ut the homes they
leave behind them.

Yours ever, HENRY.

* * * * *

Illustration: HOW WE SAVED THE HARVEST AT SLOSHINGTON-ON-SEA.

* * * * *

"WANTED.--Girls to sort nuts."

_Advt. in "Liverpool Echo."_

The object is to find if there are any without grease on their hair.

* * * * *

Illustration: THE TRIUMPH OF "CULTURE."

* * * * *

Illustration: THE MISFORTUNE OF WAR.

_Tired Tim._ "'ERE, I DON'T ARF LIKE THE LOOK O' THIS, BILL."

_Work-shy Willy._ "NO, MORE DON'T I, MATE. CUSS THAT THERE KAISER!"

* * * * *

FELINE AMENITIES.

Thanks to the courtesy of the Editor we are able to publish the
following selections from the stories about cats sent in for the prize
competition organised by _The Scottish Meekly_. The first received a
complete edition of the sermons of Dr. Angus McHuish, the second a
mounted photograph of Sir Nicholson Roberts, and the third a superb
simulation gold pencil-case.

THE LIFE-STORY OF A WILD CAT.

Here is a true story of a wild stray cat which I hope may interest your
readers. Some years ago I lived with my parents (my father being a
retired manufacturer of artificial eyes) on the banks of the river
Dodder, near Dundrum. In the back-garden there was an old summer-house,
where we used to store cabbages, disused kippers, Carlsbad plums and
other odds and ends, and here a stray cat took up his abode in an empty
porter cask during the latter part of January, 1901. He was of some rare
breed and very beautiful in appearance--a blend between a marmadillo and
a young loofah--but so savage that no one dared to touch him. During the
cold months of the year we placed bottles of stout in the summer-house
for him, the corks of which he drew with his claws, which were
remarkably long. In the summer-time he used to forage for himself,
subsisting mainly on roach, with an occasional conger-eel which he
caught in the Dodder. One day early in April, 1902, the cat--whom we
called Beethoven, because of his indulgence in moonlight fantasias--came
to the back door mewing, and on opening the door my father found that it
had lost an eye--probably in a fight--and evidently wished him to supply
the loss artificially, which he did. I have never heard a cat purr so
loudly as Beethoven did on that occasion. After that he