VI.

PETS IN ARTIST LIFE.

For the artist pets have a peculiar value. Not only are they companions and live playthings—they are also “properties.” Portrait and landscape painters use them as accessories; animal painters and sculptors find in them their models. They live in close companionship with their human friends, and the tie between them is usually warm and lasting. An exception might be the cat whose fur was sacrificed to the early genius of Benjamin West. In default of brushes, the lad used first the long hairs from her tail, then the shorter ones from her body—until she was half-shorn. True, one of his biographers assures us that he laid hold of her “with all due caution, and attention to her feelings”; but this is clearly a post-mortem statement—he had never interviewed Pussy!

Fox, a beautiful Pomeranian dog belonging to Gainsborough, occasionally served as model; but his most important office was to act as peacemaker between the artist and his wife. Sometimes, “as through the land at eve they went,” they would fall out; and then the dignified restraint between them would be first broken by one or the other writing some words of reconciliation, and givingthe note to Fox. Off he would bound with it to the other party, and a messenger so charming always proved irresistible.

MISS BOWLES.(From the painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds.)

MISS BOWLES.

(From the painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds.)

Sir Joshua Reynolds’ many dogs, to all of whom he was much attached, can be traced in regular order through his portraits, especially those of children. The Italian greyhound, the Scotch terrier, the silky-haired spaniel or setter, are as well-known as his own features. A specially attractive picture represents little Miss Cholmondely carrying her dog over a brook. The pretty anxiety of the child and the unconcern of her pet are amusingly contrasted. Hardly less charming are the portraits of Miss Bowles with a spaniel, and an unknown Felina hugging a kitten.

Of a favorite macaw which often appeared in his pictures, a story is told almost as wonderful, Sir Joshua thought, as that of the painted grapes which deceived the birds. For this bird instantly recognized the portrait of a servant whom he hated, and tried to bite the pictured face. Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith came several times to see this performance, and Reynolds declaredthat, in his opinion, “birds and beasts were as good judges of pictures as men are.”

“FRIENDS NOW, PUSSY!”(From the painting by Angelica Kauffmann.)

“FRIENDS NOW, PUSSY!”

(From the painting by Angelica Kauffmann.)

There remains to us an affecting last glimpse of this famous painter after he had lost his sight and could no longer pursue the art he loved. In this premature night he found much comfort with a tame bird, until one morning the window was left open, and it flew away. His grief, though deep, was happily of short duration. Death came to his relief, and he escaped from the body, even as the bird from the house.

THE PAINTER HOGARTH AND HIS DOG TRUMP.

One of his favorite pupils, Angelica Kauffmann, painted a charming picture called “Friends now, Pussy.” It depicts a radiant little girl holding in her arms a kitten whose contented purr we cannot fail to hear, so perfectly is it suggested.

Hogarth was the painter of human life as it is; of people good, bad and indifferent—noble or base. But wherever man is, there also is the dog; and so throughout this artist’s work we find him—now a drawing-room pet, and now a vagabond; now man’s companion and now his victim. Hogarth’s own dog, Trump, surveys us rather sourly from the same canvas with his master. Verylikely it was the curly tip of his tail that suggested the famous sketch in three lines of a sergeant with his pike going into a house, and his dog following him. Hogarth executed the picture thus:

line of door, sergeant’s pike, dog’s tail.

To be understood, however, it is certainly best to place design and explanation side by side.

Mrs. Hogarth also had a dog, which eventually was buried at the end of a filbert walk in her yard at Chiswick. A stone marked the grave, and Hogarth himself cut the epitaph:

“Life to the last enjoyed, here Pompey lies.”

I tried not long ago, though without success, to find some trace of this grave. In the oldest, quaintest part of Chiswick stands Hogarth’s house, still bearing his name, and probably, as to stone and mortar, much the same as when he lived there. But the once beautiful garden is now in part a vegetable plot, and in part an untidy barnyard. A venerable mulberry-tree and some gnarled old yews are still standing—“sole relics of a finer past”; but of the filbert walk there remains only a row of little stumps with here and there a straggling branch. No trace of Pompey anywhere, unless in tradition; “she had heard,” said the mistress of the house, “that a dog had been buried somewhere there.” And—final touch—two pigs looked out from the doorway, squealing shrilly as we passed! It seemed a pity that Hogarth should not see them; noone would have sooner appreciated the humor of the scene. But—life to the last enjoyed—he lies in Chiswick churchyard.

