The only domestic animal in or about Larry Roche’s cabin was a ferocious-looking old black tom-cat, far bigger and stronger than any cat ever seen in that part of the country. His fur was black, he had strong whiskers, his nails were like a tiger’s, and at the end of his tail was fixed a claw or “gaff” as sharp and hooked as a falcon’s beak; his eyes also flashed by night with an appalling glare, and his cry was a savage howl, baffling all description, and unlike any sound ever heard from any other animal. He was as singular in his habits, too, as in his appearance. He was never known to demand a morsel of food; and if offered any, he would reject it with indignation. Every evening at twilight he left the fire-side, and spent the night scouring over moor and heather, and at daybreak would return from his foray, gaining access through the low chimney of the cabin, and be found in the morning in his usual position on the hob-stone. There he would sit from morning till night; and when Larry and Betty and the “childre” were chatting in a group around the fire, the cat would watch them intently, and if the nature of their conversation was such as to excite laughter or merriment, he would growl in a low tone, evidently dissatisfied; but if their dialogues were held in a jarring, angry strain, as sometimes happened, he would purr hoarsely and loudly, whilst the wagging of his tail testified the pleasure he felt in their feuds and dissensions. The family had often been advised to make away with him, but superstitious awe or family prejudice prevented them; and although the whole neighbourhood averred that “he was no right thing,” yet for the reasons I have stated his owners never could be induced to make any attempt to banish or destroy him. One dreary evening in October, Larry returned from his day’s wandering with the squire over the bleak bogs, and although it rained, and the wind blew bitterly, he appeared in much better spirits than was usual with him on similar occasions. His wife wondered, and made more than usual preparations to please him. She trimmed the fire, and assisted him in taking off his dripping clothes, and then commenced pouring out her sympathy for his sufferings. “Oh, never mind,” said Larry; “I have good news.” “Arrah, sit down,” said Betty, “and tell us what it is.” Larry sat down, and putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a glittering gold coin. “Arrah, Larry, avourneen, what’s that?” asked the woman. “Faith, it’s a rale yellow boy, a good goold guinea,” replied Larry. “The squire gev it to me, and tould me to buy a pair of brogues with it, and drink his health with the balance.” “Och, musha! then, long life to him,” vociferated Betty; “and, Larry, a-hagur, will you buy the brogues?” “Faix and I will,” said Larry, “and another rattling pair for yourself, a-chorra.” “Ay, daddy, and another pair for me,” shouted young Larry. “And another for me,” cried Thady. “And another for me,” chuckled Charley.