FOOTNOTE:
[35] From "The Autocrat or the Breakfast Table," by Oliver Wendell Holmes, a noted American author and physician (1809—1894).
Expression: Read the selection silently to appreciate its humor. Now read it aloud with careful attention to naturalness of expression. Study the historical allusions—"Georgius Secundus," "Lisbon town," "Braddock's army," "the Earthquake day," etc.
Read again the passages in which dialect expressions occur. Try to speak these passages as the author intended them to be spoken.
Select the passages which appeal most strongly to your sense of humor. Read them in such manner as to make their humorous quality thoroughly appreciable to those who listen to you.
Now study the selection as a poem, comparing it with several typical poems which you have already studied. Remembering your definition of poetry (page [138]), what is the real poetical value of this delightful composition? Is it a true poem? Find some other poems written by Dr. Holmes. Bring them to the class and read them aloud.
Talk with your teacher about the life of Dr. Holmes and about his prose and poetical works. As a poet, how does he compare with Longfellow? with Whittier? with Walt Whitman? with Browning?
DOGS AND CATS [36]
Most people agree that the dog has intelligence, a heart, and possibly a soul; on the other hand, they declare that the cat is a traitor, a deceiver, an ingrate, a thief. How many persons have I heard say: "Oh, I can't bear a cat! The cat has no love for its master; it cares only for the house. I had one once, for I was living in the country, where there were mice. One day the cook left on the kitchen table a chicken she had just prepared for cooking; in came the cat, and carried it off, and we never saw a morsel of it. Oh, I hate cats; I will never have one."
True, the cat is unpopular. Her reputation is bad, and she makes no effort to improve the general opinion which people have of her. She cares as little about your opinion as does the Sultan of Turkey. And—must I confess—this is the very reason I love her.
In this world, no one can long be indifferent to things, whether trivial or serious—if, indeed, anything is serious. Hence, every person must, sooner or later, declare himself on the subjects of dogs and cats.
Well, then! I love cats.
Ah, how many times people have said to me, "What! do you love cats?"
"Certainly."
"Well, don't you love dogs better?"
"No, I prefer cats every time."
"Oh, that's very queer!"
The truth is, I would rather have neither cat nor dog. But when I am obliged to live with one of these beings, I always choose the cat. I will tell you why.
The cat seems to me to have the manners most necessary to good society. In her early youth she has all the graces, all the gentleness, all the unexpectedness that the most artistic imagination could desire. She is smart; she never loses herself. She is prudent, going everywhere, looking into everything, breaking nothing.
The cat steals fresh mutton just as the dog steals it, but, unlike the dog, she takes no delight in carrion. She is fastidiously clean—and in this respect, she might well be imitated by many of her detractors. She washes her face, and in so doing foretells the weather into the bargain. You may please yourself by putting a ribbon around her neck, but never a collar; she cannot be enslaved.
In short, the cat is a dignified, proud, disdainful animal. She defies advances and tolerates no insults. She abandons the house in which she is not treated according to her merits. She is, in both origin and character, a true aristocrat, while the dog is and always will be, a mere vulgar parvenu.
The only serious argument that can be urged against the cat is that she destroys the birds, not caring whether they are sparrows or nightingales. If the dog does less, it is because of his stupidity and clumsiness, not because he is above such business. He also runs after the birds; but his foolish barking warns them of his coming, and as they fly away he can only watch them with open mouth and drooping tail.
The dog submits himself to the slavery of the collar in order to be taught the art of circumventing rabbits and pigeons—and this not for his own profit, but for the pleasure of his master, the hunter. Foolish, foolish fellow! An animal himself, he delights in persecuting other animals at the command of the man who beats him.
But the cat, when she catches a bird, has a good excuse for her cruelty—she catches it only to eat it herself. Shall she be slandered for such an act? Before condemning her, men may well think of their own shortcomings. They will find among themselves, as well as in the race of cats, many individuals who have claws and often use them for the destruction of those who are gifted with wings.