At the conclusion of this mournful ballad, the congregation was allowed to disperse. But, before they had gone far, they were recalled by the offer of a more secular entertainment from Charles, who re-ascended the pulpit, and delivered himself as follows:—
"Well, the play is called—not a proverb or a charade it isn't—it's a play called 'The Birds and the Babies.' Well!
"Once there was a little cottage, and lots of little babies in it. Nobody knew who the babies were. They were so happy! Now, I can't explain it to you how they came together: they had no father and mother, but they were brothers and sisters. They never grew, and they didn't like it. Now, you wouldn't like not to grow, would you? They had a little garden, and saw a great many birds in the trees. They were happy, but didn't feel happy—that's a funny thing now! The wicked fairies made them unhappy, and the good fairies made them happy; they gave them lots of toys. But then, how they got their living!
"Chapter second, called 'The Babies at Play.'—The fairies told them what to get—that was it!—and so they got their living Very nicely. And now I must explain what they played with. First was a house. A house. Another, dolls. They were very happy, and felt as if they had a mother and father; but they hadn't, and couldn't make it out. Couldn't—make—it—out!
"They had little pumps and trees. Then they had babies' rattles. Babies' rattles.—Oh! I've said hardly any thing about the birds, have I? an' it's called 'The Birds and the Babies!' They had lots of little pretty robins and canaries hanging round the ceiling, and—shall I say?"—
Every one listened expectant during the pause that followed.
"—And—lived—happy—ever—after."
The puzzle in it all is chiefly what my husband hinted at,—why and how both the desire and the means of utterance should so long precede the possession of any thing ripe for utterance. I suspect the answer must lie pretty deep in some metaphysical gulf or other.
At the same time, the struggle to speak where there is so little to utter can hardly fail to suggest the thought of some efforts of a more pretentious and imposing character.
But more than enough!