and his manners

are delightful. Often when passing the chair where Fluff lies asleep,

Teddy will put up his black nose and give her face a friendly lap. Fluff

stretches out her fore-feet sleepily, but she does not object in the

least. Sometimes Teddy is too rough in his play, and Fluff taps him

gently with her soft paw to remind him that she is not as strong as he

is.

It is not easy to teach an old cat to be very friendly with a dog. She

has too good a memory for that. She remembers the times when she has

scrambled up the tree-trunk, panting and frightened, with a dog barking

at her heels. She remembers that the children have often cheered and

praised the dog, and have made no effort to help her. On the whole, she

would rather arch her back and wave her tail than try to be agreeable.

It is quite possible that if you were in her place you would feel very

much as she does.

[Illustration: BREAKFAST. By H. W. Trood]

FAMOUS CATS.

Cats were household pets in Egypt more than two thousand years ago. The

Egyptians worshiped them as beings superior to men, and would suffer no

harm to come to them. If, by accident, an Egyptian killed a cat, the

punishment was death.

Once a Persian king named Cambyses was fighting against the Egyptians.

Knowing how cats were cherished by his enemies, Cambyses gave to each of

his soldiers a cat to carry, instead of a shield. Not one of the

Egyptian soldiers would hurt a cat, and so the Persian army was safe.

Probably the first cats lived in Egypt, and though they are no longer

worshiped in that country, they are protected and cared for. In the city

of Cairo is a cats' hospital, where sick cats are nursed, and where

stray or homeless cats may come every day for their dinner.

When the Romans conquered Syria and Palestine, they found in nearly

every house a kato or kitt. From these eastern names we get our words

cat and kitten. The Romans were so much pleased with the little animals

that kitts soon were carried to Italy and western Europe.

The Roman goddess of Liberty was pictured with a cat lying at her feet.

It is quite true that it is easier to make a slave of any other animal

than it is of a cat. Your cat will love you, in his own way, but he

holds himself free to do as he likes.

Cats, as well as dogs, have been the pets of great men. The Arabian

teacher Mahomet; the founder of the Mohammedan religion, was very fond

of cats. One day his pet kitten went to sleep upon the wide sleeve of

his robe, and he cut off the sleeve rather than disturb the comfortable

pussy.

Richelieu, the great French statesman, kept several kittens in his house

to amuse him when tired and discouraged. As kittens will grow into cats,

Richelieu must have changed his friends often.

Cowper, the English poet, mentions his favorite cat in more than one of

his poems. The famous Dr. Johnson had a cat named Hodge, who was treated

with the greatest kindness. When Hodge was not well, the doctor would go

out himself to buy oysters, lest the trouble of waiting upon so dainty a

pet should cause it to be disliked by the servant.

Charles Dickens's favorite cat was old and deaf, but she had a warm

corner in her master's heart. One evening he was so busy reading that he

did not notice her when she jumped into his lap. Pussy's feelings were

hurt. She purred gently, but the reader did not seem to hear. Suddenly

the candle went out. Dickens lighted it again to go on with his reading.

In a minute the light grew dim again, and, looking up, he saw the cat

putting out the candle with her paw. Then she looked at him in such a

pleading way that he laid down his book for the rest of the evening.

Perhaps the most famous American cat was Agrippina, who belonged to Miss

Agnes Repplier of Philadelphia. She is famous because of the charming

essay which her mistress wrote in her honor.

Madame Henrietta Ronner is known as one of the most successful painters

of cats and kittens. Her pictures are wonderful reproductions of cat

life. Mrs. Olive Thorne Miller says: "We may safely assume that Madame

Ronner is a cat lover, for no one really knows a cat who does not love

him."

[Illustration: ALEXANDER.]

The intelligence and good breeding of the cat in this picture are so

apparent that it is no wonder he made hosts of friends. His picture once

adorned a humane calendar, and thus became familiar to many persons in

the United States and in Europe.

Rev. J. G. Wood, in describing his own pet cat, said:

"His gestures and actions are full of that spirited yet easy grace,

which can never be attained by any creature, be it man, beast, or bird,

who has once learned to crouch in terror, and to fear a harsh tone or an

uplifted hand."

In Spain it is the custom to store grain in garrets, and there the cats

are treated very kindly. There is a small door in each attic for their

use; food and drink are given to them; and they may walk where they like

over the roofs of the city. Many of them never care to come down to the

ground.

If there were no cats in America, we should be seriously disturbed and

inconvenienced. It is said that the government of the United States

keeps an army of more than three hundred cats for use in the Post-office

department. Their duty is to guard the mail-bags against the attacks of

rats and mice, and this they do very thoroughly and well. Before they

were employed valuable letters and mail matter were often destroyed.

The government cats are fed well, some postmasters being allowed forty

dollars a year for "cat meat." The work that this army does proves that

well-fed cats make the best mousers. As the postal service is known for

its high standards, we may be sure that these workers are industrious

and satisfactory, or they would not be allowed to stay.

KITTY'S CHRISTMAS.

"Mew! mew! mew! Why don't they let me in? I have been here on these cold

steps for three days. I am very hungry and unhappy. Why do they shut me

out in the cold?

"Ethel said she was going to the city for the Christmas vacation. She

said I could catch mice till she came back. But the mice are in the barn

and I can't get in.