Famous among Middle Age painters was Paolo Uccello—Paul of the Birds—who won this sobriquet by his extreme delight in birds. They were his ruling passion, and appeared in his pictures both in and out of season.

PORTRAIT OF ALBRECHT DURER AT THIRTEEN.(Drawn by himself.)

PORTRAIT OF ALBRECHT DURER AT THIRTEEN.

(Drawn by himself.)

More famous was the eccentric Bazzi, who, according to the pleasant old gossip, Vasari, “was fond of keeping in his house all sorts of strange animals—badgers, squirrels, cat-a-mountains, dwarf monkeys, horses, racers, little Elba ponies, jackdaws, bantams, doves of India, and other creatures of this kind, so many as he could lay his hands on.” Over and above, he had a raven which had learned to talk and to imitate its master’s voice, especially in answering a knock at the door. “His house was like nothing more than a Noah’s ark,” adds Vasari.

Of Vittore Carpaccio’s likes and dislikes little is known, but Ruskin praises as one of the finest paintings in the world, a Venetianinterior by him, representing two fair dames surrounded by animals. Two dogs—one small, one large—a peacock, doves, a turtle and a lizard—such were the pets these ladies kept to amuse their leisure hours.

Albrecht Dürer found special pleasure in studying hares. One hardly knows which is quainter, the thirteen-year-old artist as drawn by himself, or the hare which his childish fingers sketched. A later study is the charming Bunny, apparently pausing after a pleasant nibble to look at his artistvis-à-vis. In some of his pictures, Dürer painted angel children playing with little hares—surely a gentle companionship!

HARE DRAWN BY THE BOY ALBRECHT DURER.

But a still greater name in art is that of Raphael, to whom we owe not only Madonnas and saints, but some wonderfully delicate and realistic designs of animals and birds. Not much is said in his biographies to show that he was fond of animals, but that he studied them closely is evident. It is infinitely sad to pass now through his Loggia at the Vatican, once glowing with the master’s touch, now faded and in part defaced. Still, worn as they are, they express Raphael. In the Stanze, and his other great paintings, we know that his brush worked seriously in accordance with a plan already conceived. But in the Loggia, with the bright Italian sun shining in upon him as he worked, he laid aside all serious intent, and gave himself up to merry play. Under his facile fingers, the arched ceilings became covered with vines in luxuriant tangled growth, with interspaces of blue sky, and clusters of grapes which droop apparently with their own luscious weight, and tempt the birds on every side.

TWO VENETIAN LADIES AND THEIR PETS.(From the painting by Vittore Carpaccio, in the Correo Gallery, Venice.)

TWO VENETIAN LADIES AND THEIR PETS.

(From the painting by Vittore Carpaccio, in the Correo Gallery, Venice.)

SECTION OF DOME.(From Raphael’s frescoes in the Loggiaof the Vatican.)

SECTION OF DOME.

(From Raphael’s frescoes in the Loggiaof the Vatican.)

In one compartment, the vines cluster so close as to admit but small glimpses of the sky. On the lowest bar but one of the trellis, sits a fine fierce hawk, so absorbed in his own reflections that he does not notice a monkey reaching up from below to pull his tail feathers. A parrot on the bar above is less indifferent, and looks on with mischievous amusement. Little birds flit about in the higher branches, and a squirrel is making his way to one of the finest grape-clusters.

The number of creatures that Raphael carefully studied anddepicted, is wonderful. Lizard, mouse and squirrel; tiny snake and bee and snail; goldfish swimming in glass vases half-wreathed with swaying water plants; love-birds cuddling together; long-tailed rats scampering along the scroll-work; pretty voracious ducks with bulging crops; a motherly hen hovering her chicks—all these and more, may still be seen, the work of one masterly hand. Really, the painted scenes appear alive; and I do not know who can look at them without loving the artist who so well understood the happy natural life of plant and bird and beast.

DUCKS.(From Raphael’s frescoesin the Loggia of the Vatican.)

