Mrs. Carleton’s visit to Mrs. Wyndham was protracted longer than she at
first intended. At length the great fête-day arrived. Every thing went
on in the best manner possible. Miss Wyndham’s generosity in clothing
the poor children, and her taste in the judicious arrangement of her
part of the entertainment, were talked of throughout the neighbourhood;
yet, for my part, I discovered nothing so meritorious in the young
lady’s conduct, nor could I forbear thinking Louisa Carleton much more
entitled to admiration, even on this occasion; for she bestowed her
time and attention in teaching little Peggy. And I afterwards learned
that it was she, who, with the assistance of one of her sisters, had
entirely made the children’s dresses; for Amelia was neither able nor
willing to work for any one, so that all the praises bestowed on her,
were, in reality, due to Louisa. However, I am sure each was rewarded
according to her own taste:—Amelia with the applause of the multitude,
Louisa with the more grateful, though less pompous testimony of her own
heart.
The grand business of the _fête_ was no sooner over, than Amelia’s
thoughts recurred to me, and she accompanied Louisa, on the following
evening, to the cottage. I shall pass over the poor woman’s expressions
of gratitude, (which Miss Amelia did not receive with that openness and
affability I had so often observed in Louisa on similar occasions,) and
continue my narrative.
Amelia asked to see me. “It is a Robin,” said she: “does it sing?”
“Yes, Miss,” said Peggy; “perhaps, if you stay a little while, you will
hear him.”
I was not willing to disappoint my little mistress, so I presently
after began to sing.
“That is not the song of a Robin,” said Amelia.
“So I have often observed,” returned Louisa; “but it is a very sweet
song, and he is a very nice little bird, I think.”
“So do I,” said Amelia: “I wish I had one like him. Could not you get
me one, child?” enquired she, addressing Peggy.
“I don’t know, Miss, but I’ll try—I mean, I’ll ask our Willy to try.”
“Do so,” said Amelia; “but I suppose there are few like this: I never
saw one so tame. Besides, I thought Robins could not be kept in a cage.”
The object of the visit being thus far attained, the young ladies
departed. Louisa, however, ran back to tell Peggy’s mother, that though
she was now about to return home with her mamma, the little girl
should not be forgotten; for that she would come, though perhaps not
so often, to teach her. “After Christmas,” added she, “I shall be able
to send her to the village school; and in the mean time, you can send
her every Sunday with her brother, to learn her Catechism, and then I
can teach her; for mamma has promised to take me always with her to the
Sunday-school.”
When Louisa was gone, Peggy’s mother said: “Child, you must give that
little bird to Miss Wyndham, for I am sure she wants it.”
“Must I, dear mother,” said Peggy: “why, I did not wish to part with
it; yet, if I did, I thought I should like to give it to Miss Louisa.”
“She does not wish for it, and Miss Amelia does,” replied the mother:
“you know she gave you clothes, and you must not be ungrateful.”
“Well, if I must, I must,” said the child, with a sigh; “but may I not
wait till Sunday, to ask Miss Louisa what she thinks?”
“That you may, with all my heart,” returned her mother; “she is sure to
tell you what is best.”
Peggy appeared pleased with this short respite. Perhaps, indeed, she
hoped, as I did, that her benefactress would advise her not to part
with her favourite. It happened, however, quite otherwise. Louisa
contrived to visit the cottage once more before her departure, and when
little Peggy, with artless simplicity, told her all that was in her
mind, the excellent girl refused to deprive her of her _pet_, (as she
called me,) but advised my being sent to her friend Amelia.
I was much distressed at this decision; yet I could not help admiring
the disinterestedness and prudence displayed in Louisa, who well knew
that the child would gain more than an equivalent by the sacrifice; and
for herself, though I am sure she would have liked to possess me, she
was too generous to deprive Amelia of an object she so ardently desired.
In pursuance, therefore, of her advice, Willy took me on the following
morning to Wyndham Hall. His poor little sister shed some tears on
parting with me. “My poor little Bob!” said she, “you may get a finer
house and better food, but you will not find a mistress who loves you
better than I do.”
I felt as much grieved as herself, and had I been able to speak, would
have told her that I did not desire any thing better than she had
provided me; but as my language was unintelligible to her, I could not
afford her even this consolation.
On our arrival at the hall, Miss Amelia received me with apparent
delight, and having put me safely in a very handsome cage, ran to
show me to her mamma, and to request that she would give the child
something in return. Mrs. Wyndham, who could not bear that her daughter
should be under an obligation, particularly to a poor person, made
now a very judicious return for the favour, far, indeed, exceeding
its value. She ordered a good milch-cow to be sent back with the boy.
This was, indeed, a valuable present to the poor woman, as it not only
supplied her family with milk, &c., but enabled her to sell some to the
neighbours, which, with the promised assistance of Mrs. Carleton, no
doubt made her circumstances tolerably easy. And I must acknowledge,
that these considerations consoled me for the separation. Besides, I
felt myself of more consequence than heretofore, as I had been the
means of affording relief to an amiable family, who stood much in need
of it.
