“Polly was very fond of children, and enjoyed being let out of her cage to play with them as much as our Poll does. One day, when Mrs. G. had company, they were all startled by hearing loud and repeated screams of distress. Recognizing the voice of her favorite bird, my friend ran hastily into the yard, expecting to see Polly in some dreadful trouble. To her surprise, there was the bird perched safely on the clothes line; but going a few steps farther, she saw her youngest child, a darling girl between two and three years old, just balancing over the edge of a hogshead of water, and entirely unable to recover herself, or to utter one sound. Situated as she was, the poor child could not have remained long in that position, and, but for the alarm given by the watchful bird, must have fallen into the water and drowned.”
“O, wasn’t that a good bird, mamma? I’m sure they all must have loved her better than ever. Will you please tell the rest?”
“Mr. G. was for a long time ill, and was unable to rest well at night. Polly, who always remained in their chamber at night, was in the habit of rising early, and practising all her accomplishments by herself as soon as she could see. She would begin, ‘Mr. G.,’ and then go on, ‘My dear,’ the name he always called his wife, ‘Francis, Maria,’ until she had repeated the name of every member of the family; after which she chattered away a strange mixture of sense and nonsense until called to breakfast. After the gentleman was so ill, his best hours for rest were soon after dawn, and my friend would whisper, ‘Still, Polly! keep still!’
“This caution the parrot tried to enforce on herself by softly repeating the words away down her throat—‘Keep still; Polly! keep still!’ and ever after until Mr. G.’s death, whenever she saw her mistress point to the bed, and put her finger on her lip, she began to whisper, ‘Keep still, Polly! Keep still!’
“At Mr. G.’s funeral, the clergyman, who was an Episcopalian, read with great solemnity the funeral service.
“The strangeness of the scene, the great concourse of people, and the sound of weeping, so interested Polly that she did not utter a word; but no sooner had the family returned from the grave than she began to utter sounds in sentences so nearly like what she had heard at the funeral, that it was recognized at once as the service for the dead.
“I forgot to tell you that, having been in the habit of hearing the children when they repeated the Lord’s prayer, she had long ago learned it, and never went to sleep on her perch without uttering the words with apparent solemnity.
“After the funeral, whenever a number of persons were assembled and began to talk in a mournful tone, Polly always seemed to think this a proper occasion to repeat her funeral service, often occupying an hour in the recital. There were no distinct words; but the sentences were so similar in length, and the tone so exactly that of the clergyman, that many persons recognized it without being told who the parrot wished to imitate.”
“I think Polly is the very best parrot I ever knew,” exclaimed Minnie. “I wish Mrs. G. would bring her here. I wonder what Poll would say to her.”
“Mrs. G.’s bird is dead, my dear; and a sad death it was too. I will tell you about it. After her husband’s decease, my friend had a little Blenheim spaniel presented her—a beautiful creature, with long white hair like satin, and salmon ears. She was naturally fond of pets, and soon became greatly attached to the dog, who returned her affection with all his heart. As soon as she entered the room, he ran joyfully to meet her, licking her hands, and showing his pleasure in every possible way.