Chapter II: Part 2

“Time thus happily spent passed quickly, and the blissful period at length arrived, when our little ones, bursting their brittle enclosure, greeted our delighted ears with their chirping, sweeter to us than the most melodious warblings. Oh, what were my feelings then! To you they must be inconceivable, for it is not in the power of language to describe them. Of the cares and anxieties of a mother, you may form some idea, by recurring to the solicitude of your own; but the sensations of delight she experiences, can be appreciated only by one in a similar situation. For some time we tended our offspring with unremitted care: they throve amazingly, and becoming strong enough to sustain a longer absence on our part, my mate and I ventured to fly abroad together. Our first excursion was short, for I was all anxiety; but finding our little ones safe and well on our return, we were, by degrees, emboldened to quit them during a longer period.

“One delightful morning, after having supplied the wants of our family, we set out together. We were allured by the charms of the weather, further than we intended. I being the soonest tired, wished to rest on an adjacent hedge: my mate followed, and had nearly overtaken me, when my cries warned him not to approach he fatal spot; for, to my utter astonishment and dismay, I found myself held, as it were by magic, and unable to raise my feet. When my first surprise was abated, I discovered that it was owing to a glutinous substance which was spread on the branch I had sought to rest upon, and from which I vainly strove to disengage myself. My poor mate, finding that he could not effect my release from this cruel snare, (for such in reality it was,) wished to remain with me and share my fate; but I besought him, in the most earnest and pathetic terms, to consider our helpless little ones, who must certainly perish, if he, their only protector, abandoned them. My entreaties had the desired effect; for, after some hesitation, he consented to go and feed them, promising to fly back quickly, in order, if possible, to ascertain my fate.

“Ah! what a dreadful moment was that of our separation. It seemed as if we were never to meet again; and the event but too well justified the forebodings of my despair, for, shortly after, two boys came to the hedge, and gently extricated me from the spray, rejoicing at the success of their plan, and reckoning the amount of what they expected to gain by disposing of me. I was a little consoled at finding they did not intend keeping me themselves; for what could I have expected from such cruel boys, or how could I have borne the sight of those, who, in a single moment, had destroyed all my happiness.

“They walked on together till we came to a large town, where entering a shop, in which were birds of various kinds in cages, they offered me for sale. The dealer’s proposals, however, came very far short of their expectations; for being a hen bird, my song was held in little estimation. The boys were almost inclined to keep me, but the shopkeeper making a trifling advance in his offer, the bargain was closed, and I established in a situation entirely new to me, but which proved more tolerable than I had imagined it could have done. Comforts I had none but food and cleanliness. Indeed, such was my dejection when I remembered my late happiness, that I should not have been susceptible of any enjoyment short of restoration to my family.

“I remained a long time with the bird-fancier, for, though frequently offered for sale, I was as often refused, for the reason I before mentioned. At length, that Providence which deigns to watch over the meanest of our species, conducted Master Charles to deliver me from my prison. He purchased me for his little sister, and, from his attention to me during our journey, and from the apparent kindness of the whole family towards our species, I have some hopes of comfort here. Yet, such is my aversion to confinement, under any circumstances, that I shall certainly seize the first opportunity to regain my liberty.”

CHAP. IV.

When the goldfinch had thus ended her interesting narrative, with which I was at once affected and delighted, I no longer wondered at her timidity. Indeed, the relation of her numerous misfortunes inspired me with a degree of respect towards her, which I had not before felt: our intimacy strengthened daily, and at last ripened into sincere friendship. I had, too, frequent opportunities of observing some new trait in my young friends, which excited my esteem and admiration; so that I considered myself extremely fortunate, in having an agreeable companion and worthy protectors.

My happiness, however, met with a transient interruption, from a severe fit of illness, which attacked me about this time. I shall never forget the kindness of my dear mistress on this occasion. She nursed me with the greatest tenderness, and administered such things as were likely to conduce to my restoration, with so much judgment, that I happily recovered.

As my illness had given my mistress great uneasiness, you may suppose that my recovery afforded her proportionate pleasure; and in order to confirm my re-establishment, she ventured to take me again to her garden, when she went to work there. I kept so close to her, and showed so little inclination to fly away, that she left me alone on one of the borders, while she went to the green-house. On her return she found me near the place where she had left me, and offered me something to eat, which I refused, for my attention was otherwise engaged. A sudden gloom seemed to pervade all nature! The sun was concealed by thick clouds, the birds were entirely silent, and a slight rustling among the trees indicated an approaching storm. I looked up anxiously at my mistress, but she seemed quite insensible to the terror that had seized me, and merely urged me to eat. Finding that she did not understand me, and that no time was to be lost, I flew for shelter to a neighbouring tree. My mistress called to me, and I answered; but the pattering of the rain, which began to descend in torrents, prevented her hearing me, and obliged her to enter the green-house. I was sadly frightened when I found myself alone; but I hoped, when the storm was over, to rejoin my best friend. I heard her calling me at intervals, but I durst not as yet quit my retreat.