DUCKS.

(From Raphael’s frescoesin the Loggia of the Vatican.)

As Paolo Uccello loved birds, so Gottfried Mind loved cats and became their special artist. He was born near the middle of the last century, in the town of Berne. There he lived, and there, in 1814, he died. Of poor and mean appearance, crabbed to all human kind, he was keenly alive to the ways and feelings, the tricks and graces of cat-kind. Bears, too, he liked, and for a while frequented the bear pit of Berne to study them. But cats were his first andabiding love, and to them he returned. Whatever their moods, whether sulky, grave or gay; in repose or in action, at every age—he reproduced them upon paper; and with such marvelous fidelity that he seems to have given Pussy a tenth and immortal life. His favorite cat used to sit for hours together upon his knee or shoulder, while he—if such were her pleasure—would remain motionless, so as not to disturb her rest.

FRAGMENT.(From Raphael’s frescoesin the Loggia of the Vatican.)

FRAGMENT.

(From Raphael’s frescoesin the Loggia of the Vatican.)

In our own time, two artists, more than all others, have been famous for their delineation of animal life; and both of these artists, one is glad to know, were genuinely fond of the creatures they painted. These two are, of course, Sir Edwin Landseer andMlle. Rosa Bonheur.

HENS AND CHICKENS.(From Raphael’s frescoes in theLoggia of the Vatican.)

HENS AND CHICKENS.

(From Raphael’s frescoes in theLoggia of the Vatican.)

Landseer studied every animal he saw, but preferred dogs,horses, and deer, especially dogs. Fuseli, his master, used to speak of him as “my little dog-boy.” Pet after pet had its features transferred to canvas, and fine dogs were brought to him to be painted, exactly as their owners might go to Millais or Watts. They became in his hands something more than canine types; he saw in them individuals with characters and stories of their own. There is the Dog in High Life, and the Dog in Low Life; the tranquil big dog as Dignity, the impetuous little dog as Impudence.

TWO OF GOTTFRIED MIND’S CATS.(PlateII. from “Der Katzen-Raphael.”)

TWO OF GOTTFRIED MIND’S CATS.

(PlateII. from “Der Katzen-Raphael.”)

Here a fine hound waits for the Countess (this dog, by the way, belonged to Lady Blessington, and was given to her by the at that time King of Naples); here, by a plain coffin, a collie waits for the master who will never return; and here two tiny silken spaniels guard a plumed hat and pair of gloves. These spaniels, which belonged to Robert Vernon, had an equally tragic fate—the Blenheim being killed by a fall from a table, and the King Charles by a fall through the staircase rails. Their picture is now in the National Gallery of London, where many a one lingers before it, admiring the great lustrous eyes, silken coats, and delicate, whimsical physiognomies of “The Cavalier’s Pets.”

THE CAVALIER’S PETS.(From the etching by Leon Richeton, after Sir Edwin Landseer, R. A.)

THE CAVALIER’S PETS.

(From the etching by Leon Richeton, after Sir Edwin Landseer, R. A.)

Very near them hangs a painting called “The Sleeping Bloodhound.” The beautiful animal rests so easily that few would imagine her repose to be the sleep of death—yet so it is. Countess, as they named her, belonged to an old friend of Landseer, and running too eagerly one night to meet him, fell from a height and was killed. The next day he carried her to the studio; and the fine picture, now so familiar to all, commemorates both her own beauty and her master’s love.

THE DUSTMAN’S DOG.(Drawn by Landseer when a child.)

THE DUSTMAN’S DOG.

(Drawn by Landseer when a child.)

Brutus, Vixen and Boxer—all pets of the artist—appear in “The Ratcatchers;” Paul Pry, another intimate, figures as “A Member of the Humane Society.” As thoroughly appreciative of dog character in the extremes of poverty and ease, are two other pictures called “The Dustman’s Dog,” and “The Critics.” One is a mere sketch (drawn when Sir Edwin was as yet the child Eddie) of a faithful, homely, hard-worked cur; the other is a portrait of himself at work, with a noble canine friend at each shoulder, inspecting the result of his toil.

COUNTESS, THE SLEEPING BLOODHOUND.(After Landseer’s painting.)

