Page:Under the Sun.djvu/188

164 acceptance of even the hippopotamus. “The wisdom of God,” says Sir Thomas Browne, “receives small honor from those vulgar heads that rudely stare about and, with a gross rusticity, admire His works;” and it is certainly gross rusticity to attribute credit to the elephant for being big. After all, he is not so big as other creatures living, nor as he himself might have been a few centuries ago. Moreover, though giants seem always popular, there is little virtue in mere size. The whale, driving along through vast ocean spaces, displaces, it is true, prodigious quantities of water, but the only admirable points about him, nevertheless, are his whalebone and his blubber. He is simply a wild oil barrel, and the more cheaply he can be caught and bottled off the better.

But speaking of personal bulk as a feature to be complimented, there is an illustration at my hand here in the next enclosure — for who could honestly congratulate the hippopotamus upon its proportions?

Men ought to have a grudge against this inflated monster, for it is one of the happiest and most useless of living things. Its happiness in a natural state is simply abominable when taken in connection with its worthlessness; and the rhinoceros, next door there, is no better. Providence, to quote the well known judge, has given them health and strength — “instead of which,” they go about munching vegetables and wallowing in warm pools. They do absolutely nothing for their livelihood, except now and then affront the elephant. Even for this the hippopotamus is too sensual and too indolent; but the rhinoceros often presumes to hold the path against the King of the Forests. Their bulk, therefore, is either abused by them or wasted, so that their monstrous size and strength really become a reproach.