I PURPOSE to write the brief history of one who was wise, discreet, and of a simple heart. Taking it for granted that the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS admire these qualities, I shall show how they may be exemplified in the biography of Richard. Now, Richard was a cat. He was born and reared in the studio of an eminent artist, whose favorite subjects are cats and kittens, dogs and puppies, and other domestic animals. It is hardly necessary to say that Richard, brought up amidst the surroundings of an artist's studio, was continually under the influence of an art atmosphere. In himself he was an object worthy of an artist's admiration, and from kittenhood to mature cat-hood he figured in many pictures that have become famous among men.

But Richard's attractiveness arose from his strongly individual character rather than from any artistic training. Indeed, his training was not in an esthetic direction at all. His master taught him to be neat, patient, and obedient. Richard also early learned several diverting tricks. He would lie down, at word of command, flat on the floor, stretched at full length, with his head thrown limply back, as if he were dead, and would jump up again, lithely, when permission was given, and not before; or, when placed behind the clasped hands of a person bending over him, he would leap over them, or would leap when shown a stick held horizontally and not too high. Sundry other amusing antics did this learned cat perform, to narrate all of which would be tedious.

In color, Richard was pure white as to his under parts, and of a bright brownish-yellow, beautifully mottled with tortoise-shell markings, as to the rest of the body. He was graceful in all his motions, and when he flew after a little ball of bread thrown for him (an amusement of which he was very fond), his tiger-like spring and quick recovery of the body were very charming to behold.

What we may call Richard's mental traits, however, chiefly commended him to his associates. When he was full-grown he was presented to the Lotos Club, an artistic and social organization, of which his master was a member. With him went a portrait in oils, an engraving of which is shown on page 914 of this number of ST. NICHOLAS.

Richard's unfailing good-humor, his steadiness, and gravity of demeanor, and, above all, his discreet silence, made him at once an acceptable member of the Lotos Club. Before he had been in the house a month, he had won many friends, and was generally recognized as a privileged character. He never abused his privileges; but, if objection was made to his taking a leading part in anything that was going on, the merest hint was sufficient for him. He withdrew at the slightest suggestion that he was not wanted.

Whether it was a fault of his studio training or of his later experience in a club composed exclusively of men, I can not say, but it soon became evident that he did not like the society of ladies. It is the admirable custom of the Lotos Club at intervals to throw open their house, for an afternoon reception to ladies, who go to see the pictures and listen to the music performed for their benefit. On such occasions, Dick, as he was familiarly called, was greatly disquieted. He detected the preparations going on, and, having learned by experience what was about to happen, he fled to the garret, or to some other friendly shelter, and there remained hidden until the last of the (to him) objectionable visitors had gone. At that time, my private lodgings were in the club-house, and Richard often secured an entrance into my rooms before the company arrived, nor did he go out until the last silken rustle of feminine garments had ceased.

To test his powers of observation, I once took him out into the upper hall of the house, near the close of a ladies' reception. Released from my hands, Dick cautiously stole to the banisters, peered down the stair-way, sniffing the odor of fried oysters and other good things, and then, as if his keen senses noted a sound or smell, which my duller perceptions did not, he dashed back into the room, imploring me with his large and expressive eyes to close the door and keep him safe.

One strong trait was his sedateness. He never, except when accidentally hurt, uttered a cry. Such an expression as "m-e-ouw!" never passed his lips. Nor did he ever laugh or smile. His only speech was in his eyes, which were, at times,

truly eloquent. A comical sight or an amusing story never moved him from his beautiful gravity; but he sat and regarded the scene with a dignified demeanor, which, as many members have said, was a perpetual reproof of frivolity.

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His friendship for men was very strong. haps, like most human creatures, his selfish interests bounded his affections. Certainly, he did not like people who gave him no kindness. But, on the other hand, there were gentlemen who vainly tried to win him by showing him favors. By all the members of the club, however, he was highly esteemed and respected. If a gentleman desired to sit, and found Dick occupying the chair most convenient to him, he took some other seat, leaving Dick in possession. Once it was reported that a gentleman had turned Richard unceremoniously out of his favorite seat, to the great indignation of most of those who beheld it. But the offender was excused when it was found that he was a new member and unaccustomed to the usages of the club.

Possibly it was his consorting thus with men who live delicately that made Dick dainty and fastidious concerning his food. Under no circumstances or stress of hunger would he touch or taste any pork, bacon, ham, or other product of the American hog. All "made dishes" he despised. He retained a cat's fondness for fish, lobster being his

tected the odor of a canvas-back duck or quail in another part of the dining-room, he quit us as if we were strangers. Once, when he had been detained elsewhere until the dinner-hour was over, and nearly all the members had left the diningroom, Dick came in, apparently dejected by the loss of his dinner. A tender-hearted and enthusiastic friend of Richard, indignant at the neglect which the cat had seemed to suffer at the hands of the servants, sent an order to the kitchen and had a bird broiled and sent up for Dick's dinner. To his credit it should be said, that Richard always preferred a cooked bird to one uncooked.

As I usually breakfasted late, it was Dick's custom to wait about my chamber door, if he could not get in, until I was ready to descend. Then he loitered about the hall at my heels, and hung back until I was ready to sit down at table, when he stalked slowly in. His seat was in a chair at my left, and, with his large luminous eyes fixed on mine, he waited for an invitation to begin. If I had fruit before breakfast, as I almost invariably had, Dick gave one contemptuous look at the plate, and then, turning around, addressed himself to considering the street sights. Nor would he pay the least attention to any remark from me. By his actions he seemed to say:

"Baked apples! Who in the world eats baked apples? I have my opinion of the creature who