with the manoeuvre, and when he saw a friend with a bottle of champagne looming in the distance he beat a retreat.

Cats are said to like music, though there may be difference of opinions concerning their taste. Somebody gave a little boy one of those dreadful musical instruments called a mouth-organ, and he at once went into the garden and began to blow. Suddenly there appeared in a tree just above his head his mother's black-and-white cat, with her tail waving and her eyes staring. The cat had always hated the boy, and he at once concluded that her disgust had reached the dangerous point. But he did not cease playing; her green eyes seemed to fascinate him; he blew and trembled. Slowly the cat descended the tree, approached his feet, and began caressing them. When every inch of his shoes had been rubbed with her head, she leaped on the seat, purred, and gently mewed, and finally crept on his shoulder and lovingly smelt the mouth-organ. From that day they were friends. She would sit on his shoulder by the hour and purr to his playing; and he had only to strike a note or two to fetch her from any part of the premises.

A young man who played the trombone, and had heard of this, insisted that he could fascinate her better than anybody. So he brought his trombone. The cat was placed in a favourable position, and he blew a blast. The effect was rapid, but not satisfactory. The brazen note was answered by a louder scream of defiance from the cat, who appeared to regard it as a challenge to fight, and rushed at him with a tail like a broom, and spitting and swearing dreadfully.

In proof of the cat's attachment to the scenes and friends of her youth, take the following anecdote :

In a parish in Norfolk lived a clergyman, who sentenced his cat to transportation for life, for committing certain depredations on his larder. Poor puss was first taken to Bungay; but had hardly got there when she escaped, and was soon at home again. Her morals had, however, in no

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way improved, and an abstraction of butcher's meat immediately occurred. This time her master determined to send the hardened culprit away to a distance which, as he expressed it, she "should not walk in a hurry." He accordingly gave her to a person living at Fakenham, forty miles off. The man called for her in the morning, and carried her off in a bag, that she might not know by what road he went. Vain hope! She knew well enough the way home, he found, and when the house-door was opened, she rushed out, and he saw no more of her.

The night after, a faint mewing was heard outside the minister's dwelling; and on opening the door next morning there lay the very cat which he thought was forty miles away, her feet all cut and blistered from the hardness of the road, and her silky fur all clotted and matted together with dust and dirt. She had her reward. The worthy vicar resolved never again to send her away from the house she loved so well, and exerted herself so nobly to regain.

In a certain monastery the cook, laying the dinner one day, found one brother's portion of meat missing. Next day, the same thing happened again-another monk's meat was gone. He resolved to watch. On the third day he took particular care in his counting, and was about to dish up, when he heard a ring at the gate-bell, and hastened out to answer it. On his return another dinner was gone. He determined to discover the thief; and next day, when exactly at the critical moment the bell rang again, he did not go to the gate, but only just outside the kitchen, whence he peeped through the door. Then he saw the cat jump through the window, and, seizing a piece of the meat, make her exit as rapidly as she entered. So far the mystery was solved; but who rang the bell? The next day the vigilant cook found that this part of the performance was also played by the ingenious cat, who jumped at the bell-rope and pulled it with her paws. Having thus rung the cook out of the kitchen, the coast was clear. The monks, after hearing the evidence, came to the reso

lution that the cat should enjoy her double dinner uninterrupted, and that the wondrous tale should be published abroad. The result was that for a considerable time visitors poured to the monastery, and were, for a small fee, admitted to witness the excellent comedy, which paid for the extra rations of the cat, and added a little money to the funds of the monastery as well.

A few years ago some ingenious scoundrel advertised in a Chester paper that cats were wanted for New Zealand (as we believe they really are at present), and that parties having cats to sell were to bring them to a certain place at three o'clock that day week. Very high prices were offered. Accordingly, on the day appointed, the street was filled with people each with a bag, the wrigglings of which denoted its contents. After waiting a long time, the people arrived at the unpleasant conclusion that they had been made dupes of, and many of them in disgust opened their bags and let their cats escape. The consequence was that for a long time the night echoed, in that neighbourhood, with unearthly strains of harmony. One old lawyer, driven nearly mad, resolved on active measures. Having quieted his legal conscience by reading the Riot Act at his open window, he discharged a blunderbuss, loaded to the muzzle, right amongst them.

