In ancient days, there was a great contention amongst the birds, which,
from his own perfections, and peculiar advantages, had the strongest
title to happiness; and at last they agreed to refer the decision of the
debate to the eagle.
A day was appointed for their meeting; the eagle took his seat, and the
birds all attended to give in their several pleas.
First spoke the parrot. Her voice so dearly resembling human speech, and
which enabled her to converse with such a superior race, she doubted not
(she said) would have its just weight with the eagle, and engage him to
grant a decree in her favour; and to this plea she also added, that she
dwelt in a fine cage adorned with gold, and was fed every day by the
hands a fair lady.
‘And pray, Mrs. Poll,’ said the eagle, ‘how comes it, since you fare so
sumptuously, that you are so lean and meagre, and seem scarcely able
to exert that voice you thus make your boast of?’ ‘Alas!’ replied
the parrot, ‘poor Poll’s lady has kept her bed almost this week; the
servants have all forgot to feed me; and I am almost starved.’ ‘Pray
observe,’ said the eagle, ‘the folly of such pride! Had you been able to
have conversed only with your own kind, you would have fared in common
with them; but it is to this vaunted imitation of the human voice, that
you owe your confinement, and consequently (though living in a golden
cage) your dependence upon the will and memory of others, even for
common necessary food.’
Thus reproved, the parrot, with shame, hastily retired from the
assembly.
Next stood forth the daw, and, having tricked himself in all the gay
feathers he could muster together, on the credit of these borrowed
ornaments, pleaded his beauty, as a title to the preference in dispute.
Immediately the birds agreed to divest the silly counterfeit of all his
borrowed plumes; and, more abashed than the parrot, he secretly slunk
away.
The peacock, proud of native beauty, now flew into the midst of the
assembly. He displayed before the sun his gorgeous tail. ‘Observe (said
he) how the vivid blue of the sapphire glitters in my neck; and when
thus I spread my tail, a gemmy brightness strikes the eye from a plumage
varied with a thousand glowing colours.’ At this moment, a nightingale
began to chant forth his melodious lay; at which the peacock, dropping
his expanded tail, cried out, ‘Ah what avails my silent unmeaning
beauty, when I am so far excelled in voice by such a little
russet-feathered wretch as that!’ And, by retiring, he gave up all claim
to the contended-for preference.
The nightingale was so delighted with having got the better of the
peacock, that he exerted his little voice, and was so lost in the
conceit of his own melody, that he did not observe a hawk, who flew upon
him, and carried him off in his claws.
The eagle then declared, ‘That as the peacock’s envy had taken away all
his claim, so no less had the nightingale’s self-conceit frustrated
all his pretensions; for those who are so wrapped up in their own
perfections, as to mind nothing but themselves, are forever liable to
all sorts of accidents.’ And, besides, it was plain, by the exultation
the nightingale expressed on his imagined glory over the peacock, that
he would have been equally dejected on any preference given to another.
And now the owl, with an affected gravity, and whooting voice, pleaded
his well-known wisdom; and said, ‘He doubted not but the preference
would be granted to him without contest, by all the whole assembly for
what was so likely to produce happiness as wisdom?’
The eagle declared, ‘That, if his title to wisdom could be proved, the
justice of his claim should be allowed; and then asked him, how he could
convince them of the truth of what he had advanced?’ The owl answered,
‘That he would willingly appeal to the whole assembly for their
decision in this point; for he was positive nobody could deny his great
superiority as to wisdom.’ Being separately asked, they most of them
declared, that they knew no one reason, either from his words or
actions, to pronounce him a wise bird; though it was true, that by an
affected solemnity in his looks, and by frequent declarations of his
own, that he was very wife, he had made some very silly birds give
him that character; but, since they were called upon to declare their
opinions, they must say, that he was ever the object of contempt to all
those birds who had any title to common understanding. The eagle then
said, ‘He could by no means admit a plea, which as plainly appeared
to be counterfeit, as were the jay’s borrowed feathers.’ The owl, thus
disappointed, flew away, and has ever since shunned the light of the
sun, and has never appeared in the daytime, but to be scorned and
wondered at.
It would be endless to repeat all the several pleas brought by the
birds, each desiring to prove, that happiness ought to be his own
peculiar lot. But the eagle observing that the arguments made use of to
prove their point were chiefly drawn from the disadvantages of others,
rather than from any advantage of their own, told them, ‘There was too
much envy and malice amongst them, for him to pronounce any of them
deserving or capable of being happy; but I wonder,’ says he, ‘why the
dove alone is absent from this meeting?’ ‘I know of one in her nest hard
by,’ answered the redbreast, ‘shall I go and call her?’ ‘No,’ says the
eagle, ‘since she did not obey our general summons, ‘tis plain she had
no ambition for a public preference; but I will take two or three chosen
friends, and we will go softly to her nest, and see in what manner she
is employing herself; for from our own observations upon the actions
of any one, we are more likely to form a judgment of them, than by any
boasts they can make.’
