stranger; but
her power is not always equal to her pluck. One week ago this very
day,--ah, me! this very hour,--the cat ran by the window with a chicken
in her mouth. Cats are a separate feature in country establishments. In
the city I have understood them to lead a nomadic, disturbed, and
somewhat shabby life. In the country they attach themselves to special
localities and prey upon the human race. We have three steady and
several occasional cats quartered upon us. One was retained for the name
of the thing,--called derivatively Maltesa, and Molly "for short." One
was adopted for charity,--a hideous, saffron-hued, forlorn little
wretch, left behind by a Milesian family, called, from its color,
Aurora, contracted into Rory O'More. The third was a fierce
black-and-white unnamed wild creature, of whom one never got more than a
glimpse in her savage flight. Cats are tolerated here from a tradition
that they catch rats and mice, but they don't. We catch the mice
ourselves and put them in a barrel, and put a cat in after them; and
then she is frightened out of her wits. As for rats, they will gather
wherever corn and potatoes congregate, cats or no cats. It is said in
the country, that, if you write a polite letter to rats, asking them to
go away, they will go. I received my information from one who had tried
the experiment, or known it to be tried, with great success. Standing
ready always to write a letter on the slightest provocation, you may be
sure I did not neglect so good an opportunity. The letter acknowledged
their skill and sagacity, applauded their valor and their perseverance,
but stated, that, in the present scarcity of labor, the resident family
were not able to provide more supplies than were necessary for their own
immediate use and for that of our brave soldiers, and they must
therefore beg the Messrs. Rats to leave their country for their
country's good. It was laid on the potato-chest, and I have never seen a
rat since!

While I have been penning this quadrupedic episode, you may imagine
Molly, formerly Maltesa, as Kinglake would say, bearing off the chicken
in triumph to her domicile. But the alarm is given, and the whole
plantation turns out to rescue the victim or perish in the attempt.
Molly takes refuge in a sleigh, but is ignominiously ejected. She rushes
_per saltum_ under the corn-barn, and defies us all to follow her. But
she does not know that in a contest strategy may be an overmatch for
swift