Year: 1877

that dinner would be early, and Calvin, walk
ing about the grounds missed it and came in
late. But he never made a mistake the
second day. There was one thing he never
did-he never rushed through an open door
way. He never forgot his dignity. If he
had asked to have the door opened and was
eager to go out, he always went deliberately;
l can see him now, standing on the sill, look
ing about at the sky as if he was thinking
whether it were worth while to take an UNI
brella, until he was near having his tail shut
in.


His frienship was rather constant than
demonstrative. When we returned from an
an absence of nearly two years, Calvin well
coined us with evident pleasure, but showed
his satisfaction rather by tranquil happiness
than by fuming about. He had the faculty
of making us glad to get home. 1t was his
constancy that was so attractive. He liked
companionShip, but he wouldn't be petted or
fused over, or sit in any ones lap moment;
he always extricated himself from such famil-
iarity with dignity and with no show of tenn
per. If there was any petting to be done,
however, he chose to do it. Often he would
cate affection, come and pull at my coat and
sleeve until he could touch my face with his
nose, and then go away contented. He had
a habit of coming to my study in the morn
ing, sitting quietly by my side or on the table
for hours, watching the pen run over the
paper, occasionally swinging his tail round
for blotter, and then going to sleep among
the papers by the inkstand. Or, more rarely
he would watch the writing from his perch
on my shoulder. Writing always interested
him, and until he understood it, he wanted
to hold the pen.


He always held himself in kind of re-
serve with his friend, as if he had said: "Let
us respect our personality and not make a
mess of friendship" He saw, with Emer-
son, the risk of degrading it to trivial conven-
iency. "Why insist on rash personal rela-
tions with your friend?" ''Leave this touch
ing and clawing," Yet would not give an
unfair notion of his aloofness, his fine sense
of the sacredness of the me and the not-me
And, at the risk of not being believed, will
relate an incident which was often repeated.
Calvin had the practice of passing portion
of the night in the contemplation of its beau
ties, and would come into our chamber over
the root OF the conservatory through the open
window, summer and winter, and 90 to sleep
on the foot of my bed. He would do this al
ways exactly in this way; he never was con-
tent to stay in the chamber if we compelled
him to up stairs and through the door. He
had the obstinacy of Gen. Grant. But this
is by the way. In the morning he performed
with the rest of the family. Now when
the mistress was absent from home,
and at no other time, Calvin would come in
the morning when the bell rang, to the head
of the bed, put up his feet and look into nv
face, follow me about when rose, ''assist''
at the dressing, and in many purring ways
show his fondness, as if he had plainly said:
u know that she has gone away, but am
here" Such was Calvin in rare moments.


He had his limitations. Whatever passion
he had for nature, he had no conception of
art. There was sent to him once fine and
very expressive cats head in bronze by Fre-
miet. placed it on the floor. He regarded
it intently, approached it cautiously and
crouchingly, touched it with his nose, per-
ceived the fraud, turned away abruptly and
never would notice it afterward. On the
whole his life was not only successful one,
but happy one. He never had but one
fear, so far as know; he had mortal and
reasonable terror of plumbers. He would
never stay in the house when they were here.
No coaxing could quiet him. Of course he
didn't share our fear about their charges, but
he must have had some dreadful experience
with them in that portion of his life which is
unknown to us. A plumber was to him the
devil, and have no doubt that in his scheme
plumbers were foreordained to do him mis-
chief.


In speaking OF his worth, it has never oc.
Cured to me to estimate Calvin by the
worldly standard. 1 know that it is custom
ary now, when any one dies, to ask how
much he was worth, and that no obituary in
the newspapers is considered complete with
out such an estimate. The plumbers in our
house were one day overheard to say that,


'Ihey say that she says that he says that he
wouldn't take hundred dollars for him."
IL is unnecessary to say that 1 never made
such remark, and that, so far as Calvin was
concerned, there was no purchase money.


AS look back upon it, Calvin's life seems
TO me a fortunate one, for it was natural and
unforced. He ate when he was hungry,
slept when he was sleepy and enjoyed exist
ence to the very tips of his toes and the end
OF ms expressive and sow-moving tail. He
delighted to roam about the garden and stroll
among the trees, and to lie on the green
grass and luxuriate in all the sweet influences
OF summer. You could never accuse him of
ldleness, and yet he knew the secret of re-
pose. The poet who wrote so prettily of him
that his little life was rounded with a sleep.
understated his felicity; it was rounded with
good many. His COINCIDENCE never seemed
TO interfere with his slumbers. In fact he
had good habits and contented mind, I
can see him now walk in at the study door.
SIT down by my chair, bring mis- tail artistic
ally about his feet, and look up at me with
unspeakable hnppiness in his handsome face.


often thought that he felt the dumb limit
alton which denied him the power of Ian
guage. But since he was denied speech he
scorned the inarticulate mouthings of the
lower animals. The vulgar meWing and
yoWllng OF the cat species was beneath him:
he sometimes uttered sort of artculate and
brad nlafsa rx,h1 L. ~
attention to something that he considered re-
markable, or to some want of his, but he
never went whining about. He would sit for
hours at closed window, when he desired to
enter, Without "a murmur, and when it was
opened he never admitted that he had been
impatient by ''bolting" in. Though speech
he had not and the unpleasant kind of utter
ance given to his race he would not use, he
had mighty power Of purr to express his
measureless content with congenial society.
There was in him musical organ with stors
OF varied power and expression, upon which
have no doubt he could perform Sebas-
tian Bach's celebrated cat's-fugue.


Whether Calvin died of old age. or was car
rled OFT by one of the diseases incident to
youth, it is impossible to say; for his depart
ure was as quiet as bis advent was mvsteri.
Gus. only know that he appeared to US in
his perfect stature and beauty, and that after
a time, like Lohengrin, he withdrew. In his
illness there was nothing more to be regretted
than in all his blameless life. 1 suppose
there never was an illness that had more of
dignity and sweetness and resignation in it.
1t came on gradually, in kind of listlessness
and want of appetite. An alarming symp-
tom was his preference for the warmth of a
furnace register to the lively sparkle of the
open wood hre Whatever pain he suffered.
ne bore it in silence, and seemed only anxious
not to obtrude bis malady. We tempted him
with the delicacies of the season, but it soon
became impossible for him to eat, and for two
weeks he ate or drank: scarcely anything,
Sometimes he made an effort to take some
thing, but it was evident that he made the
effort to please US. The neighbors-and am
convinced that the advice of neighbors is new
er good for anything-suggested catnip. He
wouldn't even smell of it. We had the at.
tendance of an amateur practitioner of medi-
cine, whose real office was the cure of souls.
but nothing touched his case. He took what
was offered, but it was with the air of one to
whom the time for pellets was passed. he
sat or lay day after day almost motionless.
never once making display of those vulgar
commissions or contOrtions of pain which are