“And, besides,” said Edward, “there is my brood of ducks, that the old hen has just brought off; I am so curious to see her fright when they take to the water; and there are my bantam pigeons; bantams are so delicate, that you know, mother, I could not trust them to any body's care but my own.”
“I think old Cæsar might take charge of your bantams, Ned,” said Julia; “but I am sure my pet lamb—”
“Oh, Julia,” interrupted Edward, laughing, “give her the sentimental french name.”
“Very well, I will, and you may laugh as much you please: Orpheline—I am sure Orpheline would not relish her food from any hand but mine, she is so used to me; and my darling little partridges, that I am trying to bring up to be domestic birds, I would not leave them before I have made a ‘satisfactory experiment,’ as papa says; and then, mother, we did not half fill our herbariums last summer. Oh, we have a world of business on our hands,” continued Julia, with the air of one who duly realized the importance of her momentous concerns.
Mrs. Sackville smiled, but made no reply, and Edward said, “I was thinking, mother, as I sat on the door-step last evening, and listened to the hum of the happy little creatures that are waking up for the season, that I had new eyes and new ears given to me, since I came to live in the country. Even the hoarse croaking of the frogs in our meadow, sounded pleasantly to me; quite musical.”
“Equal to the music of the orchestra, my dear Ned.”
“Not quite so fine, mother,” replied Edward, “but it seemed to have more meaning in it.”
“You are right, my dear Edward,” said Mrs. Sackville; “you have new senses, or rather, your senses are unlocked to the reception of the sweet influences of nature. I have more happiness than I can express to you, my dear children, in finding that you have already imbibed a taste for those pure pleasures, that will remain the same, whatever change of condition or circumstances may await you.”[2]
[2] Miss Hannah More, at the age of seventy-five, said to Professor Griscom, ‘the love of the country, and of flowers, is the only natural pleasure that remains to me unimpaired.’
Another year passed to this virtuous family, full of useful and innocent occupations, and in the month of the already noted June, they left their home. The parents with rational expectations of pleasure, from visiting some of the most interesting scenes in our country, and the children with the anticipation of unbounded delight, so characteristic of childhood.