At length the rain ceased, and the sun shone more brightly than before, at least, so it appeared to me after the storm. I hastened to the green-house, but what was my astonishment on perceiving that my mistress had left it. I now gave myself up as lost, for I knew that I was unable either to provide for or defend myself. All the dangers the goldfinch had encountered, rushed on my imagination, and all seemed to threaten me, young and defenceless as I was.

Time, though it passed heavily with me, passed on. The sun, fast sinking in the west, indicated the decline of day, and I contemplated, with extreme terror, the approach of night. I frequently thought of my father and mother, and our comfortable little nest. I had once some idea of retiring to it for the night; but how could I be sure of safety there? My parents were no longer in it to protect me: besides, though I had never slept out alone, I had reason to think that the night air must be very chilly, as our parents always took such care to keep us warm; and I already felt cold and comfortless, for every leaf was wet, and I so tired of hopping about, that I could no longer keep myself warm by exercise.

Amidst this assemblage of misfortunes, I had just sense enough to keep near the green-house. The surrounding shrubbery was very beautiful, but to me, at present, its charms were all lost. The birds, too, that inhabited it, sung very sweetly; but the voice of my mistress, or the sound of her approaching footsteps, would have been much sweeter to me.

At length, when I had nearly lost all hope, I was aroused by the shutting of the green-house door, and the following instant I heard my beloved mistress calling me, as she was accustomed to do, by imitating the chirping of a bird. I answered, in accents half joyful, hair mournful, for I was nearly starved with cold and hunger, and overjoyed at meeting with her again. She followed the sound of my voice, and I, as soon as I saw her, flew into a little tuft of ivy, close to where she stood, that she might see me; and there I remained quietly, till she took me gently in her hand to convey me home. I was glad enough to see the school-room again, and well contented, after a plentiful feeding, to retire to rest on my accustomed music-book.

On the following morning, my companion, the goldfinch, informed me of what had passed in my absence. My mistress returning without me excited no surprise, as she frequently shut me up in her own room, that I might be at liberty, without interrupting her business in the school-room; but one of the children happening to enquire where I was, my flight was proclaimed.

All the young people evinced great regret, but my mistress told them she had no doubt that I should be much happier out of doors; adding, “You know I never intended keeping him a prisoner, and have, therefore, frequently taken him out, that he might learn to provide for himself.”

“I fear he cannot do that yet,” said Clara.

“Beware, my love,” returned her governess, “lest, under that fond concern for the little favourite, there should lurk a degree of self-love. I must acknowledge, that, for my own gratification, I should have preferred keeping him; but I love the little creature well enough to consider his happiness, and that I think must consist, in a great measure, in freedom. The very make of birds indicates that they ought to be as free as the element in which they range.”

These arguments seemed to satisfy the children. “But,” enquired Anna, “how will you be able to ascertain that he is happy? Do you expect ever to see him again?”

“I intend,” said my mistress, “to go out a little before sun-set; if when I call him he comes to me, I will receive him again under my protection; but if, on the contrary, he shuns me, I shall conclude that he no longer stands in need of it.”

The dear girls were much pleased with this arrangement, and still more so with the result, of which my young readers are already informed. The forlorn state in which my mistress had found me, induced her to believe that I was yet too young to be set at liberty; and I was by no means sorry on that account, for my late ramble had given me no exalted idea of the happiness I should enjoy out of doors. Besides, I was perfectly happy in my present situation, for I had every comfort that could be procured for me; and I have observed that birds are not, like human beings, apt to grow tired, even of good things, after having enjoyed them some time.

No one, however, grew tired of me: I was daily more admired and caressed by my young friends in the school-room, by their dear mamma, and by the visitors who sometimes came to hear my little friends play on the piano-forte. And here I cannot omit one remark, which I think extremely creditable to them, because I have since seen many young persons very deficient in that respect. When requested to play, though their execution was by no means superior, they complied so readily, and acquitted themselves with such modest good-humour, as could not fail to enhance the merit of their performance, and create in the minds of their auditors, that admiration which is never excited by talents alone. I also got my share of praise on these occasions, for I contrived sometimes to settle on the music-book, and at others on Lady Seymour’s arm or shoulder, where I frequently fell asleep, though not till I had heard many expressions of surprise at my familiarity. I cannot say that I felt much vanity arise in my mind, from the admiration lavished on me; for I did not think it at all surprising, that extreme kindness on the part of my friends, should excite a similar degree of confidence in me. I am, indeed, convinced, that were there more such persons as the goldfinch’s Sophia and my protectors, few little birds would be kept, as I have seen many, in small cages, hung up in a corner, and scarcely noticed except when fed. But as it is time to return to my history, after this long digression, it shall be resumed in the succeeding chapter.

CHAP. V.

