These birds live together in large societies, and build in a species of acacia, which grows to an uncommon size; they seem to select it on account of its strong branches, which are able to support their extensive buildings, and also for its tall, smooth trunk, which their great enemies, the monkey tribes, are unable to climb. In the tree described to my aunt, there could not have been fewer than eight hundred birds residing under a single roof, which appears like thatch, and projects over the nests, and is so smooth and steep that no reptiles can approach them. The industry of these birds is equal to that of the bee: throughout the day they appear to be busily employed in carrying a fine species of grass, which is the principal material they employ in the construction of this extraordinary work, as well as for repairs and additions.
It appears that, as they increase annually in numbers, they join nest to nest, till at last the bough on which they have built gives way under their weight, and they are forced to seek for a new dwelling. One of these deserted colonies was examined, and found to be as ingeniously contrived within as without. The entrances formed a regular street, with nests on both sides, at about two inches distance from each other; and it was evident, from the appearance, that a part of it had been inhabited for many years. The grass with which they build is called Boshman’s grass, and its seed is their principal food; but the remains of insects, found in their nests, prove that they prey on them also.
6th.—I wonder, dear Mamma, whether it is as difficult to others, as it is to me, to lay aside old habits. I must acknowledge, that I have been of late too much addicted to lying in bed, and have quite disgraced myself, after having for some time made great efforts. It is a strange sort of indolence that chains me down, and makes me delay, from moment to moment, the trifling exertion of jumping up;—it is not sleep, for I am generally awake, merely thinking, in a confused sort of way, of things that are past, or things that I intend to do. My aunt says, that were I asleep all the morning, she would not then struggle against my habits, for my constitution might require sleep; but I have not that excuse to plead.
When I do get up early, there is no time of the day that I enjoy so much. The brightness of the morning sun makes the dewy trees and grass look so beautiful; and then the birds seem so happy, and so active, in the sweet fresh air. These are pleasures that I knew not till I came to England, and they are every day within my reach. I have determined not to let them slip any more. You have often told me of the danger of giving way to bad habits, but nothing teaches one so forcibly as experience.
My aunt and uncle are both of them early risers; and they consider it of great importance that young people should so manage their time as to have some part of every morning to employ in serious reading. “I wish my little Bertha,” said he, “to bestow ample time on the neatness and propriety of her dress; but it is still more necessary that she should never feel in the least hurried in the performance of those religious exercises with which every day should begin, and which should be gone through with calmness and leisure before she joins the family circle at breakfast, and before the cares or pleasures of the day mix with her graver thoughts.”
They spoke to me very kindly on this subject yesterday, and I think and hope that I shall not again shew myself unmindful of their advice.
I have consulted Caroline about it. I find that she and Mary are always up early, and are seriously engaged for a part of the morning.
Caroline is indeed an extremely early riser, and she has engaged to rouse me regularly at a reasonable hour. She began this morning, and to encourage me, she read a pretty little poem on early rising. By copying it for Marianne, I shall recollect it the better.
Good morn, good morn—see the sweet light breaking,
O’er hill and dale to greet thy waking!
The dark grey clouds are flitting away,
And the young sun sheds forth a twilight ray;
And an halo of bloom is in the skies,
Yet the night of slumber is on thine eyes.
The dew lies fresh on the opening flower,
And sweetly cool is the youthful hour;
And the birds are twittering their tender song
The bright and weeping boughs among;
And all seems fresh and with rapture rife,
While wakening into conscious life.
Oh, rouse thee! rouse thee! the precious time
Is fleeting fast—and merrily chime
The morning bells; and the beautiful view
Thy touch should arrest, is fading too!
The glow of the cloud is darkening fast,
And the sunny mist is almost past;
And thy lyre is lying all unstrung;
And thy matin hymn is still unsung;
And thy lip is mute, and thy knee unbending,
Nor is yet the sweet prayer to heaven ascending.
—— What! slumbering still! Arise, arise!
For thy lively dreams are fantasies,
And mock thy waking; but come with me
And listen to life’s reality.
And come and muse on that deeper sleep,
O’er which Hope will her silent vigils keep,
And soothe and shield with her guardian wing
The Spirit’s secret fluttering;
And lead it on to that brighter day,
Which knows no evening and no decay.
7th.—My uncle says, that agriculture is only gardening on an enlarged scale; and that all the implements are only magnified garden tools. The sharp edge of the sloping ploughshare turns up the earth in the same manner as the spade, which is put into the ground in a slanting direction; but the plough being drawn by animals, whose strength is far superior to that of man, in a few hours the earth is separated and thrown back, in a space that, to be dug, must have occupied days.