For captivity, again, perhaps your poor watch-dog is as sorrowful
a type as you will easily find. Mine certainly is. The day is lovely,
but I must write this, and cannot go out with him. He is chained in the
yard because I do not like dogs in rooms, and the gardener does not like
dogs in gardens. He has no books,--nothing but his own weary thoughts
for company, and a group of those free flies, whom he snaps at, with
sullen ill success. Such dim hope as he may have that I may take him out
with me, will be, hour by hour, wearily disappointed; or, worse, darkened
at once into a leaden despair by an authoritative "No"--too well
understood. His fidelity only seals his fate; if he would not watch for
me, he would be sent away, and go hunting with some happier master: but
he watches, and is wise, and faithful, and miserable; and his high animal
intellect only gives him the wistful powers of wonder, and sorrow, and
desire, and affection, which embitter his captivity. Yet of the two,
would we rather be watch-dog or fly?
150. Indeed, the first point we have all to determine is not how free
we are, but what kind of creatures we are.
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