A labouring man returning to his cottage after night-fall, passed by a lone house in ruins, long uninhabited. Surprized at the appearance of light within, and strange sounds issuing from the desolate interior, he stopt and looked in through one of the broken windows, and there in a large old gloomy room, quite bare of furniture except that the cobwebs hung about its walls like tapestry, he beheld a marvellous spectacle. A small coffin covered with a pall stood in the midst of the floor, and round and round and round about it with dismal lamentations in the feline tongue, marched a circle of Cats, one of them, being covered from head to foot with a black veil, and walking as chief mourner. The man was so frightened with what he saw that he waited to see no more, but went straight home, and at supper told his wife what had befallen him. Their own old Cat, who had been sitting, as was her wont, on the elbow of her Master's chair, kept her station very quietly, till he came to the description of the chief Mourner, when, to the great surprize and consternation of the old couple, she bounced up, and flew up the chimney exclaiming—“Then I am King of the Cats.” * * * * * _Keswick, January 9th._ DEAR MASTER, Let our boldness not offend, If a few lines of duteous love we send; Nor wonder that we deal in rhyme, for long We've been familiar with the founts of song; Nine thorougher tabbies you would rarely find, Than those who laurels round your temples bind: For how, with less than nine lives to their share, Could they have lived so long on poet's fare? Athens surnamed them from their mousing powers, And Rome from that harmonious MU of ours, In which the letter U, (as we will trouble you To say to TODD) should supersede ew— This by the way—we now proceed to tell, That all within the bounds of home are well; All but your faithful cats, who inly pine; The cause your Conscience may too well divine. Ah! little do you know how swiftly fly The venomed darts of feline jealousy; How delicate a task to deal it is With a Grimalkin's sensibilities, When Titten's tortoise fur you smoothed with bland And coaxing courtesies of lip and hand, We felt as if, (poor Puss's constant dread) Some school-boy stroked us both from tail to head; Nor less we suffer'd while with sportive touch And purring voice, you played with grey-backed Gutch; And when with eager step, you left your seat, To get a peep at Richard's snow-white feet, Himself all black; we long'd to stop his breath With something like his royal namesake's death; If more such scenes our frenzied fancies see, Resolved we hang from yonder apple tree— And were not that a sad catastrophe! O! then return to your deserted lake, Dry eyes that weep, and comfort hearts that ache; Our mutual jealousies we both disown, Content to share, rather than lose a throne.