Chapter 2

During a hard snow storm last winter, a kitten with a broken leg and almost frozen hopped into the hall door of a gentleman's house in Brooklyn, New York, and set up a most piteous mewing.

The master of the house ordered the servants to throw the kitten into the street, when his little daughter, a child eight years of age, caught up the poor little creature, and begged to be allowed to keep and nurse it. The father, at first, refused. The child, however, begged so earnestly that he at last allowed her to keep the kitten.

The little girl, whom we will call Emma, nursed her pet until it got quite well. The kitten returned, in full measure, all the love of her gentle nurse, and was never quite happy away from little Emma.

Some time afterwards, the loving child was taken severely ill, and was confined to her bed. Kitty had grown into a cat. It was found impossible to keep her away from the bed of her suffering friend. The cat would watch at the door when turned out of the room, dart in again, and mew, and jump upon the bed where little Emma lay. There Kitty was quiet.

As the child grew more ill, it was impossible to get the cat out of the room; until, at last, when little Emma was dying, pussy stretched herself out near the bed, and seemed to be dying too.

The cat was taken into the next room, and put gently upon a rug.

"Take care of my poor kitten!" said the kind little Emma, as she saw them take it away; and her loving spirit went to the land of loving spirits.

When the sorrowing friends went into the adjoining room, the life of her "poor kitten" had departed too.

Does not the fact that love and kindness can make such an irritable animal as the cat so loving and grateful, teach us all their heavenly power? Ought we not to do all which we can to bring out this better nature?

We have made cats our slaves. We have taken them from the woods, that we may have them to catch our rats and mice. We make them do just as we please, and ought we not to make them as comfortable and happy as we can?

Can we not be patient with their bad or disagreeable qualities, and encourage all their good dispositions? We never know the true character of any living being till we treat that creature with entire justice and kindness. I therefore am the friend of the poor, despised, abused, neglected, suspected, calumniated cat. I confess she is sometimes a little disposed to thieving, that there are strong reasons for supposing that she is somewhat addicted to selfishness, that she may justly be suspected of occasional hypocrisy, and that she is to blame for too readily using her claws.

These are, all of them, human as well as cattish faults; but, if pussy has in her the capacity for something better, for self-forgetting and devoted affection, we must treat her with such patient, enduring kindness and perfect justice as may cherish all that is good in her nature. In short, can we not overcome her evil by our good? Let us try, boys!

One thing I have not yet told you in relation to cats, and that is what pets they are made in France. No drawing room seems complete without a beautiful cat. The cats are well trained and are very gentle.

The Angora cat is most prized. She is fed with the greatest care, and, in all respects, is treated like a respected member of the family; and noticed, of course, by visitors. I have seen a beautiful cat go from one guest to another to be caressed like a little child.

These pet cats are playthings. They are not expected to catch rats and mice, but are idle creatures, and only amuse themselves and others. It is considered a special attention for any gentleman or lady to make a present of a pet cat."

"What's the use of cats who can't catch rats and mice?" said Frank. "Do the French pet the mice, too? I wonder what comes of the bread and cheese?"

"O, the people have another set of cats, whom they call gutter cats, who catch rats and mice. The gutter cats never come into the drawing room; but they are treated well in the kitchen, and made as happy as possible.

I was told that these working cats were far more intelligent than the pets of the drawing room.

I knew a French seamstress who had a gutter cat, of which she was very fond. One day the cat fell from the roof of the house. She seemed dead, but her faithful friend put her upon a soft bed, gave her homoeopathic medicine, and watched all night by her to put a drop of something into her mouth if she moved. At last the cat gave signs of life, and by good nursing her life was saved.

I saw once in Paris a man carrying about a splendid large mouse-colored cat, dressed up with ribbons.

The creature was twice the common size, and gentle as a lamb. He was for sale; the price, sixty francs, which is twelve dollars. Every body who was not too busy, stopped to stroke Master Puss."

"He would have done to wear boots," cried Harry. "I should like him right well. Such a big cat would be worth having."

"The French are very humane to animals, and never inflict unnecessary pain upon the meanest. In the street in which I lived in Paris, there was a hospital for cats and dogs."

"Is not a hospital a place where sick folks go to be cured, Mother; and do they like to have dogs and cats there?"

"This was a hospital devoted to sick cats and dogs."

"Do they have cats and dogs for nurses?" said Harry, giggling as he spoke.

"I never heard they did, you little goose. But I could not help being pleased with such an evidence of the kind-heartedness of a people in their treatment of animals."

"Mother," said Frank, "where did dogs and cats come from? Have men always had them living with them? Did Adam and Eve have a dog and cat, do you suppose? Was there an Adam and Eve cat and dog?"