"The house, too, is shut up. No one is there to give me any milk. My

warm bed is in the kitchen, by the stove. I can't sleep on these cold

stones.

"This is a dreadful Christmas! Last year I had a pitcher of cream and a

string of popcorn from Ethel's Christmas tree. She is very good to me

when she is at home. I wish she would come back. I am so frightened and

hungry! Mew! mew!"

TO MY CAT MUFF.

Thou art not "dumb," my Muff;

In those sweet pleading eyes and earnest look

Language there were enough

To fill, with living type, a goodly book,

Wherein who read might see

What tones unheard, and forms of silent speech

Are given, that such as thee

The eloquence of dumbness, men might teach.

JOHN OWEN.

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF CATS.

"Mamma!" cried Philip, coming in one day with something in his arms,

"see this poor kitty I found in the street! A dog was barking at her and

she ran straight into my arms. May I keep her for my own?"

Mrs. Grant looked up from her work. Such a rough-coated, dirty little

cat as she saw! But there was something in the tired, frightened eyes

that touched her.

"Are you willing to take a good deal of trouble, Philip?" asked his

mother. "If not, it would be kinder to kill the poor thing quickly."

"I am willing; indeed I am!" cried the boy. "Please tell me what to do."

"You should give her a saucer of warm milk, with a little bread crumbed

in it first; for the poor kitten must be very hungry. Then she will know

you mean to be kind to her. After that she had better sleep. When she

wakes up she will begin to feel at home, and then I think we must sponge

her gently with warm water, because she is so very dirty. You must not

do that alone, but you may hold her and stroke her softly, and if you

think she will scratch you I will get you a pair of old gloves."

"Can we not put her in a little tub and bathe her?" asked Philip.

[Illustration: GENTLE KITTY GRAY.]

"It is not best to do that if you can get her clean any other way. Cats

do not like water, and it frightens them very much, to be put into it.

Once in a great while we hear of cats that will be patient if put into a

bath, but usually they will struggle and cry and act very much

frightened. As soon as this kitten has been fed and begins to get over

her fright at being homeless, you will see her wash herself.

"Then you must make her feel at home," said Mrs. Grant. "You can take

her in your arms and carry her about the house, talking softly to her,

so that she may feel that you will be good to her. It is fortunate that

it is growing dark. She can see better in the twilight, and is not so

easily startled."

The kitten lapped up the milk hungrily, and then came purring about the

boy's feet.

"Where may she sleep?" asked the boy, pleased to see that the kitten was

not at all afraid of him.

"A low, wide basket half full of shavings will make a soft bed," said

Mrs. Grant. "Over the shavings I will spread a piece of old flannel.

Cats like a warm, cosy bed, and it is always best to keep them in the

house at night."

To their delight, the kitten did not object at all to the warm bath. She

stood quite still while Mrs. Grant washed her gently and dried her in an

old blanket.

"You can easily teach her to be clean if you are kind and patient," said

Mrs. Grant. "She will not need a bath again, for she will learn to take

care of herself; but it would be very good for her to be brushed every

day, and I will give you a small brush for that purpose. If you put a

pan of dry earth where she can always get at it, she will give no

trouble when she cannot go out of doors."

"I think she likes me already, mamma," said Philip.

"I am sure she will like you if you are kind to her," said his mother.

"If you hurt her, she will never forget it. Dogs forgive many cruel

blows, but a cat's nature is different. She is very brave in bearing

pain, and she rarely cries out when she is hurt; but she is very

sensitive, and that ought to make us careful how we handle her. Don't

let the baby have the kitten to play with. He could not understand how

his clumsy little fingers hurt her. He does not yet know the difference

between a plaything and a playmate. But you can teach him to feed her

and to be kind to her."

"What else must I do?" said Philip.

"You must keep a dish of water where Kitty can find it, and you must not

forget to fill it every day with fresh water. Cats are more dainty than

dogs are. They like clean dishes and fresh food. They must have plenty

of warm milk, and brown bread and milk." "May she eat meat and fish?"

asked Philip.

"Not yet," said his mother. "She is too young. When she is older she

should have meat cut up and mixed with bread or vegetables. The fat and

tough fiber should be removed. When raw meat is given, boiling water

should be poured on it to cleanse it. Fish may be given once a week.

That should be boiled and all the bones removed, as cats have sometimes

been badly choked with fish bones. Meat and fish should be fresh. Dogs

and cats have been poisoned by eating pieces of old meat and fish."

"I thought cats lived on mice," said Philip.

Mrs. Grant smiled.

"I am afraid that your kitty will starve if she has no food but the mice

she finds here," she said. "Perhaps there are a few in the barn. Never

let her tease a mouse, Philip. If you take the mice away from her when

she plays with, them, she will learn, in time, to kill her prey

quickly."

"Fred's cat eats asparagus," said Philip.

"Yes; cats need some vegetable food. They usually like corn, string

beans, boiled rice, potatoes, cabbage, and even carrots. Oatmeal, very

thoroughly cooked, is an excellent food for them. If you give your

kitten corn to eat, you must scrape it carefully off the cob in such a

way that she will get only the inside of the kernel. I cut it for you,

you know, so that the empty hulls are left clinging to the cob."

"May she have all the milk she wants?" asked Philip.

"I think so," said Mrs. Grant, "if you feed her regularly and not too

often, and if you are sure that the milk is fresh and good. In summer it

is well to scald the milk, and it is safer to do this in winter also, if

there is any doubt about its freshness."

