"The beau-ideal which we place before us in the arts of spinning and weaving," said an inhabitant of the South to Michelet, "is the beautiful xvii hair of a woman: the softest wool, the finest cotton, is very far from realizing it." The Southerner seemed to forget that this soft wool, as well as this fine cotton, was not the product of our manufacturers any more than the woman's hair. Were these animal machines to sustain injury, or even to be idle for a certain time, we should be reduced to have nothing wherewith to cover our shoulders: the fine lady would have neither Cashmere shawl, silk, nor velvet in her wardrobe; we should have neither flannel nor cloth to make our clothes; the herdsman even would not have his goat's skin to protect him from the inclemency of the season. Thanks to the animal which gives us his flesh and his fleece, we are able to leave the southern regions, to brave the rigour of other climes, and establish ourselves side by side with the reindeer and the narwhal, in the midst of eternal snow. We have our science and our steam-engines, of which we are justly proud; the animals have only their simple instinct to enable them to fabricate their marvellous tissues, and yet they succeed better than ourselves. The so-called blind forces of nature produce thread, the use of which the genius of man seeks in vain to supersede; and we do not even dream of entering into competition with these living machines which we daily crush under our feet. All these occupations are openly carried on; and if there are some which are honest, it may be said that there are others which deserve another character. In the ancient as well as the new world, more than one animal resembles somewhat the sharper leading the life of a great nobleman; and it is not rare to find, by the side of the humble xviii pickpocket, the audacious brigand of the high road, who lives solely on blood and carnage. A great proportion of these creatures always escape, either by cunning, by audacity, or by superior villainy, from social retribution. But side by side with these independent existences, there are a certain number which, without being parasites, cannot live without assistance, and which demand from their neighbours, sometimes only a resting-place in order to fish by their side, sometimes a place at their table, that they may partake with them of their daily food; we find some every day which used to be considered parasites, yet which by no means live at the expense of their hosts.