The selfish and sympathetic instincts are strong in us; and neither grown man nor child will, unless in very exceptional cases, feel either long or deep concern in a kingdom from which he himself is banished. Our familiarity, our fellow-feeling, is to a large extent the measure of our interest in any subject. If we cannot put ourselves in the place of our neighbour, let him have two feet or four, we will not continue long to care for him; and, _vice versa_, if we have not imagination enough to endow our neighbour with some of our own attributes, so that he may stand, in a way, in our place, our regard for him will be but partial and fleeting. People speak of the charm in unlikeness and the attraction in reverses; but there must be a more profound underlying harmony for such a charm and attraction to exist. The fact is, we can only appreciate what we understand in a degree at least, and there is no understanding without some points of union. If I may venture reverently to employ such an analogy, though man was made in the image of his Maker, when he had done all he could to deface that image, he became so incapable of having God in all his thoughts, that God, in His divine mercy, had compassion upon man’s miserable incapacity, and, taking upon Him the form of a man, restored the lost link in the chain which binds the whole universe to the throne of God. Children have no difficulty in mentally putting themselves in the place of animals, or in putting animals in their place. Some of my readers may be inclined to say this is because the child is itself a little animal, with its higher faculties undeveloped; but none will refuse to admit that the moral and intellectual faculties are there, however much in abeyance. For my part, I believe that it is rather from the essential gifts of a child, its immense power of believing beyond what it sees, its ready sympathy and boundless trust, than from its defects of ignorance, that it has the happy capacity of identifying itself with its pets, and even its toys, either by transferring to them its own possessions, or by appropriating their experience. Curious instances of such application occur to me. A little child was heard gravely rebuking her dog. “If you are so naughty, Floss, your Uncle Tom and your Aunt Anne” (bestowing in all simplicity of heart her own relations on the dog) “will be vexed; you know they will.” The second instance is given by an accomplished writer in a recent story, but I am persuaded it is from real life. I quote from memory. “Why are you crying, Emily? What is the matter?” a mother asked her little daughter in tears. “Oh, mamma! I am not Emily just now,” the child explained through her sobs; “I am the parrot the cat has been after, and I cannot get over the loss of my best tail feathers.”