"What else may she have, mamma?"

"Corn bread and graham biscuits will be good for her, and perhaps she

will like them crisp and dry better than if they are soaked. You can

raise some catnip next summer. Kitty will like that dried quite as well

as the green herb. It may be kept for a special treat or for medicine,

although a cat that can find plenty of grass rarely needs medicine. In

the winter you can have some grass growing in a pot or box of earth."

"How much better she looks already!" said Philip, watching the sleeping

pussy. "I think she will be a beauty. When she is a fine, large cat I

shall ask papa to take her picture."

CAT QUESTIONS.

Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!

Pleasant enough,

Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse meat,--

Delicate stuff!

Waked by a somerset, whirling

From cushion to floor;

Waked to a wild rush for safety

From window to door.

Waking to hands that first smooth us,

And then pull our tails;

Punished with slaps when we show them

The length of our nails!

These big mortal tyrants even grudge us

A place on the mat.

Do they think we enjoy for our music

Staccatoes of "scat"?

To be treated, now, just as you treat us,--

The question is pat,--

To take just our chances in living,

Would YOU be a cat?

LUCY LARCOM.

THE CAT FAMILY.

Our little house cat belongs to the same family as the lion, the tiger,

and the leopard. They are known as the old and powerful family of cats,

and though pussy is small, tame, and gentle, she is not unlike her

fierce cousins in many of her ways.

All cats have sharp claws which can be drawn back until quite out of

sight. They walk softly because their feet are padded with soft, elastic

cushions. Not only is a cat one of the most sure-footed animals in the

world, but she is also one of the most graceful.

Cats are restless creatures, and in a wild state they are prowling

about, day and night, with only short periods of rest. Yet, when they

are hunting for food, they will patiently lie in wait for hours.

It is the nature of all cats, big and little, to pounce upon their prey

and not to chase it.

No cat likes to run. She will hide from danger if she can, and she runs

only when she must.

The teeth of cats are sharp and pointed so that they can tear their food

in pieces. Their tongues are rough and are of great use in eating. The

surface is covered with little prickly points which also serve pussy in

the place of a brush and comb.

A cat's whiskers are very sensitive. Even to touch them lightly

sometimes hurts her, and to pull them is to make her suffer intense

pain. Little children, who do not know what delicate nerves are bound up

with their cat's whiskers, are often the cause of great suffering to

their pets.

Have you ever looked at your cat's eyes? How well she sees in places

that seem dark to us! In what way are her eyes different from ours?

At noon, the black spot in a cat's eye is only a narrow slit, but as the

light grows less bright, the pupil of the eye grows rounder and larger.

In this way her eyes gather in more and more light as darkness comes on,

so that at twilight she can easily find her way. When it is really dark,

her sensitive whiskers help her to feel what she cannot see.

Pussy's tail is part of her backbone or spine, which is made up as

carefully and delicately as our spines are. If we pull a cat's tail, we

run the risk of giving her as severe pain as we should feel if our

spines were hurt.

Dogs and cats have been seriously hurt by forcing their heads into empty

cans that have contained meat or soup. Sometimes they are not able to

free themselves. Their terror is pitiable, and if not found they may run

into some hiding place and die a miserable death. It would be easy to

see that a can, when emptied, is pounded out of shape, so that no animal

can get its head into it. To do this might save great suffering.

[Illustration: A HAPPY PAIR.]

THINGS TO REMEMBER.

It is a mistake to suppose that cats are unloving and selfish. When a

cat loves no one, it is usually a proof that no one loves her. She

responds warmly to gentle treatment, and often shows personal devotion

in very striking ways.

Remember that it is unfair to call a cat cruel and to punish her for

following out her own instincts. She knows nothing of the pain she

inflicts, and is quite innocent of any cruel intention. Often a word or

two of reproof is effectual, but it is useless to strike her or frighten

her. She knows no reason why she should not catch birds as well as mice.

If something she likes to eat is given to pussy the last thing at night,

she will get into the habit of coming into the house for it. If she is

kept in at night, she cannot disturb the early morning songs of your

feathered friends. Care and watching will be needed to insure their

peace and safety through the day. Especially must she be well fed and

have an early breakfast when she has kittens to care for, or she will

bring birds for them to eat.

Remember that a half-starved cat makes a poor mouser. When she is

exhausted with hunger she loses the sense of smell, and with it all

interest in catching mice.

Cats grow very fond of places as well as of people, and dread to change

their homes. When a cat is to be taken to another house to live, she

should be carried in a cat-basket with openings in the top so that she

can have fresh air to breathe and can see what is going on. Holes may be

made in a common basket, but the cover must be firmly fastened with a

strong strap or cord. Once arrived at her new quarters, pussy should be

shut up in a quiet room with food and water and a pan of dry earth. At

dusk, when the outer doors are shut, she may be allowed to go into other

rooms with some friendly guide. For two or three days she should be kept

in the house, and great pains should be taken not to trouble or frighten

her while she is learning to feel at home.

Remember, in handling a cat, that it hurts her to be lifted by her front

paws alone. Her hind legs should be supported at the same time.

[Illustration: THE TRAVELING BASKET.]

Ribbons and collars are entirely out of place on a cat. They are likely

to get caught on twigs and nails, and may even cause death. They

certainly give no pleasure to the wearer. Harrison Weir, who has written

a book about cats, calls especial attention to the danger of collars and

ribbons.

