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R. C LEHMANN

LIBRARY

UNIVMSITY OP
CALIFORNIA
SAW DiMO

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FELLOWSHIP BOOKS

A SPARK DIVINE

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A SPARK DIVINE

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we twine;

>. wfiatsGxpsGefow was not
\Mtfi0ut a spar£.diviue."

I. THE TAIL-WAGGERS

AS man wanders from darkness to
darkness through his appointed
tra£t of life there lie about his
path, for cheer and consolation, many
friendships and affections ready to answer to
his own desire and to bind themselves round
lis heart. He has his mother's love, which is
nterfused with pride, as of one who should
say, " Other men are well enough and other
women, doubtless, do the best they can ; but
behold this paragon ! Am I not exalted among
women for having given him birth ? " He has
his father's love, which does not preclude ad-
vice and censure ; and the love of his brothers

and

and sisters, which is sharpened by the know-
ledge of his vulnerable points and tempered by
the will to use that knowledge. There is the
love of children, which passes with time into
respect or acquiescence, and there is the love
of his friends, which does not exempt him
from their improving criticism. But if, as is
possible,he desires a love that never falters and
never questions, that misuse cannot change
and even cruelty cannot affect ; if he is
attracted by a loyalty which rises into wor-
ship and flatters poor human nature by in-
vesting it with godlike attributes ; if his
complex and doubting mind cares to refresh
itself with the contemplation of perfect sim-
plicity and directness ; if he sighs for a com-
panionship which will assume the burden of
his faults and almost turn them into virtues,
which contents itself with a kind look or a
cheering word and does not even press for these
— if these be his wishes, he can secure them,
almost without an effort on his own part, from
the proffered love of the four-footed beasts

who humbly follow his footsteps through the
world. Much of his happiness will depend
on his acceptance of the gift and on the
manner in which he treats it when it is his.
§<£ How, then, shall we make the most of
these friends ? Some men seem to think they
have done all that is necessary when they have
given a dog a kennel in a yard and have
attached him to a chain as a preventive
against burglars and an ineffectual terror to
butcher-boys. It is pitiful to hear the poor
beast barking his throat to bits and to see
him wasting all his noble qualities and wearing
his great soul away under a mask of carefully
cultivated ferocity. Others again look upon
their cats as mere mousers, reje6l their re-
ticent and comfortable friendship, and banish
them to kitchens and larders and the cold
hospitality of passages. This may, no doubt,
temporarily gratify the cat, but think what
is lost in giving play only to one part (and
that the murderous one) of her otherwise
amiable nature. No, let us have none of this.
3 9£Let

Let us, on the contrary (with due reservations
and precautions in regard to long-haired dogs
and muddy weather), assert and practise the
principle that if we are to get the utmost
good and the keenest pleasure out of our
association with animals we must give them
the right to share our working hours as well
as our leisure, to occupy our house and room
as well as to accompany us in our walks.
Thus they will learn from us lessons mainly
tending to elevate a carpet into a position of
inviolable sanctity, and we shall be taught by
them how easy it is (for a dog) to be loyal
and friendly and faithful, and (for a cat) to be
proud without ostentation and affectionate
without servility.

Doffia per incertas audax discurrere sihas
collibus hirsutas atque agitare feras^

non gravibus vine/is unquam consueta tenen
Berber a nee niveo corpore saeva patl.

molli namque sinu domini dominaeque jacebam
et noram in strata lassa cubare toro.

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

About them frisking played
All beasts of the earth since wild, and of all

chase

In wood or wilderness, forest or den ;
Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw
Dandled the kid ; * bears, tigers, ounces, pards,
Gambolled before them ; the unwieldy elephant,
To make them mirth, used all his might, and

wreathed
His lithe proboscis.

§<8 It is a pity that no mention is made of the
hippopotamus. Many of us have always felt
singularly drawn to this genial monster who
has the remarkable merit of being at the same
time supremely massive and (when he opens
his mouth) undeniably hollow. Good humour
shines in every square yard of his face, and his
kindness of heart is so great that he could
hardly bring himself to tread on your foot,
certainly not without the apology that any
gentleman gladly grants to another whom he
has unwittingly injured or offended. His bill
6

for rice might be large, but think what a joy
it would be to take him out with you in the
country lanes and to see him speeding, as he
unquestionably would, in headlong flight from
the anger of a Pomeranian dog to whom he
had ventured to make unsolicited advances. In
his off moments he might make himself useful
as a substitute for the steam-roller on newly
mended roads.

%& These are agreeable fancies, but in the
meantime fate and the size and frailty of our
homes limit us for the most part to dogs and
cats. Some, no doubt, will put forward the
mongoose and the jerboa as amiable com-
panions, but these, delightful though they
may be, are exotics beyond the attainment of
the general. It is not everybody who can
secure or keep a supply of snakes sufficient
to gratify a mongoose's unquenchable desire
for sport and exercise. So, as I say, we must
confine ourselves chiefly to dogs and cats,
with, perhaps, an occasional exception in
favour of a parrot or a cockatoo. It is of
7 %& dogs

dogs that I now propose to speak. Nobody
must suspect me of wishing to wrong cats
and others if I reserve them for a later
section.

%& I read the other day in my favourite
evening paper a notice of a booklet purport-
ing to give an account of a variety of dog
hitherto, it appeared, little known in England.
I learnt that this dog was distantly related to
the Newfoundland, that he was brown in
colour, that his head was of certain dimen-
sions, that his eyes were of a yellowish tint,
that he stood so many inches at the shoulder,
together with various notes as to the shape
and size of his body and limbs. Beyond that
there was nothing — nothing about his little
tricks of manner and bearing, nothing about
his bark, his courtesy, his genius for friend-
ship and devotion — nothing, in short, about
any of the glorious qualities that make up a
dog's soul and endear him to his human col-
league. It was a show-bench article, much
like the lists of points with their percentages

of value which are issued by the various
clubs formed to guard the physical character-
istics of this or that particular breed of dog.
Not but what, like Bob Jakin, I like a bit o'
breed myself, but the essential thing about a
dog is, not his pedigree, but his soul. My heart
warms to the faithful clever mongrel no less
than to his colleague of the untainted descent
who has all the show-points to his credit.
Who cares what was the pedigree of Pomero,
the joy and solace of Lander's old age, or of
Nero, " the little Cuban (Maltese ? and other-
wise mongrel) shock, mostly white," who
shed a ray of sunshine on the household of
the Carlyles, " poor little animal, so loyal, so
loving, so naive and true with what dim
intellect he had " ? To me, too, there was
granted in early youth a sort of Cuban-
Maltese. He was purchased in Pau, a small
but delicious ball of white wool, and on ac-
count of his infinitesimal size he was called
by the name of Chang, a Chinese giant who
was at that time exhibiting his star-y-point-
9 %& ing

