August 13.
St. Hippolytas, A. D. 252. St. Cassian. St. Rudegundes, queen of France, A. D. 587. St. Wigbert, Abbot, A. D. 747.
Cats.
Once upon a time—on or about the 13th of August, 1819; it might have been a few or many days before or after that day, or a month or so before or after that month—the day or month is of less consequence to the reader, than to the editor, who desires to “bring in” an interesting anecdote or two on the 13th day of August. Once upon a time, a cat—it is a fact—for it is in The Scotsman newspaper of the 23d of October, 1819—once upon a time, a cat, belonging to a shipmaster, was left on shore, by accident, when his vessel sailed from the harbour of Aberdour, Fifeshire, which lies about half a mile from the village. The vessel was absent about a month, and, on her return, to the astonishment of the shipmaster, puss came on board with a fine stout kitten in her mouth, apparently about three weeks old, and went directly down to the cabin. Two others of her young were afterwards caught, quite wild, in a neighbouring wood, where she must have remained with them till the return of the vessel. The shipmaster did not allow her again to go on shore, otherwise it is probable she would have brought the whole litter on board. What is more remarkable, vessels were daily entering and leaving the harbour, none of which she ever thought of visiting till the one she had left returned.[251] This extraordinary instance of feline sagacity, on the day before mentioned or imagined, is paralleled by another:—
A lady lately living at Potsdam, when a child of six years, ran a splinter into her foot, sat down upon the floor, and cried most violently. At first her cries were not regarded, as they were considered to be more the effect of a pettish and obstinate temper, than of any great pain which the accident could have occasioned her. At length the elder sister of the child, who had been lying asleep in bed, was roused by her cries, and as she was just about to get out of bed, in order to quiet her sister, she observed a cat, who was a favourite playmate of the children, and otherwise of a very gentle disposition, leave her seat under the stove, go to the crying girl, and having given her with one of her paws so smart a blow upon the cheek as to draw blood, walk back again with the utmost gravity to her place under the stove. As this cat was by no means of a malicious disposition, for she had grown up together with the younger children of the family, and never designedly scratched any of them, it seems that her intention upon this occasion was to chastise the pettish girl, and put an end to her troublesome cries, in order that she might herself be able to finish her morning nap without further interruption.[252]
In the “Orleans Collection” of pictures there was a fine painting of a “Concert of Cats,” by F. Breughel, from whence there is a print, among the engravings of that gallery, sufficiently meritorious and whimsical to deserve a place here; and therefore it is represented in the [sketch] on the present page. In justice, to the justice done to it, Mr. Samuel Williams must be mentioned as the artist who both drew and engraved it. The fixed attention of the feline performers is exceedingly amusing, and by no means unnatural; for it appears by the notes that mice is their theme, and they seem engaged in a catch.
Breughel’s Concert of Cats.
Ye rats, in triumph elevate your ears!
Exult, ye mice! for fate’s abhorred shears
Of Dick’s nine lives have slit the cat-guts nine;
Henceforth he mews midst choirs of cats divine!
So sings Mr. Huddesford, in a “Monody on the Death of Dick, an Academical Cat,” with this motto,—