There are so many cats in the world that if all the kittens were allowed

to grow up, no good homes could be found for them. It is a hard thing

for a kind-hearted person to do, but many little kittens must be killed

or they would live to suffer. One kitten of every litter should be left

to the mother cat. The others should be killed as soon as possible, but

never in the mother's sight. Think how poor pussy would feel when she

saw her babies drowned!

One of the greatest hardships that can come into a cat's life is to be

left without a home. At the beach in winter and in the city in summer

may be seen many homeless, starving, miserable cats, left there by their

cruel owners. Once these cats were petted and well-fed. They know what

it is to lie on soft cushions and to be caressed. Now, through no fault

of their own, they are wanderers in an unfriendly world. Can any name

too harsh be given to the men and women who turn adrift these timid,

helpless creatures? Remember that it is a thousand times better to

chloroform or drown the cat it is impossible to carry with you, than to

let her take her chances in so wretched a life.

Cats are so nervous and sensitive, and so timid when taken away from

home, that they must suffer very much when exhibited in cages at a cat

show. It has frequently happened that cats have been made ill by the

fright and confinement.

Cats and dogs sometimes take contagious diseases from each other, and if

allowed to run at large they may carry the disease to children or to

other pet animals. If our pets are ill they should not be turned out of

doors, but should be kept by themselves in a comfortable, quiet room,

taken good care of, and on no account should children be allowed to

handle them. If we are ill with a contagious disease, our pets should

not be allowed in the room with us.

[Illustration: "PLEASE GIVE ME SOME MORE!"]

To keep in good health, cats need to have access to fresh grass and

clean water. They much enjoy being brushed with a brush that is not too

stiff.

Remember that cats are delicate and easily injured about the head and

should be handled carefully.

Agnes Repplier says: "Cats are extremely sensitive and dislike loud

voices and bustling ways. They love repose, calmness, and grace."

STORIES OF CATS.

There was once a cat that lived in a house in London. Her master owned a

country home also, and twice a year pussy made the journey between the

two houses. She always showed great interest and pleasure when the

trunks were brought out and the packing cases were being filled.

She herself traveled in a comfortable basket with openings at the top,

which had been bought expressly for her. Often her master lifted her out

and held her in his lap for a while, so that the journey might not seem

long to her.

One day, when the usual preparations were going on, pussy seemed very

uneasy. She had a little baby kitten scarcely old enough to walk, and

she was afraid the kitten would be left behind.

At last she spied a box half full of dresses.

"There!" thought Mrs. Pussy. "That is a fine place for my baby. I can

hide it away under those dresses and it will be quite safe."

When the kitten was discovered, carefully tucked in among the silks and

laces, you may be sure that a place was found for it in the cat's

basket.

In a monastery in France lived a cat who always came to dinner when the

big bell rang to call the monks. One day she happened to be shut up in a

room alone when the bell rang, and the poor kitty had no dinner.

[Illustration: DRIVEN OUT By M Stocks]

As soon as she was set free she ran to look for her plate, but none was

there. Presently the monastery bell was heard, and when the monks came

to see what could be the matter, there was the cat hanging upon the bell

rope, ringing for her dinner.

Another story is told, in the Popular Science Monthly, of a cat who knew

the name of each member of the household. If she was asked about an

absent one, she would look at his vacant seat and then at the speaker.

If told to fetch him she would run upstairs to his room, take the handle

of the door between her paws, mew at the keyhole, and wait to be let in.

A cat will often become especially attached to one member of a family.

Dr. Gordon Stables, who has written a book about cats, tells a story of

a cat named Muffle that belonged to him when he was a boy. She was so

fond of him that when he went away to school she left the house and went

into the woods to live. The boy came home frequently, and whenever he

did so she came back to welcome him. Dr. Stables also tells a story of a

cat who knew the footsteps of every member of the family, and before any

one else could hear a sound she would hasten to the door. She also knew

if a stranger knocked at the door, and would give a low growl.

A remarkable story is told in a French scientific paper. There was a

certain cat named Cadi who lived in Roumania. The winter of 1880 was

very cold, and her master, to save his fuel, often went without a fire.

One day Cadi mewed and mewed until her master followed her. She led him

straight to the coal-box, on which she sat until he had filled a hod

with coal. Then she led him to the wood-box, and finally back to his own

cold room.

While the fire was being made Cadi rubbed against her master's knees

with many caresses, and when at last it began to burn bright, she

stretched herself before it, contented and happy.

A mother cat will go through fire and water to save her kittens, and she

will fight most bravely to protect them. One poor cat, finding that she

could not save her baby from the flames of a burning building, went back

to die beside it, rather than escape alone.

[Illustration: FRIENDS.]

A BRAVE GIRL. [Footnote: Published by Ticknor & Fields, 1867.]

A little girl was once coming home from school across Boston Common,

when she saw a party of noisy boys and dogs tormenting a poor kitten by

the side of the frog pond. The little wretches would throw it into the

water, and then laugh at its vain and frightened efforts to paddle out,

while the dogs added to its fright by their ferocious barking. Belle was

a bright-eyed, spirited little girl, and her whole soul was roused in

indignation; she dashed in among the throng of boys and dogs, and

rescued the poor half-drowned little animal. The boys, ashamed, slunk

away, and little Belle held the poor, cold, shivering little creature,

considering what to do for it. It was half dead already, and she knew

that at home there was no room for another pet, for both cat and kitten

never were wanting in their family. "Poor kitty!" she said, "you must

die, but I will see that you are not tormented;" and she knelt bravely

down and held the little thing under water, with the tears running down

her own cheeks, till all its earthly sorrows were over, and the little

cat was beyond the reach of dog or boy.

