"that thief of a cat." I do not think Miss Laura knew of my depredations down-stairs, for I was always honest in the parlour, and she would, I feel certain, have forgiven me even if she had known. As I could not be trusted in the kitchen, I was nearly always turned out-of-doors of a night. This was exceedingly unkind, for it was often dark and rainy and cold, and I could find but little shelter. On dry moonlight nights I did not mind being out, for there was fun to be got-fun and fieldmice. Alas! I wish now I had kept to fun and field-mice; but I met with evil company, vagrant outdoor cats, who took a delight in mewing beneath the windows of nervous invalids, who despised in-door life, looked upon theft as a fine art, and robbed pigeon-lofts right and left.

Is it any wonder, then, that I soon turned as reckless as any of them? I always came home at the time the milk arrived in the morning, however; and even now, had my young mistress only fed me, I would have changed my evil courses at once. But she did not.

Now this constant stopping out in all weathers began to tell on my beautiful coat; it was no longer silky and snowy-white. It became matted and harsh, and did show the dirt, so much so that I was quite ashamed to look in the glass. And always, too, I was so tired, all through my wanderings, when I returned of a morning, that I did nothing all day but nod drowsily over the fire. No wonder Miss Laura said one day

"Oh, pussy, pussy! you do look dirty and disreputable. You are no longer the lovely creature you once were; I cannot care for such a cat as you have grown."

But I still loved her, and a kind word from her lips or a casual caress was sure to make me happy, even in my dullest of moods.

The end came sooner than I expected, for one day Miss Laura went from home very early in the morning. As soon as she was gone, Mary Jane, the servant, seized me rudely by the neck. I thought she was going to kill me outright.

"I'll take good care, my lady," she said, "that you don't steal anything at any rate for four-andtwenty hours to come."

Then she marched up-stairs with me, popped me into my mistress's bed-room, locked the door, and went away chuckling. There was no one else in the room, only just myself and the canary. And all that long day no one ever came near me with so much as a drop of milk. When night came I tried to sleep on Miss Laura's bed, but the pangs of hunger effectually banished slumber. When day broke I felt certain somebody would come to the door. But no. I thought this was so cruel of

Mary Jane, especially as I had no language in which to tell my mistress, on her return, of my sufferings. Towards the afternoon I felt famishing, and then my eyes fell upon the canary.

"Poor little thing! said I; "you, too, are neglected and starving."

"Tweet, tweet!" said the bird, looking down at me with one eye.

"Now, dicky," I continued, "I'm going to do you a great kindness. If you were a very, very large bird, I should ask you to eat me and put me out of all this misery."

"Tweet, tweet!" said the bird, very knowingly, as much as to say, "I would do it without the slightest hesitation."

"Well," said I, "I mean to perform the same good office for you. I cannot see you starving there without trying to ease your sufferings, and soHere I sprang at the cage. I draw a veil over what followed.

And now my appetite was appeased, but my conscience was awakened. However should I be able to face my mistress again? Hark! what is that? It is Miss Laura's footstep on the stair. She is singing as sweetly as only Laura can. She approaches the door; her hand is on the latch. I can stand it no longer. With one bound, with one wild cry, I dash through a pane of glass, and drop almost senseless on to the lawn beneath the window.

It was sad enough to have to leave my dear mistress and my dear old home, which, despite all I had endured, I had learned to love, as only we poor pussies can love our homes. But my mind was made up. I had eaten Miss Laura's pet canary, and I dare never, never look her in the face again.

Till this I had lived in the sweet green country, but now I wandered on and on, caring little where I went or what became of me. By day I hid myself in burrows and rat-haunted drains, and at night came forth to seek for food and continue my wanderings. So long as the grass and trees were all around me I was never in want of anything to eat, but in time all this was changed, and gradually I found myself coming nearer and nearer to some great city or town. First, rows upon rows of neatly-built villas and cottages came into view, and by-and-by these gave place to long streets where never a green thing grew, and I passed lofty, many windowed workshops, from which issued smoke and steam, and much noise and confusion. I met with many cats in this city, who, like myself, seemed to be outcasts, and had never known the pleasures of home and love. They told me they lived entirely by stealing, at which they were great adepts, and on such food as they picked

out of the gutter. They listened attentively to my tales of the far-off country, where many a rippling stream meandered through meadows green, in which the daisies and the yellow cowslips grew, of beautiful flowers, and of birds in every bush. Very much of what I told them was so very new to them that they could not understand it, but they listened attentively, nevertheless, and many a night kept me talking to them until I was so tired I felt ready to drop. In return for my stories they taught me or rather, tried to teach me to steal cleverly, not clumsily, as country cats do. But, alas! I could not learn, and do as I would I barely picked up a living; then my sufferings were increased by the cruelty of boys, who often pelted me with stones and set wild wicked dogs to chase me. I got so thin at last that I could barely totter along.