A great deal of learning has been expended to prove that it wasn't a cat, but a ship, which gained such a grand position for the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor Whittington; but we are not convinced.

Cats have been the means of enriching language with various proverbs. Everybody knows what is meant by "making a cat's-paw of a man," "living cat-and-dog life," "letting the cat out of the bag," "seeing which way the cat jumps,” “a cat may look at a king." We say sometimes of a lucky man that he "always falls on his feet," the Persians add, "like a cat." The Italians say "keep one eye on the frying-pan, and another on the cat," i.e. be on your guard against every possible accident.

THE ANT.

WE will first say something of the ants of our own country. These may be divided into two great classes; first, those which live on and under the ground, the inhabitants of the constantly recurring "ant-hills," and secondly, those dwelling in the wood of trees. One of the most common of the first class is the Turf-Ant, whose architecture is very ingenious. Sometimes these insects make choice of the shelter of a flat stone or other covering, beneath which they hollow out chambers and communicating galleries; at other times they are contented with the open ground; but most commonly they select a tuft of grass or other herbage, the stems of which serve for columns to their earthen walls. Other varieties of the same class are the Yellow Ant and the Mining and Ash-coloured Ants, all of whom employ moist clay in the construction of their dwellings. These dwellings, which from the outside seem mere hillocks of earth, consist in the interior of labyrinths of lodges, vaults, and galleries. But the largest of British ants is the Wood or Hill Ant, found, as its name implies, in the woods. It is easily distinguished by its peculiar colour, its head and hind-quarters being perfectly black, while its body is brown. In building, the WoodAnt not only uses clay, but withered grass, short twigs of trees, and pieces of straw, and the exterior of its habitation is of a conical shape. The process of construction of one of these is thus described by the eminent naturalist M. P. Huber. We shall see from the description that the structure is partly above, partly below the surface of the ground. "To have an idea how the straw or stubble roof is formed, let us take a view of the ant-hill at its origin, when it is simply a cavity in the earth. Some of its future inhabitants are seen wandering about in search of materials fit for the exterior work, with which, though rather irregularly, they cover up the surface; whilst others are employed in mixing the earth, thrown up in

hollowing the interior, with fragments of wood and leaves, which are every moment brought in by their fellowassistants; and this gives a certain consistence to the edifice, which increases in size daily. Our little architects leave, here and there, cavities, where they intend constructing the galleries which are to lead to the exterior. We soon observe the roof to become convex, but we should be greatly deceived did we consider it solid. This roof is destined to include many apartments or stories. It is by excavating or mining the under portion of their edifice that they form their spacious halls, and these halls have a free communication by galleries made in the same manner. The subterranean residence consists of a range of apartments excavated in the earth, taking a horizontal direction." It is a mistake to suppose that ants work only by night, as has been asserted. Those of which we have just heard work only by day, closing up all the entrances to their habitation by night, while some other kinds have been observed to labour both by night and day.

And now for a few words with regard to our second division, the workers in wood, to whom has been given the very appropriate name of Carpenter Ants. No one has ever seen them at work, but M. Huber thus describes one of their structures which he examined :— "On one side were horizontal galleries, hidden in great part by thin walls, and on another were parallel galleries, separated by extremely thin partitions. But in another quarter were fragments differently wrought, in which the partitions, pierced in every part, were transformed into colonnades, which sustained the upper stories." These partitions and also the floors are as thin and delicate as fine card, and we must remember that the whole of this work has been performed by the jaws, or, as they are called, mandibles, of the industrious little insect. To this species belongs the little English Emmet, or Jet Ant, used very extensively in some parts of England as food for pheasants.

But if the works of the English ants surprise us, what will be our astonishment when we think of the archi