“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 cares during 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 virtues prove 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 a state 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 mistress endeavoured 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. The father 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 agreeable pastime, 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 of house-dog, while it would be impossible to form one on the word kind-ness, as the latter conveys no meaning without being joined to the former.”
“I understand you, mamma,” replied Caroline; “please to let us hear Miss Fitzallan’s charade.”