One other pet must close this chapter--a pet already old, but likely to live many more years without appearing perceptibly older. It is a tortoise, Babbo by name, which belonged to the sculptor Hiram Powers. I had the honor of frequent interviews with Babbo some summers past; and Mr. Longworth Powers did his best to photograph him. A crumb of moistened biscuit was placed on the broad stone step and Babbo beside it. No use at all; he either got into a bad position or shuffled out of focus. Juicy cabbage leaves were brought, but although usually susceptible to their charm, he now turned from them in scorn. He was gently coaxed, he was thumped down hard, he was entreated, he was scolded--all in vain. A good tortoise ordinarily, the bare idea of a photograph seemed to render him frantic; and after three plates were spoiled, we were compelled to let him go. “Mr. Powers’ Babbo,” writes Babbo’s mistress, “always came to the inner studio door if hungry or thirsty, and scratched at it to attract attention. Then my husband would take him up, hold him in the water until he had quite satisfied his thirst, when the creature would waddle off, perfectly contented. If hungry, he would give him a bit of bread dipped in wine and water.” The kind master has gone, but Babbo remains, and still has shelter, drink and sup in the pleasant Florentine garden. _VII._ _PUSSY IN PRIVATE LIFE._ VII. PUSSY IN PRIVATE LIFE. No animal has known greater vicissitudes than our pleasant little house-familiar, Pussy. He had his day of glory in the far past, when armies retreated before him; his day of divinity, too, as the mighty basalt cat-headed goddesses in many a museum still testify. And then, having had in his life-time all that heart of cat could wish, after death he became a mummy and received funeral honors. Just how it happened, no one knows, but a few thousand years later we find Pussy no longer reverenced. Instead of a divinity he was regarded as the accomplice of witches, and burned in holocaust on St. John’s Day, or tormented for the amusement of such evil kings as Philip II. of Spain. Later still, and final stage of his decadence, he was valued in direct proportion to his usefulness--becoming now a mere drudge, and now a joyless plaything for children. Could Egyptian heart have dreamed it? But Pussy’s fortunes are again rising. He is no longer a stale divinity, but he is becoming--what is far better in this age of progress--a social power! Even in his worst estate he had always warm friends and admirers; now, he has a party. For, “you either love cats, or you do not love them,” says a witty author; and statistics go to prove that those who love cats are the majority to-day. [Illustration: CAT-HEADED EGYPTIAN GODDESS, BAST OR BUBASTIS. (_From a bronze in the British Museum._)]