And was there not one then amongst them
Who could look with a pitying eye
On that wasted and woeful creature,
As she glided so abjectly by ?
Not one who amidst the engrossing
Of pleasure, or hope, or care,
A thought or a deed of kindness
For our sorrowful cat could spare?

Yes, one; for a merciful nature
Was true and unchanged in her,
And the suffering rising before her,
Failed never her heart to stir :
And she said, as again one morning
She noticed our pitiful friend,
"I wish to that poor starving creature
Some help I were able to send.

"Perhaps to the Square if to-morrow
With some morsels of meat I come,
I may save her from want and from hunger,
And entice her to follow me home.

For I fear 'mongst the rough careless children
Who come here so often to play,

She might be ill-treated and driven,
And come to some harm one day."

Alas! with good cause she feared it,
For of one cruel spirit she knew ;

But she dreamt not that even that instant
Her words were to prove themselves true;
That the time for her merciful purpose
Of succour and pity was past,

And the sorrows so long unbefriended
Were about to be ended at last.

As she spoke there came rushing before her
A cruel and terrible sight;

The poor cat, with her eyes staring wildly, And her fur starting stiff with affright ;

And with stick and with stone and with halloo, A boy pursues, panting for breath,

Calling back to his terrier to follow,

And hunt her and shake her to death.

Spent, wounded, and famished, and fainting,
The struggle is short and in vain,
The race for a life that so briefly
Must end in exhaustion and pain.
All rescue were hopeless and fruitless,
For power must conquer, and there
Stretched lifeless and bruised on the pathway,
Lies the sorrowful cat of the Square.

But the lady, the merciful lady,
To the boy's cruel mother flies fast,
For she enters the garden that moment,
And has heard not, nor knows what has past,
And her fair smiling face changes sadly,
As that terrible story she learns,
And the light in her eyes shining gladly
To a look full of misery turns:

And she says as the quick tears unbidden
As for old sorrow silently flow,
"Ah, lady, but too well already
My boy's cruel nature I know!
For often I've prayed and have pleaded
To make him his rough ways forsake,
And in vain had I now interceded,
His hard heart is making mine break."

No more she could say, and the lady
Made her pitying answer and mild,
For she knew how the soul of the mother
Must grieve for the sin of the child;

And she knew, though on earth all unpunished,

An anger most just from above

Must fall on the stubborn transgressors

Who break the Commandment of Love.

For cruelty shown to God's creatures,
Is hateful and base in His sight;
And in wilfully causing them tortures,
Bad spirits alone can delight.

And I say that no mercy will follow,
Wherever through life they may go,
Those who have not learnt pity and mercy,
To the humblest and weakest to show.

But since the sad life that was ended
No tears of regret could now save,
One was sent by the pitying lady,
To dig for our friend a dark grave:
And I her true story have written,
While in quiet at last she rests there,
To teach gentle compassion for others
From this tale of the Cat of the Square.

MAY.

1. St. Philip and St. James.

25. Ascension-Day.

John and Charles Mozley, Printers, Derby.

"WHAT I had hoped for did not fully come to pass. The campaign did indeed begin early in the year, and we went into Würtemberg, but not this time to Liebenzell, but to the small town of Weil, where the colonel left his wife, and me as her attendant. It was not with me there as in Liebenzell; I had no friend to whom I could tell my troubles, and I had many heavy days to pass under the harsh treatment of my mistress. I should have sunk under my distress, if God had not heard my deep sighing, and from time to time given me strength.

"One day my mistress had used me very ill,

VOL. XIII.

G

JUNE, 1854.

and had afterwards gone out to pay a visit. I stood at a window in the house and wept bitterly, while I earnestly prayed that God would take pity upon me and send me deliverance. While I was thus giving vent to my grief, the master of the house in which we lodged came in and saw my tears. He knew enough to make him guess their cause, and as I saw that he felt for me, I told him all, and made him understand how much I longed for some opportunity of obtaining release from my bondage. He asked whether I had any friends with whom I could take refuge, and I mentioned the governor of Liebenzell, and his sister, Madame Commerell of Stuttgardt. He then soon resolved upon a plan. Without letting any one know it, he took me into a room above my mistress's chamber, and locked me in, taking away the key. And there, with a mixture of fear, anxiety, and hope, which I cannot describe, I awaited my mistress's return. It was late at night before she came in, and she went at once to bed, without seeking me, though 'she asked where I was. I could not sleep. I knew but little of the plan for my escape, and was full of fear lest it might fail. I might be discovered or betrayed in my hiding-place, and then what had I to expect! My mistress was a woman of a most violent temper, and would never have forgiven me.

"In the morning she awoke, and I could hear her call for me, and then inquire for me; but no Setma was to be found. At length she sent for the master of the house, who told her that no one in the house had seen me since the afternoon of the day before. Then she began to suspect