“But I was a going to say, that this day my poor Bessy had a letter from James, telling her, that from some delay in the business, he had not bought the farm he intended when he received her refusal to go out to him. He says, ‘he felt a little angry at first; but he found he could not help loving her the better, and that he would bring his money to England, and be content with a smaller farm, near her own friends, and only work the harder for his excellent Bessy.’ He expected to be here about this time; and what between this sudden news, and the hope of so soon seeing him, and her joy at his constancy, she is a little unsettled, sir, to-day. But I pray God to give them happiness together, and reward her with children that will be to her, what she has been to me.”
I have tried to tell you this story in his own words, as well as I could. As soon as my uncle had bespoken the baskets, we came away; but he desired to be told when Franklin comes. He was very much touched with the poor man’s account of all Bessy’s goodness, so much, indeed, that even in repeating it to my aunt, when we came home, his voice quite faltered.
30th.—I have just chanced to discover that the bird which Dr. Buchanan described as fastening the fire-fly to its nest, is the Bengal grossbeak. It is very common in Hindostan, where its Hindu name is baya. It is remarkable for its sagacity, its pendent nest, and its brilliant plumage[3].
It is described to be like a sparrow in shape, and in the colour of the back; but the head and breast are yellow. These birds make a chirping noise; but have no song. They associate in large communities, and cover extensive clumps of acacia and Indian fig-trees with their nests; and also the palmeira, or wild date, on the leaves of which the Bengalese children learn to write. They prefer those trees which hang over a rivulet: the nest is made of long grass, which they weave almost like cloth, in the form of a large bottle. It is divided into three chambers, and is suspended firmly to a flexible branch, with the neck downwards, so as to secure the eggs and young from serpents, monkeys, squirrels, and birds of prey. The eggs of this little bird resemble large pearls.
The baya is wonderfully sensible, faithful, and docile, and never voluntarily deserts the place where its young were hatched. It is easily tamed, and taught to perch on the hand of its master; and may be taught to fetch a piece of paper, or any small thing that he points out; and so great is its quickness and dexterity, that if a ring be dropped into a deep well, the bird will dart down, with such amazing celerity, as to catch the ring before it touches the water, and bring it up with apparent exultation.
A singular instance of its docility was frequently witnessed by the writer of this account. The young Hindu women, at Benares, wear thin plates of gold, called ticas, slightly fixed, by way of ornament, between their eye-brows. Mischievous young men train the bayas to go, at a signal given them, and pluck the pieces of gold from the foreheads of the women, as they pass through the streets, and bring them to their employers. They do not sing, but when assembled together, on a tree, they make a lively din or chirping; their want of musical talent, however, is compensated by their sagacity, in which they are not excelled by any feathered inhabitant of the forest.
There is another species of this family, found in Madagascar, which is sometimes called the toddy bird; it is very like the one I have described, and fastens its bag, or nest, which is made of straw and seeds, in the same manner, to a branch, over a stream. Though it builds a fresh nest every year, it does not abandon the old nest, but fastens the new one to the end of the last; so that sometimes five may be seen hanging one from the other. They build in society like rooks, five or six hundred nests being often found on one tree.
Tell Marianne not to confound the tailor bird with these, as I did, for it is quite different—of a different family, and very superior to the baya in beauty; it even resembles some of our humming birds in shape and colour. There is the prettiest mixture in the male bird, of blue, purple, green, and gold. In order to conceal its nest, it first selects a plant, or bush, with large leaves, then gathers cotton, spins it into a thread, by means of its long bill and slender feet, and sews the leaves neatly together, as if with a needle; so that its nest is joined to one leaf, and covered over by the other.
31st.—Mary has been a very patient arithmetical mistress; I have endeavoured to be very diligent, and we are both now rewarded, she says, by my progress. I begin to understand the reason of each process, and there is some hope, therefore, of conquering my difficulties. My uncle said, I ought to trample on them—and I resolved to do so—like the boy, without a genius, in “Evenings at Home.”
My uncle frequently puts arithmetical questions to us, which we work in our minds, without the aid of pencil or paper. This requires some exertion, and was very difficult at first; but I already perceive that my attention is much more under command than formerly. Clearness and quickness, in arithmetic, he thinks, are not only useful for the management of our common domestic affairs, but improve and strengthen our reasoning powers.