One other fact we must mention before we close this sketch of her character. There were _some_ houses--we will not, for we dare not, say _how many_--into which Rose was never seen to enter. This, however, was not her fault. Every one knew that what she did, she did always for the best; and if some small bits of execration were occasionally levelled at her, it was not more than the parties levelled at each other. All marriages cannot be happy; and indeed it was a creditable proof of Rose Moan’s sagacity that so few of those effected through her instrumentality were unfortunate. Poor Rose! matchmaking was the great business of your simple but not absolutely harmless life. You are long since, we trust, gone to that happy place where there are neither marryings nor givings in marriage, but where you will have a long Sabbath from your old habits and tendencies. We love for more reasons than either one or two to think of your faded crimson cloak, peaked shoes, hazel staff, clear grey eye, and nose and chin that were so full of character. As you used to say yourself, _bannaght lhath!_--my blessing be with you! [6] A feverish cold. RANDOM SKETCHES.--No. I. FELINE RECOLLECTIONS. One result of perusing such interesting papers on “the Intellectuality of Domestic Animals” as that which lately appeared in the _Dublin University Magazine_, should be the publication of similar facts; another, the promotion of that kindness towards the inferior creation which is still, alas! so sparingly manifested. I therefore propose stuffing a cranny of the _Irish Penny Journal_ with a few particulars relating, firstly, to the maternal and filial piety of the cat; secondly, to the humanity (or, psychologically speaking, brutality) of the same animal. Of the facts illustrative of the former virtues I was an eye-witness--those illustrative of the latter I had from a member of the family in which they occurred.