An obliging correspondent writes to us as follows: An article in the September number of Chambers’s Journal entitled ‘Poppet’s Pranks’ having afforded much amusement to our young people, it has occurred to me that a short account of one of our numerous pets might not be unacceptable, especially as we have often said in our own circle, that ‘Billy’s doings ought to be immortalised in print.’

We have always considered it an important element in the education of children that they should be taught to regard the brute creation with kindly feelings, and in our own family we have fostered the love of animals by encouraging them to keep pets; so at various periods, dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, guinea-pigs, &c. have all in turn been domiciled with us; and I believe we also harboured for a time a hedgehog and a bat; but these last proving rather intractable, were soon restored to their native freedom.

Those who have had experience in it, best know how interesting any living intelligence becomes, when one is brought closely in contact with it; and we elders, as well as the more juvenile members of our family, have found both pleasure and instruction in observing the habits and dispositions of the little creatures to whom we gave a kindly shelter. Among these, none ever excited more interest or stood higher in the family regards, than Billy our tame rat.

It was in the winter of 1874–5 that a friend who was coming to spend Christmas with us, brought Billy as a new treasure for the children; and for some months he afforded us great amusement. He arrived in a cigar-box in which he usually slept, and on its being opened, he sprang instantly inside our friend’s waistcoat, from which safe retreat he ventured to peep out at the strange faces, which he seemed to regard with terror; and this habit he retained, for although he soon established friendly relations with us, he always darted behind the piano or sideboard on the entrance of a stranger; yet his little head with its bright bead-like eyes was sure to peep out presently, as if he wanted to satisfy his own curiosity without being himself observed.

But here let me say, no one must suppose for an instant that Billy resembled the repulsive-looking rat of our farm-yards and ditches. He was of a much smaller size, not larger than a kitten of a month old, and very prettily spotted in brown and white; his eyes were very prominent, standing out like large black beads, and he was particularly nice in his toilet, washing just as a cat does, and keeping his coat always scrupulously clean.

Yet I confess it was some time before I could regard him with equanimity: it was so hard to divest one’s self of the general prejudice against his race; and his receding under jaw gave an uncomfortable impression at first; so I used to shrink from him and gather up my skirts at his approach, although my son declared that if he had been introduced to me as a ‘rodent,’ I should have had no objection to him, and that it was merely the name of ‘rat’ which excited my aversion.

However, be this as it may, Billy soon won his way to favour in spite of prejudice, and by his intelligence and good temper made himself a general favourite. He especially attached himself to my eldest daughter, and would come at the call of ‘Billy, Billy!’ from any of his hiding-places, except at night, when he seemed to be quite aware that he was wanted to go to bed (in the cigar-box before mentioned); and then it was often with great difficulty she could entice him from his lurking-place. Sometimes she would tempt him with a biscuit, and he would dart out, snatch it from her fingers, and dart again behind the sideboard before she could get hold of him.

We did not usually see much of him in the morning, as he liked to conceal himself behind the heavy furniture. But at dinner-time he was sure to appear, and generally placed himself on my knee, where from time to time he was fed with small bits of bread and vegetables; and if I was not sufficiently attentive to his wants, he would pass over to one of the children’s plates, and watching his opportunity, would make a seizure, and dart with the stolen morsel to his storing-place; and this habit of storing was very curious, being evidently an instinct belonging to very different surroundings. In a room appropriated chiefly to the children there was an old sofa a good deal the worse for wear, as what sofa would not be that had been carriage, omnibus, or railway train to seven or eight youngsters successively? Under the pillow, the haircloth had given way, so Billy found a hole conveniently ready for him, and lost no time in appropriating it. Thither he carried many of his stores; and it was most amusing to watch him nibble a biscuit just like a squirrel, sitting back on his haunches and holding it neatly between his fore-paws; and then when he had had enough for immediate wants, he would spring with the remainder to this hole in the old sofa.

But it was not only food he stored; he had a decided fancy for bright colours; and if bits of ribbon or coloured silk were left in his way, he would drag them along the floor, and then leap to the sofa with such celerity that it was almost impossible to deprive him of his booty. Once I looked up in time to see and seize one end of a blue necktie as Billy disappeared with the other behind the sofa pillow. He came up directly to see what detained it, and was very unwilling to give it up; so he pulled and I held, until finding that I was the stronger, he relinquished it, but with such impatient little squeaks! Yet neither then nor at any other time did he ever attempt to bite or shew any ill-temper towards any of us; though, like most pets, he had to bear a fair amount of well-meant teasing, which no kitten would have stood as well.

I recollect one day watching him with much interest. He had found on the floor a large newspaper, which he seized by one corner and pulled towards the sofa, up which he made several vain attempts to leap with the paper in his mouth. He then dropped it, and jumped back and forwards several times, as if he was measuring his distance, or making calculations with an eye to future success. Then again catching hold of the paper, he tried to leap with it, but again he failed; so at last I took pity upon him, and tore one half of the paper away, when he was able to manage the remainder, and carry it off in triumph to his den.

