BULBULS. 
163 
was trying to drag it out. I lifted my foot and gave it a 
frantic kick, which must have sent the snake quite out of 
this world, for it was never seen again. Then I hastened 
to examine my pet. His poor little back was flayed. 
The double row of small sharp teeth on each side of the 
snake’s lank jaws had raked off both feathers and skin. 
He revived towards evening and tried to look cheerful, but 
sank and died next day. 
I grieved for that Green Bulbul more than I generally 
do for lost pets. I almost said, 
“ Love not, love not ; the thing you love shall die.” 
But no ! I cannot accept that sentiment. It is moral 
imbecility. I believe that the words of the clear-eyed and 
sound-hearted poet who has gone from us are true of all 
bereavements, little and great — 
“I hold it Irue, whate’er befall. 
And feel it when I sorrow most, 
’Tis better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all.’ 
M 3 
