TALES FROM CATLAND.

M

THE THREE CATS.

ANY hundred years ago, in the good old times of the fairies, there lived a young princess in a very grand palace. Its walls

were of the purest white marble, the doors were of orange wood, the window-frames were of gold, and the furniture of the rooms was of the most costly description. The princess's drawing-room was hung with beautiful tapestry, the curtains were of the richest crimson silk, all over golden flowers, the mirrors reached from the floor to the ceiling, and the chairs were of ebony, inlaid with precious stones. And the princess had two hundred and four best gowns, some of cloth of gold, some of silver tissue; besides a great many others, nearly as good, that she wore every day. But my story has not so much to do with the

princess, as with her cats, for she had two; an elderly one, called Glumdalkin, and a very frolicsome young one whose name was Friskarina. Glumdalkin was, somehow or other, second cousin once removed to Friskarina, but years older; and to say the truth, Friskarina was not very fond of her: however, in consideration of her age and relationship, she behaved on the whole very civilly and respectfully to her. They were so very different. different. And there was not the least family likeness, either, in their persons. Glumdalkin was jet-black, had an uncommonly cross pair of green eyes, that seemed always on the look out for something going wrong, was very fat, and moved as if it was too much trouble for her to walk across the room; while Friskarina's coat was of the richest tortoiseshell, and though she was quite plump, and as sleek as satin, yet there was not a more lively little creature in all Catland; it quite did one good to see her jumping over the footstools in the princess's drawingroom. She had a prodigious longing, sometimes, to jump over cousin Glum's great broad back, as she sate before the fire; but she knew that would never do, so she was prudent, and contented herself with scampering over the furniture:

while Glumdalkin, pretending to be sound asleep all the time, would be watching her with one eye open the least bit in the world, and secretly wishing that Friskarina might be unlucky enough to dash down one of the princess's old china jars that stood under the table.

It was a cold winter's evening—very cold— and the pages had drawn the thick crimson curtains in the drawing-room, and the fire had been mended, and was piled high up, blazing and crackling; the candles were lighted, and Glumdalkin's velvet cushion had been placed ready for her in front of the fire, and she was slowly crawling towards it, that she might stretch herself out at full length, and digest the wing of a boiled fowl that she had just been dining upon. The princess was lying on the sofa by the side of the fire, apparently fast asleep. But she was not asleep; and, moreover she was watching Glumdalkin, who had settled herself very comfortably on her cushion, while Friskarina, looking much graver than usual, was sitting with her shoulders drawn up to her ears, in quite an old cattish attitude, and her bright shining eyes fixed thoughtfully on the fire.

Now you must know that the princess had an

old aunt who was a fairy; and she had bestowed upon her niece the faculty of understanding the language of animals: a very amusing gift it was, and the princess often derived great diversion from it. On the present occasion, as she lay on her sofa after dinner, she thought it would be very good entertainment to hear what Glumdalkin and Friskarina might be talking about.

But some time passed before either said anything; at last, Glumdalkin gave a great yawn, and flapping her tail rather angrily against the cushion remarked:

Really, Friskarina, you are dreadfully stupid to-night; you make noise enough when I want to go to sleep: but now, when I am inclined for a little rational conversation, you sit there as mum and sulky as an old bear."

Friskarina was used to polite observations from her second cousin once removed, so she very quietly answered that she thought Glumdalkin had been going to take a nap, and that she did not wish to disturb her.

"Well, I do admire that!" exclaimed Glumdalkin; "we are wonderfully considerate all at once; now, I think, Miss Friskarina you have been getting into mischief, and that's the reason

you sit so quiet there. I should like to know where you were all this morning, when the pages were running all over the house after you, because the princess wanted you, and nobody could find you? Well, people have strange tastes! I should have thought she would have found the company of a grave, decorous cat, like myself, who knows the ways of the court, and has seen something of society, a great deal more agreeable than that of such a ridiculous, light-headed thing as you are: I declare you make me quite nervous very often, you jump about so! But she never sent for me; so of course I could not go to her. The world's unlike what it was when I was young-very very unlike indeed!" and, giving an odd kind of grunt in her throat, Glumdalkin curled herself round on the other side, as if in a sort of despair at the wickedness of the world.

Friskarina thought she had not much to complain of, but she did not venture to say it; so she answered, quite good-naturedly:

"I am very sorry, cousin Glumdalkin, that I was out when the princess called for me, but indeed I was in no mischief; I was seeing such strange sights, it has made me quite unhappy ever since I came back."