Picks them up, and, with the greatest gusto, bawls them by the score,
And will swear for evermore.
Our Miscellany (which ought to have come out,
but didn’t), by E. H. Yates and R. B. Brough, 1856.
The Cat-Fiend.
(An Original Adaptation.)
On a bleak evening of December I sat alone in my gloomy chambers and brooded over the past. I had sought in vain to turn the current of my thoughts by plunging into metaphysical researches: Watts on the Mind lay open, but unheeded, beside me. Never had the apartment worn so ghostly an aspect. My lamp threw a fitful gleam upon the sumptuous but sombre furniture; the fire was expiring, yet I lacked energy to put on more coals. If I had been expiring myself I should have hated the man who put coals upon me.
The chief object of my memories was a young person to whom I had formerly been attached. I dwelt fondly, but bitterly, upon the day when my Leonora, accompanied by her vulgar and intrusive mother, had brightened my dingy rooms in ——’s Inn with her presence to tea, previous to visiting Drury Lane Theatre. That was all over now; Leonora married into the city and left me desolate. I am not even acquainted with her present name; but it fills me with despondency to think that her graceful form will never again press the velvet lining of my quaintly carved arm-chair.
While I sat buried in my sad reflections, it seemed as though there came a soft rapping at my outer door. It was growing so late that I made my mind up to disregard the summons. “It is only Briggs,” I murmured; “if I admit him he will weary me with platitudes until the dawn. Or it is Potter, perchance, advanced in liquor, I will none of him.”
At this point the rapping was renewed more loudly. My resolution suddenly changed, and I resolved that I would explore the mystery. Making my way to the door I flung it wide open. The landing was in darkness; no voice gave answer to my challenge, and, feeling a little nervous, I slammed the door and went back to my arm-chair by the fire.
Weird—ghastly—inscrutable—was the apparition that awaited me! Stretched upon the hearth-rug at my feet lay a large cat of ebon blackness, glaring at me with a pair of wild eyes in which anger was mingled with an expression of diabolical sarcasm. The blood curdled in my veins; I seized the poker and yelled, “Get out, beast! How dare you come in here? Go away directly, or——!”