patiently through the pleasant task which for centuries has been assigned to all Persian pussies in the East,—the reading of the "Arabian Nights," from the first page to the last, twice in every year.
Vastly different from these mysterious darlings is the sober simplicity of Burbank's honest cats; or the tigerish fierceness, so frank and free, of the splendid creatures drawn by Delacroix; or the innocent playfulness of Lambert's kittens, almost as well known and well beloved as those of Mme. Henriette Ronner. In truth, Lambert and Mme. Ronner may be said to divide the honours easily between them, the larger share falling to the lady's lot. Their pictures hang in the Luxembourg and other great modern galleries. Prints and photographs have made their work familiar to the world. They should both be held in some degree responsible for the great wave of cat-worship which has engulfed all Christendom in the past twenty-five years. The lively affection which Mme. Ronner's cats inspire in every heart has softened the asperities of life for the whole feline race. No one can look without love upon these pretty creatures, these baby pussies all gayety and grace, scrambling with foolish temerity over chair and table, radiant in their self-sufficiency, and always the objects of deep maternal solicitude.
"Kittens, than Eastern Houris fairer seen,
Whose bright eyes glisten with immortal green."
