and then gets up suddenly; the first intimation we have of his

movements being given by the table, which appears animated by a desire
to turn somersaults. We all clutch at it frantically and endeavor to

maintain it in a horizontal position; whereupon his struggles, he
being under the impression that some wickedconspiracy is being

hatched against him, become fearful, and the final picture presented
is generally that of an overturned table and a smashed-up dinner

sandwiched between two sprawling layers of infuriated men and women.
He came in this morning in his usual style, which he appears to have

founded on that of an American cyclone, and the first thing he did was
to sweep my coffee-cup off the table with his tail, sending the

contents full into the middle of my waistcoat.
I rose from my chair hurriedly and remarking "----," approached him at

a rapid rate. He preceded me in the direction of the door. At the
door he met Eliza coming in with eggs. Eliza observed "Ugh!" and sat

down on the floor, the eggs took up different positions about the
carpet, where they spread themselves out, and Gustavus Adolphus left

the room. I called after him, strongly advising him to go straight
downstairs and not let me see him again for the next hour or so; and

he seeming to agree with me, dodged the coal-scoop and went, while I
returned, dried myself and finished breakfast. I made sure that he

had gone in to the yard, but when I looked into the passage ten
minutes later he was sitting at the top of the stairs. I ordered him

down at once, but he only barked and jumped about, so I went to see
what was the matter.

It was Tittums. She was sitting on the top stair but one and wouldn't
let him pass.

Tittums is our kitten. She is about the size of a penny roll. Her
back was up and she was swearing like a medical student.

She does swear fearfully. I do a little that way myself sometimes,
but I am a mere amateur compared with her. To tell you the

truth--mind, this is strictly between ourselves, please; I shouldn't
like your wife to know I said it--the women folk don't understand

these things; but between you and me, you know, I think it does at man
good to swear. Swearing is the safety-valve through which the bad

temper that might otherwise do serious internalinjury to his mental
mechanism escapes in harmless vaporing. When a man has said: "Bless

you, my dear, sweet sir. What the sun, moon, and stars made you so
careless (if I may be permitted the expression) as to allow your light

and delicate foot to descend upon my corn with so much force? Is it
that you are physicallyincapable of comprehending the direction in

which you are proceeding? you nice, clever young man--you!" or words
to that effect, he feels better. Swearing has the same soothing

effect upon our angry passions that smashing the furniture or slamming
the doors is so well known to exercise; added to which it is much

cheaper. Swearing clears a man out like a pen'orth of gunpowder does
the wash-house chimney. An occasionalexplosion is good for both. I

rather distrust a man who never swears, or savagely kicks the
foot-stool, or pokes the fire with unnecessary violence. Without some

outlet, the anger caused by the ever-occurring troubles of life is apt
to rankle and fester within. The petty annoyance, instead of being

thrown from us, sits down beside us and becomes a sorrow, and the
little offense is brooded over till, in the hot-bed of rumination, it

grows into a great injury, under whose poisonous" target="_blank" title="a.有毒的；讨厌的">poisonous shadow springs up
hatred and revenge.

Swearing relieves the feelings--that is what swearing does. I
explained this to my aunt on one occasion, but it didn't answer with

her. She said I had no business to have such feelings.
That is what I told Tittums. I told her she ought to be ashamed of

herself, brought up in at Christian family as she was, too. I don't
so much mind hearing an old cat swear, but I can't bear to see a mere

kitten give way to it. It seems sad in one so young.
I put Tittums in my pocket and returned to my desk. I forgot her for

the moment, and when I looked I found that she had squirmed out of my
pocket on to the table and was trying to swallow the pen; then she put

her leg into the ink-pot and upset it; then she licked her leg; then
she swore again--at me this time.

I put her down on the floor, and there Tim began rowing with her. I
do wish Tim would mind his own business. It was no concern of his

what she had been doing. Besides, he is not a saint himself. He is
only a two-year-old fox-terrier, and he interferes with everything and

gives himself the airs of a gray-headed Scotch collie.
Tittums' mother has come in and Tim has got his nose scratched, for

which I am remarkably glad. I have put them all three out in the
passage, where they are fighting at the present moment. I'm in a mess

with the ink and in a thundering bad temper; and if anything more in
the cat or dog line comes fooling about me this morning, it had better

bring its own funeralcontractor with it.
Yet, in general, I like cats and dogs very much indeed. What jolly

chaps they are! They are much superior to human beings as companions.
They do not quarrel or argue with you. They never talk about

themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep
up an appearance of being interested in the conversation. They never

make stupid remarks. They never observe to Miss Brown across a
dinner-table that they always understood she was very sweet on Mr.

Jones (who has just married Miss Robinson). They never mistake your
wife's cousin for her husband and fancy that you are the

father-in-law. And they never ask a young author with fourteen
tragedies, sixteen comedies, seven farces, and a couple of burlesques

in his desk why he doesn't write a play.
They never say unkind things. They never tell us of our faults,

"merely for our own good." They do not at inconvenient moments mildly
remind us of our past follies and mistakes. They do not say, "Oh,

yes, a lot of use you are if you are ever really wanted"--sarcastic
like. They never inform us, like our _inamoratas_ sometimes do, that

we are not nearly so nice as we used to be. We are always the same to
them.

They are always glad to see us. They are with us in all our humors.
They are merry when we are glad, sober when we feel solemn, and sad

when we are sorrowful.
"Halloo! happy and want a lark? Right you are; I'm your man. Here I

am, frisking round you, leaping, barking, pirouetting, ready for any
amount of fun and mischief. Look at my eyes if you doubt me. What

shall it be? A romp in the drawing-room and never mind the furniture,
or a scamper in the fresh, cool air, a scud across the fields and down

the hill, and won't we let old Gaffer Goggles' geese know what time o'
day it is, neither! Whoop! come along."

Or you'd like to be quiet and think. Very well. Pussy can sit on the
arm of the chair and purr, and Montmorency will curl himself up on the

rug and blink at the fire, yet keeping one eye on you the while, in
case you are seized with any sudden desire in the direction of rats.

And when we bury our face in our hands and wish we had never been
born, they don't sit up very straight and observe that we have brought

it all upon ourselves. They don't even hope it will be a warning to
us. But they come up softly and shove their heads against us. If it

is a cat she stands on your shoulder, rumples your hair, and says,
"Lor,' I am sorry for you, old man," as plain as words can speak; and

if it is a dog he looks up at you with his big, true eyes and says
with them, "Well you've always got me, you know. We'll go through the

world together and always stand by each other, won't we?"
He is very imprudent, a dog is. He never makes it his business to

inquire whether you are in the right or in the wrong, never bothers as
to whether you are going up or down upon life's ladder, never asks

whether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. You are
his pal. That is enough for him, and come luck or misfortune, good

repute or bad, honor or shame, he is going to stick to you, to comfort
you, guard you, and give his life for you if need be--foolish,

brainless, soulless dog!
Ah! old stanch friend, with your deep, clear eyes and bright, quick

glances, that take in all one has to say before one has time to speak
it, do you know you are only an animal and have no mind? Do you know