238 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



The interesting diary of Elizabeth Drinker tells 

 us of the strange mortality that prevailed among 

 the Philadelphia cats in the summer of 1797, and 

 which seems to have somewhat resembled the epi- 

 demic of 1809 in Berne. Cherished pussies were 

 found dead on doorsteps, in the streets, by the 

 kitchen fires, — and none knew whereof th>ey died. 

 There was mourning and lamentation in many a 

 home ; and the " Cat's Coronach " might have 

 been chanted at night in the deserted yards, and 

 on lonely walls, no longer guarded by resolute and 

 valiant Toms. 



" And art thou fallen, and lowly laid, 

 The housewife's boast, the cellar's aid. 



Great mouser of thy day I 

 Whose rolling eyes and aspect dread 

 Whole whiskered legions oft have fled 



In midnight battle fray. 

 There breathes no kitten of thy line 

 But would have given his life for thine." 



It is not only of cats in general that Elizabeth 

 Drinker deigns to write. She has much to say 

 from time to time of her own puss, who, at a ripe 

 old age, fell a victim to the prevailing disorder, and 

 for whom she seems to have entertained a precise 

 and Quaker-like esteem ; — "as good a regard as 

 was necessary," is her rather chilly way of record- 

 ing her affection. Neither does she deem it be- 

 neath the dignity of a diarist to note the arrival of a 