The first fortnight I spent at Wyndham Hall, passed very agreeably;
for Miss Amelia was continually seeking something new to please me. I
cannot say, however, that my esteem for her was equal to the kindness
she lavished on me, for she was not so assiduous in striving to please
every body; and not only the servants, but even her too-indulgent
mother, sometimes felt the effects of her peevish humours. Besides,
not having been accustomed to occupy her time steadily and usefully,
she was perpetually changing the objects of her attention. This fickle
disposition made me conclude, that novelty was my chief recommendation,
and that, consequently, some new favourite would soon supplant me.
My conclusions were but too well founded, for her attention to me
gradually diminished, and was shortly after engrossed by a new object.
By the time I had been with her a month, I found myself little noticed.
However, as Amelia minded appearances very much, she thought proper
to order me a new cage, not thinking the one I had, sufficiently
ornamental to the drawing-room. A bird-fancier, with whom she had
formerly dealt, was accordingly sent for, to receive her directions
about it. He came, and I observed that he regarded me with particular
attention, and listened earnestly to my song. He soon after asked my
mistress, in an apparently careless manner, where she got that bird.
“It is a Robin,” added he, “but it has not the right song.”
Had Miss Amelia read some of the nice books which remained untouched in
her library, she would, perhaps, have known, that the circumstance he
mentioned greatly enhanced my value; but, though surrounded with the
means of obtaining knowledge, she was very ignorant. Guided, therefore,
by the man’s manner of speaking, she seemed suddenly to lose all regard
for me, and by her answer convinced him that he might get me at a very
easy rate.
“Ah, Miss,” said he, “as to song, you should hear a bird I have at
home!”
“What bird?” demanded Amelia, eagerly.
“A piping-bullfinch, Miss: he has learned _Rule Britannia_ and the
_College Hornpipe_, and”——
“Do you mean to sell him?” interrupted Amelia.
“Why, as to that, Miss, I could get more by keeping him to teach
others; yet I would not much object selling him to some particular
customer, like you, Miss, for example.”
“What do you ask for him?” said Amelia, to whom the idea of one bird
teaching another was quite novel, and who was also flattered by being
termed _a particular customer_.
“Why, to you, Miss,” answered the man, “I could sell him for five
guineas; though that is too little, for there is not another bird like
him in the kingdom.”
This last observation of the cunning bird-fancier, decided Amelia; she
produced her purse, but, alas! the contents did not amount to four
guineas. “What shall I do!” exclaimed she, “mamma is out, and will not
return till just before dinner, and I did so wish to surprise her with
my piping bullfinch.”
“Why, Miss,” said the man, “as you seem to have no great fancy for that
silly bird yonder, if you like, I will take him and his cage for what
is wanting, and send home Piping Tom in the new cage you have ordered,
and all in time before your dinner.”
Amelia readily acceded to this proposal, and I was taken by the
bird-fancier, to supply the place of Piping Tom, whose removal I
considered no more enviable than my own, unpleasant as it was.
My new situation was extremely uncomfortable, for I had always been
more or less accustomed to liberty. Here I was closely confined, and
what was to me worse than all, my cage was seldom cleaned, and my food
and water remained so long unchanged, that I frequently found it almost
impossible to touch either.
This sad condition would, I think, soon have delivered me from the
possibility of any other misfortune; and here, gentle reader, my
history would have terminated, had not my master, who was not ignorant
of my talents, now thought proper to turn them to some account. When
he told Miss Amelia that my song was not that of a Robin, he spoke
truth, but not the whole truth. He affected to depreciate my value,
that he might get possession of me. I was separated so early from my
parents, that I did not learn their song, but being naturally disposed
to music, and hearing no other than that of the piano-forte, when with
my first dear mistress, I had contrived to pick up a few notes here
and there, and put them together at my leisure; thus forming a kind of
wild melody, not resembling the song of any other bird. Had Miss Amelia
been aware of this circumstance, she certainly would not have parted
with me; for, as I observed before, she valued things in proportion as
they were difficult of attainment. Well had it been for her if this
disposition had extended to her studies: in this instance they might
have been subservient to her darling propensity. But such is the lot
of those who are wilfully ignorant; they are continually duped by the
artful, and not unfrequently defeat their own plans of enjoyment, by
not knowing how to pursue them.
But to return to myself. I was now to assume a new character—no less
than that of preceptor. My master procured some very young birds, so
young that several of them died for want of that delicate attention
which the parent alone can bestow. Two or three survived, and these
were placed in small cages near mine, that they might hear my song and
adopt it. I sincerely pitied the early misfortunes and captivity of
these poor little creatures, and sang rather to sooth and cheer than
to instruct them. As they grew older, however, they tried to imitate
my note, and soon acquired it so exactly, that my master sold them to
great advantage.
I must say I regretted losing my little pupils, particularly one, a
linnet, who had evinced great affection towards me; but I consoled
myself with the assurance, that they must be better off any where than
with the mercenary bird-fancier, who valued them only as a means of
getting money.