Booth knelt down by the side of the birds, and with every evidence of sincere affliction began to mourn over them.  He took them up in his hands tenderly, and pressed them to his heart.  For a few moments he seemed to forget my presence.  For this I was glad, for it gave me a little time to recover from my astonishment, and to consider rapidly what it might mean.  As I look back now, and think of the oddity of the situation, I rather wonder at my own self-possession.  It was a sufficiently trying position.  At first I thought it was a hoax, an intentional piece of practical fun, of which I was to be the object.  But even in the moment allowed me to think, I decided that this could not be.  For I recalled the long and elaborate Bible argument against taking the life of animals, which could hardly have been got up for the occasion.  I considered also that as a joke it would be too poor in itself, and too unworthy a man like Booth.  So I decided that it was a sincere conviction,—­an idea, exaggerated perhaps to the borders of monomania, of the sacredness of all life.  And I determined to treat the conviction with respect, as all sincere and religious convictions deserve to be treated.

I also saw the motive for this particular course of action.  During the week immense quantities of the Wild Pigeon (Passenger Pigeon, Columba Migratoria) had been flying over the city, in their way to and from a roost in the neighborhood.  These birds had been slaughtered by myriads, and were for sale by the bushel at the corners of every street in the city.  Although all the birds which could be killed by man made the smallest impression on the vast multitude contained in one of these flocks,—­computed by Wilson to consist of more than twenty-two hundred millions,—­yet to Booth the destruction seemed wasteful, wanton, and from his point of view was a wilful and barbarous murder.

Such a sentiment was perhaps an exaggeration; still I could not but feel a certain sympathy with its humanity.  It was an error in a good direction.  If an insanity, it was better than the cold, heartless sanity of most men.  By the time, therefore, that Booth was ready to speak, I was prepared to answer.

“You see,” said he, “these innocent victims of man’s barbarity.  I wish to testify in some public way against this wanton destruction of life.  And I wish you to help me.  Will you?”

“Hardly,” I replied.  “I expected something very different from this, when I received your note.  I did not come to see you expecting to be called to assist at the funeral solemnities of birds.”

“Nor did I send for you,” he answered.  “I merely wrote to ask about the lot in the grave-yard.  But now you are here, why not help me?  Do you fear the laugh of man?”

“No,” I returned.  “If I agreed with you in regard to this subject, I might, perhaps, have the courage to act out my convictions.  But I do not look at it as you do.  There is no reason, then, why I should have anything to do with it.  I respect your convictions, but do not share them.”