One evening a large black tom-cat who was a great favourite of mine, and often brought me titbits, said to me, "There's a few of us going out shopping to-night; will you come?"

"I'll try," I answered feebly, "for I do feel faint and sick and hungry."

We tried some fishmongers' shops first, and were very successful; then we went to another shop. Ill as I was, I could not help admiring the nimble way my Tom, as I called him, sprang on to a counter and helped himself to a whole string of delicious sausages. I tried to emulate Tom's agility, but oh, dear! I missed my footing and fell down into the very jaws of a terrible dog.

How I got away I never could tell, but I did; and wounded and bleeding sorely, I managed to drag myself down a quiet street and into a garden, and there, under a bush, I lay down to die. It was pitilessly cold, and the rain beat heavily down, and the great drops fell through the bush and drenched me to the skin. Then the cold and pain seemed all at once to leave me. I had fallen into an uneasy

doze, and I was being chased once more by dogs with large eyes and faces, up and down in long wet streets where the gas flickered, through many a muddy pool. Then I thought I found myself once again in the fields near my own home, with the sun brightly shining and the birds making the air ring with their music. Then I heard a gentle voice saying

"Now, Mary, I think that will do. The cheesebox and cushion make such a nice bed for her; and when she awakes give the poor thing that drop of warm milk and sugar."

I did awake, and was as much surprised as pleased to find myself in a nice warm room, and lying not far from the fire. A neatly-dressed servant-girl was kneeling near me, and not far off a lady dressed in black sat sewing.

This, then, was my new mistress, and-I was saved. How different she was from poor Miss Laura, who, you know, did not mean to be cruel to me. This lady was very, very kind to me, though she made but little fuss about it. Her thoughtfulness for all my comforts and her quiet caresses soon wooed me back again to life, and now I feel sure I am one of the happiest cats alive. I am not dirty and disreputable now, nor is my fur matted. I am no longer a thief, for I do not need to steal. My mistress has a canary, but I would not touch it for worlds-indeed, I love to hear it sing, although its music is not half so sweet to me as that of the tea-kettle. Of an evening when the gas is lighted, and a bright fire burning in the grate, we all sing together-that is, the kettle, the canary, and myself. They say I am very beautiful, and I believe they are right, for I have twice got a prize at a cat show, and hope to win another. And if you go to the next great exhibition of cats, be sure to look for me. I am gentle in face and short in ears, my fur is long, and soft, and white, and silky, and my eyes are as blue as the sea in summer.

HEN was very proud of all her chickens excepting one that was in some way different from the others. The chickens, too, saw that the little creature was not exactly like themselves, and so they hunted him about, saying "Who are you, who are you? what a fright you are!" And the old hen pecked at him and pushed him away, for she felt much ashamed of his queer appearance.

The poor bird was so miserable that he determined to run away, and so one day when they had been more unkind to him than ever, he suddenly turned round, fluttered his wings, and opening his beak wide, said

"If you despise me, I despise you, and will go away and seek my fortune."

And away he went, and no sooner had he gone than the old hen began to reproach herself for having treated him so badly, and shaking off the

chickens which had clustered round her she pursued the runaway, "clucking" and calling to him to come back.

But all in vain; the little bird struggled on and on till he came to a great pool.

"He will tumble in! he will be drowned!" thought the hen. And he did tumble in; but he was not drowned, for the moment he touched the water he began to swim as if he had been swimming all his short life.

Then the hen "clucked" and cried, but to no purpose: away swam the poor little duckling, and she saw no more of him. So she slowly returned to her brood of chickens.

"Ah!" said she, "we have driven away one who can do more than any of us; we were very wrong to condemn him because of his appearance, for great talents are often hidden under a plain exterior." J. G.