ing height to all who cared to pay for the
spectacle. Given in derision, the name soon
became inverted into mere truth, for our
Chang rushed up the scale of growth with
such swiftness that, before many months were
out, he had become almost as tall as a collie.
There never was a more affectionate or a
cleverer dog. No " dim intellect " for him :
he took his orders (and disobeyed them) in
English and French and the patois of the
Bearnese ; and many a thing besides he knew.
Poodles he detested, and always fought against
them with surprising ferocity, looking upon
them, I suppose, with his naturalized British
prejudice, as canine kickshaws. When we left
the Pyrenees for England he came with us,
and being let out for exercise at some French
station, he promptly lost himself. Then was
seen the terrific spectacle of a distraught
British lady's-maid running up and down
the platform and appealing to everyone in
these mysterious words : " Awy voo voo a
petty sheen?" Chang was, of course, found
10

eventually in the refreshment-room, where
he had ingratiated himself with the lady
behind the counter. He reached England
without further adventure and lived to a
great age.

SS Then, too, there is Diogenes, the dog
whom Paul Dombey remembered and whom
Mr. Toots afterwards brought to Florence
Dombey. What was the race of Diogenes ?
We know no more than we know what song
the Sirens sang. He " was as ridiculous a dog
as one could meet with on a summer's day ;
a blundering, ill-favoured, clumsy, bullet-
headed dog, continually acting on a wrong
idea that there was an enemy in the neigh-
bourhood, whom it was meritorious to bark
at ; and though he was far from good-
tempered, and certainly was not clever, and
had hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose,
and an inconsistent tail, and a gruff voice ;
he was dearer to Florence, in virtue of that
parting remembrance of him and that request
that he might be taken care of, than the
1 1 3<g most

most valuable and beautiful of his kind."
Diogenes has, at any rate, one advantage over
most pedigree dogs : he is immortal.
S8 As to the virtue of mongrels, then, I think,
we can agree. " Bu,t," says the owner of the
" yard-dog," with the air of one who is scor-
ing an undeniable point, " you are trying to
undog my dog and everybody else's. After
all he is a dog, and not a human being, and
Nature, who formed him to be an outdoor
guardian, obviously did not intend him to
be the questionable ornament of a room.
Remember that your immortal Diogenes
' bounced into the room, dived under all the
furniture, and wound a long iron chain, that
dangled from his neck, round legs of chairs
and tables . . . and went pell-mell at Tow-
linson, morally convinced that he was the
enemy whom he had barked at round the
corner all his life and never seen yet.' What
have you to say to that ? Is that a dog for a
drawing-room?"
92 Softly, my good friend, say I. As to Dio-

12

genes my answer is ready : " He went to the
window where Florence was sitting, looking
on, rose up on his hind-legs, with his awkward
forepaws on her shoulders, licked her face and
hands, nestled his great head against her heart,
and wagged his tail till he was tired. Finally,
Diogenes coiled himself up at her feet and
went to sleep." And, in regard to the larger
question of Nature's intentions, I would have
you show yourself a little less sure. Is it, after
all, so manifestly clear that she intended you
for a house ? Is there not a suspicion that
she formed you for an arboreal dwelling, and
that it was only ambition and the decrease of
tails that rescued you and all of us from a pre-
hensile branch-to-branch existence ? A little
more modesty would better become you when
your dog pleads for occasional admittance to
your home. Heaven forbid that I should ask
you to undog your dog. As a matter of facl
you cannot do it, however much you may try.
A dog will still be a dog : his tail will still
wag and may sometimes sweep away a knick-
1 3 %& knack ;

knack ; he will still turn round three times
before lying down on your floor, just as his
remote ancestors turned to beat down the long
grass in which they slept ; he will still be
four- legged and faithful and mute and elo-
quent ; and still, at times, he will publicly
lick his paws into cleanliness. Yet there is
in a dog so delightful a faculty of obedience
and adaptability that, once released from his
detested chain and transferred from the yard
to the room, he will without an effort become
courteous, refined, and unobtrusive, respond-
ing to your moods with a sympathy which is
the very perfection of politeness. If you need
silence while you read or write he will lie for
hours without a movement. Give him a kind
word and he will lift his heavy eyebrows and
thump the floor with his grateful tail ; invite
him to your side and he will come and lay
his loyal head upon your knee ; bid him lie
down and he will lie down again without a
murmur to dream of glorious forays, the
while he

14

with inward yelp and restless forefoot plies
His funffiion of the woodland.

§<£ Talk to him and he will never misunder-
stand you or give you a wrong answer. Your
words, with a few exceptions, such as
" dinner " or " drink " or " biscuits," mean
nothing definite to him. He listens to your
voice as you listen to music, finding in it
consolation, hope, encouragement and ex-
altation, and satisfying all the vague longings
of his soul in your profuse strains of unpre-
meditated art. Then rouse him for a walk or
a romp and he is up and alert in a moment,
his spirits raised at once to their highest pitch
and all his sense of humour awake to make
you mirth. Such is your companion during
his all too brief life, joyous, humble, faith-
ful and sincere, lending all his strength and
wisdom and friendship to your service. And
when the shadows close upon him how
patiently will he bear his sufferings, how
meekly will he beg you for relief. With his
15 BJ SSlast

last effort he will lick your hand, with his
last look he will bid you good-bye, and his
last sigh, as his heart ceases to beat, will be
one of gratitude and love.

II. A GALLERY OF FRIENDS

S£ AS I look back through the long avenue
of memory I can see many shapes of dogs
sporting in and out of the trees or pacing
soberly enough by my side, a joyous and
faithful company such as any dog-lover, I
believe, can summon to his mind when the
mood is on him. That, indeed, is one of the
few compensations we have for the shortness
of the lives of dogs. They become consecrated
in memory and glorified in thought, living
constantly in the hearts of the masters for
whom they would gladly have given even
the short term of life permitted by the fates.
How they revelled and frolicked and spent
themselves in our service, rejoicing in life
because it gave them our society. And
now
16

Hi motus ammorum atque haec certamina tanta
pulveris exigui jaftu compressa q me s cunt.

