Their conduct, in many of their instinctive operations, show a great degree of reason and reflection:-the bird repairs a shattered nest insteadof forming instinctively a new one: -the hen who has been robbed of her eggs changes her place, in order to lay the remainder with more security:-the cat discovers both care and artifice in concealing her kittens. Again, it is evident, that on many occasions, animals know their faults and mistakes, and correct them; they sometimes contrive the most ingenious methods of obtaining their ends, and when one method fails have recourse to another; and they have without doubt, a kind of language for the mutual communication of their ideas. How is all this to be accounted for unless we suppose them endowed with the powers of perceiving, thinking, remembering, comparing, and judging? They have these powers, indeed, in a degree inferior to that in which they are possessed by the human species, and form classes below them in the graduated scale of intelligent beings. But still it seems unreasonable to exclude them from the place which the principles of sound philosophy, and facts ascertained by constant observation,

assign to them in the great and diversified sphere of life, sensation, and intelligence.

That brute animals possess reflection and sentiment, and are susceptible of the kindly as well as the irascible passion, independently of sexual attachment and natural affection, is evident from the numerous instances of affection and gratitude daily observable in different animals, particularly the dog. The few following are recorded by people of respectability; so that father Bougeant's character of the brutes is founded on the grossest folly, and altogether to be despised, for it can tend to nothing but encouraging the malicious pleasure of tormenting innocent and harmless animals, contrary to the dictates of scripture, humanity, and reason.

A few days before the fall of Robespierre, a revolutionary tribunal in one of the departments of the North of France, condemned to death M. des R, an ancient magistrate, and a most estimable man, as guilty of a conspiracy. M. des R. had a water spaniel, ten or twelve years old,of the small breed, which had been brought up by him, and had never quitted him. Des R. saw his family dispersed by a system of terror: some had taken flight;

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others were arrested and carried into distant goals; his domestics were dismissed; his friends had either abandoned him, or concealed themselves; he was himself in prison, and and every thing in the world was silent to him, except his dog. This faithful animal had been refused admittance into the prison. He had returned to his master's house, and found it shut; he took refuge with a neighbour, but this man received him with trembling, and in secret, dreading least his humanity for an animal should conduct him to the scaffold. Every day at the same hour the dog left the house, and went to the door of the prison. He was refused admittance, but he constantly passed an hour before it, and then returned. His fidelity at length won upon the porter, and he was one day allowed to enter.

The

dog saw his master, and clung to him. It was difficult to separate them, but the goaler forced him away, and the dog returned to his retreat. He came back the next morning, and every day; once each day he was admitted. He licked the hand of his friend, looked him in the face, again licked his hand, and went away of himself.

When the day of sentence arrived, notwith'standing the crowd, notwithstanding the guard, the dog penetrated into the hall, and

crouched himself between the legs of the unhappy man, whom he was about to lose for ever. The judges condemned him; he was reconducted to the prison, and the dog for that time did not quit the door. The fatal hour arrives; the prison opens; the unfortunate man passes out; it is his dog that receives him at the threshold. He clings upon his hand, that hand which so soon must cease to pat his caressing head. He follows him; the axe falls; the master dies; but the tenderness of the dog cannot cease. The body is carried away; the dog walks at its side; the earth receives it; he lays himself upon the grave.

There he passed the first night, the next day, and the second night. The neighbour in the mean time unhappy at not seeing him, risks himself in searching for the dog; guesses, from the extent of his fidelity, the asylum he had chosen, finds him, caresses him, and makes him eat. An hour afterwards the dog escaped, and regained his favourite place. Three months passed away, each morning of which he came to seek his food, and then returned to the grave of his master; but each day he was more sad, more meagre, more languishing, and it was evident that he was gradually reaching his end. An endea

vour was made, by chaining him up, to wean him, but nature will triumph. He broke his fetters; escaped; returned to the grave, and never quitted it more. It was in vain that they tried to bring him back. They carried him food, but he ate no longer. For fourand-twenty hours he was seen employing his weakened limbs in digging up the earth that separated him from the remains of the being he had so much loved. Passion gave him strength, and he gradually approached the body; his labours of affection vehemently increased; his efforts became convulsive; he shrieked in his struggles; his faithful heart gave way, and he breathed out his last gasp, as if he knew that he had found his master.

A similar instance of affection in a Dog is recorded by Mr. Blaine, in his "Canine Pathology.

A poor tailor of this parish (St. Olave,) dying, left a small cur dog inconsolable for his loss. The little animal would not leave his dead master even for food; and whatever he eat, was obliged to be placed in the same room with the corps. When the body was removed for burial, this faithful attendant followed the coffin. After the funeral, he was hunted out of the church-yard by the