theology. Mr. Froude, following the example of Hoffmann, has selected Pussy to be the interpreter of much philosophy, admirable of its kind, but alien to the feline heart. The cat's scheme of life is curiously complete. Centuries have gone into the moulding of it. She knew many years before the wise Marcus Aurelius that it was possible to have no opinion upon a subject, and to remain untroubled in her mind.
Letters and memoirs are especially rich in pleasant glimpses into Pussy's varying fortunes. We see her under so many aspects, and amid so many contrasted surroundings;—now dozing at Tennyson's feet, now "walking tiptoe" over Alfred de Musset's papers, now flitting through Heine's dreams. It is Heine who tells us that, when he was a child, his little friend and playfellow, Wilhelm, ran into a swift deep stream to rescue a cat, and was drowned,—"the cat, however, living a long time after."
In the life of Robert Stephen Hawker, the very clever and eccentric Vicar of Morwenstow, we find that he was usually followed to church by nine or ten cats, who entered the chancel with him and careered about during the service, affording what must have been a welcome distraction to the youthful members of the congregation. Mr. Hawker would pause every now and then, while preaching
