al look.

Every one admired him, and a vainer puss never caught a mouse. If he saw
us looking at him, he instantly took an attitude; gazed pensively at the
fire, as if unconscious of our praises; crouched like a tiger about to
spring, and glared, and beat the floor with his tail; or lay luxuriously
outstretched, rolling up his yellow eyes with a sentimental expression
that was very funny.

We named him the Czar, and no tyrannical emperor of Russia ever carried
greater desolation and terror to the souls of his serfs, than this royal
cat did to the hearts and homes of the rats and mice over whom he ruled.

The dear little mice who used to come out to play so confidingly in my
room, live in my best bonnet-box, and bring up their interesting young
families in the storeroom, now fell an easy prey to the Czar, who made
nothing of catching half a dozen a day.

Brazen-faced old rats, gray in sin, who used to walk boldly in and out
of the front door, ravage our closets, and racket about the walls by
night, now paused in their revels, and felt that their day was over.
Czar did not know what fear was, and flew at the biggest, fiercest rat
that dared to show his long tail on the premises. He fought many a
gallant fight, and slew his thousands, always bringing his dead foe to
display him to us, and receive our thanks.

It was sometimes rather startling to find a large rat reposing in the
middle of your parlor; not always agreeable to have an excited cat
bounce into your lap, lugging a half-dead rat in his mouth; or to have
visitors received by the Czar, tossing a mouse on the door-steps, like a
playful child with its cup and ball.

He was not fond of petting, but allowed one or two honored beings to
cuddle him. My work-basket was his favorite bed, for a certain fat
cushion suited him for a pillow, and, having coolly pulled out all the
pins, the rascal would lay his handsome head on the red mound, and wink
at me with an irresistibly saucy expression that made it impossible to
scold.

All summer we enjoyed his pranks and admired his manly virtues; but in
the winter we lost him, for, alas! he found his victor in the end, and
fell a victim to his own rash daring.

One morning after a heavy snow-fall, Czar went out to take a turn up and
down the path. As he sat with his back to the gate, meditatively
watching some doves on the shed-roof, a big bull-dog entered the yard,
and basely attacked him in the rear. Taken by surprise, the