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Samuel Lover (Odd Stories of Animals)

Odd Stories of Animals.

MISSISSIPPIAN has a cat of which he tells the following story: "I was sick a short time ago and the cat would come from the table to the bed frequently. She finally caught a mouse and brought it to the bed, laying it down beside me. I threw it off, but as often as I did so the cat would bring it back, until I thought she wanted me to eat it; so I made believe to eat it, and the cat went away perfectly satisfied. And before night the same day she brought me a striped squirrel, and each day for the three days I was in bed she brought game, with the same result; she would never leave until I had pretended to eat it."

A man in Worcester, Mass., had a dog, only a year old and of the Prince Edward Island breed. It was the constant companion of his boy, four years of age. One day the boy got possession of a hatchet which he had been forbidden to touch and went about hacking the buried hatchet, effectually preventing the boy from recovering it.

Trip was naturally a good-natured animal, though when chained up he looked fierce enough sometimes.

There was a cat named Tom belonging to the same establishment who often tried Trip's temper by stealing his food and by other annoyances. The two, in short, led a thoroughly "cat-and-dog" life in the proverbial sense of the phrase. One day Tom was out on a birding expedition, and at the same time Trip was accompanying his master in a stroll about the farm, when, at a hedge corner a good way off, the dog saw something like mischief going on and he ran swiftly towards the spot. It was another dog of the neighborhood remorselessly worrying poor Tom.

Trip bravely attacked the dog and soon forced him to desist and flee; but Tom had been mortally wounded.

Trip, however, took up poor puss by the neck and, with his master, returned to the house, where he whined for some time in such a piteous manner as proved that he was actuated by a most magnanimous temper of forgiveness.

In the Valley of Tajarrau, in Siberia, two children, one four and the other six years old, rambled away from their friends, who were hay-making. They had gone from one thicket to another, gathering fruit, laughing and enjoying the fun. At last they came near to a bear lying on the grass, and without the slightest fear went up to him. He looked. at them steadily without moving. At length they began playing with him, and mounted upon his back, which he submitted to with perfect good humor. In short, both seemed inclined to be pleased with each other; indeed, the children were delighted with their new playfellow. The parents, missing the truants, became alarmed, and followed on their track. They were not long in finding the spot, when, to their dismay, they beheld one child sitting on the bear's neck and the other feeding him with fruit. They called quickly, when the youngsters ran to their friends, and Bruin, apparently not liking the interruption, went into the forest.

Mrs. Burton gives some curious facts about dog life in Syria and other Eastern countries. Dogs exist there by hundreds and thousands, without owners or care, and are a kind of community by themselves.

Each one belongs to a particular quarter of the city and is not allowed to live elsewhere. She treated them kindly and fed them, while the inhabitants beat and stoned them, and in gratitude they undertook to escort her and defend her from harm. When she things generally and endangering his own legs. After went out to walk a dog always met her, as if appointed watching him a short time, the dog approached, took by the whole community, accompanied her to the the hatchet away from the boy, carried it into the border of his boundary, and passed her over to one garden and buried it; and when the child attempted belonging to that quarter, who did the same thing in to dig it up the dog drove him off and lay down over his turn. Each dog wagged his tail as if bidding good-bye when his work was done. She says also she has often in the quiet night heard a dog come barking from the foot of the mountains. Meeting the dogs on the border of the village, there would be quiet for a few minutes, then a general barking in concert; then one dog would start for the middle of the village, with a similar result there; then a single dog again for the further side of the village, followed by a general barking there. "Whatever the canine news is," she says, "in about twenty minutes it is passed round to all the dogs in Damascus."

An Englishman tells of a fun-loving skye-terrier that he once had. He used to be very fond of catching flies upon the window-panes, and if ridiculed when unsuccessful was evidently much annoyed. On one occasion, in order to see what he would do, I purposely laughed immoderately every time he failed. It so happened that he did so several times in succession, partly, I believe, in consequence of my laughing and eventually he became so distressed that he positively pretended to catch the fly, going through all the appropriate actions with his lips and tongue and afterwards rubbing the ground with his neck, as if to kill the victim. He then looked up at me with a triumphant air of success. So well was the whole process simulated that I should have been quite deceived had I not seen that the fly was still upon the window.

Accordingly I drew his attention to this fact, as well as to the absence of anything upon the floor, and when he saw that his hypocrisy had been detected he slunk away under some furniture, evidently very much ashamed of himself.

Lament of the Irish Emigrant. 'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, When first you were my bride; The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high ; And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary; The day is bright as then ; The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again ; But I miss the soft clasp of your, hand, And your breath, warm on my cheek; And I still keep list'nin' for the words You never more will speak. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near- The church where we were wed, Mary; I see the spire from here.

But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest- For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary- For the poor make no new friends; But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends !

And you were all I had, Mary- My blessin' and my pride:

There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow- I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break- When the hunger pain was gnawin' there, And you hid it for my sake; I bless you for the pleasant word, When your heart was sad and sore - Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm biddin' you a long farewell, My Mary-kind and true!

But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm goin' to; They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there- But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods I'll sit, and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springin' corn, and the bright Mayo When first you were my bride.

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