“That was you and papa, I believe,” cried Charlotte, looking at her mother.
“It was, my dear; and I reckon that day among the happiest in my life.”
“For what reason, mamma?”
“I will explain it to you another time, my love. Suffer me now to proceed with the history of “My Bird.”
“The attachment of these young people was founded on the most perfect mutual esteem; but I am unfortunately unable to afford the curious reader any further account of their affairs, as I was removed to London with my young mistress a few days after that on which this rural jubilee took place, and I must now proceed to relate the adventures which befel me there.
“Miss Fitzallan, among many amiable qualities, had one fault, to which many young people are but too prone—she was heedless in the extreme. What she at one time most anxiously desired, and took the utmost pains to obtain, she would, in a few hours after possession, throw aside, or lose by her inattention. It was in this blameable manner she acted by me, when, after a very fatiguing journey, I arrived safely in town. She purchased a new and elegant cage for me, and hung it in her favourite apartment, where she visited me every hour, bringing me bits of sugar, and with a silver whistle endeavouring to teach me new notes; but, alas! this kindness was of short duration. She grew weary of the frequent repetition of her visits, and gradually ceased to feel the same delight in attending me. She next gave me in charge to her servant, with strict injunctions not to neglect me; but there is an old adage, which, if she had attended to it, would have been infinitely to my advantage. It is this—“If you would have a thing well done, do it yourself.”
“In fact, the servant had a variety of business on her hands, and want of time, more than want of inclination, was the cause of my sufferings. I was frequently obliged to drink foul water; my seed was sometimes so low, that it was painful to me to reach it; and my cage was suffered to get so dirty, that I was much incommoded by the unwholesome smell of it; and my health would in all probability have suffered, had I not shortly after been released.
“One day that my mistress was out, her maid thought proper to invite a few of her friends to see her. Among these was a little froward girl, who seldom paid any attention to what was said to her, and whose presence was a restraint on these young women, who wished to talk over their own secrets without a witness, who might probably repeat what passed. Our servant accordingly desired the girl to go up into the lady’s room, where she would find a beautiful bird, to which she might talk as much as she pleased, but not venture to touch. Sally heard this injunction; but no sooner beheld me, than she resolved to disobey, and immediately opening the cage, took me in her hands, to admire every feather separately. With a violent struggle I released myself from her grasp, and made my escape out of the open window, leaving her to bewail her disobedience at leisure.
“Never shall I forget the rapturous sensations I experienced, when, for the first time in my life, I tasted the sweets of liberty, and soared aloft in air. I perched upon a tree, I flew from bough to bough, and sung the most melodious notes of joy. Imprudent that I was! I knew not the perils that awaited me. Like many other young and inconsiderate creatures, I murmured at that restraint which was for my good. I had been petted and indulged, till I imagined that the whole world would be alike attentive to my wants. I found my error; and, impatient at the reverse, precipitated myself into greater evils than those I had hitherto repined at. It was true, I had gained my liberty; but that was all I could boast. I had no home—no kindred, and I found no friends. I was a stranger among a numerous tribe, who considered me as an impertinent intruder, and drove me from tree to tree with unpitying rancour.
“The night came on—the piercing cold chilled my tender frame, who had been accustomed to the shelter of a warm room, and I bitterly bewailed my indiscretion. In the eagerness of my flight, I had neglected to notice the window from which I flew; and I well knew that it would be in vain for me to attempt to regain it. I passed the night in a state of misery not to be described, nestled under a bush that grew in the garden of a mean-looking house.