forbear to swoop. Some of us have long laboured under the delusion—fostered by prints in early school books—that eagles are particularly addicted to pouncing upon snakes, but Mr. Robinson says they infinitely prefer to take their chances with a cat.
Another point upon which this clever writer dwells emphatically is the proof afforded by Pussy's household habits of her solitary life before domestication. Even now, after centuries of civilization, a dog bolts his food in evident fear of interruption, hides his bones underground, growls and snarls if another dog approaches his plate, and shows plainly that in old savage days he was a member of an active and not too honest community. The cat, never accustomed to tribal life, evinces a different disposition. "When given anything to eat," observes Mr. Robinson, "she first carefully smells the morsel, then takes it in a deliberate and gingerly way, and sits down to finish it at leisure. There is none of that inclination to snatch hastily at food held before her, which we see in even well-trained dogs; nor does a cat seem in any hurry to stow her goods in the one place where thieving rascals cannot interfere with them."
It is but fair to state that Mr. Robinson's theories have been stoutly opposed by Mr. Andrew Lang, who, though not a naturalist, has enjoyed
