“By your leave,” he said, “there is little moderation desirable when we are face to face with real suffering, and, as a general rule, no time like the present.” “But there is, as you were saying just now, such a thing as a sense of proportion. I cannot see that it’s my business to excite myself about the caging of larks when there are so many much greater evils.” “Forgive my saying so,” he answered, “but if, when a caged lark comes under your nose, excitement does not take hold of you, with or against your will, there is mighty little chance of your getting excited about anything. For, consider what it means to be a caged lark--what pining and misery for that little creature, which only lives for its life up in the blue. Consider what blasphemy against Nature, and what an insult to all that is high and poetic in man, it is to cage such an exquisite thing of freedom!” “You forget that it is done out of love for the song--to bring it into towns where people can’t otherwise hear it.” “It is done for a living--and that people without imagination may squeeze out of unhappy creatures a little gratification!” “It is not a crime to have no imagination.” “No, sir; but neither is the lack of it a thing to pride oneself on, or pass by in silence, when it inflicts suffering.” “I am not defending the custom of caging larks.” “No; but you are responsible for its continuance.” “I?” “You and all those other people who believe in minding their own business.” “Really,” I said; “you must not attack people on that ground. We cannot all be busybodies!” “The saints forbid!” he answered. “But when a thing exists which you really abhor--as you do this--I do wish you would consider a little whether, in letting it strictly alone, you are minding your own business on principle, or because it is so jolly comfortable to do so.” “Speaking for myself----” “Yes,” he broke in; “quite! But let me ask you one thing: Have you, as a member of the human race, any feeling that you share in the advancement of its gentleness, of its sense of beauty and justice--that, in proportion as the human race becomes more lovable and lovely, you too become more lovable and lovely?” “Naturally.” “Then is it not your business to support all that you feel makes for that advancing perfection?” “I don’t say that it isn’t.” “In that case it is _not_ your business to stop your ears, and shut your eyes, and hold your tongue, when you come across wild song-birds caged.” But we had reached my rooms. “Before I go in,” I said, “there is just one little thing I’ve got to say to you: Don’t you think that, for a man with your ‘sense of proportion,’ you exaggerate the importance of beasts and their happiness?” He looked at me for a long time without speaking, and when he did speak it was in a queer, abstracted voice: