there have been those who felt he did her scant justice. According to M. Fée, the cat is capable of profound affection, though it is an affection difficult to win, and easy to forfeit. Moreover, the manifestations of her regard can never be forced. We must wait for her caresses until she is pleased to bestow them; she will accept ours, only when she is in the mood for endearments. In all this she offers a striking contrast to the dog, who, as Mme. de Custine wittily said, "seems condemned to love us,"—to love us, however contemptible or unworthy we may be. His steadfast, unreasoning loyalty is beautiful beyond measure; but we can hardly deny that it feeds our vanity. Here is a brave and intelligent animal with whom we can be always as lordly as we please; who never questions our godlike attributes; who accepts punishment meekly, and is exuberantly grateful for the smallest attention, the most trifling token of esteem. What wonder that we sound his praises, seeing that, in praising him, we reflect such credit on ourselves? What wonder that we are disposed to resent the self-sufficing nature of the cat, who will approach us only on equal terms, who cherishes no illusions concerning our goodness and greatness, and whose somewhat contemptuous indifference wounds our self-esteem? Why, it is asked, should we humble ourselves to win the fluctuating affections of a cat,
