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preserved by the same means. That has been achieved which the noble speaker anticipated with regard to the adoption of his own bill. This law has already become "a spontaneous rule on the mind of every man who reads it;" and we hope and believe that it is a law "which will make every human bosom a sanctuary against cruelty; which will extend the influence of a British statute beyond even the vast bounds of British jurisdiction; and consecrate perhaps in all nations, and in all ages, that just and eternal principle which binds the whole living world in one harmonious chain, under the dominion of enlightened man, the Lord and Governor of all."

SECTION II.

THE CLAIMS OF THE INFERIOR CREATURES ENFORCED ON THE

GROUND OF THE PLEASURABLE AND VIRTUOUS TRAIN OF
FEELINGS AND HABITS WHICH THE HUMANE TREATMENT
OF THEM CANNOT FAIL TO INDUCE.

HE that studies nature through the various circles of animated being, discovers an elevation of mind wholly incompatible with a cruel or unkind disposition. He that is so alive to the enjoyment of the inferior creatures that he is perpetually searching for it in their habits and propensities, in order to increase his own happiness, will never, by active infliction or passive indifference, be accessory to their sufferings. His social principle, thus extended and refined, will impart to him the purest satisfaction. Every new being with which he associates himself, becomes a new source of delight. Nothing tends more to our healthy

enjoyment, than cherished feelings of enlightened benevolence. Malignity always punishes itself; while a humane disposition is a never-failing source of exquisite pleasure, and this pleasure is proportioned to the number of objects on which we lavish kindness. He is the happiest man in the world who has the fewest antipathies, and whose generous heart overflows with love to every living thing.

One of the most attractive charms of poetry is in descriptions, true to nature, of the reciprocated enjoyments of man, and these his humbler associates. There is scarcely a poet of any age or country, that has not dwelt on this theme, and always with success. The heart feels the sentiment, or is touched with a kindred sympathy that takes possession of the memory and the imagination. Who can ever forget the "Dog of Ithaca," or the "Down Elphie," in Sir Walter Scott's Waverly? Shakspeare has struck this chord, and it vibrates in our bosom.

Tit. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?
Mar.-At that I have killed, my Lord, a fly.
Tit.-Out on thee, murderer, thou killest my heart;

Mine eyes are cloyed with view of tyranny;

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A deed of death done on the innocent,

Becomes not Titus' brother; get thee gone,

I see thou art not for my company.
Mar.-Alas! my Lord, I have but killed a fly.
Tit. But how if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings,

And buz lamented doings in the air?

Poor, harmless fly!

That with his pretty buzzing melody

Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him.

This is indeed the very way to teach a child that thoughtlessly trifles with an insect's happiness, the duty of humanity. Southey's "Curse of Kehama” presents the beautiful Kailyall, like our first mother, receiving the affectionate homage of the creatures that her presence had drawn around her, "For all things loved her." Campbell's "Gertrude of Wyoming" presents a scene of quiet and innocent affection, and how is its beauty heightened by the addition,

"What though the sportive dog oft round them note,

Or fawn or wild bird bursting on the wing;

Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote

To death those gentle throats that wake the Spring,

Or writhing from the brook its victim bring?

No! nor let fear one little warbler rouse,

But fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing,

Acquaintance of her path amidst the boughs,

That shade e'en now her love, and witnessed first her vows."

Amidst the dissonance and cries produced by cruelty, we might be well pleased to wander into an elysium like this, and listen to sounds that would calm our perturbation,—but we leave our readers to pursue this course for themselves.*

We must, however, be permitted to introduce one extract from a poem of Sir Walter Scott's, written on a traveller, who, some years ago, was killed by falling over a precipice in Helvellyn, and whose faithful dog watched many days by his lifeless corpse.

"Dark green was that spot, and the brown mountain heather,
Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast, abandoned to weather,
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay;
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For faithful in death, his dumb favourite attended,
The much loved remains of his master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

"How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber!
When the wind waved his garments, how oft didst thou start!
How many long days and long nights didst thou number,

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart!

Say, oh, was it much that no requiem read over him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him?
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him,
Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart?"

* See Appendix R.

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