This was real, brave humanity. Many people call themselves tender-

hearted, because they are unwilling to have a litter of kittens killed,

and so they go and throw them over fences, and comfort themselves with

the reflection that they will do well enough. What becomes of the poor

little defenseless things? In nine cases out of ten they live a hunted,

miserable life, crying from hunger, shivering with cold, harassed by

cruel dogs, and tortured to make sport for brutal boys. How much kinder

and more really humane to take upon ourselves the momentary suffering of

causing the death of an animal than to turn our backs and leave it to

drag out a life of torture and misery!

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

AUNT ESTHER'S RULE. [Footnote: Published by Ticknor & Fields, 1867]

One of Aunt Esther's rules for the care of animals was "Never frighten

an animal for sport." I remember that I had a little white kitten, of

which I was very fond, and one day I was amusing myself with making her

walk up and down the key-board of the piano, and laughing to see her

fright at the strange noises which came up under her feet. It never

occurred to me that there was any cruelty in it, till Aunt Esther said

to me: "My dear, you must never frighten an animal. I have suffered

enough from fear to know that there is no suffering more dreadful; and a

helpless animal, that cannot speak to tell its fright, and cannot

understand an explanation of what alarms it, ought to move your pity."

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

[Illustration: THE LION AT HOME From a Painting by Rosa Bonheur]

LION STORIES.

A large lion was once to be seen in a cage in London. He was so big and

fierce that many persons came to have a peep at him.

One day his keeper opened the cage door and put in a little black dog.

Everybody wondered what the lion would do. As for the little dog, his

heart beat fast with fright and he cowered against the side of the cage.

The lion looked down at the small, shrinking form, but he did not growl

or roar. Perhaps he was lonely and glad to have a companion. In some way

he must have told the dog that he need not be afraid, for presently the

little fellow put out his tongue and lapped his huge friend on the lips.

After that they were very good friends, and the lion often allowed the

little dog to tease him and pull his mane. When they were fed, the lion

stood back like a true gentleman, and let the dog have his dinner first.

He seemed to know that because he was so strong, he must be gentle to

the weak and helpless.

Gerard, the great lion-tamer, once brought home from Africa a baby lion.

He named it Hubert and for a time it was his pet and playmate.

When it grew large, Gerard sent it to Paris. The next year he went to

France and visited his pet. The lion was in a cage, and when he saw his

master, he began to quiver with excitement.

Gerard put his hand between the bars, and Hubert snuffed it eagerly.

"Hubert!" said the lion-tamer. "My old soldier!"

With a furious bound the lion sprang upon the bars. He stood close

against the grating and filled the building with his roars of joy. His

enormous tongue scraped his master's hand, while with his paws he vainly

tried to caress him.

After a time he grew more quiet, but whenever Gerard turned to leave

him, there were the same heart-breaking moans and roars.

Daily, Gerard spent hours in the same cage with his pet, and the two

were very happy together.

Several years ago a lion and a lioness were in the menagerie at Paris.

Their keeper, Mr. Felix, was taken ill one day, and could no longer

attend to them. The duty of feeding them and keeping the cage clean fell

upon a stranger to whom both lion and lioness took a strong dislike. The

lion would sit, for hours, at the end of his cage, with bristling mane

and flaming eyes. He refused all food from the hands of the new keeper

and roared at him so furiously that no one dared to go near the cage.

Days went on and it was evident that something must be done or the lion

would become seriously ill. Fortunately, Mr. Felix was getting well, and

one morning, intending to surprise the lions, he crept softly to the

cage and showed his face between the bars. In an instant the lion sprang

forward, patting the man's arm with his great paws and showing the

greatest delight. The lioness also ran to him, but the lion drove her

back and seemed unwilling that Felix should show her any favor. Fearing

that they might quarrel, the keeper entered the cage and caressed them

by turns. The huge beasts obeyed him promptly as if eager to show how

much they loved him, and peace and quiet were thus restored.

Rosa Bonheur, whose pictures of animals are among the most famous in the

world, loved the wild creatures that she painted. At one time she had

for a model a fierce lion named Nero who, after a while, had to be taken

away to Paris.

The day came when he was to go. The horses that were to draw the great

beast's cage to the city shivered with dread at the odor of the flesh-

eater. Nero was quiet, but he looked sadly at his mistress, and his

gold-yellow eyes seemed full of reproach.

[Illustration: ROSA BONHEUR.]

Months later the artist went to see him in one of the gardens of Paris.

He was blind and dying.

"Oh, my poor Nero!" she said. "What have they done to you?"

The lion lifted up his huge head, and listened for a moment. Then,

slowly and with pain, he crawled close to the bars of his cage, where

she could stroke him. About the artist and her pet there were only rough

men and women and boys of the city streets, but every man's hat came

off, and there was not a dry eye in the crowd.

Rosa Bonheur did not confine her tenderness to dumb animals. In her

prosperity she was kind to many poor artists who were working under hard

and discouraging conditions. For years before her death she lived in a

village on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau, and here she brought

the wild animals, the tame pets and the human friends whom she loved, to

share her cheerful, happy life.