"It would take more knowledge than I can boast of, Frank, to answer these questions. I will tell you all I have been able to learn. It is supposed by some persons that the domestic dog is the descendant, that is, the great great great grandchild of a wolf."

A man who wanted to see if a wolf could be gentle, and faithful, and loving as a dog, took a baby wolf, treated him with the greatest kindness, and fed him on food that would not make him savage.

The wolf was always gentle, and much attached to his master. If the sons and sons' sons of the wolf were always treated in the same manner, you may suppose it possible that, in time, they would be as loving and good as our dogs.

There seems, however, to be more reason to think that our domestic dog is descended from a wild dog; as there are wild dogs in various parts of the world; in Africa, Australia, and in India. The dog of the Esquimaux was a wolf. There is a distinct kind of dog for almost every part of the world, each sort differing in some things from the wolf.

The earliest history of man speaks of his faithful companion, the dog. Every schoolboy has read of the dog of Ulysses; and how, when Ulysses returned, after a very long absence, so changed as not to be recognized in his own house, his dog knew him immediately.

Cuvier, the great French naturalist, says that the "dog is the most complete, the most remarkable, and the most useful conquest ever made by man."

"Every species has become our property. Each individual is altogether devoted to his master, assumes his manners, knows and defends his goods, and remains attached to him until death; and all this proceeds neither from want nor constraint, but solely from true gratitude and real friendship."

"The swiftness, the strength, and the scent of the dog have enabled him to conquer other animals; and, without the dog, man perhaps could not have formed a society. The dog is the only animal which has followed man into every part of the earth."

"The Exquimaux employ their dogs as we do horses. The dogs are made slaves; but are docile and faithful, particularly to the women, who manage them by kindness and gentleness. In Germany you often see dogs drawing carts; and in London dogs are harnessed into little carts to carry round meat for the cats."

Here Harry expressed his opinion that this was abusing the dogs.

"I am told," continued Mrs. Chilton, "that when the driver of these dog carts cries 'Cats' Meat,' all the cats look out from their holes and hiding-places for their accustomed piece."

"We," said Harry, "give pussy something out of our plates all cooked and nice, and so I suppose she is a better cat, and less cattish."

I dare say you know that there are a great variety of dogs. The Newfoundland dog not only drags carts and sledges, but has a sort of web foot that makes him a particularly good swimmer. He often saves the lives of his human friends.

The Lapland dog looks after the reindeer, and drives them with the greatest gentleness to their homes or away from any danger.

The shepherd's dog does the same for the flock. He runs after any stray sheep, and just says, with a very amiable little bark, "Friend sheep," or "My little lamb, that's not the way."

Then there is the terrier to catch our rats; the mastiff and spaniel to guard our houses; the lapdog for ladies to play with; the poodles to laugh at; and once there was the turnspit to roast our meat for us.

Besides these and many I have not mentioned there are all the different hunting dogs; the pointers and setters for birds; the hounds for hares, rabbits, foxes, and deer.

When I was in England, I saw the start for a deer hunt. The hunters, with their red jackets, were assembled on horses longing to start. The dogs were all fastened together and held still by the keepers. A large open heath was before us.

Presently a covered cart was driven up. One end was opened, and a stag leaped out.

He stood still, and looked up and all around him, as much as to say, "What are we all about?" He had, apparently, no thought of running any where.

At last, they sent a little dog to bark at him, and soon away he scampered over fences and through fields; like the wind, he flew.

When he was out of sight, the keeper let his dogs loose. They did not run at first, but smelt all around, one dog leading the others. At last, he pricked up his ears, and they all set up a race after him, like a streak of lightning, as our Jem would say.

Now the huntsmen started, and they followed as near as they could. The dogs leaped over a hedge, a pretty high one. Away went the huntsmen after them.

I saw one man thrown as he tried to leap the hedge, and away went his horse and left him.

I saw two, three, four go over as if they were flying. O, how beautiful it was to see them!

Then I saw a rider and his horse both fall into a ditch they were trying to leap. Then came another, and over he went, all clear, as a cat might jump.

The hunter in the ditch scrambled out, but his horse was hurt and could not move.

Some men from the farm house, before which I was sitting, looking at the hunt, took ropes and went to help the maimed horse.

By this time, we heard but faintly the huntsmen's horn and merry shouts; and soon they were all out of sight, save the four or five men who were aiding the poor horse to get out of the ditch.

I returned home, thinking that, after all, hunting tame deer was a poor amusement. But I am an American lady; and were I an English gentleman, I might feel very differently.

"I think I should like hunting right well. It would be real good fun," said Harry.

"And so should I," said Frank.

The dog of the St. Bernard, who is called the Alpine spaniel, you have heard and read of; and you have that pretty picture of one of those dogs with a boy on his back.

