MY BIRD.
CHAP. I.
“You have often promised, mamma, to give us the history of our pretty goldfinch; I wish you would indulge us, now that we are all together,” said Caroline Fitzallan one evening to her mother. “We have read all the books which papa broughtus down; and you assured us that you would get your story ready by that time.”
“Do pray, mamma,” cried Charlotte and Henry, with looks of eager expectation.
“I would most willingly oblige you, my children,” said Mrs. Fitzallan; “but we must first know whether it is agreeable to your father; you should consider that while you are seeking your own gratification, you may unintentionally tire others. Subjects adapted to your comprehension and taste are of too trifling a nature to interest persons of a more mature age.”
Caroline cast her eyes down at thismild rebuke, and her ever-indulgent parent, perceiving her disappointment, said, with a fond smile—“Whatever amuses my children must interest me; so pray, my dear, begin your tale as soon as you please.”
A grateful kiss from each of his blooming infants was the reward of his kindness; and the little party drew nearer to the fire, with looks of pleasing impatience.
Caroline took out her netting; Charlotte busied herself in colouring pictures for her brother’s kite; and little Henry climbing on his father’s knee, rested his face on his bosom, and listened with silent attention, while Mrs. Fitzallan drew from herdesk the following little manuscript, and immediately read to them
THE HISTORY OF MY BIRD,
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
“When my eyes first opened to the light, I found myself, with three other unfledged goldfinches, comfortably lodged in a warm nest. A fond parent sat watching over us with anxious solicitude; and her joy, at seeing her callow offspring safely released from the confinement of the shell, was expressed in lively chirping notes; her beautifully-painted wings were expanded with rapturoushaste, and, heedless of our timid complaints, she flew from us; but her absence was short; she soon returned, and evinced her maternal care, by bringing us such food as suited our delicate state, and which we were unable to procure for ourselves. This she repeated till we were satisfied; then perching on a bough above us, she shook her plumage with exultation, and poured forth a strain of heartfelt delight.
“The tree in which my mother had built our nest grew near a farmhouse, the windows of which overlooked the orchard, whose tempting fruit had attracted innumerable feathered tenants. A young lady fromtown, who was on a visit to the farmer’s daughter, had often expressed a wish to have a goldfinch; and her friend, who happened to be rambling with her through the orchard, at that moment looking up, exclaimed—‘You shall soon have a bird now, Eliza; for I believe a goldfinch has just hatched some young in this tree, and I will tell one of our men to watch it: when they are fledged you shall have the finest.’
‘But would it not be an act of cruelty to take them from their mother?’ asked Eliza, her eyes filling with tears of sensibility.
“Fanny, though naturally compassionate, was more accustomed tosuch things, and considered them with indifference; she therefore replied—‘Not cruel in the least, Eliza; you will be very fond of it, and use it well; then where can be the harm? If you do not take it, some mischievous boy may find the nest, and perhaps torture them all to death; and as to the old bird, she will soon forget them, and make a new nest.’
‘I am not exactly of your opinion,’ said Eliza; ‘it does not justify me in my own eyes to be cruel, because another may have the power to be more so; for you know, my dear Fanny, I might as well wantonly crush this poor insect beneathmy foot, and say, it is no matter—the next who passes this way will do it, if I do not; but that would be very barbarous of me, you must allow.’
‘Why indeed that is very true,’ replied Fanny; ‘and I am sure I would not willingly be guilty of any act of barbarity; but you may as well have one of these birds as any other, for I know Dick has watched them here; and as he considers them his property, he will dispose of them to people who are not quite so scrupulous.’
‘If that is the case,’ said Eliza, ‘I will certainly have one at least; andI will teach it such sweet tunes, that you will be quite delighted when you come to see me in town.’
“In this instance, Eliza certainly suffered self-gratification to triumph over the dictates of native benevolence. The simplest sophistry has too often the power to lull the suggestions of virtue; and that very night our mossy bed was torn from the supporting branch by the hand of an unpitying rustic, and placed within a beautiful, brass-wired cage. We beheld the transition with wonder and alarm. The splendour of the change dazzled our eyes; but we knew that our newly-acquired grandeurrobbed us of life’s sweetest blessing—liberty.
“A heavy shower of rain brought our fond parent home, in the hope of affording shelter to her callow brood. Our feeble voices were raised to implore her succour, for the wet flowed in upon us, and we shivered with the uncomfortable sensations it occasioned. Perceiving our situation, our tender mother uttered a shrill cry of despair. She flew round and round the cage, in the vain attempt of forcing an entrance. She pecked the wire with her bill, and beat against it with her downy breast. Ah! who can conceive the anguishof her little throbbing heart, at thus finding herself robbed of her darling treasure! She passed the whole night in mournful lamentations, nor ventured to quit us till our piercing cries for food rung in her ears, and roused her from the stupor of grief into which she had fallen.
