360 
SAD END OF A PET. 
most profound admiration for little me. I was quite heartless, only shrugging my shoulders 
and turning away. 
“But I do not know exactly how it came about ; in a few weeks I had the painted finch 
and the Bullfinch quite domesticated in my room, and though I still said I did not love him, 
yet I talked a great deal to the bird, and as the little fellow grew more and more cheerful and 
sang louder and oftener each day, and was getting so handsome, I found plenty of reasons for 
increasing my attention to him, and then above all things he seemed to need my presence quite 
as much as sunshine, for if I went away, if only to my breakfast, he would utter the most 
piteous and incessant cries until I returned to him, when in a breath his tones were changed 
and he sang his most enchanting airs. He made himself most fascinating by his polite adora- 
tion ; he never considered himself sufficiently well dressed ; he was most devoted in his efforts 
to enchain me by his melodies. Art and nature both were called to his aid, until, finally, 
I could no longer refrain from expressing in no measured terms my admiration. He was then 
satisfied, not to cease his attention, but to take a step further ; he presented me with a straw, 
and even with increased appearance of adulation. 
“From that time he claimed me wholly ; no one else could approach the cage ; he would 
fight most desperately if any one dared to approach, and if they laid a finger on me his fury 
was unbounded ; he would dash himself against the bars of his cage, and bite the wires as if 
he would obtain his liberty at all hazards, and thus be enabled to punish the offender. 
“ If I went away now he would first mourn, then endeavor to win me back by sweet 
songs. In the morning I was awakened by his cries, and if I but moved my hand, his moans 
were changed to glad greetings. If I sat too quietly at my drawing, he would become weary 
seemingly, and call me to him ; if I would not come, he would say in gentle tone, ‘ Come 
here ! come here ! ’ so distinctly that all my friends recognized the meaning of the accents at 
once, and then he would sing to me. All the day he would watch me ; if I was cheerful, 
he sang and was so gay ; if I was sad, he would sit by the hour watching every movement, and 
if I arose from my seat I was called, ‘ Come-e-here ; ’ and whenever he could manage it, if the 
wind blew my hair within his cage he would cut it off, calling me to help him, as if he thought 
I had no right to wear anything else than feathers, and if I would have hair it was only suit- 
able to nest-building ! If I let him fly about the room with the painted finch, he would follow 
so close on my footsteps that I was in constant terror that he would be stepped upon or lost in 
following me from the room. At last he came to the conclusion that I could not build a 
nest ; I never seemed to understand what to do with the nice materials he gave me, and when 
I offered to return them, he threw his body to one side and looked at me so drolly from 
one eye, that I was quite abashed. From that time he seemed to think I must be a very young 
creature, and more assiduously fed me at stated periods during the day, throwing up from his 
own stomach the half-digested food for my benefit, precisely in the manner of feeding young 
birds. 
“But I did not like this sort of relationship very much, and determined to keep it down, 
and forthwith commenced by coldly refusing to be fed, and as fast as I could bring my 
hard heart to do it, breaking down all the gentle bonds between us. 
“The result was sad enough; the poor fellow could not bear it. He sat in wondering 
grief ; he would not eat. At night I took him in my hand and held him to my cheek ; 
he nestled closely and seemed more happy, although his little heart was too full to let 
him speak. In the morning I scarcely answered his tender low call, ‘ Come-e-here ! 5 but I 
sat down to my drawing, thinking if I could be so cold much longer to so gentle and uncom- 
plaining a creature. 
“ I presently arose and went to the cage. Oh, my poor, poor bird ; he lay struggling on 
the floor. I took him out, I tried to call him back to life in every way that I knew, but it was 
useless ; T saw he was dying, his little frame was even then growing cold within my warm 
palm. I uttered the call he knew so well ; he threw back his head with its yet undimmed 
eye and tried to answer — the effort was made with his last breath. His eye glazed as I gazed, 
and his attitude was never changed ; his little heart was broken. I can never forgive myself 
for my cruelty,” 
