of condolence, ("Learn, my son, to bear tranquilly the misfortunes of others,") and with the charming verses which have immortalized Selima's memory.
"It would be a sensible satisfaction to me," he wrote, "before I testify my sorrow, and the sincere part I take in your calamity, to know for certain who it is I lament. I knew Zara and Selima, (Selima, was it, or Fatima?) or rather I knew them both together; for I cannot justly say which was which. Then as to your 'handsome Cat,' the name you distinguish her by, I am no less at a loss, as well knowing one's handsome cat is always the cat one loves best; or, if one be alive and one dead, it is usually the latter which is the handsomer. Besides, if the point were never so clear, I hope you do not think me so ill-bred or so imprudent as to forfeit all my interest in the survivor. Oh, no! I would rather seem to mistake, and to imagine to be sure it must be the tabby one that has met with this sad accident."
The poem which accompanied the letter, and a portion of which was subsequently inscribed upon the pedestal which held the ill-omened bowl, is familiar to all readers of English verse; but no book upon cats would be complete without it.
"'T was on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
