148 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



" I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. John- 

 son's breast, apparently with much satisfaction, 

 while my friend, smiling and half whistling, rubbed 

 down his back and pulled him by the tail ; and, 

 when I observed he was a fine cat, saying, ' Why 

 yes, sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better 

 than this ; ' and then, as if perceiving Hodge to be 

 out of countenance, adding, ' but he is a very fine 

 cat, a very fine cat indeed.' 



" This reminds me of the ludicrous account which 

 he gave Mr. Langton of the despicable state of a 

 young gentleman of good family : ' Sir, when I 

 heard of him last, he was running about town 

 shooting cats.' And then, in a sort of kindly rev- 

 erie, he bethought himself of his own favourite, and 

 said, ' but Hodge shan't be shot ; no, no, Hodge 

 shall not be shot.' ; 



Since Montaigne played with his cat in sleepy 

 Perigord, there has been no simpler or finer pic- 

 ture than this of mutual understanding and regard. 

 When we consider Dr. Johnson's unconcern at put- 

 ting mere mortals "out of countenance," and his 

 occasional indignation that they should presume to 

 have their feelings crushed under the heavy sledge- 

 hammer of his wit, we cannot help feeling that this 

 nice regard for the sensitiveness of a cat shows 

 what a humanizing influence Hodge had upon his 

 master. I wonder if the " white kitling," Lilly, 



