that they have kicked and insulted
us before. The meekness of our disposition has been distorted into
hypocrisy; our quiet has been called "meditative treachery;" and our
natural and innocent instincts have been styled "the proofs of a
sanguinary temperament." Our every look has been perverted by our
enemies into a moral squint; and our simplest caress and naturally
fondling way have been set down as the strongest marks of a Jesuitical
heart. In fact, in the eyes of many, nothing we can do, no step we can
take, but is considered evidence of our wicked disposition; and we are
not unfrequently loaded with abuse for the very things for which beasts
that have a better name get love and commendation.

How happy it would make me if I thought the perusal of these few pages
would induce any one to pause and reflect before condemning any one
animal! And here I do not refer to my own race alone, but to the world
of beasts at large; whether the Lion, creating a sensation in the class
to which he belongs, or the Ass, laughed at for his stupidity in the
circle to which his position in life assigns him. The same animal would
often be judged differently if differently situated: were the Lion and
the Ass, by some freak of nature, to change places, the stupidity of the
latter would be set down as wit, and his every saying would be
applauded; whilst the Lion, instead of being looked on as the perfection
of nobleness and beauty, would be styled a surly brute, and considered
at the best no better than a bore.

I think I hear some of my readers exclaim, "Who is this old Cat,
forsooth, that she should thus presume to teach us lessons? The 'itch
for scratching' must be very strong upon her that she should insist on
swelling her tale in so outrageous a manner!" I own my fault, and will
bring my musings to a stop.

My wish was to meet my readers with a friendly rub; my desire was to
part from them with a gentle warning. Above all, my wish was to have
them think of me kindly; for, though a Cat, and no longer young,--though
no more possessed of those graces which once distinguished me, when the
eye, as I have been told, felt pleasure in gazing on my form,--my heart
still beats warmly, tenderly, and without envy, and would feel no common
joy if it thought it had not dwelt in this earthly abode in vain.

[Illustration: A JUVENILE PARTY.]

KITTENHOOD.

There is nothing like beginning at the very commencement of a story, if
we wish it