The fondness of the Egyptians for their cats is shown in some of their ancient paintings where the cat is frequently seen by the side of its master whilst he entertains company.  When a cat died the whole household shaved off their eyebrows in token of mourning; and its body was sent to the embalmers, and there made into a mummy, and afterwards buried, with great lamentations, in the cat-sepulchre adjoining the town.

Heredotus, the Greek historian, who had himself spent some time in Egypt, and witnessed the customs of the natives, tells us that when a house caught fire the only care of the Egyptians was to save the lives of the cats, utterly regardless of the destruction of their property.

Bubastis was the sacred city of cats, and there was the temple of the goddess Pasht, whose statue appeared with the head of a cat.  There the cats reveled in luxury, for they were looked upon as living representatives of the divinity.  The punishment for killing any sacred animal was death; but woe to the luckless person who even accidentally killed a cat? for he was set upon by the infuriated people, and torn to pieces without trial.

[Illustration:  Egyptian saving his cat.]

THE CAT’S QUESTIONS.

    Dozing, and dozing, and dozing! 
      Pleasant enough,
    Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat. 
      Delicate stuff!

    Of raids on the pantry and hen-coop,
      Or light, stealthy tread
    Of cat gossips, meeting by moonlight
      On ridge-pole or shed.

    Waked by a somersault, whirling,
      Whirling from cushion to floor;
    Waked from a wild rush of safety
      From window to door.

    Waking two hands that first smooth us,
     And then pull our tails;
    Punished with slaps when we show them
      The length of our nails! 
    These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
      A place on the mat. 
    Do they think we enjoy for our music
      Staccatos of “scat?”
    What in the world were we made for? 
      Man, do you know? 
    By you to be petted, tormented? 
      Are you friend or foe? 
    To be treated now, just as you treat us,
      The question is pat,
    To take just our chances in living,
      Would you be a cat?

LUCY LARCOM.

[Illustration:  “Are you friend or foe?”]

“Scramble.”

Doctor Schroeder was a quaint old German physician, who lived in a fine old-fashioned house near a public play-ground.  Connected with the doctor’s premises was an extensive peach orchard, and, sad to say, naughty boys would sometimes climb over the orchard wall and pilfer his peaches.  To guard against this practice the doctor had the top of his wall adorned with a row of very ugly iron spikes.  Not far from Doctor Schroeder’s place lived a family known as “the Jones’s”.  One member of the family was a small boy nicknamed “Scramble;” so named, I presume, from the fact that he was all the time scrambling over other people’s fences and into other people’s fruit trees.