“Arduous was her task to supply us with sufficient nutrition; for the little morsels she dropped at random into the cage, we were too feeble to search for, and it cost her many weary journeys before the cravings of our hunger could be satisfied. How little do children think of the vast debt of gratitude they owe to their parents for their assiduous caresduring their infant years of helplessness! how, in hours of want or sickness, the fond afflicted parent robs herself of rest, of food, of health, or of pleasure, to administer to the wants of her offspring! Oh youth! whilst thy heart is yet warm with the glow of compassion at this picture of animal distress, call to remembrance, if thou hast ever, by stubborn or undutiful conduct, given a pang to that maternal breast which fostered thee with such care and tenderness—if thou hast been guilty of such indiscretion in an unguarded moment, resolve not to transgress again; think what thy mother hath endured for thee, and let thy virtuesprove the sweet reward of her love and solicitude.
“Five tedious days passed on in this manner. Our strength increased, and the growth of our feathers enabled our persecutor to distinguish the male from the female. Being a stout and lively bird, I was chosen from the rest. The other four, happening to prove hens, were suffered to fly; and the joy of our parent at seeing her young ones restored to liberty prevented her from perceiving that I was doomed to captivity and sorrow.
“I was removed, in my splendid prison, to the farmhouse parlour, where I remained several days, in astate of terror and distress that can hardly be imagined, which gave the gentle Eliza apprehensions that I could not live. Every kind attention in her power to bestow was afforded me: the utmost care was taken that I should not be exposed to the inclemency of the weather, that my habitation should be kept free from dirt, and my food such as would agree with me. I was not insensible to this kindness; but I panted for freedom, and with my tender bill strove to remove the bars which impeded my flight.
“Finding all my strength ineffectual, I fell into a state of sullen melancholy, which my tender mistressendeavoured to dissipate by music and sweet songs. She was at length successful. Habit reconciled me to my situation; and finding it impossible to escape, I resolved to enjoy the good that was not withheld from me. Repinings would avail but little; patience and cheerfulness would, I knew, endear me to those who had power over me; and I was not without a hope that it would induce them to allow me still greater indulgencies. When once I had formed this resolution, I found my health and spirits daily improving; and I endeavoured to testify my gratitude for every little kindness I experienced by lively strains.
“I was soon praised and admired by every visitor, and became acquainted with every guest. I became tame and tractable, and soon found a source of amusement in all the little domestic transactions of the inhabitants of the farm.
“The family party consisted of Mr. Somers, as worthy a man as ever lived, his wife, Francis and Fanny, their children, Miss Fitzallan and her brother, who were visitors, and who I found were shortly to be more closely connected by the union of Eliza with Francis Somers. Never was there presented a more perfect picture of domestic felicity than afforded by this amiable family. Thefather was a man of good understanding and agreeable manners, industrious, sober, and assiduous in implanting principles of rectitude in the minds of his children, whose dispositions were truly amiable. Miss Fitzallan was handsome, lively, and accomplished; her brother, a youth of spirit and prepossessing appearance; and their presence at the farm gave animation to industry, by the amusements they afforded in the hours of relaxation.
“Eliza had brought down a guitar, on which she played every evening, when Somers returned with his son from the fields. After a few pleasing tunes, forfeits, or some agreeablepastime, were introduced, and the evening passed delightfully away. Sometimes Eliza would divert them with enigmas and charades, one of which I think I can remember: it was addressed to Francis, and was as follows.”
“I beg your pardon, mamma, but pray,” said Caroline to Mrs. Fitzallan, “what is the meaning of a charade?”
“It is, my dear, a sort of riddle, formed upon a word of two syllables, each of which must convey a separate sense: thus we can make a charade ofhouse-dog, while it would be impossible to form one on the wordkind-ness, as the latter conveys nomeaning without being joined to the former.”
“I understand you, mamma,” replied Caroline; “please to let us hear Miss Fitzallan’s charade.”
CHARADE.
“Take a coarse kind of corn, which makes bread for the poor,Then add that which you’ve oft help’d me over;Join these aptly together, and you will be sureAn old borough town to discover,To which every summer I gladly repair,For friends kind and generous I ever found there.”
“Take a coarse kind of corn, which makes bread for the poor,Then add that which you’ve oft help’d me over;Join these aptly together, and you will be sureAn old borough town to discover,To which every summer I gladly repair,For friends kind and generous I ever found there.”
“Take a coarse kind of corn, which makes bread for the poor,Then add that which you’ve oft help’d me over;Join these aptly together, and you will be sureAn old borough town to discover,To which every summer I gladly repair,For friends kind and generous I ever found there.”
“Take a coarse kind of corn, which makes bread for the poor,
Then add that which you’ve oft help’d me over;
Join these aptly together, and you will be sure
An old borough town to discover,
To which every summer I gladly repair,
For friends kind and generous I ever found there.”
“I think the first must be oats,” said Charlotte.
“Ay, that is a coarse kind of grain,” replied Caroline; “but what town begins with that syllable?”
Mrs. Fitzallan smiled.
“I will give you ten minutes to guess,” said she; “after which we will go to supper.”
The ten minutes soon passed away, during which they puzzled themselves in vain; after which she satisfied their anxious inquiries, by shewing them the wordRye-gate. Each wondered that they had not guessed what was so very plain, and they retired to bed, highly entertained with what they had heard, Caroline protesting she would get a book of enigmas and charades with the veryfirst shilling she could obtain from her papa.