BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 117 



down and fearfully lacerated by lions, tigers, jaguars, 

 and other savage beasts ; and, after having been 

 rescued by their companions, have recounted this 

 strange thing. Even when there was no loss of 

 consciousness, when they saw and knew that the 

 animal was rending their flesh, they seemed not to 

 feel it, and were, at the time, indifferent to the fate 

 that had overtaken them. 



It is the same in death from cold. The strong, 

 well-nourished man, overtaken by a snowstorm on 

 some pathless, uninhabited waste, may experience 

 some exceedingly bitter moments, or even hours, 

 before he gives up the struggle. The physical pain 

 is simply nothing; the whole bitterness is in the 

 thought that he must die. The horror at the thought 

 of annihilation, the remembrance of all the happiness 

 he is now about to lose, of dear friends, of those 

 whose Uves will be dimmed with grief for his loss, 

 of all his cherished dreams of the future — the sting 

 of all this is so sharp that, compared with it, the 

 creeping coldness in his blood is nothing more than 

 a slight discomfort, and is scarcely felt. By and by 

 he is overcome by drowsiness, and ceases to struggle ; 

 the torturing visions fade from his mind, and his 

 only thought is to he down and sleep. And when he 

 sleeps he passes away ; very easily, very painlessly, 

 for the pain was of the mind, and was over long 

 before death ensued. 



