[Illustration: MR. CHASE AND KAT-TE.] Here a group of feathered mourners singing a dirge for the last rose of summer; there a witch’s daughter in mystic converse with an owl. Decidedly more realistic is the sketch called “At Rest,” of a monkey extended in that hopeless rigidity which can never be mistaken for life. There is something curiously touching in the stiffened form--a look of almost human protest against fate--as though death had arrested him at the very moment when he was about to become a man. Another sketch represents a stray cat which thrust its head into the studio one day, and stared for a moment at its occupant, with great, astonished, yellow eyes. From mingled motives of humanity and art he tried to detain her, but in vain. As silently as she had come she vanished, although--like the grin of the cat in Wonderland--her stare remained after her head had disappeared, thus enabling the artist to transfer it to paper. [Illustration: _Lilla Cruikshank’s little dog._] It will be guessed from all these possible pets that Mr. Church had no actual ones. Such is the case, and a great pity it is that this petless master and a few masterless pets cannot meet! His loss, however, is somewhat balanced by the gain in a neighboring studio, which belongs to Mr. William M. Chase. It is rich in artistic bric-à-brac and paintings, but the special decoration when I saw it, was a Russian deer-hound named Kat-te. The magnificent, snow-white fellow lay upon a Turkish rug, whose rich tints set off to perfection his own Northern fairness. He rose, at his master’s request, to shake hands and exhibit his beautiful form in its height and length. He even condescended to lay upon my palm for a moment his clean-cut, delicate muzzle, but soon wearied of exhibition, and went back to his _dolce far niente_ on the rug. Kat-te was found by Mr. Chase in Harlaem, and, at that time, spoke Dutch, as a dog may. It required some time to teach him English; nevertheless, he now understands that language also. And yet more, when he met a party of Russians on the street one day, and was addressed by them in their own language, he showed the greatest delight and emotion. He tried to follow them home, he was restless, he was excited, and thus evinced in canine fashion, not only his philological attainments, but also his faithful Russian heart. Some idea of his noble proportions may be gained from the accompanying picture. The caricaturist Cham had a dog called Azor, as well-known as himself; and Du Maurier’s Chang, a very beautiful, sagacious dog, figured, while living, in many of his master’s sketches, and by his death grieved all who knew him.