a nightingale, her jaundiced eye sees a ruffian crouching behind a shrub, or her startled ear detects the distant signal-whistle of a gang of robbers; then she catches me by the arm, bids me ask no questions, hurries me to the house, bars the door behind her, and intreats me to load my pistols, and fire my blunderbuss out of every window.

Though my sisters make themselves and all about them uncomfortable, and prevent sensible men from wishing to become their companions for life, yet, as they are young and handsome, they meet with much ready assistance and apparent commiseration from their male acquaintance, and have always some doughty champion at hand to protect them from runaway insects and imaginary ruthians, and to admire the changing hue of their complexions, and the pretty agitation of their elegant persons; and, unless they should be disfigured by illness or accident, I dare say, that while under thirty, they may scream at frisky calves, and faint at spiders and frogs, as often as they please, without any fear of exemplifying the fable of the boy and the wolf. But my cousin Emma H. has no such claims upon any one's compassion, for alas! she is not handsome enough to be hysterical; her eyes are not sufficiently bright to atone for tears of vain alarm, nor will the beauty of her mouth excuse her screaming at caterpillars and black beetles. Gentlemen observe her distress, sueer, and pass on; swords do not leap from their scabbards to punish the intrusion of a dog, or the purrings of a distant kitten; when she rouses the family from their beds from some causeless terror, the trouble she gives is not counterbalanced by seeing her in her night-cap; and when she shuts herself in the cellar during a thunder-storm, no gallant swain begs to accompany her to her retirement. Poor girl! her life is one long panic, she has contrived to unite in herself all possible fears and apprehensions; she is scolded by the rigid, lectured by the wise, called silly by some, affected by others-her family grieve for her, her acquaintance laugh at her; but still her terrors continue too stubborn for conquest or control. On one occasion, however, she added an instance to the myriads which already existed, of the strength of woman's affection-of the mighty power of that love which will teach her to make every thing possible in the service of its object. Emma is strongly attached to her mother, to whom she was the most tender and indefatigable of nurses in an illness which endangered her life. Quiet was strictly recommended, and Emma seemed suddenly gifted with a fairy's power of treading and moving inaudibly. She performed every office required in a sick room with magical gentleness and celerity; and, when every other duty was done, took her station by her mother's pillow. One morning, while the invalid's hand was yet pressed by her daughter's fingers, she gradually fell into a gentle slumber; and Emma, who knew how essential rest was to her mother's recovery, hailed this favourable symptom with inexpressible delight. Notwithstanding the cramp and numbness which ensued, Emma inviolably retained her position, scarcely permitted herself to breathe, and withdrew her eyes from her mother's face from a sort of indefinable dread, lest their anxious

glances should disturb her slumbers. In this situation a slight noise was heard, and Emma's fearful ears detected the approach of a mouse. There is no creature of which she has a greater horror; I have seen her countenance change when she heard its distant scratching, and she has nearly fainted away at the sight of one in a trap. On the present occasion, however, "love mastered fear:" she sat perfectly still, and only dreaded lest the tumultuous beating of her heart should communicate itself to the hand which held that of her mother in its gentle pressure. Presently, the curtains at the foot of the bed are seen to move, and in a few moments the little creature makes its appearance, fixes its sharp eyes on Emma's pale face, pauses for half a minute, gathers courage from her marble-like aspect, and begins to nibble some crumbs which remained on the coverlet. I am certain that what Emma suffered far exceeded mere bodily pain, it was the very agony of fear-fear, the intenseness of which was not diminished by its folly. The worst, however, was to come. The animal, undisturbed by any noise or movement, continued to approach still nearer; and, at length, as if commissioned to put Emma's affection and self-command to the fullest trial, it positively touched her hand. She felt a sort of icy pulse pervade every limb, her very heart appeared to tremble; but she retained her position, and declares that she felt no apprehension of being made to start or scream, for she had a thorough confidence in the efficacy of that feeling, which, in the breast of woman, is often stronger than the love of life. Though all within her shook from agitation, all continued statue-like without; and it was not till the mouse was approaching her mother's arm, that Emma gently moved her disengaged hand, and scared the little monster to its hiding-place. Her mother's sleep continued, she awoke refreshed, and when Emma left the room, little supposed that it was to give relief, by tears and violent agitation, to suppressed terror and concealed suffering. I ought to add, that her mother recovered; and that, however ludicrous some of Emma's terrors may be, her fear of a mouse is now too sacred a subject for ridicule.