COUNTESS, THE SLEEPING BLOODHOUND.

(After Landseer’s painting.)

He had a liking—as what painter of animals has not?—for lions; and those in Trafalgar Square which guard the Nelson Monument, prove how well he understood them.

“They are not bumptious,” he said, “nor do they swagger; but look (I hope) as though they might be trusted ... and are all gentleness and tranquillity till Nelson gives the word.”

There is no doubt that Landseer’s memory will live. As man and artist his claims are great. He deserves to be counted among the world’s benefactors for the impulse his work has given to the right appreciation and treatment of the dog. If as great and widely known an artist had patronized Pussy, we should find her better treated to-day, and certainly better understood. Mind painted her with wonderful fidelity, but he lacked the dramatic instinct of Landseer. Pussy was Pussy to him—he never imagined in other situations than those he saw. It was not in him to create a feline Diogenes and Alexander.

THE CRITICS.(Landseer’s portrait of himself.)

THE CRITICS.

(Landseer’s portrait of himself.)

Sir Edwin has passed from us, but Rosa Bonheur still lives, and still occupies her serene life with the art she loves. There is awell-known and charming picture of her earlier self, with the dark hair tossed back from a bright, courageous face, and one arm resting in calm assurance of mutual good-will on the neck of a shaggy steer. This indicates a preference both personal and artistic. She has always delighted in painting cattle; and the patient oxen of the Nivernais, no less than the picturesque, long-haired cattle of the Scotch Highlands, attest her loving study of their ways. Deer, too, she enjoys painting, and horses; while Wasp, the terrier, will hold his own even beside Landseer’s canine portraits.

PAUL PRY, A MEMBER OF THE HUMANE SOCIETY.(After Landseer’s painting.)

PAUL PRY, A MEMBER OF THE HUMANE SOCIETY.

(After Landseer’s painting.)

Mlle. Bonheur’s home at Fontainebleau is fairly alive with pets; sheep, horses, goats and dogs; creatures with pedigree and withoutit; creatures famous for their beauty or remarkable for their rarity. Not only does she entertain peaceable, home-loving animals, but also such fierce inmates as lions and tigers. From one of the former was painted her magnificent “Old Monarch,” which fronts squarely the spectator like one “every inch a king.” Her “Tiger” is the faithful likeness of a pet brought to her as a cub from the jungles of Bengal. Nero was his well-bestowed name—a name appropriate to the latent power and ferocity which might become terribly apparent should he ever have the chance or wish to exert them. But this has never happened. Temptations to naughtiness are carefully removed from his path, his will is rarely crossed, his tastes are consulted. Roomily lodged, amply fed, he is probably the most civilized tiger in existence.

Mlle. Bonheur is convinced of his affection, but it is doubtless as fortunate for the world as for herself that she never entered his cage. This superb favorite cost about three thousand dollars, and as His Majesty’s meat diet is also very expensive, he may be accounted in more ways than one a dear pet.

Several wild horses were at one time added to the studio “properties”; and lately a Russian nobleman presentedMlle. Bonheur with a couple of magnificent Russian bears, to which she is said to be much attached.

Paris is a city dear to artists, and almost every nationality is represented in its salons. Henry Bacon, for instance, is American; and among the paintings and sketches that fill his studio, are many reminiscences of his far-off home. In no way, moreover, is he sogenuinely American as in his devotion to pets. It is a pity that in many cases their beautiful portraits are all of themselves that remain to him. Most notable among them, and perhaps also best beloved, was Glen, a black-and-tan collie from Aberdeenshire, bornin 1879, whose parents, Jock and Miss, had both obtained prize medals.

AN OLD MONARCH.(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

AN OLD MONARCH.

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

Miss made a rather careless mother—often allowing her puppies towander out of sight; but this was pure absent-mindedness—for when in their rovings beyond the kennel they came to grief, she appeared conscious of her maternal short-comings, and employed all her intelligence to serve her little ones.

WASP, ROSA BONHEUR’S PET TERRIER.(After Rosa Bonheur’s painting.)

WASP, ROSA BONHEUR’S PET TERRIER.

(After Rosa Bonheur’s painting.)

