[Illustration:  Alexander.]

The intelligence and good breeding of the cat in this picture are so apparent that it is no wonder he made hosts of friends.  His picture once adorned a humane calendar, and thus became familiar to many persons in the United States and in Europe.

Rev. J. G. Wood, in describing his own pet cat, said: 

“His gestures and actions are full of that spirited yet easy grace, which can never be attained by any creature, be it man, beast, or bird, who has once learned to crouch in terror, and to fear a harsh tone or an uplifted hand.”

In Spain it is the custom to store grain in garrets, and there the cats are treated very kindly.  There is a small door in each attic for their use; food and drink are given to them; and they may walk where they like over the roofs of the city.  Many of them never care to come down to the ground.

If there were no cats in America, we should be seriously disturbed and inconvenienced.  It is said that the government of the United States keeps an army of more than three hundred cats for use in the Post-office department.  Their duty is to guard the mail-bags against the attacks of rats and mice, and this they do very thoroughly and well.  Before they were employed valuable letters and mail matter were often destroyed.

The government cats are fed well, some postmasters being allowed forty dollars a year for “cat meat.”  The work that this army does proves that well-fed cats make the best mousers.  As the postal service is known for its high standards, we may be sure that these workers are industrious and satisfactory, or they would not be allowed to stay.

KITTY’S CHRISTMAS.

“Mew! mew! mew!  Why don’t they let me in?  I have been here on these cold steps for three days.  I am very hungry and unhappy.  Why do they shut me out in the cold?

“Ethel said she was going to the city for the Christmas vacation.  She said I could catch mice till she came back.  But the mice are in the barn and I can’t get in.

“The house, too, is shut up.  No one is there to give me any milk.  My warm bed is in the kitchen, by the stove.  I can’t sleep on these cold stones.

“This is a dreadful Christmas!  Last year I had a pitcher of cream and a string of popcorn from Ethel’s Christmas tree.  She is very good to me when she is at home.  I wish she would come back.  I am so frightened and hungry!  Mew! mew!”

TO MY CAT MUFF.

 Thou art not “dumb,” my Muff;
 In those sweet pleading eyes and earnest look
 Language there were enough
 To fill, with living type, a goodly book,
 Wherein who read might see
 What tones unheard, and forms of silent speech
 Are given, that such as thee
 The eloquence of dumbness, men might teach. 
                        John Owen.