Mademoiselle de la Rochejaquelin relates a beautiful instance of sudden courage springing out of alarmed affection. She was so great a coward on horseback, that even when a servant held the bridle, and a gentleman walked on each side, she would weep from apprehension. Yet, when she heard that her husband was wounded, all former fears yielded to her anxiety for him :-" Je ne voulus pas rester un moment de plus. Je pris un mauvais petit cheval qui se trouvait par hasard dans la cour; je ne laissai pas le temps d'arranger les etriers qui étaient inégaux, et je partis au grand galop; en trois quarts d'heure je fis trois grandes lieues de mauvais chemins."

It is thus that woman redeems her follies-thus that she ennobles cowardice, and sanctifies defects. I intreat pardon for every thing I have said against her-I blush, I apologize, I retract. I sat down

in ill-humour, for the fears of my family had just compelled me to reject a ticket for the Coronation; but I have written myself into a tolerable temper, and am better able to appreciate the affectionate

anxiety of which I was the victim. I must pay some price for a thousand daily kindnesses and hourly attentions, a wakefulness to real danger, which is my safeguard in sickness, a devotedness of love which despises trouble and annihilates difficulty. If female fears annoy me abroad, female affection blesses me at home; if my mother and sisters are determined on dying a violent death, yet they would risk infection and danger to preserve my life. Women ought not to be more perfect than they are. In virtue and warmth of heart they excel us already: add strength of mind, and a calm courage, equally removed from ungraceful boldness and unreasonable fear, and we must seek our spouses in some other planet. W. E.

THE CAT PAINTER.

BEFORE Speaking of a man whose whole life was spent in the company and contemplation of cats, I am tempted to offer a few observations upon the singular fate of these animals, who have experienced such various treatment from mankind, and upon whom such dissimilar and clashing opinions have been entertained. Idolized by one people, contemned by another; classed by naturalists in the rather unamiable family of lions and tigers; gifted with the boss of murder by the craniologists of these latter days; cats, if they were endowed with the faculty of reflection, might, with good reason, feel astonished at the strange and capricious destiny reserved to them. It was the custom formerly, in some cities of Europe, to burn on St. John's day one of these animals, with all the honours of an auto da fè. The Egyptians, on the contrary, worshiped them as gods. In their ancient catacombs the mummies of cats are found in such immense numbers, that one is led to suppose that the individuals of the feline race must have been amongst the most distinguished benefactors of the human kind. If we believe Herodotus, when the house of an Egyptian took fire, he first hastened to convey his cats to a place of security, and afterwards looked about his wife and children. The father of history has, perhaps, a little exaggerated the love of the Egyptians for their four-footed favourites; yet some are bold enough to assert, that, even at the present day, there are persons who, though otherwise excellent good Christians, would, under simi. circumstances, become Egyptians.

One is inclined to think that the Greeks, who were indebted for so many things to the inhabitants of the land of pyramids, would

This article, by M. Depping, of Paris, was read at a late meeting of the Société Philotechnique. We noticed it before in page 397 of the Historical Register, under the head " Foreign Varieties," seeing which, M. Depping obligingly forwarded it to us at length.

have also inherited their affection for these animals; but it is rather surprising that there is not a single passage concerning them in any of the works of the Greek naturalists. Plutarch, who wrote a treatise upon the instinct of beasts, tells several curious anecdotes of the sagacity of most species of animals. He speaks of a goose that evinced the most tender attachment to an Egyptian young man; and of an elephant, which every morning paid his addresses to a flower-girl, to the very great annoyance of the grammarian Aristophanes, his rival. But Plutarch observes the most profound silence with regard to cats. It appears that this animal was not domesticated amongst the Greeks. Probably the Boileaus of Athens often said, in their satires upon that city, "Je pense qu'avec eux tout l'enfer est chez moi;

L'un miaule en grondant comme un tigre en furic,

L'autre roule sa voix, comme un enfant qui crie."

