A TIRED TRAVELLER 103 



it may be said, because of the colour and the form. Ah 

 yes, but it is dead, and what I see and hold is but the 

 case, the habit, of the living, intelligent spirit which 

 is no more. This gold-red hair, which sparkles like 

 gold in the sunlight when I hold it up, which was 

 exceedingly beautiful when it glorified the head of 

 one that has vanished — this hair is not now beautiful 

 to me but only ineffably sad. Yet I would not grieve 

 at the thought that the lovely children of the air must 

 cease to live, that their warm, palpitating flesh so 

 beautifully clothed with feathers must be torn and 

 devoured ; or that they must perish of hunger and 

 cold when the frost has its iron grip on the earth ; or 

 fall by the way or on the wide sea, beaten down by 

 adverse bitter winds and rain and sleet and snow. 

 Indeed, I would grieve at no natural ending of life, 

 however premature or painful or tragical it might 

 appear, nor think of death at all ; rather I would re- 

 joice with every breath in all this abounding wonder- 

 ful earthly life in which I have a share. It only grieves 

 me and darkens my mind to think that man should 

 invent and practise every conceivable form of perse- 

 cution and cruelty on these loveliest of our fellow- 

 beings, these which give greatest beauty and lustre 

 to the world ; and, above all cruelties, that they 

 should deprive them of their liberty, that which 

 sweetens life and without which life is not life. 