§<£ Let me record here as briefly as may be
some of the deeds and qualities of these dogs
of mine. If I do so with discretion I shall, I
hope, escape the censure of Duke, the Great
Dane, and Soo-ti,the Pekinese, those strangely
assorted associates and friends who are now
couched, each in his separate dignity, before
my fire.

§<£ Of Chang, the Cuban-Maltese, I have
already spoken. That amiable alien had,
however, been preceded in our home and our
affections by Neptune, a Newfoundland of
the true type, who was imported into this
country from his place of origin in very early
life. One of his younger brothers afterwards
followed him and was given to Charles
Dickens. Nep for some time, as I grieve to
remember, lived in a stable-yard, attached to
a kennel by a chain. At any rate these were
his headquarters, and it became the custom
17 «for

for the boy members of the family to visit
him there ceremonially. We were small boys
and the kennel was large. It was easy to creep
into it and to pass some happy moments in
intimate conversation with our black and
shaggy friend, who welcomed us effusively
and always treated us with a very high-bred
courtesy while we shared his room. If it was
possible we would then detach his chain with-
out his knowledge and make a rush for the
lawn. The result was always the same. There
was a thunder of pursuing feet, a black head
struck violently against a small boy's back,
and a small boy's body, having hurtled
through the air, thudded on the grass, to be
rolled over and over and pranced upon and
ruffled into a ruin of clothes by an enthu-
siastic dog. Poor old Neptune ! He had a
mournful end, for he was bitten by a mad
dog and had to be destroyed. Even now, at
a distance of half a century, I cannot bear to
think of our dreadful sorrow when, in spite
of our passionate protests, that tragedy was

accomplished. It was our first experience of
all that is irremediable in the death of a friend.
S8 I must content myself, not as honouring
them less, but as being limited in regard to
space, with a bare mention of Shep, a beauti-
ful Welsh collie, always ready to chase imagi-
nary sheep over the commons of Cambridge
or round the Squares of London, and of
Buffles, a Skye, the frequent playmate of
Wilkie Collins, whose bunch of keys he used
to retrieve with eager iteration from all the
corners and canopies of a drawing-room, of
BufHes who, to the end of his long and honour-
able life, cherished the magnanimous delusion
that, by the mere swiftness of his ridiculous
legs, he could capture a pheasant in Hamp-
shire or a sparrow in Pall Mall. I come now
to Jack, the tawny and majestic chief of a
long line of St. Bernards. Jack travelled as a
youth from Switzerland to Cambridge, where
he soon became a very active member of the
First Trinity Boat Club. He involved him-
self willingly in the complex machinery for
19 §£the

the production and development of oarsmen,
and was justly celebrated for the insatiable
ardour with which he pursued the work
of coaching. He had his own ideas of the
proper pace for an eight-oared crew, pre-
ferring a humdrum paddle to the furious
oarsmanship that secures bumps. Of this he
sometimes showed his disapproval by attach-
ing himself to the coat or sweater of his
human colleague (if the latter happened to
be on foot) or by leaping desperately at the
supercilious nose of the tow-path horse.
During the later and speedier stages of prac-
tice we were, therefore, compelled to leave
him at the boathouse, where he superintended
embarkations and landings and defied or dis-
dained all rival crews. The restrictions of
Cambridge in regard to dogs he accepted
with great dignity. There was, indeed, a
famous occasion when I saw him strolling
nonchalantly across the Great Court of
Trinity toward the Master's Lodge, then
inhabited by Dr. Thompson, who knew about
20

dogs all that may be gathered from the
editing of some of Plato's Dialogues. An
alarmed, but adjuring, porter followed at a
safe distance and Jack was eventually coaxed
out. That, however, was an exception. At
other times he did not fail to curl himself up
in a corner outside the gateway and to wait
there for his master without attempting a
trespass. Many tried to lure him in, but the
ardor civium prava jubentium had no effect
upon him. Years afterwards when I took him
to revisit Cambridge he remembered every-
thing, and when I made to enter Trinity he
trotted on in advance and lay down con-
tentedly in the old corner.
S8 Removed from Cambridge he made his
headquarters in a London house, to the mis-
tress of which he attached himself with a
devotion that drew part of its ardour, I am
sure, from the monastic seclusion of his former
life in a University. She, indeed, was formed
by nature to be the friend of dogs. She
humoured him to the top of his bent and
2 1 %& loved

loved him. Yet he sometimes treated her
without discretion, for he had a passion for
carrying things in his mouth, and her para-
sols were usually sacrificed to his irrepressible
requests. Once, when she returned from a
drive he met her in the street, and, as she had
no parasol, he seized the muff which hung
from her neck and, prancing with delight,
dragged her at a great pace head-first in at
the front door, through the hall, and up the
staircase, where I fortunately met and re-
leased her. His genius for protecting a woman
was not exempt from a certain mischievous
pleasure in teasing and bullying her.
%& The same characteristic showed itself in
Ben, a handsome and ingenious retriever of a
later date, the dog

who now without my aid
Hunts through the shadow-land \ himself a
shade.

S£ Whenever Ben's master had to spend a
night from home, Ben immediately assumed
22

the close guardianship of a mistress whom at
other times he treated with some neglect.
He could not bear to lose her from view and
paced from room to room, sometimes in the
wake of her skirts, occasionally on them.
The mere ghost of a footstep roused him to
a growling devotion during which he sus-
pected even the family butler of the darkest
crimes. At about 10 o'clock P.M. he would
get up and tug his lady's dress, afterwards
walking to the door and scratching violently.
If she paid no attention he tugged her dress
with greater violence and nudged her re-
peatedly till she got up and opened the door,
when he would run out, scamper up the
stairs, and post himself on the landing. If she
followed him all was well. If not he would
set to work and bark till she submitted.
Having thus forced her to obey him by
coming to bed, he would lie down peacefully
in the passage and go to sleep. When his
master was at home he never attempted these
proceedings, allowing 10 o'clock and n
23 98 o'clock

o'clock and even midnight to go by without
a sign that he was aware of the flight of time
or of the necessity for hustling good people
into their beds. Left alone with his mistress,
he became one of those dogs who, having
accepted an office, comport themselves in it
with a zeal suited to its responsible nature.
%& Rollo, another St. Bernard, was also a pro-
tector, but with a difference. He found his
chief interest and joy in children and the
female guardians of children. While those of
his own immediate circle were still quite
young he guarded them with a jealous love,
attending the perambulator closely, allowing
the bigger ones to roll him about and tug his
fur to their hearts' content, and following
them from the garden to the nursery, always
a little fearful lest harm should come to them.
To the nurse who then looked after them he
devoted himself with a singular and chivalrous
affection, recognizing in her a colleague as
kind and loyal as himself. No man's voice
offering a run in the fields or a swim in the
24

river could ever tempt him from his infantry.
When, in course of time, the nurse was suc-
ceeded by a French governess Rollo issued
letters of naturalization to her at once and
accepted her with enthusiasm and a transport
of clumsy caresses. Yet his liking for peram-
bulators remained unimpaired. On the dis-
tant appearance in the road of one of these
vehicles he never failed to run up to it in
order that he might examine and lick its
terrified contents.

