venerable through thousands of years, is still as true to the nature of the creature and his relation to the human race as when it emanated from the mind of the Greek.

Forgotten by his servants, and unrecognised by his wife, the wayworn monarch, though disguised in squalid rags, is at once remembered by his noble hound, even in the last moments of existence. Cautioned by his guide at the palace entrance of the wrong and insult he might encounter, Ulysses

answers,

“Just is, O friend! thy caution, and address'd
(Replied the chief) to no unheedful breast;
The wrongs and injuries of base mankind,
Fresh to my sense, are always in my mind.
The bravely-patient to no fortune yields:
On rolling oceans, or in fighting fields,
Storms have I pass'd, and many a stern debate;
And now in humbler scene submit to fate.
What cannot Want? The best she will expose,
And I am learn'd in all her train of woes.

Thus, near the gates conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;
Bred by Ulysses, nourish'd at his board,
But, ah! not fated long to please his lord!

To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;
The voice of glory call'd him o'er the main.
Till then in every sylvan chase renown'd,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around:
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,
Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn.
Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,
Unhoused, neglected, in the public way;

And where on heaps the rich manure was spread, Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed.

He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet;
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet;
Yet, (all he could,) his tail, his ears, his eyes,
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,
Stole unperceived: he turned his head and dried
The drop humane: then thus impassion'd cried :
'What noble beast in this abandon'd state
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate?
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise:
If, as he seems, he was in better days,

Some care his age deserves; or was he prized
For worthless beauty? therefore now despised:
Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state :
And always cherish'd by their friends the great.'

'Not Argus so, (Eumæus thus rejoin'd,)

But served a master of a nobler kind,
Who never, never shall behold him more!

Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore!

Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong:

Him no fell savage on the plain withstood,
None 'scaped him bosom'd in the gloomy wood;
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,
To wind the vapour in the tainted dew!
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast;
Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost!
The women keep the generous creature bare,
A sleek and idle race is all their care:

The master gone, the servants what restrains?

Or dwells humanity where riot reigns?

Jove fix'd it certain, that whatever day

Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away.'

This said, the honest herdsman strode before:

The musing monarch pauses at the door:

The dog, whom Fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd,
Takes a last look,-and having seen him-dies;
So closed for ever faithful Argus' eyes!"

Homer's Iliad by Pope.

Payne Knight, in his Enquiry into the Principles of Taste,' admirably remarks on this when describing the sublime and pathetic:

"The celebrated dog of Ulysses, lying upon a dunghill, covered with vermin, and in the agonies of death: yet when, in such circumstances, on hearing the voice of his old master who had been absent twenty years, he pricks his ears, wags his tail, and expires, what heart is not at once melted, elevated, and expanded, with all those glowing feelings, which Longinus has so well described as the genuine effects of the true sublime? That master, too,—the patient, crafty, and obdurate Ulysses; who encounters every danger, and bears every calamity with a constancy unshaken, a spirit undepressed, and a temper unruffled,-when he sees this faithful old servant perishing in want, misery, and neglect, yet still remembering his long lost benefactor, and collecting the last effort of expiring nature to give a sign of joy and gratulation at his return, hides his face, and wipes away the tear!"

Pope, in a letter to Mr. Henry Cromwell,―honest, hatless, Cromwell, as Gay termed him, says:-

"Homer's account of Ulysses's dog Argus is the most pathetic imaginable, all the circumstances considered, and an excellent proof of the old bard's good nature. Ulysses had

left him at Ithaca when he embarked for Troy, and found him at his return, after twenty years (which, by the way, is not unnatural, as some critics have said, since I remember the dam of my dog was twenty-two years old when she died. May the omen of longevity prove fortunate to her successors!) You shall have it in verse :—

ARGUS.

"When wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars and long by tempests toss'd,
Arrived at last, poor, old, disguis'd, alone,
To all his friends, and even his Queen unknown;
Chang'd as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;

The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew!
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd he lay ;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw-he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could,) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy-then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!”

The great poet writes in the same letter:

:

"There has not been wanting one to insinuate malicious untruths of me to Mr. Wycherley, which, I fear, may have had some effect upon him. If so, he will have a greater punishment for his credulity than I could wish him in that fellow's acquaintance. The loss of a faithful creature is something, though of ever so contemptible a one; and if I

were to change my dog for such a man as the aforesaid, I should think my dog undervalued, who follows me about as constantly here in the country as I was used to do Mr. Wycherley in the town.

"Now I talk of my dog that I may not treat of a worse subject, which my spleen prompts me to. I will give you some account of him, a thing not wholly unprecedented, since Montaigne (to whom I am but a dog in comparison) has done the same thing of his cat. Die mihi quid melius desidiosus agam? You are to know, then, that as it is likeness begets affection, so my favourite dog is a little one, a lean one, and none of the finest shaped. He is not much a spaniel in his fawning, but has, (what might be worth any man's while to imitate him in) a dumb, surly sort of kindness, that rather shows itself when he thinks me illused by others, than when we walk quietly or peaceably by ourselves. If it be the chief point of friendship to comply with a friend's motions and inclinations, he possesses this in an eminent degree: he lies down when I sit, and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to. Witness our walk a year ago in St. James's Park. Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends, but I will not insist upon many of them, because it is possible some may be almost as fabulous as those of Pylades and Orestes, &c. I will only say, for the honour of dogs, that the two most ancient and estimable books, sacred and profane, extant, (viz., the Scripture and Homer), have shown a particular regard to these animals. That of Tobit is the more remarkable, because there seemed no manner of reason to take notice of the dog, besides the great humanity of the author.