The unknown who, more than sixteen hun- 

 dred years ago, had these lines engraved on 

 the little marble tomb of his dog Margaret 

 knew the dog-lover's secret as well as any 

 man. 



<$& Imagination, no doubt, may please itself 

 by straying to a future in which the frame- 

 work of civilization shall have been enlarged 

 and its implements strengthened so that it 

 may be possible for you to admit to your 

 hearth Prince, the elephant, or Mamie, the 

 giraffe. " John," you will say, " have you let 

 Prinny out for his morning run ? Oh yes, 

 here he comes with a poplar in his trunk. 

 Down, Prinny, down ! You're covering me 

 with mud. Come in to breakfast and have 

 your bun." Or : " Mamie, get off the sofa at 

 once. Sofas are not meant for giraffes. Besides, 

 you've got your own basket in the corner. 

 Naughty, naughty Mamie ! " Something of 

 this kind seems, if we may believe Milton, to 

 have been the lot (not indoors, but in the 

 open) of our first parents : 



5 S About 



