upon such a subject. Is it possible that she did not know in what manner cats catch mice, and needed M. Raton's careful explanation? Was she educating little kittens as well as little girls in that particular Visitation convent, and did she feel the necessity for this manual of feline accomplishments, this Young Cat's Guide to Learning? Above all, why should the author have chosen the ear of a religious in which to pour the scandalous details of Pussy's moonlight courtship? The chapter entitled "Des Amours des Chats" appears hardly fit for cloistered readers. "I venture to say," writes the Frenchman blithely, "that this is not the least pleasant part of my narrative;" and one blushes at his temerity. What was Madame la Supérieure du Convent des Visitandines thinking about, when she permitted such unseemly particulars to receive the sanction of her name!
Neither Buffon, however, nor M. Raton—feebler exponent of a fast dying antagonism—could destroy the natural affinity between men of letters and their cats, an affinity strengthened by mutual understanding, and hours of silent companionship. Sainte-Beuve's cat was perhaps the finest type of his thoughtful race,—a studious animal, disinclined alike to careless dalliance or to gladiatorial joys. His pleasures were all of a meditative, sedentary character. He would sit for hours on his master's table,
