and of their total want of conscience." I think this observation is warranted by the facts, for although I have heard it objected that the feeling displayed by the terrier in this case was that of wounded pride rather than of wounded conscience, still, from what has been previously said concerning this distinction in the case of animals, it will be seen that in this instance it is not easy to draw the line between these two sentiments.
The following instances, however, all of which occurred with the terrier just mentioned, are free from this difficulty:
For a long time this terrier was the only canine pet I had. One day, however, I brought home a large dog, and chained him up outside. The jealousy of the terrier toward the new-comer was extreme. Indeed, I never before knew that jealousy in an animal could arrive at such a pitch; but, as it would occupy too much space to enter into details, it will be enough to say that I really think nothing that could have befallen this terrier would have pleased him so much as would any happy accident by which he might get well rid of his rival. Well, a few nights after the new dog had arrived, the terrier w r as, as usual, sleeping in my bedroom. About one o'clock in the morning he began to bark and scream very loudly, and, upon my waking up and telling him to be quiet, he ran between the bed and the window in a most excited manner, jumping on and off the toilet-table after each journey, as much as to say: "Get up quickly; you have no idea of what shocking things are going on outside!" Accordingly, I got up, and was surprised to see the large dog careering down the road; he had broken loose, and, being wild with fear at finding himself alone in a strange place, was running he knew not whither. Of course I went out as soon as possible, and after about half an hour's work succeeded in capturing the runaway. I then brought him into the house and chained him up in the hall; after which I fed and caressed him with the view of restoring his peace of mind. During all this time the terrier had remained in my bedroom, and, although he heard the feeding and caressing process going on down-stairs, this was the only time I ever knew him fail to attack the large dog when it was taken into the house. Upon my reentering the bedroom, and before I said anything, the terrier met me with certain indescribable grinnings and prancings, which he always used to perform when conscious of having been a particularly good dog. Now, I consider the whole of this episode a very remarkable instance in an animal of action prompted by a sense of duty. No other motive than the voice of conscience can here be assigned for what the terrier did; even his strong jealousy of the large dog gave way before the yet stronger dread he had of the remorse he knew he should have to suffer, if next day he saw me distressed at a loss which it had been in his power to prevent. What makes the ease more striking is, that this was the only occasion during the many years he slept in my bedroom that the terrier disturbed
