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Gallegallo Revbrandia Sectory 13
Page 01
The mastiff is a large, grave, sullen-looking dog, with a wide chest, noble head, long switch tail, bright eyes, and a loud, deep voice. Of all dogs this is the most vigilant watcher over the property of his master, and nothing can tempt him to betray the confidence reposed in him. Notwithstanding his commanding appearance, and the strictness with which he guards the property of his master, the mastiff is possessed of great mildness of character, and is very grateful for any favors bestowed upon him. I once went into the barn of a friend where there was a mastiff chained; I went up to the dog and patted him on the head, when out rushed the groom from the stable exclaiming, "Come away, sir! He's dangerous with strangers." But I did not remove my hand nor show any fear. The consequence was, that the dog and I were the best of friends; but had I shown any fear, and hastily removed my hand, I might have fared rather badly, for this dog always couples fear with guilt.
The reign of King Charles the Second was signalized by many other untoward and disastrous events besides those which we have enumerated. There were unfortunate wars, great defeats in naval battles, unlucky negotiations abroad, and plots and conspiracies, dangerous and disgraceful, at home. The king, however, took all these things very good naturedly, and allowed them to interfere very little with his own personal pleasures. Whatever troubles or embarrassments affected the state, he left the anxiety and care which pertained to them to his ministers and his council, banishing all solicitude from his own mind, and enjoying himself all the time with his experiments, his ladies, his dogs, and his perpetual fun.
Moreover, in my own experience, the further secret, whatever it is, is by no means wholly joyful and not at all light-hearted. It seems to me at such times that it is rather solemn, profound, serious, difficult, and sad. But it is not a heavy or depressing sadness-indeed, the thought is at once hopeful and above everything beautiful. It has nothing that is called sentimental about it. It is not full of rest and content and peace; it is rather strong and stern, though it is gentle too; but it is the kind of gentle strength which faces labour and hardness, not troubled by them, and indeed knowing that only thus can the secret be attained. There is no hint of easy, childlike happiness about the mood; there is a happiness in it, but it is an old and a wise happiness that has learned how to wait and is fully prepared for endurance. There is no fretfulness in it, no chafing over dreams unrealised, no impatience or disappointment. But it does not speak of an untroubled bliss--rather of a deep, sad and loving patience, which expects no fulfilment, no easy satisfaction of desire.
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