The wet weather, of which we had had abundance, at length disappeared, and summer, in her gayest apparel, rapidly advanced. I greatly enjoyed the genial warmth of the sun, and frequently basked on the window-frames, where it was transmitted, with increased ardour, through the glass.

My young readers may remember, that when I was out for two or three hours, the ground was wet and the air chilly, and I was consequently unwilling to remain in so uncomfortable a state; but now that the weather was warm and settled, the trees covered with beautiful foliage, and I able to provide for myself, I must confess that I frequently viewed the pleasing landscape before me, with something like a wish that I were at liberty to roam at large in it, and I began to calculate the happiness I should enjoy, when, according to the avowed intention of my mistress, I was to be at my own disposal. I indulged myself the more freely in these anticipations, as I was not guilty of any ingratitude in so doing, for I knew that she rather wished to encourage than repress my desire of liberty.

One morning my mistress rose much later than usual, on account of a slight indisposition, and I finding the time rather long, amused myself by looking out at the window. There was before the house an extensive lawn, in which were a few trees. I saw a multitude of little birds alternately flying about, and resting on the waving branches, and sporting with that active gaiety which a delightful summer morning inspires. Suddenly there appeared among them a much larger bird, who seemed to terrify them all, for they flew with great precipitation towards the shrubbery. One of them, however, was closely pursued by the large bird, and though he made every effort to escape, was overtaken and caught by him. If this is play, thought I, it is very rough play. But how shall I describe the horror I felt, when I saw the monster begin to devour the inoffensive little bird! I uttered a scream, and flew to hide myself behind my mistress’s pillow, scarcely knowing what I did or where I was; though, had I reflected for a moment, I should have known that I was entirely out of danger.

When I recovered myself, I remembered the goldfinch’s narrow escape on a similar occasion, and I felt my ardour for liberty somewhat abated; for I began to consider that there might be other dangers, of which I was entirely ignorant, and this one was sufficiently appalling.

When my mistress had been up some time, she took me with her to the school-room. I was fully intent on relating what I had witnessed to my companion, so flew immediately towards her cage. She was not there; but this did not surprise me, for neither she nor I was much confined. I expected to find her about the room, but she was not to be found; and the entrance of Lady Seymour put an end to my doubts and my search at the same time, for little Julia met her with tears in her eyes, and deplored the loss of her bird, which had, she said, flown out at the window.

“But why, my love,” said her mamma, “did you let her out when the window was open?”

“It was I, dear mamma,” interrupted Anna, “who was so unfortunate; I did not know the window was open.”

“You mean careless, not unfortunate,” returned Lady Seymour: “you ought to have been sure it was shut.”

“Dear mamma,” said Julia, “poor Anna is very sorry: if I had let out her bird, I should not have needed one reproach; and I did not intend to cry, for fear of vexing her more, but, indeed, I could not help it.”

“I am pleased with your affectionate conduct on this trying occasion, my little Julia,” said Lady S. “particularly as it is founded on the noblest of all principles—that of doing as you would be done to. A hundred little birds are not to me so valuable, as one instance of goodness in my children. I will soon procure you another little pet.”

“I shall not soon like another so well as my own poor little Goldey,” said Julia: and I thought just as she did. I had become much attached to my companion, and felt her loss very severely, especially when my friends went out, for I was then quite solitary. Besides, I knew not what might be her fate; nor was I certain that she was not the unhappy victim I had seen in the morning.

CHAP. VI.

My readers may remember, that little Charles came home merely for the holidays, which being now over, his papa proposed taking him back to school; at the same time expressing a wish that Lady Seymour would be of the party, as she might then visit some relations, whom she had not seen for several years. The excellent mother did not like to leave her home, where she was always usefully occupied, for the benefit of her family or her poor neighbours; or agreeably entertained by the innocent gaiety of her children, during their hours of relaxation, which they always passed with her. No society was so delightful to her as theirs nor could any more pleasing indulgence be granted them, than permission to go to their dear mamma. However, she now yielded to Sir Charles’s earnest solicitation to accompany him, well knowing that she could place implicit confidence in Miss Sedley, during her absence.

My young friends behaved very sensibly on this occasion; for though they felt great uneasiness at parting with their beloved mother, they forbore all expressions of regret in her presence, lest they should diminish the pleasure she was likely to enjoy in visiting her relations. The two little girls who were in the nursery accompanied their mamma; for she observed, that it would be no loss of time to them, as they had not yet commenced their studies.

I shall pass over the parting scene, which was, indeed, a mournful one, and introduce my readers to my young friends in the school-room, where they assembled soon after the departure of their parents. They were evidently dejected, but no impatient expressions escaped them. Their kind governess insensibly diverted them from the contemplation of their grief, by various amusements, all contributing to their health or improvement. She at length succeeded in tranquillizing their minds, and they, sensible of her kindness, evinced towards her affection and gratitude.

