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 174 was my express wish. He has no idea what a selfish, immoral, improper beast she is, nor what mischief she does to the carpets. Kind regards to Mrs. Warren.Yours sincerely, ."

Poor Pussy! Poor clean, sad, catless dining-room! Poor Mrs. Carlyle! In another year she was dead, and we can hardly fancy her resting unfretted in her grave. But it is pleasant to picture the great historian, whose disagreeable aspects have been put forward so relentlessly for the consideration of the world, feeding his cat with "driblets of milk," and excusing—or denying—the mess she made. There is a touch of Dr. Johnson's human kindness about the simple deed. Had Carlyle been permitted to live on terms of easy intimacy with Columbine or the soot-black kitten, he might have learned from

some useful lessons in philosophy.

Happily there are other and brighter prospects to consider, even on England's uncongenial soil; there are other and brighter glimpses into homes which seem to have been made—like Herrick's vicarage—for Pussy's tranquil sway. To understand the character of a cat, to respect her independence, to recognize and deplore her pitiless instincts,