I have, as you know, been among the Swiss mountains; and the thought of the good monks living in those awful solitudes through the storms of winter, with the avalanches for their music, and only an occasional traveller for society, and with these gentle, loving dogs for companions, gave me a new love for these excellent animals.

I thought, too, of the poor traveller who had lost his way, and found his strength failing. I imagined his joy at the sight of one of these dogs with a cloak on his back, and a bottle of cordial tied to his neck.

I saw, in my mind, the good "fellow-creature" showing the way to the shelter which his truly Christian masters are so glad to afford.

These monks, it is said, keep a bell ringing during storms. It seems to me I can see one of the old monks sitting over his fire, putting on more wood, and making his tight chalet as warm as he can, in case a traveller should come.

Presently he hears a cheerful bark from one of the dogs. He opens his door; the poor, frozen, half-starved traveller enters.

The monk takes off the wet garments; he rubs the stiff, cold hands; he speaks kind words to the stranger, and gives him something warm to drink.

Meanwhile, the good dog lies down on the floor, looking with his big, kind eyes at the wayfarer, and seems to say, "I'm glad I found you and brought you here to my master. Eat and drink, and be comfortable; don't be shy; there's enough here always for a poor traveller."

It is a sad thing to turn from this pleasant picture to the history of the bloodhounds in the West Indies. Who would believe that the good and great Columbus employed bloodhounds to destroy the Indians who made war against the Spaniards?

"When the Indians were conquered, the bloodhounds were turned into the woods and became wild, so that there are now many of these wild dogs on the islands. I grieve to say that, here in this civilized land, bloodhounds are sometimes used to catch runaway slaves."

"Runaway slaves, Mother? Do you mean men, like Anthony Burns," asked Frank. "He was a slave, was he not?"

"Yes, Frank, men like Anthony Burns, when they try to get their freedom, if they are known to be hiding in a wood, are often hunted with dogs."

"O, it is very wicked, Mother!"

"So I think, Frank; let us hope that the time will come when every man and woman and child in our land will think so, and then there will be no more slaves."

"And now, let us turn away from the history of bloodhounds to some pleasant thoughts before we finish our twilight talk."

"The poet Cowper was a great friend to animals. Many of his most beautiful letters to his friends have very pleasant passages about his pretty tortoise shell kitten, and his distress that she would grow up into a cat, do what he would."

"He was a lover of tame rabbits and hares, and speaks of all these animals as if they were his friends and fellow-creatures. In one of his little poems he tells a pretty story of his spaniel Beau. I was so pleased with it that I learned it by heart unconsciously, from reading it over so often."

"Do repeat it, Mother," cried both the boys.

Mrs. Chilton then repeated the poem; and, as some of my young readers may not be familiar with it, they shall have a copy, too.

"This, also, boys, is a true story," said their mother.

THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY.

NO FABLE.

The noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, When, 'scaped from literary cares, I wandered on his side.

My spaniel--prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree-- (Two nymphs adorned with every grace, That spaniel found for me--)

Now wantoned, lost in flowery reeds, Now, starting into sight, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads, With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse displayed His lilies newly blown. Their beauties I intent surveyed, And one I wished my own.

With cane extended far, I sought To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccessful pains, With fixed, considerate face; And, puzzling, set his puppy brains To comprehend the case.

But, with a chirrup clear and strong Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and followed long The windings of the stream.

My ramble finished, I returned; Beau, trotting far before, The floating wreath again discerned, And, plunging, left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropped Impatient swim to meet My quick approach; and soon he dropped The treasure at my feet.

Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried, "Shall hear of this thy deed. My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed."

But, chief, myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine To Him who gives me all.

"I think that's a right pretty story, Mother," said Frank, when his mother had finished reciting it; "but will you tell me what 'high in pedigree' means; for I'm sure I don't know. I never heard the word before; and who are nymphs, who found the spaniel for Cowper?"

"'High in pedigree,' Frank, means nothing but that he had a very respectable grandfather and mother."

"Then, Mother, we are high in pedigree; for I'm sure that grandfather and grandmother--, at the farm, are the very best and most respectable people in the world, and send us the best butter and cheese. But what are nymphs?"

"There was, in olden times, Frank, before the birth of Christ, and among many people since there is a belief in a sort of fairies, or fanciful existences. They thought that in each stream, and wood, and grotto lived a beautiful young woman, invisible to common eyes, and these lovely fairies were called nymphs. So it became common to call any beautiful young woman a nymph."

"The best line in it," said Harry, "is, 'And, puzzling, set his puppy brains.' That I can quite understand."

"Now," said Mrs. Chilton, "it is time to light the candles, and for little boys to go to bed."

"I have still a little more to say to you about animals," said Mrs. Chilton, one evening, to her two boys, "as you seemed pleased with what I told you, some time ago, about dogs and cats."

