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. 5, 1863.] and such like articles of furniture, but in what town, or even county in England had such a thing as a feline combat on such an extensive scale ever happened? What made the case very provoking was, that in no county history, local records, or table-book could I find the slightest trace or mention of this remarkable occurrence; and as I am naturally of an antiquarian turn of mind, I believe I lost flesh about it. Certainly my sleep was broken for many nights. Not a melodious howl arose from a nocturnal and tile-frequenting Tom, (they were awful rascals after the pigeons) but woke me up to the recollection of the unsolved mystery which lay shrouded under the cobwebs of bygone ages. At length I had my curiosity satisfied. One night I was awakened by the tremendous “mieaow,” which I mentioned at the commencement, and which proceeded apparently from some animal located in my room. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed, and, seated on the footboard, I beheld an ancient and spectral cat of gigantic proportions, (I don’t like to be thought exaggerating, but let us say as big as a Newfoundland dog,) lambient, blue, and transparent, with flaming eyes and a kind of red-hot, corruscating wick which ran from the nape of his neck to the tip of his tail, and ended in sparks.

“Did you speak?” I asked, when I had recovered myself. “Yes,” said he, “I understand that you wish to know the particulars of that great battle which took place on the town moor” (how did he understand anything of the sort?)—“Ah! I was chief of the commissariat to the grand army of Tortoiseshells at that time, and knew the flavour of a fine fat mouse; alas! these joys are gone never to return. I have tried more than once since shuffling off the mortal coil, to eat a mouse, but they burnt to cinders in my inside and brought on such a severe attack of dyspepsia that I thought I should never get over it. I was rash enough too to indulge in some fine rich cream that I came across in my wanderings, but my internal heat converted it into steam so rapidly that I was nearly blown up, indeed, it quite lifted me off my legs, so I am fain to lead a life of abstinence and self-denial little suited to my disposition.” And here he gave such a melancholy howl that from my heart I pitied the old sinner. “However, I will not detain you with my grievances; you will find in this document a full account of that great, and to my party, unfortunate, battle.” Saying which he laid on the counterpane a neat roll of mouse-skins covered with writing, and springing on to a moonbeam which struggled through the window blind, he ran swiftly up till he vanished from my sight.

Now if any one asks in what language was this chronicle written, and how did I contrive to decipher it, I reply that that is my affair, and if they don’t choose to take the particulars just as I lay them before them, they may let it alone.

Next morning I set myself to work to examine the manuscript, but before I proceed to give the narrative contained therein, I may as well silence all sceptical objections to the mode of its acquisition. It will be objected by some that the spiritual manifestation of a Tom Cat is preposterous, and impossible, and therefore unworthy of belief. I simply refer such to the many and interesting accounts of apparitions that have been given lately in some of our periodicals. Observe that in these instances there was not only the appearance or spectre of the person, but also of his or her wearing apparel. Now I maintain that there is nothing more absurd or unreasonable in the ghost of a tom cat (or a tibby) than in the ghost of a pair of boots, or a hat, or an umbrella (generally silk with an ornamental ivory handle), or a crinoline. The relative possibility of my story is therefore established, and for the probability of it you must take my assurance.

In the infancy of this land, when men wore paint—the fashion is confined to the gentler sex now—and hyenas’ bones were held to be a sovereign cure for rheumatism, the race of cats was great and powerful and numerous. The dark and endless woods, the brakes and cliffs and caves harboured their communities. If but one midnight wanderer raised his voice, the cry was taken up and re-echoed in one unbroken howl through the whole length of the land. The effect then was grand; like the night wind sighing through the pines on the hill sides—only much sweeter.

They were a united race; and readily unsheathed their claws and arched their backs against a common enemy. Even the wolf had to slink by with an air of abject deprecation, and dare not call his eyes his own.

The race of two legged creatures called men were their most formidable enemies. These gigantic and ferocious beings destroyed them for their skins, yea, even ate them; and capturing their young ones, carried them off into slavery and compelled them to catch rats and mice for their living.

In the course of years the race of cats was much reduced in numbers, and the greater part of them utterly subdued and domesticated by their enemy, man. As if this were not enough, they had split into factions which were at enmity with each other, and were distinguished as the “Brindles,” the “Blacks,” and the “Tortoiseshells.” Woe to the unhappy cat who strayed into the territory of another faction—such a howling and mol-rowing ensued, and very soon his bones, clean picked, lay whitening in the sun.

Affairs being in this condition, it so happened that the young prince of our clan, the Tortoiseshells, had fallen in love with a tabby of the Blacks—she was a traitress, and persuaded him one day to cross the boundary into her faction’s ground. The unfortunate prince, blind to all considerations of personal safety, consented, and no sooner was he over the border than he fell into an ambush. Six gigantic blacks sprang out on him, and ate him up before the eyes of an affrighted tortoisehelltortoiseshell [sic] who was out catching birds in the neighbourhood. He carried the dismal tidings to our court, and the old king, Molrowdy, rose up in bitter wrath and swore to have the eyes of the perpetrators of the deed. In a week we had raised a numerous army. From every household and farmstead of Durham they came swarming in to the camp. Plump domestic Toms, wiry and veteran mousers from barns and lofts, and a chosen