Thus does Lamartine, in “Jocelyn’s Episode,” beautifully express himself in addressing a faithful and affectionate canine by the name of Fido:—
“I cannot, will not, deem thee a deceiving,
Illusive mockery of human feeling,
A body organized, by fond caress
Warmed into seeming tenderness;
A mere automaton, on which our love
Plays, as on puppets, when their wires we move.
No! when that feeling quits thy glazing eye,
’Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky.”
Not by man alone have these higher qualities been accorded to the brute. Women have praised the good within the lower animals, and been quite as willing to share with them the benefits of an immortal life. Eugenie de Guérin, a woman distinguished for her devotional piety, and an author of no mean repute, was, like the most of her sex, quite passionately fond of pets. Hers was a turtle-dove. Its voice was the first to greet her in the morning. There was a pleasure in its soft, gentle cooings, as they fell upon her ear, that sent a sweet consolation to her busy, thinking soul. But the time came at last when she must part with her treasure. The morn dawned bright, an August morning, and the bird was well and happy, but, with the falling of the shadows at even-tide, its little life went out. A bitter trial it was for the mistress, who loved with a perfect love her feathered friend. While wrestling with her intense sorrow, and after she had sincerely placed its mortal remains in a dainty cavity beneath the roses, it was that she wrote: “I have a tolerably strong belief in the souls of animals, and I should even like there to be a little paradise for the good and gentle, like turtle-doves, dogs and lambs. But what to do with wolves and other wicked animals? To damn them?—that embarrasses me.”