I had now an opportunity of seeing them at all times, and my esteem for them was by no means diminished. Indeed, I never beheld a happier little society: they were obedient and attentive during the hours allotted to study, and so united in all their sentiments, that it seemed as if one mind animated the three. Their governess was indulgent, because she found that indulgence was not injurious to them; and they were happy, because they deserved to be so. Even their motives and incitements to virtue were of the noblest kind. They were early taught to believe, that happiness is derived from conferring benefits, rather than from receiving them. Their excellent mother knew this truth from experience, and was anxious that her daughters should learn it by the same means. She had established a school for poor children, on Sir Charles’s estate, to which she allowed each of the young ladies to send a little girl; and in order to enable them to pay for their _protegées_, she allowed a weekly stipend to those who, by their amiable conduct, deserved it. My young readers may easily suppose, that they always endeavoured to merit this reward; for it would have been at once vexatious and disgraceful, not to have had a child in the school. They were allowed to visit the poor children occasionally, to inspect their progress; and I observed that they always came home more cheerful and happy, from their favourite walk to the hill, on the summit of which stood the little school-house; so that I did not doubt that they already felt the good effects of their mother’s sensible plan.

Several weeks passed without any material occurrence in my history, and my young friends were beginning to anticipate the return of their beloved parents, when my mistress remarked, one day, that I was not so merry as usual, (for I was not quite well.) “Poor little fellow,” said she, “he perhaps regrets being kept in doors this fine weather: I must let him out.”

The children looked as if they did not wish me to go, but said nothing. I should not have been so silent, could I have made myself understood; for I really wished to stay where I was so comfortable.

Not long after this they went out, and I was rejoicing at being left behind, when my dear mistress returned, and taking me in my cage, conveyed me to the shrubbery, where she rejoined her pupils. They, remembering what had passed on a former occasion, offered no remonstrance on this. We arrived at the little garden where I had so often been before; my cage was set down, and the doors placed open. I was still irresolute: I chirped to my mistress, came on the outside of my cage, and then went in again, to show that I was willing to remain with her. At length I ventured out again, and hopped on one of the flower-beds. My friends watched me for some time, and I, still anxious to show my affection and gratitude, flew on to my mistress’s shoulder.

“Dear little bird!” said she, “I trust you will be happy, and I shall then congratulate myself on having been the means of making you so.”

These words seemed to assure me, that my liberty was a desirable object, and, encouraged by the manner in which they were uttered, I ventured a short flight to an adjacent syringa. My friends followed me, and having scattered food near the spot, left me, in order to continue their walk. I felt rather timid when left alone, but my sensations were very different to those I experienced when I was out before. I soon acquired sufficient courage to explore my new place of abode, which I found so delightful, that I regretted when the approach of night put an end to my rambles. I met with many other little birds, but felt no terror on their approach; for they seemed by no means inclined to molest me, and I was now strong enough to defend myself, if they had. I found plenty of food, for the trees abounded in insects; and my friends did not fail to strew about the paths, such seeds as they knew I liked. I frequently saw them pass along, and wished to show myself to them; but there was a little dog which generally accompanied them, and I was afraid of getting too near him. Once, however, I heard them talking very earnestly about me, and wishing to know whether I was still alive. This made me resolve to watch for an opportunity of assuring them of my safety.

It was not long before I fulfilled my intention, for my mistress and little Julia came out one afternoon without the dog. I was on a laburnum-tree near the house, and immediately flew from it to a grass-plot before them.

“There is my bird!” exclaimed my mistress, in an accent of delight.

“Where?” said Julia.

“There, on the grass. Do not you see him? Now he has flown towards the kitchen-window.”

“Now I see him, indeed,” said Julia: “are you not glad to find him alive and well?”

“And in good company too,” added my mistress; for just then I was taking a little flight with some young birds, who were very friendly to me, and with whom I made many pleasant excursions about the shrubbery, though we seldom passed its boundaries: for my young readers are, perhaps, to be informed, that Robins do not assemble in large companies, and take long flights, as larks, thrushes, linnets, and many other birds do, but content themselves with a less extensive range, about the hedges, woods, or gardens, where they are brought up.

After the first interview, I saw my friends almost every day, and as the dog seldom came with them, I took care that they should see me; for I knew that it gave them pleasure, and I was anxious to prove myself grateful for their kindness.

I was now extremely happy, much more so than I had ever been, enjoying, at once, liberty, society, and the affectionate notice of those to whom I owed all my enjoyments. But an unforeseen event deprived me of all my felicity. My mistress, in her extreme solicitude lest I should be unable to find food, or should be deprived of it by the other birds, who sometimes attack those who have been brought up tame, left my cage fixed to the enclosure of her garden, and constantly replenished the troughs with food and water. I frequently fed there, and found it extremely convenient; but it seems that I was observed by one of the little boys who weeded in the garden, and swept the gravel-walks of the shrubbery. He watched for an opportunity, and when I was feeding one evening, he suddenly shut the door of the cage. Soon after this he left off work, and taking me gently out of the cage, carried me home with him.