EXHIBITIONS OF TRAINED ANIMALS SHOULD BE DISCOURAGED.

Those who enjoy going to the circus or menagerie or to any show of wild

animals ought to consider how they would like to be shut up as prisoners

all their lives, and forced to do unnatural tricks. Some animal trainers

try to make the public believe that tricks are taught by kindness and

that the animals are comfortable and happy; but persons not in the

business who have had an opportunity to watch trained animals behind the

scenes say that there is a great deal of suffering among them. To all

these questions we can apply the Golden Rule and deal with these

creatures that are at men's mercy as we should wish to be dealt with if

we were in their place.

[Illustration: THE KING OF BEASTS. From a Painting by Rosa Bonheur.]

THE KING OF BEASTS.

I am a great lion, and one of the strongest animals in the world. I used

to live far away in Africa, and when I roared, all who heard my voice

were afraid.

I hunted to get food for myself and my little ones. I never killed for

fun. It is only men who kill creatures and call it sport. Wild animals

are not so savage as that.

You wonder that I am in this cage when I am so strong. I am afraid of

men. They are wise and cruel. They made a trap and caught me. They have

made these iron bars which are stronger than I am.

I have tried my best to get out. I am weary and homesick I need the wide

plains, and the deep streams, and the fresh, sweet air of the forests.

Sometimes when I am asleep I dream of my old home. I forget the crowds

who stare at me, and the smell of the sawdust, and the narrow, narrow

cage. I think I am once again in the great, free, open country.

Then I spring up gladly, and there are only the iron bars and the low

roof. I roar with pain and grief and my keeper comes to punish me with

his sharp-pointed stick. When you see me in my cage, pity me, for I am

very miserable.

[Illustration: THE SHIP OF THE DESERT]

THE SHIP OF THE DESERT.

The home of the camel is in Arabia. In that country there are many miles

of sandy desert.

We use ships to carry goods and men across the sea; in Arabia the camel

is used to carry goods and men across the sand. He carries heavy loads

over the scorching deserts, and for this reason he is called the Ship of

the Desert.

No horse or donkey could tread where the camel does. Their hoofs would

sink in the loose, dry sand. But the foot of the camel is like a broad

pad or cushion, and it spreads out as he puts it down, so that it

neither slips nor sinks. It has also a very thick sole to protect it

from the burning heat of the sand.

The camel is able to go for a long time without food or water. He can do

this because he carries with him a supply of both. The hump on his back

is a large lump of solid fat, which the camel is able, in some strange

way, to use as food. He does not bite it or take it into his mouth, but

it wastes away, and grows smaller and smaller, when he is making a long

journey with little to eat. If the poor camel is starved, his back

becomes quite flat.

The camel stores up a supply of water in his two stomachs, a part of

which is lined with masses of cells. When the camel drinks, he fills

these cells, keeping the water in them for future use so that he is not

thirsty again for a long time.

The camel's sense of smell is very acute. It is said that he can detect

water long before it is in sight.

When he is carrying a burden across the wild, barren places where no

green thing grows, he is fed with a few dates, beans, or cakes.

Sometimes he finds a dry, thorny plant to browse upon, but when other

food is gone he must depend upon his hump.

In a caravan there are often thousands of camels. Without them,

merchants could not send their goods across the desert, for no other

animal could endure so long a journey under such conditions.

A HEAVY LOAD.

One day a workman, who was helping to build a new house, saw the driver

of a large cart trying to back his horses into the yard. The cart was

filled with a heavy load of wood, and though the two horses seemed to be

patient and willing, they could move it but a little way. Then it would

roll down upon their heels again.

The driver grew angry. He shouted at the horses and gave them cruel cuts

with his whip. The horses stopped pushing and began to kick, without

moving the cart at all.

By this time the workman had come up to the horses.

"Get down a minute," said he to the driver, "and let me see what I can

do."

He went first to one horse and then to the other, stroking their necks

and speaking kindly to them. Then he lifted off several heavy timbers

and laid them on the ground. Finally he took from his dinner-pail a big

red apple, which he cut in two, giving half to each horse.

When the horses had eaten the apple, the man mounted the cart and took

up the reins.

"Come, now!" he said cheerily, giving the reins a little shake. "I am

sure you can do it if you try once more. Now, then, there you go!"

The horses took new courage, and with all their might bent to their

work. With a vigorous push and a great rattle of stones the cart went up

into its place.

"It isn't easy to work when you are being scolded." said the workman,

handing over the reins to the driver of the pair. "Try my way the next

time. It pays."

FAMOUS HORSES.

The horse has been known as man's companion and helper from the earliest

times. In Greek mythology horses play a very important part, as every

one knows who has read the stories of Arion and the winged horse

Pegasus. The most famous horse in history probably was Bucephalus (Bull

Head), who belonged to Alexander the Great. Alexander was the son of

Philip, king of Macedonia.

When the boy was about thirteen years of age, there was offered for sale

to his father a superb white horse with a black mark, like a bull's

head, on his forehead. His price was twenty thousand dollars. He was

brought before the king, but no one was able to mount him. Philip was

angry and was about to send the horse away when Alexander begged to be

allowed to try.

He went up quietly to Bucephalus and stroked him for a few minutes with

a steady, careful hand. As he did so he noticed that the horse was

afraid of his own shadow dancing on the grass before him.