They were, perhaps, of opinion, that the cat was "a selfish and faithless servant, that conformed to some of the habits of society, without being imbued with its spirit, and whose predatory and robber-like disposition had not been totally eradicated, but only modified, by a careful education, into the flattering duplicity of a knave." Frown not, fair readers; these are the words of Buffon, and not mine.

This judgment, it must be allowed, is rather uncharitable: the more courteous authors of the new French Dictionary of Natural History have thought proper to mitigate its severity; they pretend that we are not justified in supposing that the cat is not susceptible of attachment; and even venture to add, that no matter how perverse its inclinations may be, yet it is still possible, by gentle treatment, to correct and communicate to it a character of suavity and kindness.

I am far from wishing to enter the lists for the rigid Buffon against his more indulgent successors. I should dread, by taking such a part, to find myself opposed to the sentiments of the fairest portion of my readers.

Rousseau, it is said, preferred the cat to the dog, because the one has preserved its freedom and independence, while the other has willingly entered into bondage.

The cat is by no means devoid of qualities capable of inspiring attachment. Petrarch, whose heart was full of Laura as his mind was full of poetry, entertained the most lively affection for a cat, the companion of his solitude. On visiting the country-house in which he dwelt, near Padua, one of the first objects that attract attention, is a glazed niche in one of the apartments, inclosing an embalmed cat, whose demurely proud regard seems to say to the traveller, "And I also was beloved by Petrarch." The cat has succeeded in gaining the affections of a much less gentle and amiable person than the lover of Laura; namely, Mahomet, who

preferred cutting off the sleeve of his robe to disturbing the repose of his favourite Grimalkin, that had fallen asleep upon it.

I shall here state an anecdote related by M. Ladoucette:"Madame Helvetius had a wild cat that continually lay at her feet, seemingly always ready to defend her. It never shewed the least hostility to the birds which Madame H. kept; and it would receive food and caresses from no one but its mistress. At the death of this excellent and amiable woman, the poor animal was removed from her apartment, but it contrived, the next morning, to make its way thither; it went into the bed, sat upon her chair, slowly and mournfully paced over her toilet, and seemed, by its plaintive cries, to be calling or regretting its lost friend. It afterwards escaped from the house, fled to the cemetery, and, laying itself down upon the grave of its mistress, expired apparently from grief and despair."

If cats were so inclined, they might form a not disreputable library of the works written upon them. The author of the "Essay upon the Art of Pleasing," has not disdained to constitute himself their historiographer. Madame Deshoulieres, Delille, and other poets, have sung their praises; Gugot Desherbieres has consecrated an entire poem to them. Another of their friends (the subject of the present article) devoted his whole life and talents to their service. This artist, who died at Bern about seven years ago, was named Godfrey Mind. He was the son of a poor carpenter. A painter, who found him while yet a boy in a state of misery and starvation, took compassion on him, gave him some lessons in drawing, and aroused a latent taste which he had for that art. Young Mind shewed a marked predilection for sketching the figures of animals; but his progress at first was slow, as all his time was occupied in colouring plates for an engraver of Bern, with whom he worked by the day. He had so little capacity for any other kind of instruction, that he could scarcely learn to write his name. Wearied at length with colouring engravings from morn till night, he quitted his employer's house, and established himself for the rest of his days a painter of animals, or rather of two species of animals-bears and cats. But the latter were more peculiarly his favourite studies. He painted them in water-colours, in every possible attitude, either alone or in groups, with a truth and nature that have, perhaps, never been surpassed.

His masterly sketches might have been justly termed "striking portraits of cats." He caught and depicted every evanescent shade and expression of their demure and wily physiognomy-he pourtrayed, with inexhaustible variety, the graceful attitudes and fantastic tricks of the kittens gamboling with the mother cat-he represented, with the most eye-beguiling fidelity, the glossy fur of their coats; in a word, the cats painted by Mind appeared to