§<£ Of Rufus, a spaniel, the archetype of
fidelity, obstinacy and adoration, I have
spoken elsewhere, celebrating his long life
and his many virtues. I mention him here
in order to recall a trait which is almost
universal among dogs, but which in him had
a peculiar strength. It was an acute agony
to him to realize that his master's bag or
portmanteau was being packed and that de-
parture was in the air. He wandered about
like a lost soul, and refused the most enticing
biscuits. Now he would glue himself to my
25 SS side,

side, and now, in a sudden frenzy, he would
rush up the stairs into my room and lay him-
self firmly down in the partly packed port-
manteau. Evicted thence, he posted himself
at the front door, waiting for me there in
a pathetic attitude of guilty determination.
Finally he had to be removed by force and
shut up in a room, but even then I have
sometimes known him to burst his bars and
arrive, pursued by a boy, on the station plat-
form as the train was moving out. How,
indeed, is a dog to be assured that he will
ever see his departing master again ?
<5£ I cannot do more than indicate briefly the
merits of Rouser, a rough-haired terrier, and
Worry, an Irish terrier, friendly dogs, but
not my own. Each of them had a distinctive
character, but it was lost under the great
heap of imaginary attributes which their
fond master had raised about them. Rouser
was an amiable dog, not gifted with an over-
mastering intelligence, who could always be
made to believe that an army of rats lurked
26

under a sofa-cushion. Yet Rouser was praised
to his innocent face for superhuman clever-
ness. His talents were loudly vaunted, and
his solemn efforts to destroy a stocking or
to tatter a hearthrug were attributed to the
deep designs of genius rather than to an in-
born capacity for mischief. Worry was the
meekest and kindest dog in the world, and
she spent much of her day lying curled up
in comfortable places. We -were asked to
believe that Worry had an almost Satanic
faculty for intrigue and wickedness, and when
she was merely resting she was supposed to be
scheming new plans of perversity. I am bound
to say that the genuine characters of these dogs
were never affected by all these imputations.
They remained true dogs to the end.
%& Here I must pause, though my list is by no
means exhausted, for I have known and loved
nearly every sort of dog : Homo sum ; canini
nihil a me alienum puto. But what I have said
is sufficient. Besides, Duke, the Great Dane,
and Soo-ti, the Pekinese, who are sharing my
27 SS room

room with me, are now restless. They have
been playing together, and twice the little
fellow has picked a quarrel with his gigantic
friend, has flown at him, caught him by the lip,
and hung angrily suspended there. Each time
the Dane has with infinite patience and gentle-
ness freed himself from his impish tormentor.
Now they have concentrated upon me. Duke
is insinuating his nose under my arm ; Soo-ti
is scratching my leg with his absurd fore-
paws. " Come out," they say ; " come out
into the open air." Well, well, let us go, then,
and enjoy the day while there is yet time.

III. THE FRIENDLY DUCKLING
§£ I PLACE the story of the duckling here
because there is something curiously dog-like
about it. As to the precise origin of this duck-
ling I am a little vague, but I incline to think
that it was one of four or five who found on
shaking off their shell that they had obtained
a hen as a mother and a poultry yard as a
nursery. I seem to remember that we first

28

saw it in the poultry yard a day or two after
it had come to light. There was something
peculiarly engaging about it, a spirit of for-
ward and confiding boldness that prompted
it rather to court than to avoid the tendered
hand of a boy. At any rate, it was selected
from the little flock and was carried, quite fear-
less, in a pocket to the house to be admired.
98 Once there it made itself at home direclly.
" This," it seemed to say, " is the imperial
palace to which I belong. Hens' nests and
fowl-runs are not for such as I. Human society
is what I require, and here I intend to abide."
It was divinely fluffy and yellow, and when,
having been set down on a table, it waddled
across with a roll so royal that it resembled a
swagger, and cocked its funny little head and
took stock of the company with a very know-
ing eye, there was a peal of laughter and de-
light from the children who were standing
round. It was settled at once that it should
not return to its foster-mother, but should be
kept as a home pet, and that a roomy basket
29 %& with

with a lid should be provided for it as its
own sacred dwelling-place. In this, on a bed
of much flannel, it slept comfortably enough at
night. During the day it lived partly in rooms,
partly in the open air, and partly in pockets.
S£ It became devotedly attached to all the
children. We had known cats and dogs and
had experience of their affection, but until
we met this waddling little stranger we
could never have believed that a mere spot
of a duck could have wound itself round our
hearts as this one did. If we put it down on
the lawn or on a path it would follow — I was
about to say, like a dog, but that would be
an inadequate description. Certainly it was
like a dog in its determination to be with us
and not to lose us from view, but, on the
other hand, its progress was slow and unde-
viating, though its gait was by no means
solemn. It did not stop to investigate tufts
of grass, nor did it attempt to express its joy
by capering or by flank movements. It just
followed, pee-eeping occasionally when we

30

got too far ahead and showing manifest
delight when we stopped to allow it to catch
us up, or when, its exercise being deemed to
be duly accomplished, we took it up and
replaced it in a pocket. Indoors, as I say, it
had its basket, to which it was often thought
safer to transfer it even in the daytime. So
long as one of its young owners remained in
the room it would lie snugly and happily in
its mansion even if the lid were closed. But
if we all went out it would immediately be-
come conscious of its solitude and would cry
piteously, until one of us returned and spoke
to it, when it would cease its wailing and
snuggle into its flannel once more. We tried
this trick before all the servants and with any
visitor who came to the house, and it never
failed. As I look back upon it, it seems to me
that we sported cruelly with affection and
companionship.

