have no homes, and do nothing but feed and fight with each other. The
elephant is a notable exception, but then the nose of the elephant,
becoming a hand, has redeemed its mind. As for the horse, whatever its
admirers may say, it is just a great ass. There is a lesson in all this:
"from him that hath not shall be taken even that which he hath."

There is another dull beast which, from the point of view of the mere
systematist, seems as far removed from those that wear hoofs as it could
be, but the philosopher, considering the point at which it has arrived,
rather than the route by which it got there, will class it with them,
for its idea of life is just theirs turned topsy-turvy. The nails of the
sloth, instead of being hammered into hoofs on the hard ground, have
grown long and curved, like those of a caged bird, and become hooks by
which it can hang, without effort, in the midst of the leaves on which
it feeds. A minimum of intellect is required for such an existence, and
the sloth has lost any superfluous brain that it may have had, as well
as two, or even three, of its five toes.

To return to those birds and beasts with standard feet, I find that the
first outside purpose for which they find them serviceable is to scratch
themselves. This is a universal need. But a foot is handy in many other
ways. A hen and chickens, getting into my garden, transferred a whole
flower-bed to the walk in half an hour. Yet a bird trying to do anything
with its foot is like a man putting on his socks standing, and birds as
a race have turned their feet to very little account outside of their
original purpose. Such a simple thing as holding down its food with one
foot scarcely occurs to an ordinary bird. A hen will pull about a
cabbage leaf and shake it in the hope that a small piece may come away,
but it never enters her head to put her foot on it. In this and other
matters the parrot stands apart, and also the hawk, eagle, and owl; but