she sought for him with symptoms of great uneasiness and loud lamentation, all over the house, till she came to the door of the room in which the corpse lay.  Here she lay down in silent melancholy, till she was again locked up.  As soon as the child was interred, and the cat set at liberty, she disappeared; and it was not till a fortnight after that event, that she returned to the well-known apartment, quite emaciated.  She would not, however, take any nourishment, and soon ran away again with dismal cries.  At length, compelled by hunger, she made her appearance every day at dinner-time, but always left the house as soon as she had eaten the food that was given her.  No one knew where she spent the rest of her time, till she was found one day under the wall of the burying-ground, close to the grave of her favourite; and so indelible was the attachment of the cat to her deceased friend, that till his parents removed to another place, five years afterwards, she never, except in the greatest severity of winter, passed the night any where else than at the above-mentioned spot, close to the grave.  Ever afterwards she was treated with the utmost kindness by every person in the family.  She suffered herself to be played with by the younger children, although without exhibiting a particular partiality for any of them.

“There is another story of the cat’s attachment, of a somewhat less melancholy cast, which I lately saw recorded in a provincial newspaper.

[Illustration:  The affectionate cat—­Page 92.]

“A country gentleman of our acquaintance, who is neither a friend to thieves nor poachers, has at this moment in his household a favourite cat, whose honesty, he is sorry to say, there is but too much reason to call in question.  The animal, however, is far from being selfish in her principles; for her acceptable gleanings she regularly shares among the children of the family in which her lot is cast.  It is the habit of grimalkin to leave the kitchen or parlour, as often as hunger and an opportunity may occur, and wend her way to a certain pastrycook’s shop, where, the better to conceal her purpose, she endeavours slily to ingratiate herself into favour with the mistress of the house.  As soon as the shopkeeper’s attention becomes engrossed in business, or otherwise, puss contrives to pilfer a small pie or tart from the shelves on which they are placed, speedily afterwards making the best of her way home with her booty.  She then carefully delivers her prize to some of the little ones in the nursery.  A division of the stolen property quickly takes place; and here it is singularly amusing to observe the cunning animal, not the least conspicuous among the numerous group, thankfully mumping her share of the illegal traffic.  We may add that the pastrycook is by no means disposed to institute a legal process against the delinquent, as the children of the gentleman to whom we allude are honest enough to acknowledge their four-footed playmate’s failings to papa, who willingly compensates any damage the pastrycook may sustain from the petty depredations of the would-be philanthropic cat.