174 A PHILOSOPHER WITH NATURE 



works himself to the bone for his family in the 

 intervals of quarrelling and love-making. 



A quick harsh note and a flutter of wings. Every 

 sparrow has left the ground. One looks round to 

 find the cause of the alarm, but sees nothing at 

 first. But we have been on the brink of a tragedy. 

 A familiar form comes out from behind the wooden 

 paling which tops the brick wall of the garden ; it 

 is my own cat, and he slinks into the open with that 

 foolish sullen look peculiar to all the members of 

 the feline tribe when they have been baulked of their 

 prey. I call him softly by his name and he looks 

 up and blinks his grey eyes at me. The marks of 

 nocturnal dissipation are upon him. As he walks 

 along the wall one may see the advantage of that 

 grey fur striped with dark lines which is so common 

 among the London cats ; in the half light he is 

 almost invisible on the dull background. The 

 London cats mostly go their own ways and natural 

 selection is only slightly tempered by human inter- 

 ference. This one walked into our house as a kitten 

 and we took him in ; he was housed and fed and 

 petted ; but a street arab he was born and will 

 remain. From an early age he took to sparrow- 

 hunting ; we tried to break the old Adam in him, 

 but after he had tasted blood and the pleasures of 

 the chase the attempt had to be given up in despair. 

 Some one sat in the room with him and a young 

 tame sparrow for four hours, scarcely taking eyes off 

 him. Blandishments were tried, but he was deaf 

 to them ; the attempt was given up and a stick was 

 tried, but his spirit was unaffected. He feared the 

 stick but he meant to have the sparrow and he 

 had it, under our eyes. He killed it with a stroke 