S£ On the second morning one of the boys

had a brilliantly happy thought. " Why

not," he said, " give it a swim in the big

31 cj SS bath?"

bath ? " The suggestion was rapturously
received. A live duckling in a bath was
obviously a better game than a fleet of tin
fish — the sort that has a stick of steel project-
ing from the snou.t — drawn by means of a
magnet on a hesitating and frequently inter-
rupted course. So up we dashed into the
paternal dressing-room, carrying our favourite
with us. The bath was quickly filled and the
duckling was promptly launched on the sur-
face of the water. It proved to be a most
intrepid navigator. It chattered with delight,
dabbling enthusiastically in the water, fling-
ing showers over its body, standing on its
innocent head, and expressing its joy by a
hundred pretty antics. It was great sport to
keep moving from one end of the bath to the
other and to watch it paddling desperately
after us. For speed against the clock over
that particular course of five feet or so I am
sure its record still holds good. There was
never another competitor, and house and bath
have now vanished from the earth.
32

§2 In the meantime myths and legends, having
the duckling for their nucleus, began to spread
in the neighbourhood. The cottagers thought
there was magic in it and were disposed to
shake their heads. The gardener's wife said
"she'd a-seen no end of ducklings in her
time, ah, and wrung the necks of a tidy few
ducks, pretty dears, and a very tasty dish they
made with sage and onions to flavour 'em.
Some made their apple sauce one way and
some made it another. She herself used only
the best apples. If you couldn't get them it
was safest to go without. But this little bit
of a duckling was more like a Christian than
anything she'd ever set eyes on, follered you
about and talked to you. She wouldn't
wonder if you found it writing in copybooks
next, but for herself she'd never held with all
this eddication, no, and never would. All she
hoped was there wouldn't be a judgment for
taking a dumb thing out o' nature like that."
The Vicar, on the other hand, was jocose in
a manner befitting a classical scholar. We
33 SSmet

met him in the lane when we were giving
our little companion a stroll, and asked him
if he thought it would turn into a drake and
have a curled feather in its tail. The Vicar
would have none of it. " No, no," he said,
" that's impossible. Dux femina fatti^ you
know, ha, ha ! " We thanked him and retired.
§<2 So matters went on for about a fortnight,
the duckling showing a slight increase in size,
but still maintaining its yellow fluffiness, its
capacity for friendship and its strange intelli-
gence. Then there came the sad and fatal
night which put an end to this little idyll.
The duckling, as I have said, slept in a basket,
and at night this was conveyed with its gentle
occupant to the bedroom of the two bigger
boys. Turn and turn about each of them had
the right to have the basket on the floor by his
bedside. On this particular night it was the
turn of the eldest boy. Before he turned in
it seemed to him that his little friend was
not so comfortable as usual in the basket.
He thought it might be cold, and told his

34

brother he would take it into his own bed for
warmth.

S£ "All right," said the younger. " Bags I for
to-morrow night then." So it was arranged,
and the duckling, nothing loth, was trans-
ferred to the bed, crept close up to the boy's
body and went to sleep very happily.
§<8 In the morning the younger boy woke
first. " Halloa," he shouted across the room,
" let's have the duckling out and play with
it."

%& " Right," said the elder, and he put his
hand under the bedclothes.
9$ There was a pause. " What's the matter ? "
called the younger. " Can't you find it ? "
m " Oh, Fred," said the elder, " it's dead,
poor little beggar. I must have been lying
on it in my sleep. What shall we do about
it ? "

SS There was nothing to be done. The duck-
ling had died of mere excess of kindness and
affection.

35

IV. THE PURRERS

S8 WHY should the cat so often be praised
with an apology, and why, when the dog is
in question, should he be exalted at the ex-
pense of the cat ? I protest I do not under-
stand this habit of mind. There is, for instance,
M. Maeterlinck. In the midst of his delight-
ful and touching story of his little dog Pelleas
— " tant d'ardeur a aimer, de courage a com-
prendre, tant de joie affectueuse, tant de bons
regards devoues qui se tournaientversl'homme
pour demander son aide centre d'injustes et
d'inexplicables souffrances " — in the midst of
this story he turns aside to give the cat a cuff :
"Je ne parle pas du chat pour qui nous ne
sommes qu'une proie trop grosse et imman-
geable, du chat feroce dont 1'oblique dedain
ne nous tolereque comme des parasites encom-
brants dans notre propre logis. Lui du moins
nous maudit dans son coeur mysterieux." Lui !
M. Maeterlinck is wrong en detail as well as
en gros. In spite of the French language, the
cat ought not to be spoken of generically as a

36

male. There are, no doubt, particular Toms,
but the general cat is of the feminine gender,
and it is by the feminine pronoun that I shall
refer to her. And on the main point the
judgment is monstrously wild and violent.
As a first step in the process of disproof I
submitted this painful passage to Fluffy, who
has shared my home for seventeen years, still
keeping a gallant bearing against the attacks
of time and producing kittens with regularity
and dispatch. " Fluffy," I said, "are you fero-
cious ? " She opened her pink mouth, but
made no sound, and then (being on a gravel
path) turned over on her back and asked
for a caress. " Fluffy," I continued, " where
is your oblique disdain ? " She drew my
hand down gently and clawlessly with her
front paws. " Fluffy," I concluded, " why
do you think of us as encumbering para-
sites and curse us in your mysterious
heart ? " She rose, arched her back, and
rubbed herself, smiling and purring, against
my leg. The answer was complete, a
37 S£ delicate

delicate and reticent expression of sincere
affection.

S£ This is not to deny the assertion that a
cat is sometimes fierce and cruel. The bird
maintains it and the mouse confirms it. But
it must be remembered that the charge usually
brought against her is one of special ferocity
distinguishing her, let us say, from the dog.
What is to be said, then, in mitigation of the
conduct of a terrier with a rat, of a greyhound
with a hare, or of a foxhound (or, for the
matter of that, of a man) with a fox ? Here
is fierceness on a large scale. Dinah, the
gentlest and mildest Welsh terrier that ever
begged pardon for existing, used to spend
hours at a rat-hole. She killed, not for food,
but for mere pleasure. Rufus, my spaniel, the
exemplar of kindness, had a particular dislike
(it would have been wrong to call it a distaste)
for hedgehogs. On a summer's night he used
to track them on the lawn, and I have known
him to bring three of these inoffensive beasts,
each as big as his head, one after another into

38

the drawing-room in his bleeding mouth.
That he wished to destroy them is certain,
but their bristles saved them and they were
all restored to the bushes and liberty. On
such matters there can be no argument. It is
best to admit that our beloved dog and our
dear cat both have primal impulses, ancient
necessities of rapine, and wild desires which
we can sometimes soften and direct, but can
never utterly abolish. It must be enough for
us that they have come from their world into
ours to lay their love and their companionship
at our feet.