A friend told me, the other day, that, when she was at Hopkinton, where she went for the benefit of the baths, the mistress of the hotel told her that their cat understood language; for that a gentleman, who was there and was going fishing, told the cat to go and catch him a frog. The cat disappeared, and, a little while after, brought in a frog. She added, that the next day he told the cat again to go and catch him a frog. The cat again set off on the same errand, and brought in two frogs; but she had bitten off the head of one of them, as if to pay for her labor."

"Do you believe that story, Puss?" said Harry. "See, Puss shakes her head. Do you believe it, Mother?"

The authority was very good. I could not easily disbelieve it. The more we notice animals the more we shall be astonished at them, and interested in their history; the more we shall see in them evidences of the wisdom and the goodness of the Power that created them.

I knew a good, great man who would never tread upon the meanest flower he met in his walks; who would not wantonly destroy a shell upon the sea shore.

When I was very young, I was walking in a garden with one of the true lovers of God in His works: suddenly he bent his head very low, and bade me bend mine also. "See," he said, "that beautiful web: do not break it; the little creature who made it has worked very hard; let us not destroy it."

This lesson was given many years ago. I have forgotten many things since then; but this will last me through life, let it be ever so long.

Who does not love good Uncle Toby who, when a troublesome fly tormented and tickled his nose and sipped his wine, put him tenderly out of the window, saying to him, "Go: there is room enough in this world for thee and me"? But to my stories. One is a sad one, but it is true, as are also all the others.

A gentleman was once travelling in France, on horseback, followed by his dog; presently the dog began to show great uneasiness, and run and jump up at him and bark violently. The man saw no one near, and could not understand what was the matter.

The dog persisted in barking. At last, the man scolded him. This did no good. The dog still barked and jumped up trying to get hold of his master's legs; the man scolded the animal repeatedly, but all in vain. The dog barked louder and louder. At last, the man struck him with the butt-end of the whip harder than he intended; for he only wished to silence the dog.

The thoughtless man went on satisfied. After a while, he found that he had lost his purse. He went back some miles, till, at last, he saw his dog lying dead in the road with one paw over a purse.

The poor creature had staggered back to the place where he had seen it fall, and, faithful to the last in spite of his master's cruelty, even in death, guarded his property.

A knowledge of character, comprehension of language, or some other faculty, beyond what we can explain, is often discovered in dogs.

There was a family who had given leave to two poor men to come and saw wood, do chores, &c. One of these was very honest; the other often took what did not belong to him.

The family dog took no especial notice of the honest man, and treated him in a friendly way, but the thief he watched all the time, to guard the property of the family.

Another dog was on board a vessel bound to some place in Europe. The vessel was driven in a storm against a rocky coast, and struck under a steep, perpendicular cliff perfectly inaccessible. It was evident that if relief was not soon given, the vessel must go to pieces, and the men all perish.

The dog leaped into the angry sea, and with some difficulty swam ashore. He ran on till he came to the dwelling of a poor man, and then barked loudly, till the owner was roused and came out.

The dog showed great joy at seeing him, ran towards the shore and then back to him, and leaped upon him and licked his hands; this he did repeatedly till the man followed him.

It was some distance to the shore; and, after a while, the man was tired, thought it was foolish to go after the dog, and turned to go home. The dog immediately showed great distress, and tried the same arts to entice him on; but the man seemed resolved to go home.

At last, the dog stood upon his hind legs, put his paws upon the man's shoulders and looked him in the face, with such a human meaning, such a piteous expression, that the man determined to follow him.

The dog led him, not to the cliff under which the vessel was lying, as there she could not be seen, but to a distant place on a point where she was visible.

Ropes were immediately obtained, the crew were all hoisted up, and every life saved; and this was by the intelligent love of this faithful fellow-creature--we cannot call him a brute.

These true stories were told me by Mr. W. R. of New Bedford, who gave the name of the captain of the wrecked vessel, and said he was sure they were true.

A fact of this kind fell once under my own observation. One night, our dog Caesar made a barking at the door, till, at last, he brought some one out. The dog then ran towards the road, and when he found he was not followed, came back and barked, and then ran to the road and back again, and so on till we understood he wanted to be followed, and some one went with him.

Caesar immediately led the way to a ditch over which there was a bridge without any guard. There a horse and wagon had been upset. The wagon had fallen upon the driver in such a way that he could not move. The men came immediately to the aid of the poor man, took him out, put him in his wagon and new harnessed his horse, and set him off comfortably on his way again. The dog sat by and saw it all. Who shall say how much of the compassionate love of the good Samaritan was in his canine heart? Who shall exactly measure and justly estimate the joy of the other faithful, intelligent animal who saved the crew of the wrecked vessel?

One more story of a dog I remember which is too good to be forgotten; as it shows, not only the sagacity, but the love and self-denial of one of these faithful creatures.