The farmer who had charge of the kennels, stepped out of his cottage one morning into the first snow of the season, to be met by Miss in a state of terrible excitement. She jumped upon him, pulled at his coat, and neither caress nor threat could quiet her. At last, having thoroughly attracted his attention, she made a dash down the avenue, looking back over her shoulder as she ran. The farmer, being versed in “canese,” understood that he was expected to follow—and followed!

Without diverging to right or left, or running in curves, as is the habit of shepherd dogs, Miss preceded him through the fresh-fallensnow down the avenue and across a field, stopped at the edge of a large post-hole, and after looking down rushed back to hurry up the help she was bringing. Her favorite pup, Glen, had gone out on an early morning voyage of discovery, had fallen into this hole, and would have perished there but for this timely aid.

Nor does the story end here. After Glen was pulled out, and on his way home under the farmer’s great-coat—for he was only a little thing, not yet a month old—Miss staid behind, and with much scratching and barking filled in the hole, being of opinion, probably, that post-holes, like barn doors, should be closed after an accident has happened.

THE HORSE FAIR.(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

THE HORSE FAIR.

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

A few months later Glen went to live in Tunbridge Wells, England, with his brother Jock, and if they had not quarreled, would still be, in all likelihood, a British subject; but owing to their many disputes, Glen was sent abroad. The next summer, and indeed each summer of his life, has been passed on the Normandycoast at Etretât. From what he knows of Glen’s character, Mr. Bacon does not think him entirely to blame in these family quarrels. Besides, his brother Jock’s short life was not exemplary, for it was reported that he bit a child; and although the child recovered from the bite, “it was the dog that died.”

THE LION AT HOME.(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

THE LION AT HOME.

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)

Glen, being a shepherd dog, is delighted when he encounters upon the downs a flock of sheep, and if not called off, will instantly herd them into a compact, frightened mass, much to the distress of their guardian and his dog. When he cannot find sheep, he will amuse himself by gathering together the hens and chickens he finds in an orchard; and once, in default of these, while his master was sketching on the sands of Mont-Saint-Michel, he herded the fishermen’s children who were playing at low tidebeyond the town. Unheeded by his master, he had made a wide circle round the children, frightening them together like a flock of sheep; and when discovered, he was capering round the group as though the task had been set him of keeping them together.

Glen is well remembered at Mont-Saint-Michel, for besides this performance, and besides leaping from the battlements when in his hurry he could not find the stairway—he showed what seems to be his only ambition—that of whipping a dog of twice his own size. After several days’ premeditation, he attacked a big fellow brought from Newfoundland by one of the fishermen, and—as usual—was unsuccessful, although he evidently thought he might have succeeded if he had not been pulled off.

GLEN AND HIS MASTER AT ETRETAT.

Glen is as fond of the water as any spaniel, and will bathe in the breakers, leaping clear of the surf on the crest of the waves,and has been very useful in shipwrecks of toy boats—rescuing and bringing them safe to land to the great joy of their youthful owners.

GLENBorn in AberdeenshireOct. 29 1879

GLEN

Born in AberdeenshireOct. 29 1879

Every evening before he and his master retire for the night, they take a walk. It often happens that his master has a friend spending the evening with him, who, in Glen’s opinion, stays later than he should stay. In this case, when the clock has struck the half-hour after ten, Glen becomes uneasy, rises from his rug before the fire, stretches himself, looks around, and, creeping up to the visitor, gives him a gentle poke under the elbow. Of course he is ordered to lie down by his master; but if the visitor is not acquainted with the ways of the household, he is charmed with the dog’s attention, gives him a friendly pat, and declares that Glen does not bother him. Shortly afterwards, the guest is surprised to find the dog again beside him, sitting up on his haunches, and gently scratching his sleeve with his paw; and he does not discontinue his impolite hints so long as the visitor stays. If the visitor is anhabitué, when Glen begins his caresses he looks at his watch, and in spite of his host’s apologies, promises Glen that he will go in a few minutes. Often, when alone, the master will be occupied in the evening with book or pen until, feeling a gentle nudge at his elbow, he looks up to find the large brown eyes of his dog fixed upon him. This is a friendly hint as to the hour, and one which certainly prevents unduly late hours for both master and dog.