3S With what a dignity and grace and dis-
cretion does a cat make her offer. She tells
you plainly it is there for the taking, but she
would scorn to force it upon you, for she has
her reserve and is proud of her independence.
" If you like me," she seems to say, " and are
willing to respecl: me, count me your faithful
cat. I shall make few claims on you. An
armchair, a cushion, a saucer of milk, a plate
of fish will satisfy my wants. I shall never
39 m plague

plague you to take me out for exercise, having
my own irregular hours for taking the air by
myself. Sometimes I will follow you round
the garden, but never slavishly, for little
moving things attract me and odds and ends
of toilet have to be' performed. But I am at
my best inside your room." And in this the
cat is right. Outside, no doubt, she may have
an opportunity to display her courage. Some
blundering bully of a dog may see her, and
imagining a facile prey or building hope upon
the supposed imminence of her swift retreat,
he makes at her in a sudden onset. Then
she, surprised, but not discomfited, awaits his
coming, her lips drawn back, her eyes gleam-
ing defiance, her ears flattened down, and her
body tense. He, as he rushes, beholds her
standing fast, and at the last he leaps aside to
right or left, either pretending that there is
no cat or trying to persuade others that some
pressing business, newly discovered, has drawn
him off his direcl: course. And in another
moment the cat is up a tree, hurling satire
40

down at her baffled enemy. And the strange
thing is that, within the house, these two
may be on terms of easy friendship, lying on
the same rug and even lapping from the same
dish.

§<£ To be sure it was on a garden seat that
Swinburne was sitting when he addressed his
beautiful lines to a cat :

Stately ', kindly ', lordly friend \

Condescend

Here to sit by me, and turn
Glorious eyes that smile and burn,
Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed,
On the golden page I read.

All your wondrous wealth of hair,

Dark and fair,
Silken-shaggy, soft and bright
As the clouds and beams of night,
Pays my reverent hand's caress
Back with friendlier gentleness.

41 %& Dogs

Dogs may fawn on all and some

As they come;

TCoU) a friend of loftier mind^
Answer friends alone in kind.
Just your foot upon my hand
Softly bids it understand.

§8 This is the very perfection of sympathy, a
quality not too common amongst our poets
when they refer to cats. Gray, for instance,
when the pensive Selima was drowned in a
tub of gold-fishes, described the tragedy with
an elaborate facetiousness, and found in it an
opportunity for cold moralizing. Ever since
the far-off day when I was ordered to trans-
late them into Latin elegiacs I have detested
these heartless stanzas. Why, moreover,
should Selima's death be used to enforce the
lesson (see the last line) that not all that
glisters is gold ? Selima was not out for gold.
She wanted fish, and the dullest dace would
have lured her to her fatal fall equally well.
Gray should have known better, for he had
42

resided many years at Cambridge, where, as
at Oxford, cats are held in high honour and
are promoted to great positions. Sir Frederick
Pollock, who has been Fellow of a College
at both Universities, has described how his
election to a Fellowship was confirmed by
the " Senior Fellow," who

Arose and sniffed the stranger ' s shoes
With critic nose, as ancients use
To judge mankind aright.

I — for 'twas I who tell the tale —
Conscious of fortune's trembling scale,

Awaited the decree ;

But Tom had judged : " He loves our race"
And, as to his ancestral place ,

He leapt upon my knee.

Alas ! the Senior Fellow is dead, but his
memory is kept alive :

He seems, while catless we confer ;
To join with faint Ely sian purr,

A tutelary friend.
43 %& Evidently

Evidently Sir Frederick is a " catanthro-
pist " — the word was invented by Wilkie
Collins. I find it used by him in a letter
written to my mother in 1866 :
§<£ " Oh, I wanted you so at Rome — in
the Protestant Cemetery — don't start ! No
ghosts — only a cat. I went to show my
friend Pigott the grave of the illustrious
Shelley. Approaching the resting-place of
the divine poet in a bright sunlight, the finest
black Tom you ever saw discovered at an
incredible distance that a catanthropist had
entered the cemetery — rushed up at a gallop
with his tail at right-angles to his spine —
turned over on his back with his four paws
in the air, and said in the language of cats :
£ Shelley be hanged ! Come and tickle me ! '
I stooped and tickled him. We were both
profoundly affected. "

§<8 I have wandered far from the statement
that a cat is at her best in a room, and yet I
cling to it. For in a room a cat confers and
diffuses comfort in the very act of accepting

44

it. Place her on a cushion with her front paws
either folded and tucked beneath her or knead-
ing her soft couch with a luxurious move-
ment, and she will make, not merely a corner,
but a whole library cosy. Her presence can
ennoble a hovel and invest a semi-detached
cottage with an appearance of feudal and
heraldic repose. If you call her she blinks
and purrs ; if you leave her to herself she is
willing to pass hours in serene abstraction
from the business of the world, conscious only
of her own comfortable decorative quality and
of her self-respecSting dignity. Sometimes she
will play, but only if she wishes to amuse
herself, differing in this from a dog, who will
often play in order that he may amuse you.
Her spirits are calm rather than high, and
boisterous fun has no attraction for her. It
seems to her that she ought to guard your
household gods (being herself one of them)
in silence rather than with a tempestuous
vigilance. Yet her sympathy and her friend-
ship never fail those in whom she has learnt

45 &10

to place her confidence, and her response to
affection is quick and warm and sincere. She
is something of a conservative and suspects
change. Introduce a new piece of furniture
into her room, and she must investigate it from
top to bottom and on all sides before she can
even pretend to be reconciled to it. Open a
cupboard or pull out a drawer, and her serenity
disappears. She has to explore the innermost
recesses of this new appearance delicately but
thoroughly. So it was with Cowper's cat :

A drawer impending o'er the rest,
Half-open in the topmost chest,
Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to slumber there.

