39 2 Life and Immortality. 



satisfaction and pleasure than a share of the bed of his mis- 

 tress, but he was always a troublesome nest-fellow. Charley 

 had, as must be obvious, perfect freedom. He was allowed 

 to go as he pleased. There was no coercion in his case. 

 Had he wished to escape, there was nothing to prevent, and 

 nothing bound him to his mistress but an " ever-lengthening 

 chain " of love and aspirations which none but a human being 

 could satisfy. The sparrow, one of the most independent 

 and self-reliant of birds, has been known to abandon its kind 

 for the sake of human beings. Wood cites a case of a bird 

 of this species that had been rescued from some boys who 

 had been robbing the nest. The bird was brought home, 

 but was never confined in a cage, but was permitted to fly 

 freely about the house. As there was a cat about the house, 

 she had to be closely watched lest she might do the bird 

 some injury. On Sundays, when the family went to church 

 and no one remained to keep an eye on the cat, the sparrow 

 was turned into the garden, where it flew about until the 

 family's return. The opening of the dining-room window by 

 its mistress, and the display of her ungloved hands, was the 

 signal for its entry. But if the mistress stood by the window 

 with her gloves on, then the bird showed not the slightest 

 disposition to enter. 



Such is the intensity of the love which the lower animals 

 sometimes entertain toward man that they have been known 

 to grieve themselves to death on account of his loss. A dog 

 by the name of Prince, who lived in the family where the 

 writer spent a few weeks of a summer, is a case in point. 

 He had a good master, and one to whom he was strongly 

 attached. The year before the master sickened and died, 

 and Prince felt the loss so keenly that he refused to take any 

 food, and even to notice the surviving members of the 

 family. He was pitiable to behold. Life had lost all attrac- 

 tions to him, and he showed that he was slowly but surely 

 grieving his life away. Some few weeks after the writer's 

 departure, the poor animal breathed his last, and his spirit, it 



