For my own part, I cannot without grief see so much as an innocent beast pursued and killed that has no defence, and from which we have received no offence at all; and that which frequently happens, that the stag we hunt, finding himself weak and out of breath, and seeing no other remedy, surrenders himself to us who pursue him, imploring mercy by his tears: 

                        “Questuque cruentus,
                         Atque imploranti similis,”

          ["Who, bleeding, by his tears seems to crave mercy.” 
          —­AEnead, vii. 501.]

has ever been to me a very unpleasing sight; and I hardly ever take a beast alive that I do not presently turn out again.  Pythagoras bought them of fishermen and fowlers to do the same: 

                    “Primoque a caede ferarum,
               Incaluisse puto maculatum sanguine ferrum.”

     ["I think ’twas slaughter of wild beasts that first stained the
     steel of man with blood.”—­Ovid, Met., xv. 106.]

Those natures that are sanguinary towards beasts discover a natural proneness to cruelty.  After they had accustomed themselves at Rome to spectacles of the slaughter of animals, they proceeded to those of the slaughter of men, of gladiators.  Nature has herself, I fear, imprinted in man a kind of instinct to inhumanity; nobody takes pleasure in seeing beasts play with and caress one another, but every one is delighted with seeing them dismember, and tear one another to pieces.  And that I may not be laughed at for the sympathy I have with them, theology itself enjoins us some favour in their behalf; and considering that one and the same master has lodged us together in this palace for his service, and that they, as well as we, are of his family, it has reason to enjoin us some affection and regard to them.  Pythagoras borrowed the metempsychosis from the Egyptians; but it has since been received by several nations, and particularly by our Druids: 

          “Morte carent animae; semperque, priore relicts
          Sede, novis domibus vivunt, habitantque receptae.”

     ["Souls never die, but, having left their former seat, live
     and are received into new homes.”—­Ovid, Met., xv. 158.]

The religion of our ancient Gauls maintained that souls, being eternal, never ceased to remove and shift their places from one body to another; mixing moreover with this fancy some consideration of divine justice; for according to the deportments of the soul, whilst it had been in Alexander, they said that God assigned it another body to inhabit, more or less painful, and proper for its condition: 

                              “Muta ferarum
               Cogit vincla pati; truculentos ingerit ursis,
               Praedonesque lupis; fallaces vulpibus addit: 
               Atque ubi per varios annos, per mille figuras

               Egit, Lethaeo purgatos flumine, tandem
               Rursus ad humanae revocat primordia formae:”