proud, and skilfully eluded the grasp of the
inviting hands.

Soon afterwards, we beheld, stealing out
from the fastnesses of an asparagus bed, a
long, lank, black-and-white cat, with peculiarly
wild and speculative eyes: "a lean
and hungry Cassius " of a fellow, who, as
we were told, was a sort of feline outlaw
and bush-whacker, a prowler and pauper,
whom nobody owned, a very Ishmael among
cats. Him also little Alice courteously
bespoke; but he was off like the wind.

We were told that there were several
half-civilised cats haunting the barn and
carriage-house, and we afterwards
occasionally caught brilliant flashes of their
society, but never became intimate with
them. They came and went across our
lawn,

   Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
    Ere one can say it lightens.

After all little Alice's vain advances,
think what felicity it was for her to behold
at last, at her feet, a whole basketful
of the loveliest, tiniest bits of kittens
ever seen! There were five of them
nearly white; at least the groundwork was
white, but they were all more or less
marked with black and yellow, eccentric
dashings of Nature's brush. They were
queer, little rollypolly creatures, with stiff
stumps of tails, very unsteady legs, and
sealed-up eyes; they clawed each other
and tumbled about in an uncomfortable
way, and with querulous mews seemed to
be protesting against the general blankness
of life. Yet, when we took them out of
their basket, and laid them on the soft turf,
they stretched themselves in the sunlight,
and seemed to enjoy it.

Soon the mother came: the pretty cat
we had seen at the kitchen-door. She
seemed glad to find her family in such
pleasant quarters, and was no longer shy. She
stole in among the helpless creatures so
gently, so carefully, giving out at each step
that indescribable mother-pussy murmur,
which is next in tenderness to the coo of
the pigeon, laid herself down, and called
them to breakfast. It was curious to see
how each little atomy groped its sure way
to its place. And it was touching to
observe the love and joy, and utter content,
with which the mother regarded her treasures.

Shortly after this, Nature took her nine
days' interdict off the eyes of the five little
sisters, and they could see very winkingly
and blinkingly, and to small purpose
at first, but the fact made them more
interesting to the children, who forthwith
held a solemn conclave, and resolved on
a general christening. The names they
selected were rather flowery and romantic,
but scarcely inappropriate: to wit, Lily,
Daisy, Pet, Snowdrop, and Dewdrop.

All were so pretty that each of the five
was the favourite of some member of the
household. Snowdrop was perhaps the
beauty of the family, but she was not clever.
White was she, with the exception of the
tip of the tail, which was vividly tinted
with the Austrian colours. Pure white
was so evidently the first intention of
Nature, that it looked as though the little
marplot had dabbled her wee tail in the
dye-pots prepared for variegating her
sisters.

In the long summer afternoons, we
almost deserted the house for the grateful
shade of the maples and the breezes on
the lawn, and every morning the basket
was brought from the barn, and we had
the ever-diverting company of the five little
sisters. How amusing it was to watch
their first timid explorations of the yard
and the flower-beds. They scrambled off
at first, a yard or two at a time, in an
aimless way, with gait unsteady, legs wide
apart, and tails in air, borne stiff and erect
as pikes. Sensuous little wretches, they
loved to bask and roll lazily in the sunshine,
to lie among the blossoming lilies, to
steep themselves in the fragrance of roses
and geraniums. It was long before they
could carry the earthworks of a mound
that stood in the centre of the lawn, and
contained some of the choicest of the choice
plants of our hostess. But they triumphed
at last. Some of the most delicate flowers
were cat-nipped in the bud, but less damage
was done than we looked for. They would
chase each other round and round the
flowery heights, like mad, and would, at
last, go leaping down the grassy declivity,
one after another, in a tiny, tumbling, live
cataract.

"I am amused at their little short
memories," said Coleridge, one day, after playing
with a kitten and seeing it pause in
the eager pursuit of a ball of cotton, to
chase its own tail.

It must be that this illusive pursuit is
the inevitable folly and absurdity of kitten-hood;
certain it is, that as soon as the tails
of our little kittens grew to sufficient
importance to come within the range of their
short vision, each set out on that futile,
immemorial chase. They would often keep