HOME LIFE AND HOME EDUCATION.
The birdlings still live in the honeysuckles.
"How they do grow!" Eddie exclaims, when he looks at them. "I
shouldn't think they could ever have lived in those little eggs."
They are now almost half as large as the old birds. They are well
covered with feathers, and their mottled breasts are very pretty.
"They don't have to dress as we do," said Eddie. "Their clothes grow."
And he thinks it would be a great convenience if his clothes grew too,
for then they would always be large enough for him, and his mother
would not have so much sewing to do.
Sometimes these little birds lie in the bottom of the nest, quietly
sleeping, while their father and mother are both away, getting them
food. At other times they feel wide awake. Then they stretch their
wings, stand upon their feet, and peep over the side of the nest. From
the parlour-window, the children can look up directly at their
secluded home, and can see them amusing themselves and practising
their lessons. The honeysuckle grows almost as fast as the birds, and
the tender, overhanging branches make a roof which keeps off all the
rain.
The old birds are mindful of their children, but do not consider it
necessary to be with them all the time. So other parents endeavour to
implant good principles in the hearts of their children, and then
leave them to their self-control; ever keeping a watchful eye on the
influences which surround them, and using their proper authority, when
it becomes necessary, to restrain from evil, and guide in the way of
virtue. The child that has never learned to depend upon himself, or to
control his own passions, and to do right because it is right, will
hardly be able to sustain himself when the presence of his parents is
withdrawn.
The robins know very well that children grow weary of long lectures;
so they give them here a little and there a little instruction, as
occasion demands.
They are decided in their family government, but not severe. Their
children are taught to obey promptly and cheerfully, but they have no
slavish fear of their parents. Their presence is not regarded as a
restraint; for, at all suitable times, they have freely permitted
their little ones to laugh and frolic to their hearts' content. They
willingly listen to all the plans of the birdlings, and lend an
attentive ear to the story of their joys and their sorrows. Their
sympathy is never withheld; their griefs are never considered as of no
consequence because they are brief and soon forgotten.
The parent birds do not leave their young alone but a little while at
a time. They often fly home to see them, and sometimes perch on the
walnut-tree, and talk with them. Their musical chirpings are pleasant
to hear. We don't understand the bird-language; but we judge, by the
soft tones, that it is something kind and agreeable they are saying.
Perhaps they are talking about their plans for the future, when they
all know how to use their wings, and can fly about together.
Very often, during the day, the robins bring worms to fill the gaping
mouths. It is surprising how much they eat. No wonder they have grown
plump and large, for they eat and sleep as much as they please. We
expect soon to see them flying about from tree to tree, and hopping
along the ground. We hope that great cat, which steps about so softly,
will never find them. She is welcome to all the rats and mice she can
put her paws on, but we never like to see her climb a tree, for we
fear she will destroy some of our cheerful friends, who build near the
house in full confidence that they shall not be disturbed.
The young robins are not lonely in their rural home. The
plainly-dressed sparrows and the brilliant yellow-birds look in upon
them, and, now and then, their cousin, the oriole, comes, clad in the
richest golden plumage, and sings them a song. If he had dipped his
feathers in the gorgeous sunset he could not be more beautiful. The
delicate little humming-birds sip nectar from the deep horns of the
honeysuckle; and the red-winged starling, in his glossy black coat,
and his dashing scarlet epaulette, occasionally comes from his home in
the meadow, to make them a call. He does not like Honeysuckleville
quite as well as his dwelling in the grass, just above the water. If
he was not so confirmed in his habits, I think he would be strongly
tempted to become a neighbour of the robins. A few weeks ago, when his
favourite resort was five or six feet under water, he and his friends
seemed to be in great uncertainty what course to pursue. They had
several mass meetings on the quince-bushes, in full sight of
Honeysuckleville, and a great many speeches were made. It sounded to
me like incessant chattering, and as if all were talking at the same
time. I could not understand a word they said, and I cannot tell you
the result of their deliberations. Whatever it may have been, when the
water subsided, they returned to their old haunts by the river-side.
These I have mentioned are not the only visitors whose society our
friends enjoy. The swallows gracefully skim through the air, and greet
them with their merry voices. The wren often favours them with one of
his sweetest melodies, and the blue-bird flies around the corner to
sing a song on the walnut-tree. He has a curious little nest of his
own, hidden away under the eaves. The cat-birds, of course, are always
near, as they live in the lilacs. The oriole has suspended his nest,
like a basket, from a limb of the great pear-tree; and when the robins
know how to fly, they can return some of his visits.
The old robins, now and then, play peep with the young birds. They fly
almost up to the nest, and poise themselves for an instant on the
wing, just long enough to say, "Bo-peep!" and then away! almost before
they can be seen. Pretty soon they return again, generally bringing
some nice morsel with them. They often first alight on a small branch
of the vine, below the nest, and then hop up to it.
What a chirping the birdlings keep up with their mother! They like to
talk as well as Eddie Dudley and some other children, whom I have
heard pleasantly called little chatter-boxes. Children have much to
learn, and must ask many questions. The world is new and strange to
them, and is a constant source of surprise and wonder. I do not
suppose people ever learn faster than before they are six years old,
or ever learn more in the same length of time. They are constantly
observing, and in this way the stock of their ideas is continually
increasing. I once heard a gentleman say he did not like to go
through the world with his head in a bag. He wished to see what was
taking place around him, and it was this seeing, and thinking upon
what he saw, that, among other things, made him a distinguished man.
The young birds are now seeing and thinking, as well as birds can.
Their time for action has not come. Like dear children in their happy
homes, they are preparing for the responsibilities of life; and, if
they honour and obey their parents, as far as birds are expected to
do, and as all children should, I doubt not they will faithfully
perform the duties which will hereafter devolve upon them.
From observations I have made, I conclude the robins neither send
their children to school nor employ a governess for them. They have so
made their arrangements that either one or the other has time to
attend to their education. Sometimes the father, and at other times
the mother, assumes the labour of teaching, and their dearly-loved
pupils are quite as attentive to their instructions as any children I
have ever seen.