“February 1st, 1880.

“My dear little Man,

“I was quite sorry this morning when you said to me, as we were going away, ‘Ah, but you have never told me about the King of the Cats, as you promised.’ I was always taught when I was a little fellow, smaller than you, that I must never ‘run word,’ even if it cost me my knife with three blades and a tweezer, or my ivory dog-whistle, which were the two most precious things I had in the world. And my father and mother not only told me that I must never ‘run word,’ for they knew that boys are apt to forget what they are only told, but they never ‘ran word’ with me, which was a much surer way to fix what they told me in my head; because boys find it hard to forget what they see the old folk that they love do day by day.

“So I have tried all my long life never to ‘run word,’ and as I said I would tell you the story about Rodilardus the King of the Cats, and as I can’t tell it you by word of mouth because you are down there in the bright sunshine at Middleton, and I am up here in foggy old London, I must tell it you in this way, though I am not sure that you will be able to make it all out. I know you can read, for I heard you read the psalm at prayers this morning very well; only as Mama was reading out of the same book over your shoulder, perhaps you heard what she said, and that helped you a little to keep up with all the rest of us. But a boy may be able to read his psalms in his prayer book and yet not able to read a long piece of writing like this, though I am making it as clear as I can. So if you cannot make it all out you must just take it off to Mama and get her to look over your shoulder and tell you what it is all about. Well then, you know what I told you was, that I used to think that some people could get to understand what cats said to one another, and to wish very much that I could make out their talk myself. But all this time I have never been able to make out a word of it, and do not now think that anybody can. Only I am quite sure that any boy or man who is fond of cats, and tries to make out what they mean, and what they want, will learn a great many things that will help to make him kind and wise. And when you asked me why I used to think that I could learn cat-talk I said I would tell you that story about the King of the Cats which was told to me when I was a very little fellow about your age. And so here it is.”

The story itself is a variant, very picturesquely and graphically told, of an old folk-tale, which I think appears in Grimm, of a cat who, overhearing an account given by a human being of the imposing funeral of one of his race, exclaims, “Then I am King of the Cats!” and disappears up the chimney.

TOM HUGHES AND RUGBY, TENNESSEE

Tom Hughes, at the time of his visit to Middleton, was very keen about the town which he proposed to found on some kind of Christian-socialist principles, to be called “New Rugby,” in Tennessee. It was to have one church, to be used by the various denominations, and to be what is now called “Pussyfoot.” What happened about the church I know not, but I have heard as regards the teetotalism that drinks were buried by traders just outside the sacred boundaries and dug up secretly by the townsmen. Anyhow, I fear that the well-meant project resulted in a heavy loss to poor Hughes. I recollect that Lord Galloway’s servant suggested that he would like to accompany Mr. Hughes to the States—“and I would valet you, sir.” Hughes repudiated all idea of valeting, but was willing to accept the man as a comrade. All he got by his democratic offer was that the man told the other servants that Mr. Hughes did not understand real English aristocracy. Which reminds me of a pleasing definition given by the Matron of our Village Training School for Servants of the much-discussed word “gentleman.” She told me one day that her sister had asked for one of our girls as servant. As we generally sent them to rather superior situations, I hesitated, though I did not like to refuse straight off, and asked, “What is your brother-in-law?” “He is a gentleman,” was the answer. Observing that I looked somewhat surprised, the Matron hastened to add, “You see, my sister keeps a temperance hotel, and in such a case the husband does not work, only cleans the windows and boots and so on.” Whereby I gather that not to work for regular wages is the hall-mark of a gentleman! But a girl was not provided for the place.

I believe that Henry James was first introduced to us by Mr. Lowell, and became a frequent visitor afterwards. He was an intimate friend of my uncle the Dean of Hereford and of his mother-in-law Mrs. Kemble.

Under the name of Summersoft he gives a delightful description of Osterley in his novel The Lesson of the Master. “It all went together and spoke in one voice—a rich English voice of the early part of the eighteenth century.” The Gallery he calls “a cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century.”

CARDINAL NEWMAN