He lived in a little cottage, at some distance from my late residence. I had never seen any poor person’s house, therefore was greatly surprised at the appearance of this. While I was looking at the outside of it, a neat-looking little girl came to the door. “Ah, Willy! is it you,” said she: “I am glad you are come, for I wanted to show you my pretty kitten.”

“Oh! I am afraid I shall not wish you joy of it,” said the boy, “for I have something here worth twenty kittens, and both must not be together.”

“Then that must be a mouse,” said the child.

“Not a mouse. Guess again.”

“Perhaps a young rabbit, or a squirrel—but do show it me, pray do.”

“Yes, if you will promise to give me the kitten, that I may take it to aunt Patty, or give it to somebody; for see, you would not like this pretty little bird to be killed.”

“Oh dear, no! my good Willy. Did you bring it for me? Pray let me have it in my own hand.”

“Be patient,” said the boy; “first go and shut up your kitten in the shed, till I can take it away.”

“Aunt Patty gave it me,” said the little girl, “and she will take it back again. I should have been glad to have kept it, but I shall like a little bird much better.”

“Peggy, Peggy, where are you?” said a voice from the interior of the cottage: “I want you, child.”

“Coming, mother,” replied Peggy; “only I am looking at a pretty Robin Willy has brought me.”

“A Robin!” returned her mother; “then mind the cat you have been nursing all the afternoon. The bird would not like her so well as she would like him.”

“So Willy says, mother; and I am going to put puss in the shed, till he can take her back. May I, mother?”

“Yes, child, and make haste, for I want you here.”

Peggy made great haste, and when her mother had done with her, she returned to her brother, who had now entered the cottage, and requested to have me in her hand.

“Gently, then,” said Willy: “do not pinch it: it is not like a cat.”

“Oh! I will take great care,” said she, and she took me very tenderly from the boy, greatly surprised that I did not flutter, or struggle to get from her; and still more so, when, gently disengaging myself from her feeble grasp, I perched on her shoulder. “Oh! you dear little creature,” said she, “why you know me already. But how did you contrive to make him so tame, Willy?”

“I did nothing to him,” said the boy; “I got him only this evening.” And then he related what my readers already know, about his finding me in the cage.

“Come, William,” said the boy’s mother, “get your supper, for I am sure you must be hungry; but, stop a moment, first take off your coat, that I may put a patch on the elbow. I cannot bear to see you in rags; no more could your poor father, he was always so tidy.”

“And so will I be, mother, when I am a man: and so shall you and Peggy be too, for I will buy you comfortable clothes.”

“What! will you buy me a new frock?” said Peggy: “when will you get it? I can make some of it myself. Cannot I, mother?”

“Not so fast, Peggy,” interrupted her brother; “I am not rich enough yet, nor shall not be neither, till I am bigger, and able to earn more money.”

“I hope that will be soon, then, for both my frocks are very old: mother has patched them so often. And see, I put in these two pieces,” added she, showing her frock; which I then first observed to be of various pieces and colours. “But,” continued the talkative little girl, “I know what I had rather have now than a new frock:—dear Willy, if you could get me a little cage for my bird!”

“That will not cost much,” replied her brother, “for I can make you one myself, and so I will, when I have done my supper.”

“Thank you, thank you, dear Willy! You are always so good-natured,” said Peggy, “and that makes me feel so happy, that I never want a new frock, or any thing else, when I think of it.”

This interesting dialogue did not pass unnoticed by the poor mother. She had let fall her boy’s coat, and was gazing intently on her children, her eyes filled with tears of joy.

“Dear mother, you are crying!” said Willy: “what is the matter? Are you unhappy? Can I do any thing for you?”

“I am not unhappy, my dear boy,” replied she, “it was joy that overcame me, and, like Peggy, I seem to want nothing, while I am blest with two children so dutiful to me, and so fond of each other.”

“That, I hope, we shall always be,” said Willy, and he rose hastily, to get, as he said, the twigs for the cage; but I saw him brush off a tear from his cheek, with the back of his hand.

Willy was, indeed, a good-natured boy, and that in a different degree to what the common acceptation of the term implies; for I have known many children who thought themselves good-natured, because they gave away what they did not want, or deprived themselves of some superfluity, to relieve the wants of others. This boy, however, had no superfluities, but he gave up what he really wanted to his mother and sister, seeming never to consider himself; and his coat had not now been so ragged, if he had not expended the money which was to have bought a new one, on his little sister, the preceding winter. His poor mother had hoped to make it up to him, by the little she could earn at needle-work or spinning, but in this she had been disappointed. Her little girl had been ill of the measles in the spring, and all her resources had been then exhausted, in procuring proper nourishment and remedies for the little sufferer. Nor was this the only privation to which Willy submitted; for I am sure he frequently refused his share of their scanty provisions, that there might be more for his mother and sister.

CHAP. VII.