The eagle was obeyed, and, accompanied only by the linnet, the lark, the
lapwing, and the redbreast for his guide, he stole gently to the place
where the dove was found hovering over her nest, waiting the return of
her absent mate; and, thinking herself quite unobserved,
[*] While o’er her callow brood she hung,
She fondly thus address’d her young:
‘Ye tender objects of my care,
Peace! peace! ye little helpless pair.
Anon! he comes, your gentle sire,
And brings you all your hearts require;
For us, his infants and his bride,
For us, with only love to guide,
Our lord assumes an eagle’s speed,
And, like a lion, dares to bleed:
Nor yet by wintry skies confin’d,
He mounts upon the rudest wind,
From danger tears the vital spoil,
And with affection sweetens toil.
Ah! cease, too vent’rous, cease to dare;
In thine, our dearer safety spare.
From him, ye cruel falcons stray;
And turn, ye fowlers, far away,
--All-giving Pow’r, great source of life,
Oh! hear the parent, hear the wife:
That life thou lendest from above,
Though little, make it large in love.
Oh! bid my feeling heart expand
To ev’ry claim on ev’ry hand,
To those, from whom my days I drew,
To these in whom those days renew,
To all my kin, however wide,
In cordial warmth as blood allied.
To friends in steely fetters twin’d
And to the cruel not unkind;
But chief the lord of my desire,
My life, myself, my soul, my sire,
Friends, children, all that wish can claim,
Chaste passion clasp, and rapture name.
Oh! spare him, spare him, gracious Pow’r:
Oh! give him to my latest hour,
Let me my length of life employ,
To give my sole enjoyment joy.
His love let mutual love excite;
Turn all my cares to his delight,
And ev’ry needless blessing spare,
Wherein my darling wants a share.
--Let one unruffled calm delight
The loving and belov’d unite;
One pure desire our bosoms warm;
One will direct, one wish inform;
Through life one mutual aid sustain;
In death one peaceful grave contain.’
While, swelling with the darling theme,
Her accents pour’d an endless stream.
The well-known wings a sound impart
That reach’d her ear, and touch’d her heart.
Quick dropp’d the music of her tongue,
And forth, with eager joy, she sprung.
As swift her ent’ring consort flew,
And plum’d, and kindled at the view.
Their wings, their souls, embracing, meet,
Their hearts with answ’ring measure beat,
Half lost in sacred sweets, and bless’d
With raptures felt, but ne’er express’d.
Strait to her humble roof she led
The partner of her spotless bed;
Her young, a flutt’ring pair, arise,
Their welcome sparkling in their eyes,
Transported, to their sire they bound,
And hang, with speechless action, round.
In pleasure wrapt, the parents stand,
And see their little wings expand;
The sire his life sustaining prize
To each expecting bill applies;
There fondly pours the wheaten spoil,
With transport giv’n, though won with toil;
While, all collected at the sight,
And silent through supreme delight,
The fair high heav’n of bliss beguiles,
And on her lord and infants smiles.
[*] These verses are a quotation from that tender fable of
the Sparrow and the Dove, in the ‘Fables for the Female
Sex.’
The eagle now, without any hesitation, pronounced the dove to be
deservedly the happiest of the feathered kind; and however unwilling the
rest of the birds were to assent to the judgment given, yet could they
not dispute the justice of the decree.
Here Miss Jenny ceased reading, and all the little company expressed by
their looks, that they were overjoyed at the eagle’s determination; for
they had all in their own minds forestalled the eagle’s judgment, of
giving the preference to the dove. ‘Now, my good children,’ said Mrs.
Teachum, ‘if you will pass through this life with real pleasure, imitate
the dove; and remember, that innocence of mind, and integrity of heart,
adorn the female character, and can alone produce your own happiness,
and diffuse it to all around you.’
Our little company thanked their governess for her fable; and, just
at that instant, they heard a chariot drive into the court, and Mrs.
Teachum went out to see what visitor could be arrived so late in the
evening; for it was near eight o’clock.
They all remained in the room where their governess left them; for they
had been taught never to run out to the door, or to the windows, to look
at any strangers that came, till they knew whether it was proper for
them to see them or not.
Mrs. Teachum soon returned with a letter open in her hand, and remained
some little time silent; but cast on every one round such a tender
and affectionate look, a tear almost starting from her eye, that the
sympathising sorrow seemed to spread through the whole company, and they
were all silent, and ready to cry, though they knew not for what reason.
‘I am sorry, my little dears,’ said Mrs. Teachum, ‘to give your tender
bosoms the uneasiness I fear the contents of this letter will do, as it
will deprive you of that your hearts so justly hold most dear.’ And, so
saying, she delivered to Miss Jenny Peace, the following letter:--
‘To Miss Jenny Peace.
‘Monday night, June 24.
‘My dear niece,--I arrived safe at my own house, with your cousin
Harriet, last Saturday night, after a very tedious voyage by sea, and
a fatiguing journey by land. I long to see my dear Jenny as soon as
possible, and Harriet is quite impatient for that pleasure.
‘I have ordered my chariot to be with you tomorrow night; and I desire
you would set out on Wednesday morning, as early as your inclination
shall prompt you to come to
‘Your truly affectionate aunt,
‘M. NEWMAN.
‘I have writ a letter of thanks to your kind governess, for her care of
you.’
