A STUDY OF CHARACTER. 211 



When I returned, they had laid Calvin on a 

 table in an upper chamber by an open window. 

 It was February. He reposed in a candle-box, 

 lined about the edge with evergreen, and at his 

 head stood a little wine-glass with flowers. He 

 lay with his head tucked down in his arms, a 

 favorite position of his before the fire, as if 

 asleep in the comfort of his soft and exquisite 

 fur. It was the involuntary exclamation of those 

 who saw him, &quot; How natural he looks ! &quot; As for 

 myself, I said nothing. John buried him under 

 the twin hawthorn-trees, one white and the 

 other pink, in a spot where Calvin was fond 

 of lying and listening to the hum of summer 

 insects and the twitter of birds. 



Perhaps I have failed to make appear the in 

 dividuality of character that was so evident to 

 those who knew him. At any rate, I have set 

 down nothing concerning him but the literal 



