p. 14 | Pitiful, Isn't It?

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Mar 3, 1909

Pitiful, Isn't It?

ANNUALLY when the graves of the dead are decorated in Roman Catholic cemeteries, one can see in Paris some strange scenes enacted in connection with the animal cemetery. Upon the Island of the Seine, in which lie buried 15,000 dogs, 4,000 cats, ten parrots, seven horses, six monkeys, two goats, nine canaries, four pigeons, and one each of cow, goose, panther, and lion, black-robed women assemble in large numbers to pay tribute to their departed pets. Graves of granite and marble are beautifully decorated with cut flowers and wreaths. One inscription reads: “O, Sappho, if my soul can not join yours, dear and noble friend, I do not wish for salvation without thee. I shall only, like thee, slumber forever in the sleep that knows no waking.” This over a wretched toy terrier.

Here is another over a spaniel: “I shall regret thee eternally, dear little one. How empty henceforth shall my life be without thee.” And over the grave of a cat is the inscription: “To dearly beloved Mimi. Her poor dear little mother will love her always.”

While humanity and Christianity would dictate kindness to all living creatures, it is a pitiful thing to find such simpering, maudlin, misplaced sympathy. Paris, like other large cities, has its thousands, and it may be

hundreds of thousands of needy and suffering children. It is questionable whether these mourners would be seen with one of the needy little ones in their arms. The sympathy and mourning for the inanimate brutes is the index of the shallow life.