I was treated very well by this poor family, and, by degrees, got acquainted with their history. They had known better days. The father, when living, had been an honest, industrious, and thriving farmer; but a fire had, in one night, consumed all his stock, and thus reduced him and his poor children to a state little superior to beggary. He had lost all but his industry, and that he exerted for some time with indefatigable ardour; but the anxiety of his mind, and the continual fatigue he underwent, at length brought on a fever, which terminated his distresses and his life together.

He had now been dead a twelvemonth, having left four children, (the two I have mentioned, and two much younger,) who must have gone to the workhouse, had it not been for Willy’s industry. He not only worked all day in the garden, but frequently went on errands to a neighbouring town in the evening; and such were his diligence and honesty, that all the neighbours were glad to employ him on these occasions.

I must confess, that, though I greatly admired the conduct of this worthy family, I was not so happy in it, as I had heretofore been. Little Peggy had not much time to bestow on me; for, though only six years old, her mother thought it right to habituate her to domestic employments and the use of her needle, in both of which she was already very handy. I was, of course, confined much more than I liked; but my poor little mistress seemed so delighted to possess me, that I was not very anxious to leave her. However, my opinion was not consulted, for I soon after left her, owing to the following circumstances.

As Peggy was one day standing at the cottage-door, with one of her patched frocks on, two young ladies came past. One of them accosting Peggy, said, “Who mended your frock so nicely, little girl?”

“My mother, Miss,” answered the child; “but the other is done the best, because I did some of this.”

“Should you like to have a new one?” said the other young lady. “I think, dear Amelia,” added she, addressing her companion, “this little creature would do very well for one of them.”

“But do you think she could learn the verses?” said Amelia.

“I dare say she could: I would try to teach her myself.”

“You, Louisa! What would your mamma say?”

“My mamma would have no objection, I am sure; for she often takes me with her to the Sunday-school, and then I sometimes hear the children say their hymns.”

“Willy goes to the Sunday-school,” interrupted the little girl; “and he taught me a hymn; and when he gets a new frock for me, I am to go too.”

“Come,” said Miss Amelia, “we must not stay here; my mamma does not allow me to visit the cottagers, she has such a terror of infection. You know I am an only child, and much depends on my life,” added she, with a mixture of importance and affected languor.

“That is true,” said Louisa, “but you know my mamma has plenty of us, and she says we must all be useful, for that is the only good of living at all. However, what do you decide? Shall I prepare the poor child or not?”

“Just as you like—with all my heart,” returned Amelia, in a tone that indicated her heart had nothing to do with it.

“Well, then, I will ask mamma,” said Louisa; and away they both went, without saying any thing more to Peggy.

I must here beg leave to anticipate some part of my history, for the purpose of informing my readers, what I afterwards learned respecting these two young ladies. Amelia Wyndham was, as she said, an only child, and heiress to immense property. Her father had died when she was an infant, and her mother, on whom the entire management of her had devolved, indulged her to excess. Misguided affection had some share in producing such unwise conduct, but pride had a still greater. She imagined, that because her daughter would possess ample means to gratify all her fancies, she need not be denied any thing; and because riches and noble descent confer importance, and induce submission, she need not be taught obedience or humility, therefore, was never to be contradicted. It seems, however, that Amelia’s mother forgot that there are enjoyments which neither rank nor wealth can confer; for I have observed, that, though rich or proud people may excite fear, they cannot command esteem or respects—tributes which belong to the virtuous only. I thought Willy and his little sister much more to be admired than this young lady. Besides, they appeared much happier than she, which I supposed was the consequence of their being more useful. However, lest I appear tedious, I will return to Miss Amelia.

Such sentiments as Mrs. Wyndham’s were not calculated to produce any salutary effects on the mind of her child, who, though naturally active and well-disposed, was rendered helpless, indolent, and perverse. When little, she had not been allowed to walk out, like other children, lest she should be tired; nor to romp with her little playfellows, because they were too robust, and might overpower her tender frame. Her mind, too, was neglected, because study was irksome to her. Her natural activity had, indeed, induced her to begin many things, but her habitual indolence had inclined her to relinquish them as soon as any difficulty arose; so that at twelve years of age she had merely acquired an imperfect idea of those studies and accomplishments, in which most young ladies of the same age have made some proficiency.

Such was Amelia Wyndham, to whom Louisa Carleton was a striking contrast. She was the eldest of a numerous family, and about six months older than her companion. She possessed sensible parents, who had accustomed her to habits of obedience and industry from her infancy. She had been taught, that the best use of riches is to assist the needy; the best use of knowledge, to instruct the ignorant; and the best use of time, to employ it in improving her own mind, or in benefiting her fellow-creatures. An education founded on such principles seldom fails of success, and in the present instance it had produced the most happy effects. Louisa was well-informed, obedient, gentle, and humane; the admiration of all who knew her, the delight of her parents, and her mother’s principal assistant in the domestic economy of her family, and in her plans for relieving the poor.