A well-known artist in New York, Mr. F. S. Church, makes frequent and delightful studies of animals and birds—although not so much for their own sake, perhaps, as for that of some thought to which they are the fit accessories. Now it is a maiden wandering in desert places, alone, save for the savage beasts her innocence has tamed. Now it is an Alpine shrine where rain and snow have beaten against the patient Christ upon the cross. But still the pent-roof of the shrine affords some shelter; and beneath it, along the outstretched arms, or nestling close to the thorn-crowned head, is a flock of birds. The storm-beaten little wanderers have found refuge where many a one has come before—with the Christ, at the cross.

MR. CHASE AND KAT-TE.

Here a group of feathered mourners singing a dirge for the last rose of summer; there a witch’s daughter in mystic converse with an owl.

Decidedly more realistic is the sketch called “At Rest,” of a monkey extended in that hopeless rigidity which can never be mistaken for life. There is something curiously touching in thestiffened form—a look of almost human protest against fate—as though death had arrested him at the very moment when he was about to become a man.

Another sketch represents a stray cat which thrust its head into the studio one day, and stared for a moment at its occupant, with great, astonished, yellow eyes. From mingled motives of humanity and art he tried to detain her, but in vain. As silently as she had come she vanished, although—like the grin of the cat in Wonderland—her stare remained after her head had disappeared, thus enabling the artist to transfer it to paper.

Lilla Cruikshank’s little dog.

It will be guessed from all these possible pets that Mr. Church had no actual ones. Such is the case, and a great pity it is that this petless master and a few masterless pets cannot meet! His loss, however, is somewhat balanced by the gain in a neighboring studio, which belongs to Mr. William M. Chase. It is rich in artistic bric-à-brac and paintings, but the special decoration when I saw it, was a Russian deer-hound named Kat-te. The magnificent, snow-white fellow lay upon a Turkish rug, whose rich tints set off to perfection his own Northern fairness. He rose, at his master’s request, to shake hands and exhibit his beautiful form in its height and length. He even condescended to lay upon my palm for a moment his clean-cut, delicate muzzle, but soon wearied of exhibition, and went back to hisdolce far nienteon the rug.

Kat-te was found by Mr. Chase in Harlaem, and, at that time, spoke Dutch, as a dog may. It required some time to teach himEnglish; nevertheless, he now understands that language also. And yet more, when he met a party of Russians on the street one day, and was addressed by them in their own language, he showed the greatest delight and emotion. He tried to follow them home, he was restless, he was excited, and thus evinced in canine fashion, not only his philological attainments, but also his faithful Russian heart. Some idea of his noble proportions may be gained from the accompanying picture.

The caricaturist Cham had a dog called Azor, as well-known as himself; and Du Maurier’s Chang, a very beautiful, sagacious dog, figured, while living, in many of his master’s sketches, and by his death grieved all who knew him.

George Cruikshank’s Lilla was a docile, affectionate little creature, and, like most studio pets, figures occasionally in his master’s work. The drawing given here is from the original in Madame Tussaud’s exhibition. It is well stuffed and mounted, and purports to be the veritable Lilla; but although its history was inquired into both by the artist who sketched it, and myself, we failed to get even the smallest crumb of information. Its identity, therefore, must be left an open question.

Dante Rossetti had a collection of pets which, in its whimsical variety, can only be likened to that of the naturalist Buckland. Armadillos and wombats were included, but decidedly the most notable was the zebu. One of the artist’s biographers gives an amusing account of the creature. It was an intractable subject for petting, and put an end to all attempts in that direction by one day tearing up by the roots the little tree to which it was tethered, and chasing its owner all round the garden. After this exploit, it was given away; Mr. Knight says that Rossetti, when discussing his pets, past and present, was not much given to talk of the zebu.

LADY TANKERVILLE, WHO HID HER KITTENSIN THE HEAD OF STORY’S STATUE OF PEABODY.

