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 60 comrade's aid,—which does credit to their kindness of heart,—and would answer any questions to obtain her release.

Strange and gruesome remedies for rheumatism, and ague, and all the ills that village flesh is heir to, were extracted from Pussy's brains and bones; and countless means were devised by which she might afford the rural population such entertainment as it was best fitted to enjoy. Scottish peasants amused themselves by hanging her up in a small cask or firkin, half full of soot, at which men and boys struck vigorous blows, striving to escape before the soot fell on them. This primitive game might have been played just as effectively without the assistance of the cat; but it would have been flavourless had it lacked what Montaigne so admirably calls "the tart, sweet pleasure of inflicting pain."

In England, a cat tucked into a leathern bottle was a favourite target for archery.—"Hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me," says Benedick blithely; and cat-worrying was for centuries as much a recognized sport as cock-fighting, or bull and badger baiting. It is hard to forgive Christopher North for his apparent enjoyment of this most cruel of amusements, which he describes with a zest that does him infinite shame. In cock-fights and dog-fights there is fair play, and the combatants