Turning the frightened animal with his face to the sun, the boy leaped

lightly on his back, and using every means to soothe him, soon brought

him under complete control.

Bucephalus became Alexander's constant companion. The horse was once

taken prisoner by the barbarians against whom Alexander was fighting,

but the concern shown by the great soldier was so serious that his

favorite was promptly restored to him.

[Illustration: A NORMAN SIRE. By Rosa Bonheur.]

This famous horse died when he was thirty years old from wounds received

on the field of battle. Alexander mourned his death as that of a dear

friend and built a city as a monument to his memory.

Swift and Spurred On were horses that belonged to two Roman emperors.

These horses were fed on almonds and raisins; they had ivory mangers and

marble stalls; and one of them drank wine out of a golden pail. But I am

sure they were too sensible to like such a life and would have preferred

a handful of fresh grass and a drink of cold water.

There are many other horses whose names are known in history. There was

Copenhagen, the Duke of Wellington's favorite charger, that carried him

for ten hours through the battle of Waterloo. Copenhagen lived to a

peaceful and honored old age, but he had a fancy for sponge cake and

chocolate creams, and he died at last from eating too many sweets.

Then there was Roan Barbary, Richard the Second's favorite, and Agnes,

who carried Mary, Queen of Scots. Washington's big white horse, whose

picture you have often seen, was carefully tended and cherished as long

as he lived.

In art the horse is the emblem of courage and generosity, and as we know

him to-day he is not lacking in these noble traits.

HOW TO TREAT HORSES.

It is quite safe to say that of all animals the horse best repays kind

treatment. The better you treat him, the better horse he is, and the

more work he can do.

Yet no animal is more frequently abused and neglected than the horse. He

is left standing in the cold without a blanket or only partly covered;

he is whipped by angry drivers; he is ill fed; and he is kept in a dark,

close stable for days at a time.

A horse is often brave in facing a danger which he understands. He can

be trained to go into dangerous places without shrinking. But it is well

to remember that a horse learns only by seeing and smelling, and that a

new sight which he does not understand will fill him with terror. He is

steadfast before the danger he knows; he is timid as a deer before the

danger he imagines.

It should be the business of any one having the care of a horse to let

him examine everything that may frighten him. If a horse shies, lead him

up gently to see and smell what he is afraid of. He may not dare to go

near it the first time, but patience and kindness will teach him, while

blows and angry words will only frighten him more.

A bit of paper blowing in the wind is enough to frighten many horses.

Their eyes are not like ours, and often on coming out of a dark stable

they are so blinded by the light that familiar things look strange to

them. To pick up flying pieces of paper may prevent a serious accident.

[Illustration: THREE MEMBERS OF A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. By J. F. Herring.]

If a horse can be used without blinders, he will be more comfortable and

can see better where he is going. He is not so likely to be frightened

if he can see what is on each side of him.

Sometimes a horse will not cross water or bridges. It is of no use to

whip him; he will only grow more frightened. The best plan is to wait

until another horse comes along and goes over the bridge. Then the timid

one sees that nothing dreadful happens, and he follows quietly.

A horse that is frightened in his stall will often refuse to be led out.

If his harness is put on him, he rarely objects to following his master.

It is often difficult to get a horse out of a burning stable, but if a

blanket or cloth is thrown over his head to cover his eyes, he can

easily be led away from the fire.

In driving a horse, a poor driver often jerks and pulls the reins. This

hardens the horse's mouth and makes it difficult to guide him properly.

Horses learn very readily, and will soon obey their master's voice as

quickly as the rein.

A horse should not be continually urged when he is doing his best. It

only discourages him. He should have a chance to get his breath on

reaching the top of a hill before he is started into a faster gait.

In hot weather flies are often a torture to a nervous horse. There are

several good preparations for sale to rub on horses and cattle to keep

off the flies. A fly net is also a great protection. A wet handkerchief,

tied over the top of a horse's head, will sometimes prevent prostration

from heat. In the south of France horses often wear hats in the summer,

when they are in the hot sun. A wet sponge or a cabbage leaf is placed

inside.

It is a mistake to think that a horse should not drink much water. If

the body is over-heated it is always well to wait before drinking a

great quantity of cold water, but while exercising, horses as well as

men need to drink often.

Every time a horse has been out, his feet should be carefully lifted and

brushed out. If a small stone gets fixed in the hollow part of the foot,

it will soon make a horse lame. It is so simple and easy to take out the

stones which a horse picks up in this way, that all boys and girls

should learn how to do it, as soon as they are old enough.

The horse is very sensitive to the sound of the human voice. If the tone

is loud and harsh he is frightened and irritated, while he is easily

encouraged if it is quiet and friendly. Teamsters have a careless habit

of shouting at their horses, which is unnecessary and unkind.

When a horse is balky see that the harness does not hurt him, and that

the load is not too heavy for him to draw. Then try some simple

encouragement, such as a friendly pat or a lump of sugar.

Lastly, the over-check rein is the cause of intense pain. The use of

this rein is so common that it is well to know how painful and dangerous

it is. A horse needs to put his head and neck down in order to draw a

load well. The over-check is the direct cause of several diseases, and a

horse often becomes knee-sprung from its use.

[Illustration: NATURAL AND COMFORTABLE.]

It is sometimes said that a horse looks better with his head in the air.

