THE CAT TO-DAY 295 



at a ghostly presence trying to the nerves. The 

 brilliancy of the cat's eyes, the narrowing of the 

 lids, the stern contraction of the brow, the deadly 

 repose of the whole figure, enhance the shadowy 

 spell by which she dominates that hour. Sir Walter 

 Scott, sanest and least cowardly of men, knew 

 whereof he spoke when he admitted that Hinse 

 was a mystery. 



Whence, too, comes that impelling voice which 

 summons the cat to vagrancy ; which calls her 

 away from the warm fireside she loves, and from 

 the hearts that love her, to meet an unread fate ? 

 Why is it that this animal, seemingly more attached 

 than any other to her own hearthstone, should so 

 often bid it an abrupt and inexplicable farewell ? I 

 knew of a cat who for eight long years was the 

 enthroned idol of a luxurious home. One morning 

 in early spring his mistress heard his voice raised 

 in plaintive notes from a stunted peach tree that 

 grew in the city garden. " I was but too sure what 

 it meant," she said ; " Sir Charles was bidding me 

 good-by." She flung open the window, and looked 

 out. There he sat, and his great yellow eyes were 

 lifted mournfully to her face. Then he leaped 

 down, and was never seen again. 



Another cat spent five successive winters under 

 a hospitable roof near New York ; but always de- 

 parted — none knew whither — about the middle 



N3 



