“For my part, I do not see how a parent or friend can gather around the bedside of his sick or dying child whom he has misused. How he can, during its dying hour, gently press these poor, tiny fingers with that hand, which, more than once, cruelly struck it. How he can look into those longing, wide-open, staring eyes from which he has often caused the tears to flow. How, after such despotism, such kicks and cuffs, he can draw nearer to those arms which are so imploringly stretched out toward him in its agony, when the last tremor gently steals over the voiceless lips of that suffering, dying child. How he can impress a parting kiss on those open, pallid lips, which he has often cruelly hushed. How he can gaze on those pale sunken cheeks that were once so round and rosy. How he can smooth the forehead which is now covered with cold perspiration with that same hand which not long before outraged it with violence. How he can remove the pressure from the heaving bosom, gasping for breath. How he can, in the last moment of its life, embrace one whom he has treated more like a slave than like an equal. How he can summon sufficient courage to cast the last look at the now poor, pale, withered, lifeless handful of dust that was once aglow with life and health. How he can repress the tears of regret and repentance when bitter recollections of abuse, negligence, and violence committed on that harmless, innocent, lifeless little prattler, come crowding thick and fast into his memory. “It may be that the earthly inhabitants can see how all these things can easily be done; but for a Marsite they would seem almost impossible. Here, then, a mundane being can do what would seem utterly impossible for a Marsite to do.