Does not the horse on the right look quite as well as the other? He

certainly seems much more comfortable and happy.

[Illustration: STRAINED AND MISERABLE.]

A horse driven with an over-check rein is more likely to fall, as he

cannot see what is before him, and when he does stumble, he cannot

recover his footing quickly. He can no longer move freely and

gracefully, and no doubt he wishes that his master would care more about

his comfort and well-being. Such a horse looks awkward and ill at ease,

and would surely protest for himself if he could.

[Illustration: MARE AND COLT. By C. Steffeck.]

CATCHING THE COLT.

With forehead star, and silver tail,

And three white feet to match,

The gay, half-broken, sorrel colt,

Which one of us could catch?

"I can!" said Dick, "I'm good for that";

He slowly shook his empty hat;

"She'll think 'tis full of corn," said he;

"Stand back, and she will come to me."

Her head the shy, proud creature raised

As 'mid the daisy flowers she grazed;

Then down the hill, across the brook,

Delaying oft, her way she took;

Then changed her pace, and, moving quick,

She hurried on, and came to Dick.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, "I've caught you, Beck":

And put the halter round her neck.

But soon there came another day,

And, eager for a ride,

"I'll go and catch the colt again,

I can," said Dick with pride.

So up the stony pasture lane,

And up the hill he trudged again;

And when he saw the colt, as slow

He shook his old hat to and fro,

"She'll think 'tis full of corn," he thought,

"And I shall have her quickly caught.

Beck! Beck!" he called; and at the sound,

The restless beauty looked around,

Then made a quick, impatient turn,

And galloped off among the fern.

And when beneath a tree she stopped,

And leisurely some clover cropped,

Dick followed after, but in vain;

His hand was just upon her mane,

When off she flew, as flies the wind,

And, panting, he pressed on behind.

Down through the brake, the brook across,

O'er bushes, thistles, mounds of moss,

Round and around the place they passed,

Till breathless, Dick sat down at last;

Threw by, provoked, his empty hat,--

"The colt," he said, "remembers that!

There's always trouble from deceit,

I'll never try again to cheat."

MARIAN DOUGLASS.

A REMARKABLE HORSE-TRAINER.

Nearly half a century ago, an American, named John Rarey, made a name

for himself by taming one of the most unruly horses in the world.

This horse was named Cruiser. He belonged to an English nobleman, and

was a race-horse of fine blood. Unfortunately he had a bad temper. No

groom dared to venture into his stall, and one day, when he had been put

into a public stable, it became necessary to take off the roof of the

building to get him out. After this he was practically left to himself

for three years. His huge bit was loaded with chains, and on his head

was a large muzzle, lined inside and out with iron. No wonder that his

temper grew worse and worse. When any one came near him he screamed with

hate and fury.

Mr. Rarey had already met with such success in taming horses in his own

country, that it was decided to let him see what he could do with

Cruiser. "Kindness, fearlessness and patience will subdue him," said the

American; "I am not afraid to try."

When the time came for the trial, and Mr. Rarey threw open the door as

if there were nothing to fear, Cruiser was too much astonished to move.

Before he had made up his mind what he should do, the "kindness,

fearlessness and patience" of Mr. Rarey were at work. One of Cruiser's

fore-feet was gently strapped backward in such a way that he could

neither run nor kick. By another strap on the off fore-foot it was

possible to draw up the other leg, and presently to bring the powerful

creature down upon his knees. All the time this was going on, Mr. Rarey

spoke quietly and encouragingly to him, until at last Cruiser felt that

he had met a master and a friend.

In three hours Cruiser's owner was able to mount him, and Mr. Rarey's

fortune was made, for the horse was a distinguished individual, whose

return to society was hailed with joy. Queen Victoria expressed her

pleasure at Cruiser's improvement and frequently came to see him and

caress him.

Cruiser became the property of his tamer, and went with Mr. Rarey

through the principal countries of Europe. Everywhere throngs came to

see him and his still more wonderful master.

"My mission," said Mr. Rarey, "is to teach men that kindness, patience

and firmness must be used in the management of horses. They are taught

by gentleness and not by harshness."

Rarey gave free lectures to cabmen and truck-drivers wherever he went,

and the crowned heads of Europe were glad to share the privilege of

hearing and seeing him. Horses that had been frightened and angered by

ill-usage became, under his treatment, mild and easily governed. The

amount of good he accomplished it is not easy to estimate. He died

before he was forty years old, but the lesson he taught is not wholly

forgotten. Just before his death he said: "If I could only get back once

more to the old farm, and put my arms round my dear horses' necks, I

believe I should get well."

THE ARAB TO HIS HORSE.

Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling!

On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!

Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,

Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty!

And thou know'st my water-skin is free:

Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,

And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!

Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye:

Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,--

Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses,

Prancing with their diamond-studded reins;

They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness

When they course with thee the desert plains!

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!

And the splendor of the Pashas there;

What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not

Take them for a handful of thy hair!

BAYARD TAYLOR.

[Illustration: After a painting by Sir Edwin Landseer]

"WAITING FOR MASTER."

Though late the master's voice is heard above,

And slowly lag his footsteps on the stair,

No hint of weariness to him ascends

From those who uncomplaining wait him there.

If patience, faithfulness and perfect love

Are ranked as noble virtues everywhere,

May we not claim for these three loyal friends

A right in such nobility to share?