THE BOOK OF THE CAT. 



When we see poor pussies packed into dirty 

 cages in the shops of dealers of beasts and 

 birds in our great metropolis, and when we 

 are made sad by the sight of the wretched 

 starving cats of our streets, we can breathe 

 no better wish for them than a speedy 

 deliverance from their life of misery, even if 

 it be to embark with the grim ferryman in 

 their free transportation to the Feline 

 Elysium. 



" There shall the worthies of the whiskered race, 

 Elysian mice o'er floors of sapphire chace, 

 'Midst beds of aromatic marum stray, 

 Or raptur'd rove beside the milky way." 



A French writer of the early part of the 

 eighteenth century, a famous Jesuit Father, 

 suggests a very strange theory on the old idea 

 as to the nature of the soul of animals. I am 

 sure that the question of a future existence for 

 those pets who during so short a time in this 

 world have been our faithful and loving com- 

 panions must have often entered into the 

 hearts and minds of true animal lovers. 



A wise and good man a writer of some of 

 our most beautiful hymns, and who passed to 

 his rest within the last year wrote and gave 

 me these lines when he lost his faithful dog : 



SANCHO : AN OLD FRIEND. 

 A large brown Irish retriever : buried in 

 the Vicarage Garden of St. Paul's, Hagger- 

 ston : a stone to his memory is on the school 

 wall, with this inscription : 



" In the centre of this lawn lies 



SANCHO, 



a gentleman in all but humanity ; 

 thorough-bred, single in mind, true 

 of heart ; for seventeen years the 

 faithful and affectionate friend of 

 his master, who loved him, and now 

 for him ' faintly trusts the larger 

 Hope ' contained, it may be, in 

 Romans viii. 19-21. 



He died April 26, 1883." 



NOT sparse of friends the world has been to me 

 By grace of GOD sweetness and light to life 

 Their love has given ; many a stormy strife, 



Many a pulseless torpor, on my sea, 



Through them their presence or their memory 



Have been or stilled or quickened ; and to thee, 

 My Dog, the tribute, as the term, is due, 

 My Friend ! not least of all dear, near, and true 



These seventeen years and through the years to be 



Sure in my heart of immortality. 



Must this be all ? I' the great Day of the LORD, 

 Shall aught that is of good and beauty now 



Be missing ? Shall not each gift be restored ? 

 Paul says " the whole creation " why not thou ? 



CATS' TOMBSTONES IN THK DOGS' CKMETKKV, HYDK PARK. 

 (Photo : Cassell & Co., Ltd.) 