The unconscious chambermaid shut her in,

and it was not until the second night that the

kind poet heard and released his inquisitive

companion.

%& Yet, though I hold that cats are best in a

house, I am far from agreeing with those who

declare that the attachment of cats is always

to houses and never to human beings. I
could cite many cases, but I will content
myself with that of Venus.
%& Venus was a tortoiseshell waif who ap-
peared one morning, Heaven knows whence,
in our garden. She announced her presence
to me by pitiful mewings, and then, in answer
to a call, she revealed herself, a thin, woe-
begone figure with a patchy coat and a long,
stiff, attenuated tail. As soon as she had made
up her mind about me her friendship and
devotion began to gush forth. She rubbed
herself round and round my legs ; she showed
herself, as a little boy once said of another
cat, extraordinarily fond of the human hand.
She followed me about the garden, purring
madly whenever I touched her ; she came
with me toward the house and accepted a
bowl of milk with rapture. Thenceforward
she was my intimate and affectionate friend.
Yet it was only by slow degrees that I was
able to coax her into the house, and her atti-
tude in it was never one of complete ease.
47 D * %Z She

She was a wild free thing and could not brook
the confinement of four walls. Where she
slept I never discovered, but after breakfast I
always found her waiting for me (and milk)
near the library window. When she was
about to become a mother a comfortable box
was prepared for her in a shed, and it was
hoped that she would use it for the interest-
ing event. However, she preferred a thick
patch of bushes in the garden, and there one
morning we discovered her, supremely happy,
with four plain kittens. Twice they were
transferred to the box in the shed, and twice
Venus bore them back to the bushes one by
one. While she was carrying a kitten on one
of these maternal excursions I met her. She
hesitated a moment, and then deposited the
kitten at my feet and mewed. The invitation
was too obvious to be neglecled. I took up
her little burden, and carried it for her to her
leafy retreat. After that she was allowed to
have her way, and we rigged up an old um-
brella to protect her and her young barbarians

from rain. Never in the whole course of our
friendship did she suffer herself to become a
strictly domestic cat. She loved and trusted
human beings, but she did not like their
homes.

S8 Here I must end my plea for the cat. She
is often misunderstood, and often scurvily
treated by those who are dull enough to reject
her affection. Those who accept her offer
know that she is

Vanquished nof, but reconciled^
Free from curb of aught above
Save the lovely curb of love.

And, thus curbed, she too is not without a
spark divine.

V. THE DREAM OF SYLVESTER
§<8 WHEN the learned and saintly Sylvester
— not the famous monk of KiefF, whose,
name is recorded in history, but a distant
and much younger cousin of the same:
name, who had dedicated many years

49 S8of

of a long life to the service of the
poor and the distressed amongst whom it
was his pleasure to live — when, as I say,
Sylvester, broken with toil and worn out
with sickness, lay a-dying, he had a dream
which is thus related in the ancient
chronicles :

§<£ It seemed to Sylvester that he was drawing
near to the end of a journey. As he turned
his head he could see the dark and gloomy
mountain region through which he had
passed. The crags, he remembered, had been
hard to climb ; the paths, winding along the
edges of terrific precipices, were slippery and
narrow, and, footsore and weary though he
was, he thanked God humbly for keeping
him safe and sound in the midst of these
manifold dangers. The road on which he
was now walking was broad and easy, and but
a little distance ahead he saw the airy towers
and gleaming palaces and the tall and shady
trees of the great city which he knew some-
liow, though he could not tell its name, to be

5°

his destination. " Heaven be praised for all its
mercies," said Sylvester. " I have but a short
way to make, and then I shall be at rest.'*
$& So saying the good Sylvester trudged
cheerily forward, making light of his past
sufferings in the hope of what was to come.
On a sudden, as he walked, he heard behind
him a clattering of heavy hoofs, and in a
moment a great grey horse, rough in coat
and mane and tufted about his feet with long
hair, stood beside him and whinnied for joy.
So friendly, indeed, seemed the horse that
Sylvester could not forbear to pat his honest
neck, and as he did so a light broke into his
mind, for he observed that there was a nick
in one of the horse's ears, as though some
one had clipped a little triangle out of it.
" Surely," he said aloud, " this is my old
horse Justin, whom I have mourned and
missed these ten years past."
§f£ At this the grey whinnied even more
loudly, and Sylvester stroked and patted him
and kissed him on the nose, and in return the
5 1 %Z horse

horse nuzzled about him with every sign of
affection.

98 " Alas," said Sylvester; " there was always
a slice of apple or a lump of sugar for
thee, but now, I fear, there is nothing —
nay, by my father's sword, there is some-
thing," and so saying he brought out from
the capacious pocket of his cloak an ancient
carrot and thrust it into the mouth of Justin,
who munched it with great relish and content.
%& " But tell me," said Sylvester, when the
carrot had been swallowed, " how art thou
here alive, for I remember how death came
upon thee and that I myself saw thee lying
still and cold in the little meadow ? "
S8 At this the horse grew grave. " Yes," he
said (for in dreams as in fables it is granted
to beasts to talk), " it is true that I stretched
myself for a long sleep and that I was trans-
ferred. It was grief and pain to leave thee,
but so it was ordained. All these years I have
waited for thy coming, and now I behold
thee again, my master, and it may be, if God
52

so wills it, that we shall not be parted any
more."

§<£ " I pray it may be so," said Sylvester, and
together they prepared to go on their road.
But before they had moved a step there came
a hurried scampering of feet, and a large
brown dog rushed up to Sylvester, hurled
himself almost into his arms, and began
gambolling round him, now. racing swiftly in
a circle, now leaping against his chest and
again bounding against his legs, until at last
he stood quivering by Sylvester's side and
barked, nay shouted, with pure delight.
98 "Wonder on wonder," said Sylvester, "and
blessing upon blessing ; for this is Ambrose,
my faithful dog, whom, since death claimed
him five years back, I never thought to see
again. Stand still, Ambrose, and let me gaze
into thine eyes, and give me the old look that
my heart remembers."

B8 And now the dog in his turn spoke to his

master. " Wearily have the hours gone, O

my master," he said, " since I came hither.

