years ago, had these lines engraved on the little 

 marble tomb of his dog Margaret knew the 

 dog-lovers' 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: 