I shall now return to the cottage, and inform my readers what passed there. On the day after the two young ladies spoke to little Peggy, Louisa Carleton came again, accompanied by her mamma: the latter enquired into the circumstances of the family, and finding that the poor woman had no employment but spinning, desired her to come to her house the ensuing week, when she should be at home, and would give her some work, which would be more profitable than her present occupation. Mrs. Carleton then proceeded to explain the purport of her visit, by informing Peggy’s mother, that Mrs. Wyndham intended to invite a large party to a splendid breakfast on her daughter’s birthday, and that Miss Amelia wished to surprise her mamma and the visitors, by procuring a group of little girls, who were to recite some verses she had selected for the occasion. “They are all to have new clothes given to them,” added she: “Miss Wyndham has fixed on your little girl as one of them, so, if you choose her to earn a new dress by this means, my Louisa will teach her what she is to do.”

“Most willingly, Ma’am, and a thousand thanks to you,” said the poor woman; “but Peggy cannot read, and if there be much to learn, I am afraid Miss will find her troublesome.”

“But I will try, mother, indeed I will,” said Peggy.

“Do not be afraid,” said Louisa, “there is but little to learn, and I have plenty of time to teach you.”

Very little more passed during this visit: the ladies took leave, Louisa promising to come again shortly. She kept her word, and came regularly for several days, to instruct little Peggy in her part. Finding her very docile, she taught her to spell, and heard her read. The child’s mother was delighted, and Miss Louisa was no less so, with the progress of her pupil; for she hoped to surprise and please her dear mamma, by letting Peggy read to her at some future time.

My readers may suppose, that I was not unnoticed by Miss Louisa. Peggy displayed all my accomplishments to her young benefactress, who was very much pleased with me, and who did not fail to expatiate on my tameness, &c. to her friend Amelia. The latter no sooner heard that I was something uncommon, than she wished to possess me; for Amelia estimated the value of things from their scarcity, rather than any other quality they possessed.

CHAP. VIII.

Mrs. Carleton’s visit to Mrs. Wyndham was protracted longer than she at first intended. At length the great fête-day arrived. Every thing went on in the best manner possible. Miss Wyndham’s generosity in clothing the poor children, and her taste in the judicious arrangement of her part of the entertainment, were talked of throughout the neighbourhood; yet, for my part, I discovered nothing so meritorious in the young lady’s conduct, nor could I forbear thinking Louisa Carleton much more entitled to admiration, even on this occasion; for she bestowed her time and attention in teaching little Peggy. And I afterwards learned that it was she, who, with the assistance of one of her sisters, had entirely made the children’s dresses; for Amelia was neither able nor willing to work for any one, so that all the praises bestowed on her, were, in reality, due to Louisa. However, I am sure each was rewarded according to her own taste:—Amelia with the applause of the multitude, Louisa with the more grateful, though less pompous testimony of her own heart.

The grand business of the _fête_ was no sooner over, than Amelia’s thoughts recurred to me, and she accompanied Louisa, on the following evening, to the cottage. I shall pass over the poor woman’s expressions of gratitude, (which Miss Amelia did not receive with that openness and affability I had so often observed in Louisa on similar occasions,) and continue my narrative.

Amelia asked to see me. “It is a Robin,” said she: “does it sing?”

“Yes, Miss,” said Peggy; “perhaps, if you stay a little while, you will hear him.”

I was not willing to disappoint my little mistress, so I presently after began to sing.

“That is not the song of a Robin,” said Amelia.

“So I have often observed,” returned Louisa; “but it is a very sweet song, and he is a very nice little bird, I think.”

“So do I,” said Amelia: “I wish I had one like him. Could not you get me one, child?” enquired she, addressing Peggy.

“I don’t know, Miss, but I’ll try—I mean, I’ll ask our Willy to try.”

“Do so,” said Amelia; “but I suppose there are few like this: I never saw one so tame. Besides, I thought Robins could not be kept in a cage.”

The object of the visit being thus far attained, the young ladies departed. Louisa, however, ran back to tell Peggy’s mother, that though she was now about to return home with her mamma, the little girl should not be forgotten; for that she would come, though perhaps not so often, to teach her. “After Christmas,” added she, “I shall be able to send her to the village school; and in the mean time, you can send her every Sunday with her brother, to learn her Catechism, and then I can teach her; for mamma has promised to take me always with her to the Sunday-school.”

When Louisa was gone, Peggy’s mother said: “Child, you must give that little bird to Miss Wyndham, for I am sure she wants it.”

“Must I, dear mother,” said Peggy: “why, I did not wish to part with it; yet, if I did, I thought I should like to give it to Miss Louisa.”

“She does not wish for it, and Miss Amelia does,” replied the mother: “you know she gave you clothes, and you must not be ungrateful.”

“Well, if I must, I must,” said the child, with a sigh; “but may I not wait till Sunday, to ask Miss Louisa what she thinks?”

“That you may, with all my heart,” returned her mother; “she is sure to tell you what is best.”

