lo A BOOK OF MORTALS 



Not so tragic, yet still worthy of serious consideration by 

 the human mother of to-day who refuses or is unable to 

 perform the first duty of motherhood is another personal 

 memory. That of a dachshund who, having from her birth 

 lived a life secluded from all possibility of conference with 

 her kind was about to have her first litter. 



Forsaking her master and his gun absolutely, she followed 

 me about — as one I presume of some matronly experience — 

 from room to room until, driven to the premature arrange- 

 ment by her piteous appealing eyes, we set a heap of hay for 

 her, safe sheltered under a table. 



Here for two whole days she remained patiently, 

 refusing even to leave it for her dinner, on the ground 

 evidently that inexperience could not be too careful. 



When the puppies arrived at last, she displayed an 

 amount of nursery lore which was frankly astonishing. 

 Never in fact have I seen so devoted a mother. Her care 

 was such that she scarcely even slept, except on the rare 

 occasions when even she could find no cause for anxiety in 

 the slumbering pile of puppydom. Then she would give 

 a prolonged sigh of satisfaction and snatch a hasty doze 

 herself. 



She was motherhood incarnate, and, incredible though it 

 may sound, although as a rule dainty to a degree and like 

 all her breed almost carnivorous, she resolutely refused to 

 touch a morsel of meat till the puppies were three weeks 

 old. In place of it she literally gulped down basin after 

 basin full of tasteless paps and slops with such an air of 

 conscious rectitude as convinced me that in some previous 

 state of existence she must have studied Dr. Chavasse's 

 ^'■Advice to a Toiing Mother'' 



