Julia. So we did, mamma; but I am glad I have this beautiful nosegay, as I did not get it by cruelty.
Mrs. V. So am I, my love: I rejoice that your compassion has been rewarded. You must not, however, expect it will always be the case. Many humane and benevolent actions are not recompensed in this world. We must endeavour to do our duty, without thinking whether the immediate consequences will be agreeable or not. Though we may sometimes lose a pleasure, we shall enjoy the happiness of possessing the approbation of God, and of our own conscience.
Little Julia thanked her mother for having talked so much to her, and said she hoped she should always be good, that God might love her. She had now finished her work, and her mother desired her to fetch her book to read. She did as she was bid to do, immediately, sat down, and read the following story.
THE RED-POLE.
A little girl, whose name was Emma, was anxious to have a bird; but her mamma refused to give her one, as she disapproved of confining the pretty little creatures in cages.—“Mamma,” said Emma, one morning, “I know a great many little girls who have birds.” “Very probably,” replied her mother: “it is not uncommon to keep them in cages; but that circumstance does not make it less wrong. When you are older, if you do what other people do, without considering, you will often do wrong. You must think for yourself. If you were to catch one of those happy little birds, which are flying about from tree to tree, and hopping from branch to branch, chirping so gaily and singing so sweetly, you would render it miserable.” “Indeed, mamma,” interrupted Emma; “I have seen canary birds, goldfinches, and many other kinds, which are very cheerful, and seem to enjoy themselves very contentedly.” “But,” said her mother, “they do not pass their lives in the same degree of enjoyment, as if they were flying about.”
A few days after this conversation, Emma’s cousin came to spend a few days with his aunt, before he returned to school. He had a very pretty bird called a Red-pole: he had reared it from the nest. It was very tame. He had taught it many tricks: it would eat out of his hand, and stand perched on his finger whilst he walked about the house. Emma was extremely fond of it, and wished, more than ever, that her mamma did not think it improper for her to have a bird. She spent much time, every day, with her favourite: it grew fond of her quickly, and appeared to know her as well as it did its master. The day before her cousin went to school, Emma entered her mother’s dressing-room with the red-pole on her finger. “Mamma,” said Emma, fixing her eyes anxiously on her mother’s face, “Cousin Edward says, he must not take red-pole back to school with him. Dr. Barton desired him not. He said it took up too much of his time and thoughts. So he told me, just now, that he was glad red-pole loved me, and that he would give it to me. Poor red-pole, it is of no use your loving me, I fear! I may not keep you.—I suppose you must fly away!”—“No, Emma,” answered her mother; “we must do the best that we can for it now. The poor creature has been rendered so helpless, that it would perish from want: you may therefore keep it. Remember, however, you undertake a great charge. Children are little to be trusted: they frequently neglect their pets. Many unfortunate favourites perish, from the carelessness of their thoughtless masters and mistresses. Let me see that, in this instance, you will act wisely and humanely.” “Oh!” cried Emma, eagerly, “I never shall forget my dear little red-pole! Thank you, mamma.”
Emma did, indeed, pay attention to her bird for the first week. At length she grew tired of seeing the same tricks over and over, without the smallest variety. She was constantly trying to teach it something new. Unfortunately, one day it occurred to her, that it would be entertaining to see how it would behave in the water. Emma forgot it was winter, and that the weather was very cold. She determined to try the experiment. She chirped, and held put her finger. Poor red-pole, as usual, hopped on it. She carried him to a pitcher of water, which unluckily was in the room, and plunged him, head foremost, into it. The bird struggled violently. Emma took him out. How great was her horror to see blood gushing from his beak and eyes. He writhed, kicked in agony, and in a few moments expired.
Emma burst into tears. “Oh, mamma,” exclaimed she to her mother, who at that instant entered the chamber, “I have killed my bird! You are right—children are not to be trusted! I never will have another bird! Oh my poor red-pole! my dear red-pole, which I loved so tenderly!”