It would be pleasant to believe it was a proof of a good and tender nature to delight in pets, but men and women, notorious for cruelty and bad lives, have been devoted to them, lavishing tenderness, elsewhere denied. Catullus, the famous Roman poet, wrote a lament for Lesbia’s Sparrow; Lesbia, the shameless, false-hearted beauty who could weep for a dead bird, but poison her husband! You often see pretty plaster heads of Lesbia with the bird perched upon her finger, her face bent toward it with a look that is a caress. And the poem has not lost its grace or charm through all the centuries. ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA’S SPARROW. Mourn, all ye Loves and Graces! mourn, Ye wits, ye gallants, and ye gay! Death from my fair her bird has torn— Her much-loved sparrows snatched away. Her very eyes she prized not so, For he was fond, and knew my fair Well as young girls their mothers know, And sought her breast and nestled there. Once, fluttering round from place to place, He gaily chirped to her alone; But now that gloomy path must trace Whence Fate permits none to return. Accursèd shades o’er hell that lower, Oh, be my curses on you heard! Ye, that all pretty things devour, Have torn from me my pretty bird. Oh, evil deed! Oh, sparrow dead! Oh, what a wretch, if thou canst see My fair one’s eyes with weeping red, And know how much she grieves for thee.