“We will hope so, at least, my dear,” said his mother; “but do not bring him near the fire, rather place him on the window-frame, the warmth of the sun through the glass will be sufficient for him at first.”
Henry, in pursuance of his mother’s advice, placed his little nurseling on the window-frame, where, finding some comfort from the warmth, he fell asleep. Henry was delighted at the idea of having saved the bird’s life, but I, who understood the nature of birds better than he could, saw only the torpor of approaching death in his apparently tranquil slumber, and pitied my poor little master, for I knew what his tender heart would feel when he was undeceived.
My fears were not groundless, for the poor little bird appearing very uneasy soon after, Henry took him in his hand, and begged his mamma to get something to feed him. She complied, and was preparing some of my food to give him, when he expired in that hand which had been vainly extended to save him. Poor Henry, who seldom wept, now burst into tears, and his mamma had some difficulty in consoling him.
“My dear boy,” said she, “your grief will not recal the poor little fellow to life: he is released from pain, and placed beyond the possibility of future suffering. I am sorry for your disappointment, but you must be consoled with the reflection of having intended to do good, though you have not succeeded. One advantage, however, may be derived from this circumstance, that of learning to bear a disappointment with fortitude. Remember how much you admired the conduct of Porus when brought before Alexander, and that of Caractacus when led in triumph through Rome, and endeavour to imitate the firmness with which they sustained misfortune.”
I did not understand the whole of this speech, being unacquainted with the persons alluded to; however, I dare say my young readers are better informed on the subject. Henry seemed so deeply impressed with it, that he immediately dried his tears, and endeavoured to resume his accustomed cheerfulness.
CHAP. XI.
Some time after the event just related in the preceding chapter, the snow disappeared, the poor birds became more lively, and winter at length yielded to the mild influence of spring: all nature seemed to rejoice at the change, which appeared more delightful from the late severity of the season. With the return of spring Henry’s desire of riding returned also, my young readers may therefore suppose, that he was greatly delighted when his papa informed him, one evening, that, if he would rise an hour earlier than usual on the following morning, he would take him to a neighbouring town, where there was to be a fair, and procure a poney for him.
The morning came—it was a delightful one! Henry was ready in time, and set out with his father to make the long-expected purchase. They had arrived within a mile of the fair, when a most distressing scene was presented to their view—a cottage in flames, which the villagers were vainly endeavouring to extinguish, and the wretched inhabitants of the heretofore peaceful and comfortable dwelling, deploring, with fruitless tears, the loss of their little all. The family consisted of a man, his wife, and six children, the eldest of whom was not more than eight years old, the youngest scarcely eight months.
I not having been present, cannot be expected to describe the agony of these unfortunate people, thus suddenly reduced to poverty, and destitute even of a resting-place for the night; indeed, I imagine that such misery surpasses description, and cannot even be conceived, except by those who have witnessed it. Henry for some time surveyed the sad scene in silent dismay. His father at length roused him by saying, “Come, my boy, we shall be too late, and I fear we can do no good here.”