THE STUDY OF NATURE. 37 
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AY a beautiful spectacle; all the grimalkins, in furred y 
dignity, sitting majestically under the chairs of their 
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| young masters. One alone was missing from the 
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tl: circle—a poor wretch, too ugly to figure among the i 
? ‘ others; he knew his unworthiness, and held himself [2° 
aloof, in a wild timidity which nothing was able to 
; ] conquer. As in every assembly (such is the piteous 
Ki, malignity of our nature!) there must be a butt, a scape- 
A goat, who receives all the blows, he, in ours, filled this 
y unthankful réle. If there were no blows, at least there 
i. were abundant mockeries: we named him Moquo. Weak, 
Ni and scantily provided with fur, he stood in more need 
‘I than the others of the genial hearth; but we children 
Ve filled him with fear: even his comrades, hetter clothed 
N in their warm ermine, appeared to esteem him but 
\) lightly, and to look at him askant. Of course, there- 
) fore, my father turned to him, and fondled him; the 
al grateful animal lay down under that beloved hand, 
and gained confidence. Wrapped up in his coat, and 
revived by its warmth, he would frequently be brought, 
unseen,to the fireside. We quickly caught sight of him; 
and if he showed a hair, or the tip of an ear, our laughter 
and our glances threatened him, in spite of my father. 
I can still see that shadow gathering itself up—melt- 
ing, so to speak—in its protector’s bosom, closing its 
eyes, annihilating itself, well content to see nothing. 
“All that I have read of the Hindus, and their 
tenderness for nature, reminds me of my father. He 
was a Brahmin. More even than the Brahmins did 
he love every living thing. He had lived in a time 
of blood and war—he had been an eye-witness of the 