53 Se Yet

Yet I have waited patiently, knowing that
thou too wouldst come. And now it is granted
to me to see thee and I have my recompense."
%& " And I mine," said Sylvester. " But time
is passing and we must press on, for I would
fain reach the city before nightfall."
98 " There is no nightfall here," said a new
voice close beside him. " It is always day."
S8 To Sylvester it appeared that there was
some discontent in the tones, and he looked
carefully for the speaker. At last he saw a
black furry face peeping out of a bush by the
roadside, and realized that it was a cat who
had addressed him.

S8 " Cause the horse and the dog to stand
back for a moment," said the cat, "for I
desire to assure myself that thou art in truth
my old companion."

S£ Justin and Ambrose did as they were
desired, and the cat advanced cautiously from
her hiding-place till she reached Sylvester,
against whose legs she rubbed herself, purring
ecstatically the while.
54

S£ " This," said Sylvester, " is none other
than Barbara, the dear friend of my middle
age, the comfortable inmate of my home.
Barbara, what brings thee here, for to thee,
too, death came many years ago ? I had
known thee anywhere by thy purr and thy
four white paws and the love thou showest
me."

38 " What brings me here ? " said Barbara.
" Merely my own desire and the convenience
of the bushes by which the road is bordered.
It was open to me to stay away, but after all

I honour friendship and " Here she

broke off, for a leaf impelled by the breeze
had drifted past her and she had darted after it.
S8 Now, as Sylvester stood there wondering
and thanking Heaven for its goodness, he
heard a fluttering of little wings, and a small
bird, dropping as it were from the sky, circled
round his head and perched upon his shoulder.
It pecked gently at his cheek and lips, ruffled
its breast-feathers, and piped a song of happi-
ness.

55 §<£ " How

S<8 " How now ? " said Sylvester. " Is my
little bull-finch Anselm returned to me ?
Surely thy tender body was long since laid
beneath the roses, but now, behold, it is given
to me to stroke thy glossy black head once
more and to take pleasure in thy pretty ways.
And now, indeed, I remember the tuneful
notes which used to shed a balm upon my
spirit. Anselm, canst thou still sing the Song
of the Exile ? "

S£ " That I can," said Anselm. " How should
I forget aught that gave thee pleasure ? " and
raising his head he let the notes stream from
his parted beak.

%& " It is the same," said Sylvester, " the very
same," and so, with Anselm on his shoulder,
and Barbara zigzagging from side to side
(but never losing him from view), and Justin
and Ambrose following faithfully at his heels,
our kind Sylvester went forward again along
the road, until at last they all came to a stop
before the great gate of gold which is set in
the outer wall of the city.

56

SS " Knock at the gate, master," said the
dog.

S2 " Nay," said Sylvester, " who am I that I
should knock ? I am unworthy."
^8 Then Ambrose began to bark, and Justin
neighed, and Anselm piped the Song of the
Exile, and Barbara, too, made a noise after
her own kind, all of them desiring that their
friend Sylvester might be allowed to enter ;
but still the great gate remained closed.
B8 And at last a Voice came from within,
saying, " Who stands without ? " and Syl-
vester made answer : " It is I, Sylvester, the
humblest of God's creatures. I have no merit
of my own, but I have toiled much, and now
would rest for a little in order that I may the
better toil again."

S8 At this there was a pause, and then the
Voice spoke again :

9S " What have these who stand with thee
to say on thy behalf ? "

§8 " He took me in," said the horse, " when

I was faint and wounded. He cared for me

57 S2 and

and fed me and healed me, and I was happy
to serve him. Never a whip did he use to
me, but only kind and cheerful words."
SS Next the dog spoke : " He rescued me
from death. He gave me meat and drink and
kindness and friendship. Life would have
been useless to me without him."
92 " Aye," said Sylvester, " but I beat thee
once, and many a time since has my heart
been sore for thinking upon it."
S8 " Pooh," said Ambrose, " a touch with a
little twig. That was no proper beating for
one who had stolen a bone. It was for me to
earn thy pardon for not having been suffi-
ciently punished," and the dog came closer
to Sylvester and pressed his muzzle into his
master's hand.

S8 " He asked no service of me," said the cat,
" but gave and took companionship and kind-
ness. He spread his old cloak for me by the
side of the fire ; he scratched me behind the
ears ; he tended my kittens and made my life
comfortable."

58

§<8 Last of all the bull-finch spoke in a high
clear voice :

S£ " He took pleasure in my singing. He
praised my feathers, and gave me seeds and
water. The door of my cage stood always
open and I could flit where I willed. He
protected and befriended me, as he did all
those who suffered and had need."
SS Now Sylvester was ashamed to hear him-
self thus praised beyond what he thought his
merit, and he was about to protest and to set
matters right, when the Voice from within
spoke again. "Admit Sylvester," it said,
" and let these who have spoken for him
enter with him."

§<£ At this the great gate flew back and a loud
sound of bells broke forth . But j ust as this com-
pany of friends was about to pass in, the dream
ended and Sylvester for the last time awoke.

92 He was lying on his little truckle-bed,
and sitting beside him he saw his pupils,
Ivan and Nicholas.

59 S8"Is

§<8 " Is it morning yet ? " he said.
S8 " Yes, master," said Ivan. " Dost thou
not hear the morning bells ? "
S8 " My strength is far spent," said Sylvester,
" and my time is very short. I would fain
see the faces of my 'friends once more."
§<£ " Master," said Nicholas, " we cannot let
them in, for they are too many. They have
been waiting outside this hour or more."
S£ " Then do thou and Ivan," said Sylvester,
"bear me out in my bed, for I must say -a
word to them ere I depart."
98 So Nicholas and Ivan bore him forth, and
the people when they saw him fell on their
knees and begged his blessing. Then Sylvester
raised his hand and blessed them, and, having
done this, he asked them to listen, and he
told them his dream as I have here set it
down. And when he had done, one said to
another, " Surely our dear master wanders in
his mind," and another said, " It is a pretty
tale, but why is it told to us ? " But others
understood and were silent. And when they
60

looked at Sylvester again they saw that there
was a smile upon his face, and then the smile
passed, and his head fell back, and he was dead.
SS And since that day in the region where
he lived and taught there have been few but
have been good to their beasts, sharing with
them in thankfulness the common toil and
the common blessings of the world. And
from their beasts they have learnt how to
be good to one another, bearing themselves
humbly and loyally in the sight of Him who
ordained life in its various forms, allotting to
one a furry coat, to another wings, to a third
the gift of speech, and to all a heart where
love can make its home.

Printed at The Ballantyne Press
London 1913

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