Roman studios are as well supplied with live “properties” as American or English ones. Will the visitor who has once seen it ever forget that charming staircase, vine-wreathed, flowery and musical, which, although in the busy Piazza di Termini, still keeps an air of forest seclusion? It is the passage to a studio equally retired, fashioned like a nest in the ruined baths of Diocletian. Paintings, bits of tapestry, etc., form a background for various marble inmates, whose serenity is interfered with neither by cat nor dog. It is the staircase, covered with wire netting, that holds the favorites. Pigeons inhabit the upper part, and keep up a continual flutter at the latticed window, their wings gleaming silver in the sunshine. Lower down are musical blackbirds; I remember especially among the latter one beautiful fellow, who shrank back, mute, at the approach of our party, but answered his master’s call at once, and perched, lightly as thistledown, upon his arm.

This master, the sculptor Ezekiel, like most bird-lovers, does not allow cats in his home. He might possibly train Pussy into tolerance, and so have a happy family—only—he does not like cats! which, to a cat lover, seems queer. However, even if unconsciously, he must have some secret understanding of their nature; for in his studio is a marble Judith with arm raised to strike, who, in her magnificent fierceness, recalls, far from ignobly, the feline race.

Elihu Vedder’s pets might be expected to wear a rather tragic and noble air, appropriate to the illustrations of the Rubaiyat; but on the contrary, they have a commonplace appearance of well-being. The studio pet one year was an asthmatic small dog, who had thrown himself upon the artist’s compassion—a grateful, subdued, unassuming object, which, after each spasm of coughing, would look around with a deprecatory expression, as if to apologize for the disturbance. Some intelligent cats, and another small dog,in this instance possessed of vivacious health and spirits, keep the artist’s home lively, and compete with one another for his favor.

A third studio in Rome is that of the sculptor Story. Many famous statues have here been “born in clay and resurrected in marble”—among them that of George Peabody. The marble is now in London, but a colossal plaster-cast remains in the studio.

The philanthropist is seated—a position which allows various projections, or ledges, within the hollow cast—of which a high-minded cat once took advantage.

ENTRANCE AND WINDOW OF THESCULPTOR EZEKIEL’S STUDIO IN ROME.

Before reading further, look at her picture. Is she not very much like some dainty young lady in ball-dress? See how deftly she has disposed her train, how fastidiously she glances over her shoulder! A cat of distinction—that is evident at the first glance! She came originally from Walton-on-Thames, in England, was a present to Mrs. Story, and, in memory of the donor, named Lady Tankerville. Having an artistic bias, she chose the studio in preference to boudoir life, and was oftenest to be found there.

After a while she was known to be the proud mother of kittens, but where she kept them remained a mystery until several weekslater, when they were found in—of all places!—the head of George Peabody. It was a delightfully retired situation, and probably there never were happier kittens. As an instance of post-mortem philanthropy, it is, I am convinced, unequalled.

BIMBO, ONE OF THE SCULPTORSTORY’S PETS.

A fine pug called Bimbo must be added to the favorites that have gone before. A spoiled but intelligent darling, he sits up for his picture on a velvet chair, with an air of snug contentment quite irresistible. His mistress holds him in loving memory; and, since his death, contents herself with a bisque “puggery,” whose inmates, if liable to breakage, are nevertheless more easily replaced.

One other pet must close this chapter—a pet already old, but likely to live many more years without appearing perceptibly older. It is a tortoise, Babbo by name, which belonged to the sculptor Hiram Powers. I had the honor of frequent interviews with Babbo some summers past; and Mr. Longworth Powers did his best to photograph him. A crumb of moistened biscuit was placed on the broad stone step and Babbo beside it. No use at all; he either got into a bad position or shuffled out of focus. Juicy cabbage leaves were brought, but although usually susceptibleto their charm, he now turned from them in scorn. He was gently coaxed, he was thumped down hard, he was entreated, he was scolded—all in vain. A good tortoise ordinarily, the bare idea of a photograph seemed to render him frantic; and after three plates were spoiled, we were compelled to let him go.

“Mr. Powers’ Babbo,” writes Babbo’s mistress, “always came to the inner studio door if hungry or thirsty, and scratched at it to attract attention. Then my husband would take him up, hold him in the water until he had quite satisfied his thirst, when the creature would waddle off, perfectly contented. If hungry, he would give him a bit of bread dipped in wine and water.”

The kind master has gone, but Babbo remains, and still has shelter, drink and sup in the pleasant Florentine garden.

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