124 ^^^ Poets' Beasts. 



of the god of learning. When it was a red one, the Copts 

 thrust it with much pious ceremonial over the top of a 

 precipice, as a " scape-ass " for the people. Hence, by an 

 oblique prolongation of the vicarious-sinner idea, " wicked 

 as a red ass " became a Coptic proverb. In the same vein, 

 the Nagas to this day select red cocks for augury and 

 sacrifice. Not that red was always an honoured tint. Cain's 

 hair, they say, was red, and Nebuchadnezzar's, for his sins, 

 was turned to the same colour. 



As for its voice, " the loud clarion of the braying ass," 

 as Pope calls it, the donkey fares badly at poets' hands. 

 And, indeed, I defy any one to hear a donkey fairly out and 

 not to laugh at the cavernous melancholy of the animal's 

 concluding notes. It commences with an ardour that has 

 something of military enthusiasm in it, but suddenly, as if 

 the memory of secret griefs had supervened, the voice drops 

 from the full-breathed outcry that rings across the Bikaneer 

 wastes, to a dolorous pumping up of hollow groans and 

 husky sobs that had justified the venerable Philemon in his 

 mirthful death far better than the sight of a donkey eating 

 figs. But Philemon, poor dry old soul, was in his ninety- 

 seventh year, and needed no great excuse for dying. Yet 

 if I had to find some excuse myself for dying of laughter, 

 when I was only three years oft' the century, I think I 

 should have myself transported to some spot on the banks 

 of holy Ganges where Hindoo washermen congregate, and 

 there pleasantly demise while laughing at their donkeys 

 braying. 



" To all the echoes south and north, 



And east and west, the ass sent forth 



A loud and piteous bray." 



And again — 



" Once more the ass did lengthen out 

 More ruefully an endless shout, 

 The long, dry, see-saw of his horrid bray." 



