Humphry Ward also twice misquotes the passage in "Lady Rose's Daughter."
BOOKS that have become classics--books that ave had their day and now
get more praise than perusal--always remind me of venerable colonels and
majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves
retired upon half pay.
WHETHER or not the fretful porcupine rolls itself into a ball is
a subject over which my friend John Burroughs and several brother
naturalists have lately become as heated as if the question involved
points of theology. Up among the Adirondacks, and in the very heart
of the region of porcupines, I happen to have a modest cottage. This
retreat is called The Porcupine, and I ought by good rights to know
something about the habits of the small animal from which it derives
its name. Last winter my dog Buster used to return home on an average of
three times a month from an excursion up Mt. Pisgah with his nose
stuck full of quills, and _he_ ought to have some concrete ideas on the
subject.
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