During the winter evenings, when the children were engaged with their lessons, Billy was usually to be found on the table rummaging among their books and catching at their pens; which latter amusement he enjoyed very much after the manner of a kitten running after a knitting-needle drawn quickly up and down the table; but as these amusements rather interfered with the studies, Billy would occasionally be dismissed to the kitchen, to which he had a great dislike. He never stayed there longer than he could help, but on the first chance would rush up the stairs and scratch, or rather I should say gnaw for admittance. Speaking of this gnawing, leads me to observe that one objection I had to receiving him, was the fear that he would be very mischievous; but fortunately I never found him so. He had free access to a pantry where a variety of eatables, usually considered dear to a rat’s heart, were to be found; but I never knew him to injure anything or even to cut the paper covering of any parcel, no matter what it contained. No doubt it was partly owing to his being so well fed that he was not driven to theft by hunger. I generally scattered for him on the shelves some grains of rice or pickles of starch, and to these he helped himself when inclined. From soap or candles he turned away in disgust, being far too well-bred a rat to indulge in such low tastes; but he dearly loved a bit of plum-cake; and, shall I confess it? he was by no means a teetotaler. If ale was used at dinner, he would rush eagerly about the glasses until he was supplied with some in a spoon. I believe, before he came to us, he had been accustomed to even stronger potations, in which, however, we did not indulge him.

I have said he was not mischievous, neither was he, as mischief among rats is generally understood; but there is no rule without exception, and Billy had a decided penchant for kid gloves. If any were left carelessly about, he was sure to get hold of them and have the fingers eaten off in a few minutes. I cannot tell how many gloves he destroyed, until repeated lessons of this sort enforced more tidy habits.

I must not omit to mention his love of music; when he heard the piano, he would rush to the drawing-room and spring to the performer’s knee, where he would remain perfectly quiet, evidently listening with much pleasure. When he first came he was very restless, seeming to live in a state of perpetual motion; but he soon learned to come upon the knee to be caressed and have his head rubbed, which operation afforded him intense enjoyment. He would have lain in a state of supreme delight for an hour if any one would have rubbed his head for so long.

Very various were the opinions entertained of Billy by our friends. Some of our young visitors would ask to see him when they called, and with them he soon became familiar, and would run over their shoulders and about their necks quite freely; but others had a perfect horror of him; and I remember once, on going down to receive two ladies, I found one of them standing on the piano-stool in dread of his attacking her; and no declarations as to his perfect harmlessness were of any avail. Another time an old lady and gentleman were spending the evening with us, and knowing the latter to be of a very nervous temperament, I had given strict orders that Billy should be kept down-stairs. But Billy had no idea of losing his tea, and managing to escape from the servant who had him in charge, in he rushed, as soon as the door was opened, and made straight across the room, as usual for my knee. I gave him a bit of cake to keep him quiet, and covered him up with my handkerchief. ‘What’s that, what’s that?’ exclaimed the old gentleman anxiously. I replied as carelessly as I could: ‘Oh, it’s only a little pet of the children’s;’ and hoped no more notice would be taken; but presently our friend got up, and came round to where I sat just as Billy had finished his cake and put up his head for more. Never shall I forget his look of dismay as he exclaimed: ‘It’s a rat!’ while making hasty tracks for the door. However, we succeeded in allaying his fears; and Billy was allowed to run about freely, with only an occasional shudder from our friend if he approached him too closely.

During the spring we had a lady staying with us who could not be reconciled to seeing a rat run about the house, and who repelled all friendly overtures on the part of our pet; so one morning, out of consideration for her, Billy was banished to another room whilst we were at breakfast; and lo! on going into the room afterwards, I found my friend’s ball of cotton cut into shreds, which were piled in a little heap on the floor. It really seemed as if he had done it from revenge, for though I had had knitting about repeatedly, he often rolled the balls on the carpet, but never injured them.

While enough has been said, I think, to shew that Billy was a very interesting pet, candour compels me to admit that, like wiser and better folk, he had his faults; and I am sorry to say his besetting sin was jealousy. Although so thoroughly good-tempered with all the members of our family, he would not tolerate another pet in the house. He had not been long with us, when he killed a canary that had lighted on his back. At first, there were threats of summary vengeance; but on reflection, it was thought possible that he had been frightened by its sudden descent upon him, and had killed the bird in an impulse of self-defence; so it was decided to give him the benefit of this supposition, and he was forgiven and restored to favour.

But when the midsummer holidays arrived, one of our boys brought home a handsome young retriever, whom it was evident from the first Billy regarded with no friendly eye. The children of course were much taken up with the fresh arrival; and I presume Billy felt himself neglected, and therefore lost no opportunity of revenging himself upon the new favourite. It was wonderful to see the courage of the little creature in venturing to attack an animal so much larger than himself. If the dog were lying quietly on the rug, he would spring on him, and then retreat so quickly that at first we did not know whether he had bitten him or not, as the dog would merely utter a low growl and retire. But one day at dinner, when our canine friend was being supplied with pieces which probably had formerly fallen to Billy’s share, our little pet was so enraged, that he rushed across the table and bit the dog on the mouth severely. From that time his doom was sealed; it was felt that either he or the dog must be dismissed, and the verdict was unanimous in favour of keeping the retriever; so Billy was tied up in his box and sent back to his former owner. Since then, we have occasionally heard of his welfare; and the last news concerning him was, that he had been taken into a garden, ‘but was evidently too much awed by the immensity of the universe to enjoy it.’