as to say, 'Oh, I'm so glad I've found you! I
know I'm safe now, and you won't let these awful men carry me off
again'._

"At last they managed to get it to move on by flogging it savagely,
and, heart-sick and conscience-smitten, I went to the station; and
when I got the money that it was sold for it seemed to me like 'the
price of blood.' But what can I do?

"I suppose the proper thing is to get hardened and to think nothing
about it, like other people; but it is so dreadful that I can never
go to market to see another of my poor beasts sold."

Kind Miss Cobbe

Miss Frances Power Cobbe gave herself, heart and soul, to the defence
of the animals, not because she loved them more than human beings but
because she could not bear to see the men acting so wickedly towards
them, nor to hear the groans of the helpless victims.

In the account of her life, written by herself, she says: "It is not
the four legs nor the silky or shaggy coat of a dog which should
prevent us from discerning his inner nature of thought and love;
limited thought, it is true, but an unlimited love. That he is dumb,
is to me only another claim (as it would be in a human child) on my
consideration... Another dog, whom I sent away at one year old to
live in the country, was returned to me eight years afterwards old
and diseased. The poor beast knew me again after a few moments' eager
examination, and uttered _an actual scream of joy_ when I called her
by name, exhibiting every token of tender affection for me ever
afterwards."

In her books entitled "Dogs whom I Have Met," she says: "The dog who
really loves his master delights in mere propinquity, likes to lie
down on the floor resting against his feet, better than on a cushion
a yard away, and after a warm interchange of caresses for two or
three minutes asks no more, and subsides into perfect contentment.
That a short tender touch of the dog's tongue to hand or face
corresponds exactly, as an expression of his feelings, to our kisses
of affection, there can be no sort of doubt. All dogs kiss the people
they love."

Tennyson, when on a visit to Miss Cobbe, bade her go bravely on as
she had begun, and "fight the good fight," by which he meant the
warfare against cruelty in which she was engaged. After his death it
was sad to hear the wail of three dogs, a collie, a Scotch terrier,
and a Russian wolf-hound, constant companions and friends of the
poet. Thousands of dogs have pined, and died