UNION SQUARE JIM. 



'N a snug little corner of an 

 unused dressing-room at the 

 Union Square Theatre, New 

 York City, a bright and quiet 

 brindle cat had made her bed. 

 She had been in the theatre 

 less than a year ; and while 

 efficient as a hunter, and a 

 favorite with all the employees 

 by reason of her gentle ways, 

 she was seldom seen in the corridors. It was not 

 surprising, therefore, that she had not been missed 

 for several days, when accidentally George, the 4 gas- 

 man,' in going near her nest, heard the plaintive 

 cry of young kittens. He immediately entered the 

 old dressing-room, and found five little youngsters 

 battling each other for the favors and attention of 

 their mother. 



Poor pussy had been without food since the birth 

 of her children, and the appealing look she gave 