It is impossible to describe the various sensations of Miss Jenny’s
mind, on the reading this letter. Her rising joy at the thoughts of
seeing her kind aunt safely returned from a long and tedious voyage,
was suppressed by a sorrow, which could not be resisted, on parting with
such dear friends, and so good a governess; and the lustre which such a
joy would have given to her eye, was damped by rising tears. Her heart
for some time was too full for utterance. At last, turning to her
governess, she said, ‘And is the chariot really come, to carry me to my
dear aunt?’ Then, after a pause, the tears trickling down her cheeks,
‘And must I so soon leave you, madam, and all my kind companions?’ Mrs.
Teachum, on seeing Miss Jenny’s tender struggles of mind, and all her
companions at once bursting into tears, stood up, and left the room,
saying, ‘She would come to them again after supper.’ For this prudent
woman well knew, that it was in vain to contend with the very first
emotions of grief on such an occasion, but intended, at her return, to
show them how much it was their duty and interest to conquer all sorts
of extravagant sorrow.
They remained some time silent, as quite struck dumb with concern, till
at last Miss Dolly Friendly, in broken accents, cried out, ‘And must we
lose you, my dear Miss Jenny, now we are just settled in that love and
esteem for you, which your goodness so well deserves?’
Miss Jenny endeavoured to dry up her tears, and then said, ‘Although
I cannot but be pleased, my dear companions, at every mark of your
affection for me; yet I beg that you would not give me the pain to see
that I make so many dear friends unhappy. Let us submit cheerfully to
this separation (which, believe me, is as deeply felt by me as any
of you) because it is our duty so to do; and let me entreat you to be
comforted, by reflecting, how much my good aunt’s safe return must
be conducive to my future welfare; nor can you be unhappy, while you
continue with so good a governess, and persist in that readiness to obey
her, which you have lately shown. She will direct who shall preside over
your innocent amusements in my place. I will certainly write to you, and
shall always take the greatest delight in hearing from each of you, both
while you continue here, and when your duty and different connections
shall call you elsewhere. We may some, and perhaps all, of us, happen
often to meet again; and I hope a friendship, founded on so innocent and
so good a foundation as ours is, will always subsist, as far as shall be
consistent with our future situations in life.’
Miss Jenny’s friends could not answer her but by sobs and tears; only
little Polly Suckling, running to her, clung about her neck, and cried,
‘Indeed, indeed, Miss Jenny, you must not go; I shall break my heart, if
I lose you: sure we shan’t, nor we can’t, be half so happy, when you are
gone, though our governess was ten times better to us than she is.’
Miss Jenny again entreated them to dry up their tears, and to be more
contented with the present necessity; and begged, that they would not
let their governess see them so overwhelmed in sorrow on her return; for
she might take it unkindly, that they should be so afflicted at the loss
of one person, while they still remained under her indulgent care and
protection.
It was with the utmost difficulty, that Miss Jenny refrained from
shedding tear for tear with her kind companions; but as it was her
constant maxim to partake with her friends all her pleasure, and to
confine her sorrows as much as possible within her own bosom, she chose
rather to endeavour, by her own cheerfulness and innocent talk, to steal
insensibly from the bosoms of her little companions half their sorrow;
and they begin to appear tolerably easy.
After supper, Mrs. Teachum returned; and, seeing them all striving who
should most conceal their grief, for fear of giving uneasiness to the
rest, yet with a deep dejection fixed in every countenance, and little
Polly still sobbing behind Miss Jenny’s chair, she was so moved herself
with the affecting scene, that the tears stole from her eyes; and the
sympathising company once more eased their almost bursting hearts, by
another general flow of melting sorrow.
‘My dear children,’ said Mrs. Teachum, ‘I am not at all surprised at
your being so much concerned to part with Miss Jenny. I love her myself
with a motherly affection (as I do all of you, and shall ever continue
to do so while you so well deserve it); and I could wish, for my own
sake, never to part with her as long as I live; but I consider, that it
is for her advantage, and I would have you all remember, in her absence,
to let her example and friendship fill your hearts with joy, instead of
grief. It is now pretty late in the evening, and as Miss Jenny is to set
out very early in the morning, I must insist upon shortening your pain
(for such is your present situation), and desire you would take your
leave of this your engaging friend.’
They none of them attempted to speak another word, for their hearts were
still too full for utterance; and Miss Jenny took every one by the hand
as they went out of the room, saluted them with the tenderest affection,
mingling tears with those which flowed from every streaming eye; and,
wishing them all happiness and joy till their next meeting, they all,
with heavy hearts, retired to rest.
Miss Jenny returned the warmest and most grateful acknowledgments to her
good governess, for all her care of her; and said, ‘I shall attribute
every happy hour, madam, that I may hereafter be blessed with, to
your wise and kind instruction, which I shall always remember with the
highest veneration, and shall ever consider you as having been to me no
less than a fond and indulgent mother.’
Mrs. Teachum kept Miss Jenny in the room with her no longer than to
assure her how sincerely she should regret her absence, and confessed
how much of the regularity and harmony of her school she owed to her
good example, for sweetness of temper, and conformity to rules.