for one revealing moment, and makes a truer portrait than the most
laborious painter. The divine face of our Saviour, reflected in the pure
and noble traits of humanity, will not fail from the earth because my
hand has failed in cunning."

One would expect a poet of Ella Wheeler Wilcox's temperament to be
passionately fond of cats, just as she is. One would expect, too, that
only the most beautiful and luxurious of Persians and Angoras would
satisfy her demand for a pet. This is also justifiable, as she has
several magnificent cats, about whom she has published a number of
interesting stories. Her Madame Ref is quite a noted cat, but Mrs.
Wilcox's favorite and the handsomest of all is named Banjo, a gorgeous
chinchilla and white Angora, with a silken coat that almost touches the
floor and a ruff, or "lord mayor's chain," that is a finger wide. His
father was Ajax, his mother was Madame Ref, and Mrs. Wilcox raised him.
She has taught him many cunning tricks. He will sit up like a bear, and
when his mistress says, "Hug me, Banjo," he puts both white paws around
her neck and hugs her tight. Then she says, "Turn the other cheek," and
he turns his furry chops for her to kiss. He also plays "dead," and
rolls over at command. He, too, is fond of literary work, and
superintends his mistress's writing from a drawer of her desk. Goody
Two-eyes is another of Mrs. Wilcox's pets, and has one blue and one
topaz eye.

Who has not read Agnes Repplier's fascinating essays on "Agrippina" and
"A Kitten"? I cannot quite believe she gives cats credit for the
capacity for affection which they really possess, but her description of
"Agrippina" is charming:--

"Agrippina's beautifully ringed tail flapping across my copy distracts