MARCH 6.
Nato has kept his promise as yet, and has actually past a whole week in the field; a thing which he was never known to do before within the memory of man. So I sent him a piece of money to encourage him; and told him, that I sent him a maccarony for behaving well, and wished to know whether any one had ever given him a maccarony for behaving ill. I hear that he was highly delighted at my thinking him worthy to receive a present from me, and sent me in return the most positive assurances of perseverance in good conduct. On the other hand, Mackaroo has not only run away himself, but has carried his wife away with him. This is improving upon the profligacy of British manners with a vengeance. In England, a man only runs away with another person’s wife: but to run away with his own—what depravity!—As to my ungrateful demigod of a sheep-stealer, Hercules, the poor wretch has brought down upon himself a full punishment for all his misdeeds. By running away, and sleeping in the woods, exposed to all the fury of the late heavy rains, he has been struck by the palsy. Yesterday some of my negroes found him in the mountains, unable to raise himself from the ground, and brought him in a cart to the hospital; where he now lies, having quite lost the use of one side, and without any hopes of recovery. He is still a young man, and in every other respect strong and healthy; so that he may look forward to a long and miserable existence.
MARCH 8.
THE HUMMING BIRD.
Deck’d with all that youth and beauty
E’er bestow’d on sable maid,
Gathering bloom her fragrant duty,
Down the lime-walk Zoè stray’d.
Many a logwood brake was ringing
With the chicka-chinky’s cry;
Many a mock-bird loudly singing
Bless’d the groves with melody.
Fly-birds, on whose plumage showers
Nature’s hand her wealth profuse,
Humming round, from banks of flowers
Suck’d the rich ambrosial juice.
There an orange-plant, perfuming
All the air with blossoms white,
Near a bush of roses blooming,
Charm’d at once the scent and sight.
Of that plant the loveliest daughter,
One sweet bloom-bough all preferr’d;
When his glittering eye had caught her,
Oh, how joy’d the Humming Bird!
Here the fairest blossoms thinking,
Swift he flies, nor loads the stem;
Poised in air, and odour drinking,
Fluttering hangs the feather’d Gem.
Sure, he deems, these cups untasted,
Many a honied drop allow!
Soon he finds his labour wasted;
Bees have robb’d that orange bough.
Wandering bees, at blush of morning,
Drain’d of all their sweets the bells;
Then the rifled beauty scorning,
How his angry throat he swells!
See his bill the blossoms rending;
Round their leaves in wrath he throws;
Then, once more his wings extending,
Flies to woo the opening rose.
(e Mark, my Zoe,” said her mother,
(t Mark that bough, so lovely late!
Thou in bloom art such another—
Such, perhaps, may be thy fate.
(e Some wild youth may charm and cheat thee,
Sip thy sweets, and break his vow;
Then the world will scorn and treat thee
As the Fly-Bird did just now.”
British mothers thus impress on
Virgin minds some maxim true;
Zoè heard and used the lesson
Just as British daughters do.