"A few days after, the lady from Camberwell wrote to say that Tabby had put in an appearance there, and resumed the charge of his kitten. He was sent back by the carrier to his proper owner, and every means was tried to induce him to stop; but he returned the second time to the kitten, and so they let him remain, because they knew he would be well taken care of. The wonderment of this was: _which bridge did he go over in passing through busy London_?" It is really wonderful how a cat can often find its way, long distances across a country which he never before may have traversed. "A few days ago," says another correspondent, "a lady who lives in Newport told me that, at one time, her house was quite overrun with mice; and, having procured the loan of a cat which was considered a good mouser, she tied it into a basket, and then placed it in a concealed part of the pony carriage. On her arrival at the `Cliff' the prisoner was released; but even the prospect of a delicious feast of mice could not obliterate its thoughts of `home, sweet home;' and, after about an hour's stay, it set off, and, ere long, arrived at its former abode-- distant three miles!" Some months ago, a half-bred Persian tabby, came to my place, and has since then stuck to it with all the persistency of Edgar Allan Poe's raven. He is a cat that seems to have nothing to recommend him; if he would come into the house, and behave like a civilised being, I would never grudge him his daily dole. But he prefers to live a half-pagan existence, out among the bushes, and take his nap of a night in the coal-house; and Bridget says he is an awful thief, and that she can't leave the kitchen-door open one moment for fear of him. I've often asked that cat to take his departure, but, as plain as cat can speak, that cat says "never more." By way of experiment I have caught him several times--no easy task, I assure you--and _sent him_, securely packed in a hamper, distances of three, four, and five miles to friends who have set him free. And he always came back. His last journey was at Christmas-time--may Heaven forgive me this sin!--to the house of a parson _whom I did not know_, and I stuck some pheasants' feathers too just under the lid. I don't know what the parson thought, but Tom came back next day, not looking a single bit put out, and--I am willing to sell him to anyone who may have need of his services. I know a cat who caught two sparrows at once, and when retreating, a third sparrow pursued and attacked him. This one pussy also killed, with his paw. That was funny! Cats know certain days of the week, such as Sunday for instance, and they also know certain hours of each day. I don't mean to say they look at the clock, but, if a favourite master or mistress is in the habit of coming home every day, say at 4 p.m., there you will often find that every day at 4 p.m. pussy will trot down the road to meet her and wait till she comes.