OUR* DOGS. 



the bursting of a bomb at the feet of some respectable 

 citizen going tranquilly to market. Thomas was a cat of 

 courage, and rats of the largest size shrunk appalled at the 

 very sight of his whiskers ; but now he sat in the sink 

 quite cowed, consulting with great, anxious yellow eyes the 

 throng of faces that followed Wix dow*i the stairs, and 

 watching anxiously the efforts Miss Jenny was making to 

 subdue and quiet him. 



&quot;Wix, you naughty little rascal, you must n t bark at 

 Thomas Henry ; be still ! &quot; Whereat Wix, understanding 

 himself to be blamed, brought forth his trump card of ac 

 complishments, which he always offered by way of pacifica 

 tion whenever he was scolded. He reared himself up on 

 his hind-legs, hung his head languishingly on one side, 

 lolled out his tongue, and made, a series of supplicatory 

 gestures with his fore -paws, a trick which never failed 

 to bring down the house in a storm of applause, and 

 carry him out of any scrape with flying colors. 



Poor Thomas Henry, from his desolate sink, saw his ter 

 rible rival carried off in Miss Jenny s arms amid the ap 

 plauses of the whole circle, and had abundance of time to 

 reflect on the unsubstantial nature of popularity. After 

 that he grew dejected and misanthropic, a real Cardinal 

 Wolsey in furs, for Wix was possessed with a perfect 

 cat-hunting mania, and, whenever he was not employed in 

 other mischief, was always ready for a bout with Thomas 

 Henry. 



