64 



or even the plain poem of Wordsworth, on tins event, must 

 be impressed with a high idea of the dog. In general, how- 

 ever, our estimate of the attachments of the inferior animals 

 is quite too low. Who would ever suppose that the timid hare 

 would admit or return the kindness or caresses of a human 

 being ? Yet it is even so, as the poet Cowper has proved. His- 

 tory tells us of many, who, like the prisoners of Chillon, had 

 attached to them even the mice and the spiders : the mourner 

 in the Sentimental Journey never entertained a doubt that his 

 ass loved him ; and even the gander — the leader of a tribe 

 that is adopted as the very emblem of stupidity — has given 

 proofs of fidelity and strength of attachment that should put 

 other bipeds to the blush. Of course, I do not mean to say 

 that the cat possesses no feeling but attachment to her 

 fireside ; that the Hon possesses only generosity ; or the camel 

 only revenge. The animals possess all the ordinary passions; 

 but this or that one in a special degree. 



" At this point, mental philosophers in general feel inclined 

 to stop ; as they beHeve that the higher qualities of the mind, 

 such as abstraction and generalization form the specific 

 difference (intellectually) between man and the inferior 

 animals. I am strongly inclined to think, that this opinion, 



" ' When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded, 

 The tapestry waves dark in the dim-lighted hall ; 



With escutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 

 And pages stand mute by the canopied pall. 



In the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming ; 



In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beamiug ; 



Far adowu the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 

 Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 



" ' But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 



To lay thyself down like the meek mountain lamb, 

 When 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature, 



And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 

 And more stately thy couch, by this desert lake lying, 

 Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, 

 With but one faithful friend here to witness thy dying 

 In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedecam.' 



Scott. 



