less managed to preserve his
life. After many desperate efforts he at last succeeded in calling out
the patriarch's name, as nearly as the vocal organs of a jackass would
allow. "No-ah, No-ah," cried the forlorn beast. Noah's attention was at
last aroused, and on looking out of window to see who was calling, he
perceived the poor jackass almost spent and faintly battling with the
waves. Quickly opening the window, he caught Neddy by the two ears
and hauled him in. This he did with such vigor that Neddy's aural
appendages were considerably elongated; and ever since donkeys have had
long ears, and brayed "No-ah, No-ah" at the approach of wet weather. For
the sake of Christians who are not well acquainted with God's Word, we
add that this story is not in the Bible.

Classical scholars and students of modern literature know how the ass
has been treated by poets and romancers. The stolid animal has generally
been made the subject of comedy. Drunken and impotent Silenus, in the
Pagan mythology, joins in the professions of Bacchus on a sober ass, and
the patient animal staggers beneath the heavy burden of a fat-paunched
tipsy god. Apulius and Lucian transform the hero of their common
story into an ass, and in that shape he encounters the most surprising
experiences. Voltaire makes an ass play a wonderful part in his
"Pucelle." And in all these cases it is worth noticing how the profane
wits remember the ass's relation to Priapian mysteries, from his fabled
interruption of the garden-god's attempt on the nymph Lotis downwards,
and assign to him marvellous amatory adventures. Erasmus, in his "Praise
of Folly," does not forget the ass, with whom he compares the majority
of men for stupidity, obstinacy, and lubricity; nor is the noble
animal forgotten by Rabelais, who cracks many a joke and points many a
witticism at his expense.

Our own genial humorist, Charles Lamb, confesses however to a deep
tenderness for Neddy, and dwells with delight on the protection which
his thick hide affords against the cruel usuage of man. He has, says
Lamb, "a tegument impervious to ordinary stripes. The malice of a child
or a weak hand can make feeble impressions on him. His back offers no
mark to a puny foeman. To a common whip or switch his hide presents an
absolute-insensibility. You might as well pretend to scourge a schoolboy
with a tough pair of leather breeches on." Lamb also quotes the
following passage from a tract printed in 1595, entitl