Peggy appeared pleased with this short respite. Perhaps, indeed, she hoped, as I did, that her benefactress would advise her not to part with her favourite. It happened, however, quite otherwise. Louisa contrived to visit the cottage once more before her departure, and when little Peggy, with artless simplicity, told her all that was in her mind, the excellent girl refused to deprive her of her _pet_, (as she called me,) but advised my being sent to her friend Amelia.

I was much distressed at this decision; yet I could not help admiring the disinterestedness and prudence displayed in Louisa, who well knew that the child would gain more than an equivalent by the sacrifice; and for herself, though I am sure she would have liked to possess me, she was too generous to deprive Amelia of an object she so ardently desired.

In pursuance, therefore, of her advice, Willy took me on the following morning to Wyndham Hall. His poor little sister shed some tears on parting with me. “My poor little Bob!” said she, “you may get a finer house and better food, but you will not find a mistress who loves you better than I do.”

I felt as much grieved as herself, and had I been able to speak, would have told her that I did not desire any thing better than she had provided me; but as my language was unintelligible to her, I could not afford her even this consolation.

On our arrival at the hall, Miss Amelia received me with apparent delight, and having put me safely in a very handsome cage, ran to show me to her mamma, and to request that she would give the child something in return. Mrs. Wyndham, who could not bear that her daughter should be under an obligation, particularly to a poor person, made now a very judicious return for the favour, far, indeed, exceeding its value. She ordered a good milch-cow to be sent back with the boy. This was, indeed, a valuable present to the poor woman, as it not only supplied her family with milk, &c., but enabled her to sell some to the neighbours, which, with the promised assistance of Mrs. Carleton, no doubt made her circumstances tolerably easy. And I must acknowledge, that these considerations consoled me for the separation. Besides, I felt myself of more consequence than heretofore, as I had been the means of affording relief to an amiable family, who stood much in need of it.

The first fortnight I spent at Wyndham Hall, passed very agreeably; for Miss Amelia was continually seeking something new to please me. I cannot say, however, that my esteem for her was equal to the kindness she lavished on me, for she was not so assiduous in striving to please every body; and not only the servants, but even her too-indulgent mother, sometimes felt the effects of her peevish humours. Besides, not having been accustomed to occupy her time steadily and usefully, she was perpetually changing the objects of her attention. This fickle disposition made me conclude, that novelty was my chief recommendation, and that, consequently, some new favourite would soon supplant me. My conclusions were but too well founded, for her attention to me gradually diminished, and was shortly after engrossed by a new object.

By the time I had been with her a month, I found myself little noticed. However, as Amelia minded appearances very much, she thought proper to order me a new cage, not thinking the one I had, sufficiently ornamental to the drawing-room. A bird-fancier, with whom she had formerly dealt, was accordingly sent for, to receive her directions about it. He came, and I observed that he regarded me with particular attention, and listened earnestly to my song. He soon after asked my mistress, in an apparently careless manner, where she got that bird. “It is a Robin,” added he, “but it has not the right song.”

Had Miss Amelia read some of the nice books which remained untouched in her library, she would, perhaps, have known, that the circumstance he mentioned greatly enhanced my value; but, though surrounded with the means of obtaining knowledge, she was very ignorant. Guided, therefore, by the man’s manner of speaking, she seemed suddenly to lose all regard for me, and by her answer convinced him that he might get me at a very easy rate.

“Ah, Miss,” said he, “as to song, you should hear a bird I have at home!”

“What bird?” demanded Amelia, eagerly.

“A piping-bullfinch, Miss: he has learned _Rule Britannia_ and the _College Hornpipe_, and”——

“Do you mean to sell him?” interrupted Amelia.

“Why, as to that, Miss, I could get more by keeping him to teach others; yet I would not much object selling him to some particular customer, like you, Miss, for example.”

“What do you ask for him?” said Amelia, to whom the idea of one bird teaching another was quite novel, and who was also flattered by being termed _a particular customer_.

“Why, to you, Miss,” answered the man, “I could sell him for five guineas; though that is too little, for there is not another bird like him in the kingdom.”

This last observation of the cunning bird-fancier, decided Amelia; she produced her purse, but, alas! the contents did not amount to four guineas. “What shall I do!” exclaimed she, “mamma is out, and will not return till just before dinner, and I did so wish to surprise her with my piping bullfinch.”

“Why, Miss,” said the man, “as you seem to have no great fancy for that silly bird yonder, if you like, I will take him and his cage for what is wanting, and send home Piping Tom in the new cage you have ordered, and all in time before your dinner.”

Amelia readily acceded to this proposal, and I was taken by the bird-fancier, to supply the place of Piping Tom, whose removal I considered no more enviable than my own, unpleasant as it was.

My new situation was extremely uncomfortable, for I had always been more or less accustomed to liberty. Here I was closely confined, and what was to me worse than all, my cage was seldom cleaned, and my food and water remained so long unchanged, that I frequently found it almost impossible to touch either.