Nature and Art, January 1, 18G7.] 
BIZZ AND HER FOES. 
5 
hatred to cats, and every cat in the neighbourhood 
knew it. As long as Mr. Hatchment combined the 
sale of coke with greengroceries, and was owner of a 
yard and a shed only a little distance from his shop — • 
of which I shall have to speak hereafter — Bizz had 
charge of the yard, and it was no uncommon thing 
to see a dozen cats ranged on the top of the shed, 
with their hair on end, and their tails like bottle- 
brushes, all yelling and spitting in chorus, Bizz in 
a state of insanity, now running along on two legs, 
then on three, then springing in the air in the hope 
of catching even the tip of a cat’s tail. It was 
curious to observe how the different cattish dis- 
positions manifested themselves. One grimalkin 
might be seen standing with arched back, elevated 
tail, and nails sticking into the mortar; another 
crouching like a tiger, with widely -staring eyes, as 
if waiting for an opportunity to spring on its foe ; 
another moving with a crab-like movement, sly and 
sidling ; another rocking backwards and forwards ; 
but all animated by the same antagonistic feeling 
towards Bizz. At her bark in Steward’s Grove 
(supposing it only the bark of “kindly welcome” 
to her master, for she was too determined a dog to 
be noisy), every cat left off washing her face, or 
lapping her milk, or caressing her kittens, or even 
watching the sparrows on the wall, and bristled in 
a state of warfare. If the poor dog ever had 
peaceful desires, if she was ever inclined to doze in 
the sun, she was sure to have her combativeness 
called into action by the butcher’s boy stopping and 
exclaiming, “Ah! there you are! Let me catch 
you near our shop again, and then I’ll make you 
remember who stole the sheep’s head;” or by the 
baker exclaiming, “ Mr. Hatchment, I’ll give you 
sixpence if you’ll give me a fair throw at your dog, 
and I’ll forgive her (after the throw) for the rolls 
she stole.” Ay, Bizz had an ample abundance of 
foes, and I really believe her only true friend was 
our cook ! “ Why 1 ” you will say, and in reply I 
say, “ Patience ! ” 
After the little display of cook’s eloquence on be- 
half of Bizz, I determined to walk to Hatchment’s, 
and ascertain why he was so anxious to get rid of 
the dog, which he had often told me was of more 
use to him than “ Mrs. Hatchment, or any two 
boys he ever employed.” And though cook was an 
excellent creature in many ways, and an admirable 
cook, yet the fact of her denying her country kept 
me in continual doubt as to her veracity ; whatever 
cook said, I felt the question, “ Is that true 1 ” 
Mr. Hatchment, however, in reply to my state- 
ment of what I had heard, said, — “ Yes, it was so 
exactly, and sorry he was for it; he did want to find 
a good home for poor Bizz. Somehow Mrs. H. and 
Bizz had got on bad terms. Mrs. H. was a good 
woman, and a good wife, though as crooked as a 
bad parsnup about anything that crossed her brain, 
and Bizz had crossed her brain very often, and she 
said true, he could not afford to keep the dog any 
longer.” 
I could not help smiling at this, for I believed 
that Bizz had a way of keeping herself. Hatchment 
understood my smile and continued : — 
